Requiem - Michael Jan Friedman [43]
Lieutenant Harold jumped up. He’d been sitting at the small desk that held the computer terminal.
“Uh, Mr. Hill … sorry to intrude, but I wanted to talk to you.”
“That’s fine,” Picard replied. “What can I do for you, Lieutenant?” He gestured for Harold to take a seat and then took one himself at the small all-purpose table near the desk.
The younger man frowned. “Well, sir, I wanted to ask you about merchant space service.”
The captain looked at Harold askance. “Are you interested in a career change?”
“Well, not exactly,” said the lieutenant. “I’m just curious about what it would be like.” He looked uncomfortable, as if the mere idea of leaving Starfleet were traitorous.
“There isn’t a lot of … excitement on this outpost, is there?” Picard asked.
Harold responded to the understanding tone and relaxed a bit. “Well, it’s very interesting, from a scientific point of view. We’ll be collecting a lot of data when the sensor array goes on-line. But I’m not much of a scientist. When I joined Starfleet, I was hoping to do some genuine exploring. Not that what we’re doing here isn’t important,” he added hastily. “But I’m not sure it’s for me.”
The captain knew all too well what the lieutenant was feeling. “Have you tried to apply for starship service?”
Harold actually smiled. “About twice a month since I graduated.” He shrugged. “But there aren’t a lot of openings.”
Of course, Picard thought. In this time, there were only twelve heavy-cruiser-class starships in service. Thus, there were less than five thousand of the coveted positions on board the vessels that were at the forefront of space exploration. In his own era, he knew, there was substantially more opportunity. But by then, the Federation had grown as well, so the competition was still heavy for positions on a starship.
If Starfleet Academy had denied his second application, Picard probably would have ended up on a merchant ship. If he had been posted for a few years on a starbase, with no hope of a position on a starship, he suspected he would have moved to commercial flight as well.
“I suspect that you might find serving on a freighter to be just as mundane,” he said finally.
Harold grunted. “Excuse me, sir, but it’s space.”
“True,” the captain concurred. “But you’re actually closer to the frontier where you are now.”
“Mr. Hill,” said the lieutenant, “I joined Starfleet to see what’s out there. To make first contacts. To be a part of something. So far, I’ve served with only humans. In my entire Starfleet career, I have met two Vulcans and one Tellarite. When I was a kid, I looked at the stars and decided I was going to meet the people who lived on them. If a job in the commercial sector is what I need to do, then that’s what I will do.”
Picard would have liked to assure Harold that staying in Starfleet was the answer, but he knew it wasn’t true. An officer might very well spend his entire career on various outposts. Finally, the captain told him what he could about merchant service. He’d known more than one merchant commander in his time, so he was able to draw a fairly accurate picture.
In the end, Picard knew his advice probably wouldn’t have much effect. Lieutenant Harold’s life would be shaped and nearly ended by an attack that was a mere two days away. In fact, the captain had no way of knowing if his arrival had somehow subtly altered history so that, this time, Matthew Harold might not survive.
Unfortunately, even if history followed its course, Picard’s study of the massacre hadn’t told him what happened to the lieutenant later. Without knowing what the future held, Picard could only hope that Harold’s first “first contact” would not destroy all of his youthful idealism.
Chapter Five
“OKAY, DATA, hit it,” Geordi said from underneath the open circuit panel.
“Affirmative,” came the android’s response, from across the control room.
Sliding out from under the console, the chief engineer took his place next to Data, Barclay, and O’Connor, who were all