"So, this is the famous Starfleet Academy you were always droning on and on about at home? It looks like nothing more than a fancy pile of metal and bricks, if you ask me. Look at this, I've never seen so many loafers in all my life. Does anyone go to class around here, or do you all just sit around in the grass all day chit chatting?"

Korbin flushed first with anger, and then with embarrassment. Her father had been the same overbearing, incredulous, and hard-hearted man since she could remember. Through the years, she had learned to breath deeply and answer his questions with a detached, perfunctory air. That, however, did not mean she was simply able to ignore them. People who told you to ignore the negativity others expressed towards the important things in your life had never really been taunted themselves. There were some things that never stopped hurting. "Daddy, please. It's Sunday. It's an old Earth custom to take a day of rest on Sunday. It dates back to an archaic form of religion. We attend classes Monday thru Friday, every week. I usually have quite a bit of homework top complete on the weekends as well."

Her father just grunted, apparently unimpressed. "If you ask me, you're wasting your time. Why not just come home and do something useful? We could use an extra hand in the fields this year, with all of the other ungrateful children your mother and I have raised leaving home as well. I always thought you were different, but apparently I was wrong in that assumption as well. You're as selfish as the rest of them."

Tears stung Korbin's eyes. She took a deep breath, trying to fight the warm redness that was creeping its way up her fair cheeks. How could he say such things? Her own father. She looked over at her mother, who's eyes darted quickly away. She hid in the shadow of Korbin's father, just as she always had. For the first time, Korbin wondered if the poor woman had ever had any fire to her before her father had extinguished it with his ceaseless accusations and criticism.

"I am not selfish, father, I am just not interested in remaining on Chou harvesting crops for the rest of my life. I want to explore the stars, journey to new worlds and interact with new civilizations. I'm sorry, but I don't want to live your life." Korbin shuddered mentally. Never before had she stood up to her father. She had completed the entrance examinations in secrecy and had stolen away to the Academy in the middle of the night. She had known that her parents would find her. For years she had spoken of nothing but the institution. Still, it had pained her to be forced to leave in such a way, especially on that first day, when she had seen so many other families exchanging loving good-byes.

Korbin's father looked at her with a new respect. No one in his family had ever dared speak against him. Instead, they had all bent submissively to his will, or had stolen away in the night never to be heard from again. There was something different about his bumbling daughter. In her eyes sparked a new confidence, just an ember, perhaps, but it was there. He straightened his shoulders a bit. "How can you give up your heritage so easily? How can you leave behind our family, everything that we were?"

"What were we father," she asked, her voice growing colder now, "mom, cowering in your shadows, my brothers sneaking away to other planets just to have a chance at a normal life, and me so self-conscious I could barely stand to listen to myself think. We weren't a family, we were a freak show."

"How dare you.." Her father turned bright red and snarled. Korbin stepped backwards and held her arms defensively before her. She would not allow her to reduce her to nothing again. She had come so far, accomplished so much, too much.

Surprisingly, it was her mother who came to the rescue. Korbin could never recall such an occurrence. She grabbed her husband's arm and shook her head. "Let it go. Leave her be."

The older man opened his mouth, shut it again, and shook his head, still furious. He turned and headed for the shuttle pad, this visit with his daughter at an end. Korbin's mother remained behind for just a moment. "He's proud of you, and it hurts him to see you gone. I am proud of you as well, Korbin. I love you." That said, she walked off.

Korbin sat down beneath a nearby tree, hugged her knees hard to her chest, and cried.

* * *

The sun was shining brightly in the afternoon sky as Jean Luc Picard stared across the table at his dining companion, unsure of what to say. She had arrived alone, begging Jack's pardon, as he had an examination to study for. "He said he would hate to miss an opportunity to serve a tour aboard your ship because he joined you for lunch and neglected to study." She laughed a little when she told him this, as though she thought it was silly, but Picard knew where the young man was coming from. He himself had once felt the very same way.

"Beverly, what compelled you to enroll in the Academy rather than a more traditional school of medicine?" Picard felt that this was a safe question, something he was interested in, but nothing to deep or prying.

"My parents were victims of the Arveda disaster," she said quietly. Picard remembered the incident well. He had been there as support crew, only an ensign at the time but still floored by the destruction and pain. He had never even considered the humanity of the survivors. "I was very young when it occurred. I wanted to help, but I was powerless. In many ways, that was a turning point in my life, but I knew that it was what spurred my to join the fleet. I don't think it will be enough for me to seek out private practices on this world or any other. I want to see what is out there, and I want to be there when others need me, the same way that Starfleet was for me when I needed them so many years ago." She grew quiet, and turned into herself, her body still there, but the soul reflected in her eyes focussed on a distant yesterday.

Picard wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and sooth her, but he knew that this just could not be so. It was not his place. "I'm sorry for your loss," he said simply, feeling helpless and idiotic at the inadequacy of his response.

"Don't be," she said, her tone suddenly commanding. "You had nothing to do with the events that took place on that day. I'm sad for what was lost as well, but I have come to terms with it over the years. I know that who I am now is not who I would be had that occurrence never been. I may have been better off, or things may have been worse. I'll never know. Do you believe in fate, Captain?"

Picard thought for a moment, careful not to reveal too much of himself to her. It was strange, how utterly comfortable he felt in her presence. Many of those closest to him would have never dared propose such a question, for they knew that it would elicit no response. By all accounts and purposes, Jean Luc Picard was a very private man. "No, I do not," he said finally. "I choose to look on all that has been, all that is, and all that will become as a story we are constantly writing for ourselves."

"I believe that everything happens for a reason," she said simply.

Picard smiled. "Many people do, Cadet."

"It's what keeps me going when everything is all confused, and it's so dark inside that I can hardly see a way out. I know that there is a reason for the darkness, if only it is to make those little patches of light seem that much brighter."

Picard was floored. Here was a woman, eighteen years his junior, that spoke with as much self-assuredness, intellect and eloquence as any woman he had ever met. He reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "Perhaps you're right, Ms. Howard, perhaps you're right."

She smiled at him again, and rose to leave. he stood with her, embraced her slightly, and softly brushed his lips over hers in a platonic way (or so he hoped). "Goodbye, Beverly," he said, his voice almost a whisper.

And she was gone.