Disclaimer: Star Trek is owned by Paramount Pictures, which is owned by Viacom. My use of the Star Trek universe is for entertainment only. Thus, I make no claims of ownership of their property.



Captains' Quest: Soul Searching

by

David Weathers

Begin Chapter Two

As they rounded the curve of the corridor that led to TenForward, Picard could tell instantly that something was amiss. The sound level was rather more raucous that he was used to hearing on approach to his ship's main lounge. Then he saw the door - a big, thick wooden door with heavy brass handles and hinges - totally inconsistent with the blue-grey metallic interior of his ship. Next to the door was a slightly weathered hanging sign that had never been there before. The sign swung gently back and forth in a breeze that wasn't there.

Picard hesitated. Spock paused beside him.

"Q!" The captain of the Starship Enterprise said under his breath.

The Vulcan shook his head. "No, I can assure you that the Continuum almost definitely had nothing to do with this."

"Almost definitely?"

"I endeavor never to be overly sure of myself." Spock gestured at the swaying placard. "Read the sign."

Picard did as instructed, his eyes widening in surprise. "The Captain's Table?!" He glanced over to read the confirmation on his companion's face. "But how is this possible?"

Giving the Vulcan equivalent of a shrug, basically raising both eyebrows, Spock replied, "I do not pretend to understand the mechanisms of how this establishment functions. I know only, as do you, that The Captain's Table defies conventional physics. It has the almost, dare I say, magical ability to be anywhere and anytime. The interior is always the same tavern, but the entrance could be found on earth or Aldebaran Colony or Rigel IV or another dimension entirely, perhaps anywhere. It appears to exist as a place for captains of all species and time periods to interact, specifically: to exchange stories."

Jean-Luc Picard nodded. "Yes, I have visited it several times, entering from numerous worlds. But why is it here and why now?"

"Because I need it to be."

The bald human shook his head. Like several Starfleet captains he knew, Picard had frequented the legendary Captain's Table. Spock was right, it was magical. It appeared practically everywhere. One might travel down a familiar street on Aldebaran or Argelius and it would suddenly be there, where it had never been before. Or at least the entrance would be. Once you stepped through the heavy wooden doors, it was always the exact same tavern. Later, when you exited through those same doors, you could turn around and it would be gone. No one could explain it. It was a myth wrapped in a legend inside of a mystery. Now, it had somehow replaced the Ten Forward lounge on his ship.

"I'm not sure how I feel about this," confessed Picard.

Spock's face was sympathetic. "Understandable. Yet our journey must begin here and we are on a time schedule."

Picard nodded, but his jaw was set. Spock's friendly little visit was becoming increasingly complicated. "Very well, let's go in." He resigned himself. After all he didn't get where he was in the Fleet by being timid. He didn't have to like it, however.

So, the two men entered the tavern that couldn't be there yet was.

It was rather dark in the Captain's Table - not oppressively dark, but a warm and relaxing dark, broken up by islands of flickering candlelight at each table or booth. The air inside was slightly hazy, yet the haze was both similar and dissimilar to the tobacco smoke haze an Earther might expect from such an establishment - nor was it a narcotic haze that permeated some of the galaxy's seedier pubs. The facility's flavor was completed by the rowdy, though not unruly, sound of voices raised in conversation, song, and laughter. Despite his misgivings about Spock's unlikely mission and the fact that this highly unusual pub having replaced TenForward, Picard found himself relaxing into the ambience of the place.

They navigated through the packed crowd of seated revelers towards the corner of the room. Picard glanced around. Never had he seen such a varied assortment of species, humanoid and not, and representations of sundry time periods assembled in one location. Captains all, the place being an exclusive club of sorts. It was fascinating and damned eerie to see Starfleet uniforms of various eras commingled. Not to mention Breen, Klingon, Romulan, Gorn, and sundry unknown (to Picard, at any rate) races all blended together and chatting away amiably. Were that the universe was as peaceful outside of those wooden doors.

Jostling through the throng, they eventually arrived at a far corner of the room. Picard noted at once the familiarity of a few of the individuals seated at the oval table. He smiled. One of them, a Starfleet captain of his own era looked up immediately, purple eyes scanning Spock and him quickly and efficiently.

"M'k'n'zy!" Picard greeted warmly, using the native Xenexian pronunciation of his the man's name.

Mackenzie Calhoun smiled sardonically. "Jean-Luc. Seems the Vulcan is more persuasive than I gave him credit for. You'd think I'd know better. I've got two of them, well one and a half, in my crew."

"I can vouch for the persuasiveness of this particular Vulcan," said another at the table. Picard, used to seeing strange things at The Captain's Table, was still a bit startled to see a young and unblemished Captain Christopher Pike seated beside the Excaliber's Calhoun. The famous captain of an earlier Enterprise radiated warmth and good humor. It pained Picard to know that in his future was painful disfigurement. However, beyond his mutilation, blissful life did await Pike on the forbidden planet of Talos IV.

Being an avid history buff, it took the French starship captain only a second to recognize one of the other figures seated at the table. The other stared back at him and smiled a thin but wide smile. He wore a Klingon uniform a generation earlier than those of Picard's contemporaries. "Kor," Picard breathed.

The warrior who butted heads with James T. Kirk over the occupation of Organia, the man who nearly started an intergalactic war inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment. "It seems my reputation precedes me."

Picard made a sour face. "Indeed it does. The infamous Commander Kor. A man who would butcher thousands, millions, if they stood in the way of his subjugation of a world. The icon of one of the darkest periods of the Klingon Empire. It's hard to believe that a tyrant like yourself would wish to join a rescue party to save Kirk."

"Rescue Kirk from hell? Seeing his face when he sees mine! I wouldn't miss it!" Kor's already wide smile widened even more. "It will be glorious!"

"I doubt very much that Kirk is in hell," Picard retorted. "He's a heroic man who has saved billions of lives, very much unlike you."

Kor shrugged casually. "Those qualities that humans see as angelic we Klingons ascribe to our devil."

Spock intervened. "Gentlemen, please. We are teammates on this particular mission. I suggest adamantly that you set aside your differences."

Kor chuckled, but nodded. Picard silently inclined his head in agreement.

There were two others at the table that seemed completely unfamiliar to Captain Picard. One was dressed like an ancient Earth mariner in somber, dark blue clothing. The other was a somewhat disheveled spacer who lounged casually in a chair next to Calhoun. Both were obviously human.

He glanced at Spock and saw that he was regarding the same pair with curiosity. Apparently he didn't know who they were either. Spock suggested that introductions would be in order.

Pike gestured to the old time seafarer. The man had greying dark hair, intense green eyes, and had on some sort of naval uniform. His face was hard like a statue's, chiseled and set. He had a short, well kempt beard. His shoulders were square and his frame seemed to be thin yet powerful, at least as far as one could tell. He regarded them stoically. "Gentlemen, I'd like you to meet Capatain Nemo."

Picard, recognizing the name of the fictional submarine commander from French writer Jules Verne's Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, raised his eye brows in surprise. "Nemo? But how can that be? That was just a story. Fiction."

Nemo glanced at him. "Apparently not just a story." He sipped wine from and ornate glass set before him.

The Enterprise captain grinned wryly. "This place never ceases to amaze me!"

Everyone turned to regard the remaining unknown figure. There was a brief yet awkward pause before Calhoun realized that it was his turn to introduce his acquaintance. The purple eyed, Xenexian cleared his throat for attention. "Arriving early, I decided to relax and enjoy the unique atmosphere that this very exclusive club offers. I met this gentleman playing cards with some of the other captains. I sat in for a few hands. Not only is he one helluva card player, but if half the stories he told while playing are true, and my instincts tell me that they are, then he'll make an excellent addition to our rescue party. That said, I'll let him introduce himself."

The semi-scruffy but confident-looking man surveyed the others in Spock's newly assembled team, then said, "I'm Han Solo, captain of the Millennium Falcon."



End Chapter Two

Note: As I'd written prefacing this chapter, I claim no rights to any of the copywritten characters whether they belong to Star Trek, Star Wars, or Jules Verne. They use is for entertainment purposes only.