Chapter 2

Starfleet Academy 2340

Sixteen year old freshman cadet Jack Crusher stuck his index finger in between his collar and his irritated neck in an attempt to gain some relief. Maybe he was allergic to the material because it would just not stop itching. These dress uniforms were particularly itchy. But then the stodgy awards ceremony scheduled for that afternoon required appropriately itchy dress. After nine months of practically living in these cadet uniforms he knew he should have been used to them. But of course there was always something to complain about even under the most ideal conditions. He had to admit that with spring in the air, the conditions did seem nearly ideal. The upperclassmen had already graduated, and he was looking forward to ditching the uniform for a month or so, and getting out into the world for some fun.

Chewing on his bagel he eyed the girl at the end of the table and elbowed his friend in the side. "Allen...she's checking you out again," he whispered placing his elbows back on the cafeteria table. The young woman glanced up with intelligent green eyes. She seemed hardly to notice Jack, and yet was unable to take her eyes off of Allen. She was pretty in an academic sort of way. Clearly Allen's type: too bad for her Allen already had a girlfriend; Parvati, who let's face it, was stunning. Jack had on more than one occasion allowed himself to be distracted by her long silky black hair and dark skin; of course, when Allen was not looking.

Cadet Allen Harrow made a face and turned back to his assignment, not even bothering to look at the girl. Of course he knew she was there. She'd been practically stalking him these last few weeks. Didn't she know he already had a girlfriend? "Jack," he muttered, "if you paid more attention to your exams instead of watching females constantly, you'd be better off."

"Oh, I don't know about that...I know I would have less fun. By the way, why do you talk about women as though they are your lab subjects?"

Allen turned and fixed Jack with that quizzical, yet penetrating gaze he had, which sometimes made Jack feel slightly unsettled as though he were one of Allen's lab subjects. Allen, a born scientist, was strange, often standoffish, but he was still his friend. And after all, he was brilliant and blessed with a dry wit, which rarely, but pleasingly revealed itself when Allen was truly happy, truly relaxed. No, this sort of openness with Allen it didn't happen often, but Jack had witnessed it enough to know that once you came to know him, Allen was a good friend to have.

"What's her name, anyway?" Jack asked, watching the girl a little more closely. He smiled at her as charmingly as possible when he caught her eye, but she scowled and looked away sharply. Slightly hurt, Jack felt more than just his skin was now irritated. Who did she think she was anyway? Okay, he wasn't her type. No need to be rude about it.

"Claudia," Allen Harrow murmured, still engrossed in his assignment.

Elsewhere on Campus…

Ensign Jean-Luc Picard could tell already it was going to be a hot day. So he had figured if he was going to run he had might as well do it early in the morning when the ground was still a bit damp-before it all burned off and the air became heavier. As he ran through campus he tried to focus on just the good feeling it gave him, instead of the guilty thoughts which threatened at every turn to make his young life more complicated. He was due to ship out very soon, and as excited as he was about landing his first assignment so soon after graduation, he still had not resolved things with Jenice. She knew in just over a week he would be leaving and would be enlisting as an ensign aboard an as-yet un-assigned starship after disembarking from Starbase Earhart. but it was as though she wanted to pretend that nothing had changed between them. In fact, everything had changed since he had met with Jenice's father, noted humanities professor Albert Bertrand several weeks ago; it was a meeting which had been disastrous in nearly every way.

He cringed inwardly as he recalled that he had gone to the University of Paris to ridiculously and archaically ask for Jenice's hand in marriage. Professor Bertrand had revealed to Picard that he was only one in a long line of lovers the older Jenice had been with; that she was a free spirit and that in a sense he was just one of many stops along the way to her destination, which was freedom, not monogamy.

Among other indignities, Professor Bertrand had scoffed at Picard's upbringing, referring to him as "farm boy" at several points, had periodically blown pipe smoke in the young cadet's face, and had ultimately declared that his daughter was too good for Jean-Luc. The conversation had shaken Jean-Luc to his core, because rarely had anyone spoken to him in such a condescending and prejudiced manner. But mainly, he had been shaken because he had seen the truth of it. He had been warned.

Afterwards against his better judgment he had told Jenice everything he had discussed with her father and everything he was feeling as a result. He had even mentioned Professor Bertrand's claim that she would never settle for being a "military wife." Stubbornly he had wished he had had the fortitude to explain to Professor Bertrand that Starfleet was not militaristic. But Jenice hadn't wanted to discuss her father. And instead of telling him that none of these statements were true, she had simply put a consoling hand on his cheek and had said: "My love, now you see all the reasons I never introduced you to my father. He may be brilliant, but he can also be very cruel."

And she hadn't even denied the fact that she had been with many people before him, a fact she had never mentioned before, but now one he could not get out of his mind. In fact, she didn't seem to want to discuss anything at all about their relationship, or their future. So instead they had gone to bed. He was nineteen going on twenty, and going to bed with his beautiful girlfriend should have been enough to make things better; usually it would have been. But this time, and every time afterward it just wasn't the same.

He was a young man of carefully observed habits, but the stressful nature of his thoughts that morning caused him to be distracted, and he diverted from his usual path. Rounding bend, he suddenly realized he had not been watching his steps carefully enough. He leapt over a flower bed and was rewarded by a water hose spraying him directly in the face. He twisted around angrily and stopped, glaring back at whomever had wielded the hose. "Hey!" he sputtered, wiping the cold water from his eyes and glaring imperiously. Suddenly in recognition, his expression changed immediately. "Mr. Boothby! Oh, I am so sorry, I wasn't watching where I was going, sir," he admitted.

The old man smiled at him. Somehow Jean-Luc and all of the other young people at the Academy believed it was possible that Boothby the groundskeeper had always been old, and always would be. They insisted on calling him sir. "Mr. Picard, I haven't seen you since just before your graduation. Tell, me…have you made Captain yet?"

Picard laughed. "No, sir."

"You don't need to call me sir, anymore Mr. Picard. Of course, even ensigns outrank gardeners in Starfleet."

Picard squinted in the now glaring daylight. He held his hand as a shield over his brow. "It wouldn't be right to break with tradition now, sir."

"Mr. Picard, can I ask you a favor?"

Jean-Luc straightened. "Of course, anything."

Now Boothby squinted in the bright sunlight. "Don't get yourself killed out there, alright?"

Picard's smile faded immediately. "What do you mean?"

"I've been around, Mr. Picard. And I've seen some great officers be taken out of the game early on."

Picard was completely serious now. "Why?"

"Ego…arrogance. Mr. Picard, you are certainly a disciplined young man. But you also have an impulsive streak that I am afraid could get you into some trouble. I just want to make sure that you take care and don't take on too much too soon."

Picard's brash smile slowly returned. "I appreciate your concern. But I shall be fine, sir."

Boothby studied him. "Hmm…I bet you will," he said after a moment. Suddenly both men turned at the sound of several people screaming in terror. Picard felt his body tighten with adrenaline. He stared off into the distance, alert and tense. The screams had stopped and came from the upper level of the southwest dormitory. Starting to jog away in that direction, he turned back to Boothby. "Alert the authorities," he said sharply, the earlier deference in his voice now absent.

Boothby watched as Picard sprinted away toward the direction of the dormitory. "It seems that you are 'the authorities' now, Mr. Picard."

As he sprinted up the back stairs taking two or three steps at a time, he could instinctively tell that while in emotional distress, the people now shouting and screaming were not in physical danger themselves. He reached the second floor and could see a number of younger cadets gathered around the doorway to a room. "She's been killed!" a young man was shouting.

"She's not breathing," another young woman shouted. Picard wove his way through the crowd of frightened cadets and pushed his way into the room.

A young woman with silken black hair lay obviously dead on the floor, her neck tilted at an odd angle. There were bruises on her face and throat. A young man stood over her, clenching and unclenching his fists. Picard could tell that he was distraught, and immediately he felt sympathy for the young cadet. There was something about the young man that made Picard immediately believe that this was not the killer.

But that was not what he conveyed. "Clear the area," Picard shouted suddenly. "This is a crime scene!"

The young man shakily regarded him, looking clearly in shock but still able to express outrage. "She's…she's my friend."

"Name and rank," demanded Picard sternly.

The man straightened slightly as if jolted back to reality. "Jack Crusher, Cadet First Year," he snapped. "Who the hell are you."

"I'm Ensign Jean-Luc Picard, your commanding officer. Now get the hell out of this room, Cadet, before I throw you out."