Chapter 1
The smile Jean Luc Picard, Captain of the USS Enterprise, plastered on his face was a smile he had used a hundred times in his career as explorer, diplomat and ombudsman in détente. As the crowd around him whistled and applauded, he grinned appreciatively and nodded his thanks. A casual onlooker would even have believed he was genuinely enthusiastic about the event, so expert he was at dissembling.
The thing was, it was not so much the surprise birthday party that annoyed him. Picard had nothing particular against birthdays, except that they continued to mark the march of time and he was beginning to feel that too many had already slipped away from him. There was so much still to do. To be. It wasn't even that this particular party was for him, although as a rule he disliked both surprises and parties in his honor. The thing that bothered him most of all, as he looked around at the self-pleased and well-meaning faces, was that these people…his crew…his senior staff…did not yet know him well enough to understand how he felt about such occasions.
Over by the bar of the social lounge, however, he caught a glimpse of a pair of sympathetic on-lookers. They knew how he was feeling, he was quite sure. He was equally sure that their objections to the party had been overruled by their more enthusiastic counterparts. The apologetic looks on the faces of Geordi and Worf told the whole story. He knew they would have spared him this if they could have in any way managed it.
It troubled Picard that this should be so. Not that his two most tenured officers had no comfort to offer, but that the rest of his senior staff should be so completely oblivious to his personality even now. Eighteen months had passed since the Enterprise-E had docked for repairs following the near annihilation of earth by the Reaman megalomaniac Shinzon. Eighteen months since Will Riker and Deanna Troi, now husband and wife, had left to take command of the USS Titan. Eighteen months since Beverly Crusher had taken herself to head-up Starfleet Medical back on earth. Eighteen months since Data had made the ultimate sacrifice, to save Picard, to save the Enterprise, to save the Federation.
Picard's mind flashed back to the first year of duty with his crew of the Enterprise-D. Within weeks their personalities had meshed and blended. In a few months they could practically anticipate each other's reactions. By a year's time they were a well-oiled machine, and even though Katherine Pulaski's short tenure had made them squeak now and again, when Beverly returned they ran as smooth and sure as ever. And had for fifteen years. A crew. A team. Yes, he decided. Even a family.
But families change and grow. Picard knew this. He knew that someday Riker would finally accept one of the offers of command. He knew…or at least hoped, for their sake…that Deanna and Will would never part company when it came down to the last good-bye. He knew that Worf would need to find his own balance between Starfleet, the Federation and the Klingon Empire. And he knew that Beverly's talents were too superb to be overlooked for very long.
But he had also expected some continuity. In spite of all the changes, Picard had expected to keep at least one of his most valued staff members and friends by his side because he knew that one individual was subject to neither age nor ambition apart from his ceaseless desire to become more human. When it came right down to it, he had never expected to lose Data. And losing him, along with all the others, had compounded the loss of each of them exponentially.
Jean Luc Picard, standing in the midst of the crowded social lounge, where three dozen people had gathered to celebrate his birthday, was a lonely man.
He supposed, upon reflection, that it was partly his own fault that his current crew knew him so little. After Data's death and the departure of Will, Deanna and Beverly, Picard had tried to convince himself that this would be a whole new beginning. New people. New ideas. The ever-present New Frontier. But after only a few days out of space dock he found that his new first officer, Mr. Madden, tended to get on his nerves a great deal more than he should have. The young officer was so absolutely enthralled with his unexpected posting to the Enterprise that he was forever hesitating to make a firm decision, lest it be in error. He had fallen into the habit of merely rubber-stamping every decision Picard made, to the point where he was virtually useless. Picard had given thought to replacing him, but frankly, as he looked around for a likely candidate, he could find none. The Dominion War had so decimated the ranks of Starfleet that most experienced officers had been given commands of the new ships as soon as they came off the line. What remained were raw recruits, with little space time and fewer command skills. Commander Madden, he feared, was the best of a poor lot.
Unfortunately, his disappointment did not end with his new First Officer. His new ship's counselor, a telepath from Reigel who preferred to be addressed as Dr. Andagga and whose first name was unpronounceable by the human tongue anyway, was continually preempting Picard's remarks by replying to them before they had even left his lips. Picard felt as if he never had any privacy when Andagga was on the bridge, and had been trying to subtly shift around the crew schedule so that the counselor and he spent very little time together.
As for the ship's Chief Medical Officer, well--Picard was beginning to recall even Katherine Pulaski's tenure with a touch of nostalgia compared to Dr. Kranston. Within 24 standard hours of reporting for duty, Dr. Kranston had submitted a request for an entire refit of Sickbay, implying in his notations that the previous CMO had had very limited organizational skills and expressing amazement as to how any effective care had been rendered under such deplorable conditions. Picard had chuckled the first time he read it, imagining Beverly's reaction, but had grown indignant with each subsequent reading as Kranston's indictment of Beverly's capabilities had become apparent. The request was swiftly and curtly denied.
And so Picard had not found a single kindred spirit among them. True, Geordi remained, and Worf had returned to his post, his duty as Federation Ambassador to Qu'nos now behind him. Still, Picard felt he no longer had any reliable advisor, no one to provide a unique perspective. No one to share a simple breakfast of coffee and croissant with, as a prelude to the long day ahead.
The loss was profound. And it struck him just how profound at this particular moment. That simple ritual, for example, was something he had placed great value upon. Having Beverly as a touchstone—a sounding board—and, more importantly a friend and as close to a peer as a captain could find on his own ship—had been something he had relied upon. Picard recalled how, after awhile, she hadn't even bothered to wait for him to answer the door, but would just key in her own code and be waiting for him when he came out of the shower. Whether they discussed ship's matters or debated policy or touched on a hundred other topics, it didn't really matter; their conversation had set the tone for the entire day. Picard missed it. And he missed her. He missed her a great deal more than he had realized.
Picard felt his throat constrict, and he knew he had to leave this place. He looked around desperately and caught a glimpse of Worf whispering something to Geordi. Geordi nodded and immediately left the room. Seconds later Picard's com-badge chirped.
"LaForge to Captain Picard"
Picard nearly laughed with relief.
"Go ahead Commander" he replied.
"Ah, Sir. We've encountered some anomalous readings in the gravimetric flow fluximeter. I think it's something you need come and have a look at."
"I'll be right there, Commander. Picard out."
The captain smiled apologetically to those nearby, set down his piece of cake and strode swiftly from the room. As he left he shot a look at Worf who, despite his perpetually grim countenance, was completely readable to Picard after so many years. In the Klingon's eyes he saw a twinkle of conspiracy as he gave a curt nod to acknowledge the captain's unspoken thanks.
Geordi was waiting for him around the corner.
"I'm sorry, Sir," he said apologetically. "Worf and I kind of thought maybe you needed to escape…I hope we weren't wrong."
Picard place a hand on Geordi's shoulder and looked into the man's bright ocular implants.
"My friend," he said with relief. "I am in your debt. I doubt if I would have lasted another minute in there."
The two of them began walking down the corridor toward the turbo lift.
"We tried to talk them out of it, Sir. But Commander Madden--well, you know, he's just so gung-ho about these things. And Dr. Andagga--she was convinced that deep down you wanted a party. That was all it took. There was nothing we could do."
"I appreciate your efforts, Geordi. And I especially appreciate your rescue. Now if you need me…and I mean if you need me, I will be in my quarters. Otherwise my location on the ship is temporarily undisclosed."
Geordi smiled. "I gotcha, Sir."
The turbo lift door opened and Picard stepped in. As the door started to close, Geordi reached out to stop it.
"And Sir," he added sheepishly. "Happy Birthday."
"Humph!" replied Picard, with feigned annoyance, as the Chief Engineer stepped back and the door slid shut.
Picard let out a sigh of relief as the solitude of the turbo lift enveloped him.
I have to leave this place.
His own thoughts echoed in his head.
I have to leave this place.
It repeated like a mantra.
By the time he reached his quarters and stood amidst his collection of artifacts and mementos, the real meaning of his words struck him like phaser set to high stun.
I have to leave this place.
He didn't mean just the party. He didn't mean just the social lounge.
He had to leave this place.
He had to leave this ship. Leave the Enterprise.
No, not permanently, he realized with relief. Not forever. But for a while. A long while. And perhaps, when he had wrestled with whatever it was that had been settling over him for these past eighteen months, he would return refreshed and with a new outlook. Ready to take on this new crew—to get to know them—and to allow them to get to know him.
But now he had to get away—or die trying. He had months of leave coming. And Starfleet owed him. They owed him big. Admiral Janeway herself had said, if he ever needed time…well, now he did. Sliding into the console he sent a confidential subspace message to her. Within an hour he was packing. Twenty minutes after that he had filed a flight plan for Aloris IV and was running a systems check on the Captain's Yacht. And at 1900 hours, while Mr. Madden and the senior staff were still celebrating the captain's birthday and with confirmation of the orders awaiting the First Officer on the bridge, Jean Luc Picard slipped from shuttle bay 6 and set speed at Warp 5 on a three month sabbatical.
He felt like he was running away from home.
