Snow Falling Softly XXIII
Andrew Picard thumbed the control panel outside of his brother's guest quarters. His security team had stationed themselves on either side of the door. At Wesley's shout of "Come in!" Andrew stepped inside, leaving the guards outside, thankful for their absence of reminder, of that stupid sword that hung over all their heads. He tried to remember the name of the man the original sword had hung over.
"Damocles," he muttered as he walked in.
"Excuse me?" Wesley asked from his seat behind his desk.
Andrew looked up at him. "Sorry, was remembering a moral anecdote from Greek legend."
Wesley frowned. "Whatever for?"
Andrew tapped the PADD idly on his other hand. "Damocles was some courtier to Dionysus and always flattered him, saying that it must be nice to have so much power, all these great things within his grasp. Dionysus offered to trade places with him and Damocles lived it up in the top chair of the feast until the very end. When he looked up, he saw a sword hanging over him by a single, thin thread. Suddenly, everything wasn't so great. It's that notion of impending doom," he said. Then he motioned towards the closed door with the PADD. "The Security team outside. Whenever I get them out of sight, I feel much better, and I can forget about that Ferengi. Then I see them again and I think of that sword."
The cadet studied him for a moment. "You should read less classical literature."
Andrew scowled. "And read more about fluid dynamics and warp theory? I'd rather watch paint dry."
This time the look Wesley gave him was serious. "Is this cease fire for real?" he asked. "We're okay?"
The tall boy settled himself in the armchair after moving it to face Wesley's desk. "I figured we should start acting like brothers instead of--how did my father put it? Oh, yes." Andrew drew himself up in a posture much like the captain's. "Callow youth," he said, imitating Picard's stern voice.
Wesley laughed. "That was bang-on. You'd better not let him hear that," he said. "But he's right. I mean, you're right." He drummed his fingers on the desktop.
"Yeah," Andrew said. The cease-fire was declared.
The cadet looked up again. "That's the first time you've referred to him with me as your father," he said.
"Mmm," Andrew said. "We had a talk. A couple talks, actually. And Worf talked to me, too."
Wesley started. "Worf? You mean Lieutenant Worf? Security chief, Klingon, constantly glowering?"
"He's chock full of insights. That man takes in much more than he lets on. It's creepy, if you ask me. But useful at the same time. I like him," Andrew replied. "He's also very good at manuvering you to do what he thinks is right, what the honorable thing is. And then the captain..." he trailed off, unsure of how to explain his father's talks.
"I understand," said Wesley. "I completely understand. He has this way of getting completely under your skin and stabbing you right in the heart when you've done something wrong. He knows it and he wants to make damn sure you know you've disappointed him."
"The incident with Josh?"
Wesley nodded. "He never really raised his voice, either. It just got more powerful, more intense, intimidated the hell out of me. And when I realized I'd disappointed him, I felt even worse, when I hadn't thought I could. The man was pissed. I didn't recall him ever being that angry, and it was a cold anger. Terrifying. That wasn't what really got to me though. It was the idea what I'd failed him, the man I'd looked up to for so long. I've always wanted him to be proud of me, like I wanted my mother to be. I thought that if Captain Picard were proud of me, then I know my Dad would be, too. He and mom, they're the only connections I have left to my father. The other cadets only made it worse, when they treated him like he was my stepfather. Some of them even thought he was my stepfather. When I was younger, I wanted him to be, you know. Marry my mom and be my stepfather for real."
Andrew knew he had to tell him. "He will be, you know."
The cadet looked up from the desk. "I know. I mean, it's inevitable. It's obvious he wants to be a part of your life, of your sister's lives. I know he loves Mom and she's loved him for just as long." Wesley opened a drawer and pulled out a book. "Allie had me read Nana's journal." He tossed it to Andrew. "You should read it, too."
Andrew easily caught the book, but didn't look at it. Instead, he looked at Wesley. "They're your sisters, too. Not just mine."
Wesley shrugged. "Habit, I guess. I'll get used to it."
"Well, my father is going to be your stepfather sooner than you think. They told us tonight that he proposed and Mom accepted," Andrew said.
Wesley raised his eyebrows. "I didn't think he'd ask that soon."
"I don't think anyone expected him to," Andrew said. "But when you think about it, they've waited long enough."
"True," said Wesley. "They should've gotten married ages ago. Part of why I was so mad at the both of them. All that time wasted between the two of them, between you and me and Allie and Gracie. Except now we have a problem."
"We have a problem?" Andrew had figured Wesley would accept Picard, now that he really did seem to understand what dynamics were between their mother and Andrew's father. And Andrew didn't have a problem with it at all. His father had been a great help in helping him figure out how to get past the walls he put up. Having him around more, living with his family, he knew the captain could continue to help. Maybe even help him patch things up with his mother.
Wesley nodded, motioning at the terminal screen. "How many times has Captain Picard violated the Prime Directive?"
Andrew gave his brother a curious look. "What's the Prime Directive have to do with my parents getting married?"
"It has to do with Captain Picard," Wesley said. "What's going on down there is wrong, you and I both know it. Lakanta knows it. Anthrawa. We're interfering with their culture, it's violating the Prime Directive."
"Isn't that the guiding principle of the Federation and Starfleet?" Andrew asked, frowning. "Violating the Prime Directive is serious, you do that and the repercussions can be life damaging. Are you saying that this mission is violating that very principle?"
"Yes. The captain has violated the directive nine different times since he's taken command of the Enterprise. Nine times. And he's still the commanding officer of the Federation's flagship, so obviously each of those times, it was the right thing to do. But if he goes along with this mission without question, removing those colonists, he's violating the directive for the wrong reason," Wesley said, his face growing darker with frustration.
Andrew remembered some of the cases he'd read about Picard's career, some of those violations. "Wasn't one of those violations about you? That he didn't allow the Edo to execute you, even though you'd broken one of their laws?"
"It was a completely arbitrary law," said Wesley, tone hardening to the defensive.
"But it was their law," Andrew said.
"It was an arbitrary law. It was absolutely enforced. It made no sense."
"Exactly. It made no sense. The record of the incident stated that absolutely enforced laws bring about no true justice. Absolute obedience, I imagine, would mean much the same," said Andrew.
The cadet smiled. "For a minute there, I thought you were objecting to me not being executed."
Andrew smiled back. "If I had said that yesterday, you would've been correct." He glanced at the ceiling, trying to remember more incidents. No specifics came to mind.
Wesley, however, had the information on the terminal. He had been studying it before Andrew had visited. "There was another time, I was serving on the Enterprise when it happened. Cultural contamination happened on Mintaka III when a duck blind failed. There were injuries, fights. Mom actually beamed one of the Mintakans onto the ship to heal her injuries. Got into an argument with the captain over the prime directive, how they had an obligation to heal her because they had caused her injuries. When asked about retrieving the last team member from the planet, Picard said it could only happen if he were not surrounded by Mintakans, no more contamination could occur. He said that Starfleet officers took an oath to keep the Prime Directive, even if it meant their lives. Then he violated it when he went down to the planet himself to show those people that he wasn't a god. Had one of the Mintakans shoot him with an arrow to prove it. He could have died breaking the Prime Directive, when he had said dying could be a part of preserving the Prime Directive." Wesley smiled, another memory had caught him. "Mom was pissed that he let himself be shot."
"Big shock," Andrew said, then went back to Wesley's story. "So, it's not that the captain is absolute about the Prime Directive. He's absolute about doing what he believes is right...and he's not doing that right now."
Wesley nodded. "And that's our problem. He's your father, he'll be my stepfather. How long have we both looked up to him? I don't understand how someone with his integrity can just let this happen, let history repeat itself. I have a problem with that. The sort of man Captain Picard is right now, that's who I'd want to marry my mother. But who he'll be if he goes through with his orders? I wouldn't want that man to marry her."
History. "There's more," Andrew said, chucking the PADD to Wesley. "That's why I came here, I remembered something I'd read about my family history when we were talking with Lakanta earlier. It's a nasty bit of work. The whole account is there, but the summary of it is that Javier Maribona Picard was the lieutenant to the man who was one of the primary causes of the Pueblo Revolt of 1680. They massacred a village, killed six hundred, maimed most of the six hundred taken captive by cutting off the right foot of every male age twenty five and older."
"Holy shit," Wesley said, eyes riveted on the PADD.
"What's interesting, not that a massacre isn't, is that the measure where they cut off the feet was following Spanish law. Arcane, harsh laws, but laws. Without question. Absolute law followed absolutely." Andrew stood up, paced, hand rubbing through his hair in exasperation. "It can't happen again. Someone from my family can't just blindly follow orders that are clearly morally wrong, following them only because they're orders."
"Maybe it's fate," Wesley said.
"Since when do you believe in fate?" Andrew asked.
Wesley shrugged. "Blame Nana. She talks a lot about fate in her journal. But maybe that's why the Enterprise was sent here, why Captain Picard has to conduct the negotiations, why you and our sisters are part of his family now. Why you and I have to talk to him about this. Maybe it's up to you and him to redeem your ancestor."
"You really want to confront him with this?" said Andrew. The lecture they'd gotten while in the brig had been bad enough. The lecture Wesley got over the accident was the stuff of legend. But confronting Jean-Luc Picard with the truth, with what he already knew to be wrong, to challenge him directly, that would be hellish on all sides. "Do you realize what we'd be getting ourselves into?"
A grave look came over Wesley's face as he studied his younger brother. Andrew studied him back, noticing how much older Wesley looked lately. Despite being taller and stronger than his brother, Andrew knew that Wesley was a young man and that he was still a boy. And the idea of confronting his father wasn't something he relished. It was easier to be a boy, but then the easiest thing normally wasn't the right thing. Wesley said, "Do you really want to allow this move to happen to the colony? Have history repeat itself instead of fixing itself?"
Andrew sighed in exasperation, dropping heavily into the armchair. "It won't go over well."
"One thing I've learned about the captain is that he listens to all opinions and then makes his decision," Wesley replied.
Tapping his feet on the ground, Andrew tried to think of what else they could do. "Right, but we'd be boxing him into a corner. Anyone boxed into a corner gets defensive, even my father. We can't just say 'hey, you're wrong.' We have to give him a solution, too." It came to him. "Wait. Why does the Dorvan V colony have to stay in the Federation? Wouldn't it be up to their society to decide what side they want to be on? They're pretty damn determined to stay where they are. Have they even been told they could leave the Federation?"
"I didn't even think of that," Wesley said. "If they joined the Cardassian Union, they could stay on Dorvan V. But I bet the Federation is so prejudiced against the Cardassians that it hasn't even been presented as an option."
Even coming up with a possible solution didn't make Andrew feel any better. "Why is it that the idea of being kidnapped and killed by a Ferengi seems the easier course of action than talking to the captain about this?" Andrew asked.
"Because it is," Wesley said. "This was a lot easier when it was all philosophy. When we'd send letters back and forth arguing some minor point of some incident where the Directive was violated. But this is real, there are people down there, not philosophical hypotheticals."
Andrew stretched, suddenly exhausted. "I wonder how the colonists would react to the idea of joining the Cardassian Union."
Wesley sat up straight. "I'm a Starfleet cadet, I could go down there. Talk to people, try and get a feel for the situation. Maybe even find Lakanta and see what he thinks."
"Good idea," Andrew said.
The cadet looked at him. "You sounded like your father just then. And if you tell me to 'make it so,' I will kick you."
Andrew glared at him, then wandered back into his own thoughts. Being a starship captain brought a great deal of power but the duties and obligations and lives at stake that accompanied the post took away a great deal of the allure. "Damocles," he said, standing up.
"You're mumbling stuff about Greek myths again, aren't you?" Wesley asked.
Andrew nodded, ignoring the jibe. "The captain has it worse than any of us," he said. "That sword hangs over his head constantly. Always having to do the right thing, always having to make decisions that could have someone live, have someone die."
"I know," Wesley said quietly.
Andrew grimaced. His father died under the captain's command. "Sorry," he said.
The cadet waved him off. "Don't be. I'm tired and I get grumpy when I'm tired."
"So go to bed. I'll head there, too. Just let me know when you get back from the colony."
With Wesley's nod, Andrew left his brother's quarters and headed for the turbolift. The Security officers fell into step behind him, their footsteps reminding him of the sword hanging over his head. Andrew swore. Damocles.
"Finish what you start."
They floated in the airlock in their environmental suits, the hatch to the barren space outside still closed. Jack had taken a phaser rifle from the rack, then taken another, handing it to Wesley. "I haven't started yet," Wesley said.
"You did as soon as you volunteered for this duty," Jack replied, thrusting the rifle into Wesley's gloved hands. "And you have to finish. People are depending on us."
Space winked at them from the small window in the hatch. "I don't want them to. I wasn't given a choice."
"You always have a choice. Follow me," Jack said, opening the hatch. The cold, empty embrace of space welcomed them through the round opening.
"There's nothing out there for me," said Wesley.
"You finish what you start," Jack said and started towards the nacelle's support pylon.
Wesley had no choice. Had to follow him, help him with his duty. Then he arrived at the nacelle, his father firing through the tough metal, shearing off the nacelle slowly. He said nothing to Wesley until seconds passed by and the young man hadn't fired his phaser.
"You made a choice back there," Jack said. "You could have stayed. You chose to come after me. I told you, you always have a choice."
Wesley stared at his father. "You said to finish what I start."
"Then start something else. You aren't helping. If you aren't helping, you're in the way. Go find something to do, something you can finish. There are others who will help me. They're already coming." The phaser rifle continued its steady firing, beginning to overheat.
Wesley looked up and found it was true. Another man had emerged from the open airlock hatch, carrying a phaser, determination on his face. Pug. And the boy realized he didn't belong here, it wasn't his place, wasn't supposed to be here with his father. He headed back to the airlock, not knowing where he was supposed to go, but knowing where he wasn't meant to be. Halfway back to the hatch, the explosion's shockwave flattened Wesley to the hull of the ship. Pug's unconscious body floated by, then was grabbed by sure hands in another environmental suit, brought back into the airlock. Within minutes, the man with the sure hands had come back outside to challenge the empty space, the space that took lives in its attempts to fill itself, but the vast emptiness could never be sated. The sure hands found Jack's body, taking it back to the airlock. The boy followed, floating in the airlock until the hatch sealed shut behind them, the environment change triggered. Gravity sent them to the floor, helmets came off. Then Wesley saw the man with the sure hands, the man who had made the hard decision, the right decision, crying over Jack's body. The scream of fury at his father's death died in his throat, silenced by the death of another kind he had witnessed.
Wesley Crusher opened his eyes and punched the mattress beneath him with his fist. He hated those dreams, the dreams that visited him whenever he had some sort of dilemma on his mind. Last time had been on Caldos, the place he loved, the place that didn't move, had real seasons. He needed to go back there. He'd known for awhile Starfleet wasn't something he wanted to stay in, at least his subconscious had. It wasn't as if he'd intended to fail courses, become argumentative, withdraw from everyone. At least, he hadn't made a conscious decision to do so. Now it made sense, after talking with Andrew about the situation on the planet below, at feeling restless, feeling like he'd missed the turn to his life years ago. Jack Crusher had already lived his life, however short. Wesley had his own to live, he wasn't meant to follow his father if it didn't feel right, even if it was expected.
So many of the good choices people made, himself included, had been those choices that no one expected. When he'd stayed on the Enterprise instead of going to stay with his mother on Earth. When he'd chosen to come clean with the investigators of Josh's accident instead of keeping his mouth shut in the pact of team silence. When Andrew chose to apologize to their mother for being a jerk while everyone expected him to continue ignoring her. Or even Captain Picard proposing to Wesley's mother. The cadet hadn't expected that, not so soon. Yet when he found out, it seemed the exact right thing to do. As long as Picard continued to be the man that he was, Wesley looked forward to having him as a stepfather. So that the man who had guided his best friend's son toward adulthood could at last have an official nature to his role. Wesley wanted him to have that, but if the same man who had steered him back on course couldn't see the right one for himself, he wouldn't want it after all.
The cadet glanced over at the chronometer. 0900. The alarm hadn't been set, he had lost precious hours during a time when minutes were hours in themselves. He showered and changed as fast as he did when late for morning formation at the Academy, stuffed a muffin from the replicator into his mouth, downed a glass of juice and bolted out the door. Chief O'Brien manned the controls in the transporter room. "Chief, can you beam me down to the village, please?"
O'Brien lifted an eyebrow at him. "For what reason?"
"Field study," Wesley replied. "I think I could learn a lot down there."
The chief shrugged. "Whatever suits you, cadet," he said.
Wesley found himself in the middle of the village moments later. He looked around, taking in the layout of the place, the construction. The use of adobe reminded him of the pueblos, reminded him of the revolt he'd read about late into the night before. The revolt itself, El Pope's leadership, the ten years that the Pueblos were not under Spanish rule. They had chosen it for themselves. "Wesley!" called Lakanta's voice from behind him.
The cadet turned to find his new friend walking up to him. "Good morning," Wesley said.
Lakanta nodded. "And you as well. What brings you here?"
"I spoke more with my brother last night."
Lakanta inclined his head towards a path outside the village proper. "Walk with me," he said. "And tell me about this conversation."
As the pair walked along the path in the meadows near the village, Wesley told him about their knowledge of Starfleet's orders, about the Prime Directive, about the Picard family history, about one Javier Maribona Picard. Lakanta listened intently, nodding occasionally. "We're going to speak to him," Wesley finished. "Andrew and I, we'll speak with Captain Picard, try and change his mind."
"Do you think it will succeed?" Lakanta asked.
The cadet kicked a rock in front of him. "It has to." He came to a halt, looked back a the village. "It has to."
"I spoke with my father last night," Lakanta said, his eyes looked at the village as well. "He had already researched Picard's history, knew about his ancestor. My father believes it is fate that Picard was chosen for this assignment. Fate that he will erase the stain his ancestor left on his family."
Wesley shook his head, a half smile on his face. "I told my brother the same thing last night. Except I got the idea from my great-grandmother's journal. She talked a lot about fate, put a great deal of faith into it, that the universe will work itself out."
"Your great-grandmother was a wise woman," Lakanta said. "Tell me, did your brother agree with you?"
Wesley turned to the colonist. "About this situation? Yes. About fate? He didn't say. Avoided the question." He looked back to the village, saw movement in the center of the town. "What's going on over there?" he asked.
"I don't know," said Lakanta. "My father told me that negotiations wouldn't resume until this afternoon."
Dorvan's sun beat on Wesley's neck, then the wind picked up, evaporating the sweat that had formed. Pebbles blew across their path. "We need to get back there," Wesley said, then took off in a run. Lakanta ran with him. If Lakanta's belief in fate was true, they had a reason to be there, in the village, and not on the path outside it.
The slowed to a walk just outside the square, Lakanta stayed at the edges while Wesley wandered into the group of Starfleet officers and crew surveying the area. Worf carried a tricorder and was giving out orders to officers as he walked. "Lay out a confinement beam trace along the Southwestern edge of the village. Be discreet, we do not wish to alarm the population," he said to two officers. They nodded and set about their task.
Wesley went to speak with Worf. "What are you doing?" he asked the security chief.
The Klingon quickly glanced around them to make sure they were alone. Lowering his voice, he said, "We are laying out Transporter coordinates for a security perimeter. It may become necessary to remove these people by force."
The cadet blinked in shock. It was worse than he or Andrew had thought, they wouldn't just be moving these people, they were moving them by force. History repeating itself. He slid his eyes to look at Lakanta, who was watching them with great interest. Looked around the rest of the square, saw Anthrawa striding down the street towards the groups of Starfleet personnel, saw other curious villagers gathering in the road and square. He turned back to Worf. "Worf, we can't do this. These people deserve better than to be taken from their homes."
The lieutenant's frown deepend. "I understand. But this is not the time or place to--."
He was cut off as Wesley made eye contact with Anthrawa and made his decision with his next words. "Do you know what they're doing?" He shouted to Anthrawa, to Lakanta, to all of them. "They're preparing to beam you away, to take you to their ship! You're not going to just let them do that, are you?"
Lakanta strode to the middle of the square, in front of the now yelling villagers. "No, we won't," he said.
Anthrawa stood beside him. "Leave. Now," he said to Worf.
Worf called for immediate transport and Wesley went with the rest of the Starfleet officers back to the ship. When they materialized, Worf turned to Crusher. "You will report to the observation lounge. I will inform the captain of what occurred at the colony. You will wait in the lounge until the captain says otherwise."
"Yes, sir," Wesley said, then watched as the rest of the officers left.
When the doors closed, O'Brien spoke from behind the transporter controls. "How much trouble are you in?" he asked.
"More than you want to know," Wesley answered, then left the room. "Computer," he said, "Location of Andrew Picard."
"Andrew Picard is in the corridor on Deck Twelve."
Wesley realized his brother must be going to the gym. He had to talk to him before he got reamed out by the captain, Andrew needed to be there, they both had to talk to him about this. It went beyond Starfleet, beyond Wesley's status as a cadet. It included both of those things, but it was also an issue of family. The cadet ran to the turbolift. No one else got on the lift and he reached Deck Twelve in seconds, raced off the 'lift, barely clearing the opening doors. "Andrew!" he shouted.
Andrew, at the far end of the corridor, turned around. "What?"
The two Security officers with Andrew turned as well, but said nothing. Wesley swore. He'd forgotten about them.
They met halfway. "I have to report to the captain. I just created an incident in the colony, told them that Starfleet was going to remove them by force. You need to meet me up there."
Andrew's eyes widened. "Just in time to collect your body after the captain crucifies you," he said.
"Stop making jokes," Wesley said, irritated that Andrew had picked up that mannerism from their mother, using humor distance themselves from the situation. "Tell me you'll meet me there?"
"Give me five minutes," Andrew said. "I have to find a place to stow this bag." He turned to the two officers. "Are you going to stop me from going?"
One shook his head. "No. We have orders to follow you and make sure you aren't abducted. Other than that, we aren't to interfere."
"Fine," Wesley said, then took off back towards the turbolift.
The observation lounge was empty when he entered. Felt as empty as the space outside. Wesley shivered, remembering his dream. The cadet went and sat at the end of the table, farthest away from where the captain normally sat. Within seconds of his sitting down, the doors parted to allowed Captain Picard to walk in. His face was dark, the lines of his face becoming chiseled granite, his eyes flecks of steel. Wesley wasn't sure if pissed came close to describing how angry the captain was.
For moments, or minutes, or hours, as it seemed to Wesley, the captain said nothing. Simply regarded him with that hard stare. Then Picard looked out at the stars, at the planet suspended below the orbiting ship, back at Wesley. His voice came out ringing, hammer on an anvil, the cold fury carried fully. "Inexcusable. You defied the orders of the ranking officer on the scene, put the entire Away Team in jeopardy, and made an already tense situation worse. Your actions reflect poorly on this ship and on that uniform. I want an explanation, Mister Crusher, and I want it now." And the captain waited, the hammer at the ready, Wesley the anvil.
Wesley looked the captain in the eye. "What you're doing down there is wrong," he said. "What you're choosing to do is not true to man I've known since I was a boy."
The captain's expression remained unchanged.
Picard's words kept ringing in Wesley's ears, but he couldn't stop. He had to finish what he started. The cadet stood, removed the communicator from his chest, placed it carefully on the table in front of him, looked at Picard again. Saw that his eyes had changed slightly, a tiny light of astonishment at Wesley's actions. "What I'm choosing to do is true to who I am. I am not a Starfleet cadet."
Before Picard could reply, the door to the lounge opened again and Andrew practically ran in, then came to a sudden stop when Wesley and Picard both turned to look at him. Andrew's gray eyes looked at Picard's steel ones, Wesley's brown ones, then down to the gold communicator on the black table, putting it all together. That Wesley had resigned. "Shit," Andrew said.
Wesley realized it was an apt appraisal of the situation. With the arrival of his brother, the words he and Picard had just exchanged became merely the preliminary to the main event that was about to unfold between the three of them.