PICARD SAT ON A CHAIR in his quarters, alone.

He could have continued to have Serenity’s company, as he had whenever possible the last few days, and a part of him longed for it as much as ever. However, another part needed time to think, a chance to put matters into some kind of perspective.

Serenity had been kind enough to understand how he felt. And so had Ben Zoma, when he offered to stand vigil with his friend and Picard had gently declined.

A captain, after all, was ultimately an island, the poet John Donne notwithstanding. And Picard preferred to face his last hours as commanding officer of the Stargazer on his own.

He wasn’t going down with his ship, like the captains of old. As it happened, he was going down without it. But either way, it was time he came to grips with his prospects.

McAteer wouldn’t have called for a hearing if he didn’t think he could obtain the verdict he wanted. And with Admiral Caber sitting on the jury, Picard’s fate was sealed.

When he returned to the ship afterward, it wouldn’t be to give orders. It would be to clean out his quarters so his successor could move in. Someone more to McAteer’s liking, presumably.

So this would be his only time to measure his brief but eventful time in the center seat. To understand its place in his life. And of course, to say good-bye, at least in his mind.

It was a good crew Picard had commanded, a courageous crew that had done well under the most adverse of circumstances. He expected that they would do great things, together and individually, and that he would be proud of them in times to come.

As for the Stargazer…there was a reason ships had always been referred to as females. He would miss her as much as he missed any flesh-and-blood comrade, from the engines that had carried him so faithfully through the void to the proud plaque on her bridge—the one that said “To bring light into the darkness.”

Perhaps, the captain thought, we brought a little light, if not quite as much as I intended.

In any case, the Stargazer would go on. And so would her crew. Ships and crews always did.

But what about me?

It wasn’t a question Picard would have asked of anyone else—not even those closest to him, for fear of sounding self-indulgent. But here, in the privacy of his solitude, he could ask it.

For as long as he could remember, he had dreamed of captaining a starship. That had been his life. Of course, he hadn’t expected to have a command handed to him at the age of twenty-eight, but he had hoped he would receive one eventually.

And now that command would be taken away. What was a man supposed to do when his dreams were stripped from him? The captain didn’t know. But when his tribunal ruled against him, he would be compelled to find out.

Just then, he heard his door chime, announcing a caller. Not Serenity or Ben Zoma, certainly. Then who?

“Come,” he said.

When the doors slid open, they revealed Pug Joseph. The security chief seemed to hesitate for a moment before entering the room, as if he didn’t feel quite comfortable being there.

“Lieutenant,” said Picard, wondering what was wrong. “What can I do for you?”

The lieutenant shrugged. “Actually,” he said, “there’s something I’d like to do for you, sir.”

“Oh?” said the captain. He sat back in his chair. “And what might that be?”

Joseph opened his hand and held it out to Picard, showing him a glass sphere about the size of a man’s fingernail. The light seemed to melt in its amber depths.

Picard looked at his visitor. “A marble?”

The security officer blushed. “Yes, sir. You see, it was my lucky charm when I was little, and it got me through some tough scrapes. So I brought it with me into space, and I carry it sometimes. I mean, on away missions and such.”

The captain smiled. “Are you…offering it to me?”

Joseph nodded. “I figure you’re going to need some kind of luck when we get back to Earth. In that…” He shrugged.

“Hearing,” Picard suggested.

“Yes. That hearing. I know it’s kind of stupid, but—”

Picard stopped him with a raised hand. “No,” he said, touched by the gesture. “It is not stupid at all.”

He took the marble and rolled it between his fingers, examining the buttery swirls of color trapped within it. It didn’t seem possible that it would stop Admiral McAteer.

But then, he reminded himself, it hadn’t seemed possible that anyone would stop Brakmaktin either.

Picard looked to the lieutenant again. “Who knows? Perhaps it will do for me what it has done for you.” And he slipped it into an inner pocket of his jacket.

Joseph nodded approvingly. “I hope so, sir.”

The captain sighed. So do I.

Picard reported early to the small, windowless courtroom where his case was scheduled to be heard, and took the seat that had been reserved for him.

It was one of only four in the front of the room. The other three, set aside for the admirals who would judge the captain and his record, faced him from behind a long table.

There were seats in the back of the room as well—an even dozen of them, arranged in two rows on either side of a central aisle. They would accommodate whatever spectators cared to attend the hearing, since—by agreement of all parties concerned—it was to be an open proceeding.

Picard sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. Finally, he thought, it has come to this. He had been thinking about it for weeks, preparing himself for it, but the reality was weightier than anything he had imagined.

If the jury of three ruled against him, he would lose his command. It was that simple.

It would be difficult to turn his ship and crew over to someone else. A little like turning one’s children over to another father. But he would have no choice in the matter, and no possibility of appeal. In accordance with Starfleet regulations, the admirals’ decision would be final.

For several minutes, he continued to sit there by himself, girding himself for the inevitable. Then he heard the door slide open and looked back over his shoulder.

It was McAteer, dress uniform and all. He spared the captain a look of sympathy as he moved by him, as if he were sorry all this had to take place.

Of course you are, Picard thought.

There was a minute or two when he and McAteer were the only people in the room. It was not a comfortable stretch of time—for either of them, the captain imagined.

Then the door opened again and Admiral Mehdi walked in. He looked vaguely dissatisfied, as was his custom. Normally, Picard wondered why the man didn’t look happier, but on this occasion he knew all too well.

Finally, Caber entered the room. He was a tall, strapping man with dark hair, not unlike his son. But his face was narrower and sterner, and a goatee covered the lower half of it.

He didn’t look at Picard, but he had to know who the captain was and what he had done to the younger Caber. It had to be in the back of his mind, coloring whatever ruling he made.

And that, even more than McAteer’s active disdain, was what gave Picard cause for concern.

Only when the judges were seated did the security guards at the door permit the gallery to file in. Picard didn’t look back to see their faces, but he was certain that Ben Zoma would be among them, and perhaps some of his other officers as well.

When everyone was seated, McAteer stood and addressed the room. “This hearing is hereby convened,” he said, “its purpose to review the actions of Jean-Luc Picard, captain of the U.S.S. Stargazer, and decide whether he is qualified to go forward as a commanding officer in Starfleet.”

He turned to Picard. “Captain, do you have any questions before we proceed?”

“None, sir,” said Picard.

McAteer came around the table at which his colleagues were sitting and took up a spot at the captain’s right hand, from which position he could address both Picard and his fellow admirals. Then he paused for a moment, apparently to gather his thoughts.

“Captain,” he said at last, “several months ago, on the far side of the galactic barrier, you encountered a species known as the Nuyyad. Is this correct?”

“It is,” said Picard.

“And in a first-contact situation with the Nuyyad, you fired your weapons at their vessels without first attempting to communicate with them. Is this also true?”

“My predecessor, Captain Ruhalter, made that attempt,” said Picard. “The Nuyyad ignored it and attacked us. It was Captain Ruhalter who fired back initially, having been left little choice in the matter.”

“Little choice?” McAteer echoed, putting an ironic spin on the phrase. “The Stargazer was in unfamiliar space, which may well have belonged to the Nuyyad. Why didn’t Captain Ruhalter simply withdraw from the encounter?”

“He did,” said Picard.

“But,” the admiral pressed, “only after he had already exchanged volleys with the Nuyyad.”

Picard nodded. “That is correct.”

“Nonetheless, the battle was rejoined, and both Captain Ruhalter and Commander Leach—your first officer—were rendered incapable of command. That left you the highest-ranking officer aboard. At that juncture, you could have made your own attempt to communicate with the Nuyyad. However, you rejected that option in favor of continued hostilities. True?”

“The Stargazer was under attack,” said Picard. “My immediate superiors were already dead or incapacitated. It was imperative that I extricate my ship from danger.”

“Which you accomplished,” McAteer noted, “by destroying the Nuyyad’s ship.”

It was ironic. The last time he heard that charge, it had come from Brakmaktin. And all he could tell the admiral was what he had told the Nuyyad.

“They were pursuing us,” the captain explained. “It was either destroy them or be destroyed.”

“How do you know that if you neglected to contact them?”

Picard frowned. “It was clear to me that they were not interested in a peaceful resolution—not only because they had failed to respond to Captain Ruhalter’s hails, but because of the tenacity of their pursuit and the level of firepower they brought to bear.”

“But,” said McAteer, “for the record…you chose to destroy them rather than make another attempt at communication.”

The captain’s jaw clenched. “Yes.”

McAteer glanced at Caber, as if to say, I told you this fellow was incompetent. Then he went on with his examination.

“With the Nuyyad vessel destroyed,” he told Picard, “you proceeded to a world called Magnia—Serenity Santana’s home planet. Why did you not simply return to our galaxy?”

“The Stargazer was in desperate need of repairs,” the captain explained. “Had we attempted to cross the barrier, I would have exposed my crew to the energies that transformed Gary Mitchell some seventy years ago.”

“I see,” said McAteer. “That sounds like a legitimate concern. But why Magnia?”

“It seemed like our best chance to get parts we could use. If the Magnians originally came from Earth, there were bound to be certain similarities between their technology and our own.”

“Under the circumstances, a reasonable assumption,” the admiral allowed. “But when you arrived at Magnia, there was a ship in orbit. A Nuyyad ship, as I understand it.”

“Indeed,” said Picard. “A reminder to the Magnians that they were at the mercy of the Nuyyad.”

“You heard that later,” said McAteer, “if I recall the substance of your logs, and never received any confirmation of it. But for now, let us deal with your decision to attack this Nuyyad vessel as well. I don’t suppose you made any attempt at contact in this instance either?”

“I did not,” Picard told him. “I had already seen the behavior of her sister ship. And had I contacted her, it would have allowed her to prepare for our confrontation—which would have sealed our fate, considering our shield emitters and weapons batteries were still barely operational.”

McAteer looked incredulous. “So you attacked a vessel that made no aggressive action toward you?”

It sounded so absurd when expressed in those terms. But Picard had known he was right to attack that ship.

“I followed my instincts,” he said.

McAteer affected a sad smile. “Instincts are fallible. That is why Starfleet has protocols and regulations—which you, apparently, chose to ignore.”

“I did not ignore them,” said Picard. “I considered them and decided they did not apply.”

“In your judgment,” said McAteer.

“That is correct,” said the captain.

“The same judgment that led you to trust Serenity Santana?” The admiral chuckled derisively. “Isn’t it true that by this time you suspected Miss Santana of treachery—of leading you and the Stargazer into a trap orchestrated by the Nuyyad?”

“It is,” Picard had to concede.

“But in your judgment, it was advisable to engage the Nuyyad a second time?”

The captain glanced at the other two admirals. Caber was regarding him sternly, no doubt with disapproval. Mehdi, on the other hand, seemed to be suffering, obviously unhappy with the way the questioning was going.

“It was,” said Picard.

“I see,” said McAteer. “And as I understand it, you weren’t finished. Later on, after you had completed your repairs with the help of the Magnians, you could have recrossed the barrier without worrying about your crew’s exposure. Yet you chose a different course. You went after a Nuyyad supply depot.”

Picard frowned. “Starfleet sent me across the barrier to see if there was any truth to the reports we had received about the Nuyyad. I was satisfied that they were indeed a threat to us—that, in fact, they were in the midst of preparing an invasion.”

“But in your own words, Starfleet had sent you across the barrier to see if there was any truth to those reports. Did Starfleet also ask you to make a tactical strike against the Nuyyad?”

“It was not what I had been ordered to do,” Picard confirmed. “However, as a Starfleet captain, I am charged with the security and defense of the Federation, and in that light I believed this action was both necessary and justified.”

“Justified by what? The word of people who had already proven themselves untrustworthy?”

The captain felt a hot spurt of anger. McAteer had no idea what it was like on the other side of the barrier. He had no right to level such a criticism.

No, he thought, remembering his oath. As your superior, he has every right.

“By that time,” he said, “I was inclined to believe the Magnians’ story. First, they had explained the reasons for their deception to my satisfaction. Second, after our destruction of the ship orbiting Magnia, the Nuyyad had reappeared in force and carried out a potentially devastating attack.”

“I wonder,” said McAteer, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “if what you did to their other ships had something to do with that.”

“They did not attack us, Admiral. They attacked Magnia.”

“If your logs are accurate,” said McAteer, “a number of your people were on the planet’s surface by then, working hand in hand with the Magnians. The Nuyyad must have perceived that and come to the only reasonable conclusion—that the one certain way to remove the threat posed by the Stargazer was to take control of Magnia and extract your personnel.”

“Or,” said Picard, “they were as vicious and grasping as the Magnians claimed.”

“The point,” said the admiral, stiffening a bit under the lash of the captain’s retort, “is that you didn’t know. You couldn’t be certain. And yet you felt this was sufficient evidence to warrant an attack on a nonmilitary target.”

“It was not nonmilitary,” Picard maintained. “It was significantly better armed than the Nuyyad’s ships.”

“It was a supply depot,” McAteer insisted. “It could have contained nothing more than foodstuffs.”

“With all due respect,” said the captain, “you helped foil an invasion fleet a few weeks ago by stowing aboard a supply ship. That contained foodstuffs as well.”

The admiral took the point in stride. More than likely, he had considered it already and prepared a response.

“I was helping to defend the Federation against a documentably hostile fleet that had already invaded our space,” said McAteer. “You, by contrast, were in alien space—the Nuyyad’s, for all we know—which would have made you the invader. I don’t believe our situations were at all the same.”

“All I am saying,” said Picard, “is that a supply facility may be a key component of an invasion fleet.”

“And then again,” the admiral insisted, “it may not be. Which is why we don’t attack them unless and until we are certain. And the veracity of the Magnians notwithstanding, you were not in a position to be certain.”

“Unfortunately,” said Picard, “we are seldom in that position. A starship captain must be prepared to act on what information is at hand, no matter how scanty or unsubstantiated.”

“Or not act,” said McAteer, “as I believe you should have done in the case in question.” He looked to his colleagues. “I have no further questions.”

That meant it was Mehdi’s turn. The captain relaxed a bit, knowing that this admiral wasn’t out to take his job away. Quite the contrary.

“It’s true,” he began, “that Captain Picard acted on an incomplete knowledge of the facts—just as we are doing in judging him. But while we’re considering the damage he may have done, let’s also consider the good.”

Inwardly, Picard cheered Mehdi on.

“If the captain was correct in his assessment of the Nuyyad,” said the admiral, “he rescued a world full of human expatriates from a bloody oppressor. Then he went on to save the Federation and maybe this entire sector from war and the possibility of conquest. Not a bad thing, by any means.”

“But it’s far more likely,” said McAteer, “that he created an unnecessarily hostile situation, and it falls to us to hold him accountable for that.”

“If that’s what he did,” said Mehdi, “yes. Let’s strip him of his command. But what if this hostile situation existed prior to Captain Picard’s arrival on the scene?”

“There’s no proof of that,” McAteer noted. “Only the word of Santana and the other Magnians, and we have already established what that’s worth.”

Mehdi sighed out loud. “It would be nice if we could hear from someone who hasn’t tried to deceive us. Someone who has lied to neither Captain Picard nor anyone else.”

He stood there for a moment, apparently mourning the lack of such a witness. Then he walked to the back of the room, passing through the gallery, and pressed the stud in the wall that opened the door.

As it slid aside, it revealed someone standing in the corridor outside, flanked by security guards. He was tall and bulky, but he had tiny, dark eyes, and a fringe of lank hair encircling his otherwise hairless head.

Picard couldn’t believe his eyes. It was Dojjaron.