"Jean-Luc, i do not like being handcuffed."

Captain Picard sighed. "In what context, Dr. Crusher?" From the pugnacious thrust of her chin, it was quite clear that his chief medical officer had been mightily offended by someone or something. It was equally certain that Beverly Crusher had no intention of leaving Picard's ready room until she'd extracted a satisfactory response to her displeasure.

He folded his hands in priestly patience, knowing he wouldn't have to wait long for her to get to the specifics. Like gathering stormclouds, her eyebrows lowered into a frown. Here it comes--

"I don't like twiddling my thumbs while patients suffer -- and I will not simply wait for someone else to cure them."

Picard motioned her to the couch across from his desk as he tried to deduce the source of her wrath.

It was only as she sat that the doctor noticed the tiny holographic solar system hovering over the captain's shoulder. At least three dozen objects darted, spun and whirled -- planets, moons, random rocks and a squadron of tiny spacecraft. "What in heaven's name is that?"

"Hmm?" With a flicker of frustration in his eyes, he glanced at the cosmological chaos floating in the air. "Oh, just some blasted navigational puzzle that's been driving me to distraction for the past week. But I refuse to surrender. Computer, store puzzle for later reference." The hologram winked out of sight and Picard faced Crusher. "Would I be correct in guessing the cause of your indignation to be our orders to pick up those ten injured workers at the Chezrani outpost?"

"You would. By telling the Enterprise to get them and then rush them to a starbase hospital, Starfleet is as good as implying that the Enterprise is just some ambulance and the ship's medical staff are ambulance attendants."

"Doctor, I hardly think--"

"No one has ever been poisoned by processed ridmium particles before," she said, cutting him off. "There's nothing in the medical literature about effective treatment regimens."

"So you're saying these patients will not necessarily get better care at Starbase 96 than they might in your sickbay--?"

Crusher's fists clenched. "No. I'm saying I can do more for them on the Enterprise. The only thing we really know about ridmium is that it attacks the immune system."

"Ahh. And if I recall, research in immunology is one of your specialties."

"You recall correctly, Jean-Luc. And my medical staff is just as capable as any--"

"You are preaching to the choir," said Picard calmly, hoping to deflect her anger. "It's going to take us approximately thirty-six hours to get from the Chezrani system to Starbase 96. I see no reason you shouldn't devote that time to developing an effective treatment."

Beverly did seem placated, a bit of the starch washed from her posture. "That's what I planned to do all along. I just wanted to make sure I had your support."

"You always have that. You know the high regard I have for your professional skills."

"I wish Starfleet shared that opinion," she pouted.

"I seriously doubt they view you as a glorified ambulance attendant."

"Who said anything about 'glorified,' " Crusher said, a flash of resentment in her eyes.

Picard rose and circled the desk, standing over her. "Beverly, they made you Chief of Starfleet Medicine. What greater compliment could they pay you?"

With a sigh, she slumped back against the couch cushion. "I guess you're right, Jean-Luc. Maybe I'm overreacting."

"I don't think this is the only thing on your mind."

The doctor managed a sliver of a smile. "Trespassing on Counselor Troi's turf?"

Picard smiled back. "Without Betazoid empathic powers, I would not even make the attempt. But we simple starship captains can also benefit from developing a certain sensitivity to the moods and concerns of crew members."

His oblique invitation to dump her troubles right there on his ready room desk was definitely tempting, but she waved it off with a shake of her head. "Oh, hell... you wouldn't understand, Jean Luc."

"Try me."

Beverly considered the offer, but remained mute. During the silence, Picard pondered the merits of continued persistence. He truly liked and respected Beverly Crusher, but he'd be the last to claim any clear comprehension of her inner workings. She could be mercurial, stiff-necked, skeptical -- all matching the personality profile usually associated with redheads. But she was also much more than that simple profile. And exceedingly complex. Gaining firsthand knowledge of her personal demons might not be his wisest course.

Still, she was not only a trusted officer. She was also his friend. So much for wisdom, he concluded with a mental shrug. He was not going to let her leave without giving her every chance to unburden herself.

"I know you usually confide in Counselor Troi," he said. "Under the circumstances, I thought I might suffice for the moment. If I were to hazard a guess, I'd say you're worried about Wesley."

"Good lord -- am I that transparent?" Crusher's expression softened into a wondering, gentle laugh. "It's so strange, Jean-Luc. When I took that Starfleet Medical assignment back on Earth, I worried about my son because I didn't know what he was doing or where he was. Then I came back to the Enterprise, and I started worrying about him because I did know what he was doing and where he was. When you're a mother, you just can't win."

"I understand better than you might think," Picard said with a twinkle as he perched on the edge of his desk.

"Hmm. I guess there is a maternal, nurturing component to being a starship captain." With a shake of her head, she got up and paced the small ready room. "I know Wesley's been on away teams before. I keep telling myself that. But somehow it was different when the Enterprise was right there in planet orbit. This is the first time he's gone down to a planet and we've gone off to do something else."

"So you feel like you've abandoned him on Domarus Four?"

"I guess I do."

"Beverly, it's not like we dropped him naked and helpless," Picard scolded gently. "He's with two other capable Academy candidates, not to mention Data and Troi. And they do have a shuttlecraft."

Despite her best efforts to sidestep her gathering gloom, Beverly's expression darkened and her voice took on a momentary quaver. "I know that. I know that we're going to be rendezvousing with them in an hour or so. I also know that someday, he's going to be off on a ship of his own and I won't be able to keep an eye on him. And I do know that Wesley isn't Jack--" As soon as she'd said it, she was sorry.

The captain felt himself tense at the mention of Beverly's late husband, who'd died years ago under Picard's command. He hoped she wouldn't notice his reaction, but by the way her eyes looked away from his, he sensed her regret at having mentioned Jack's name. Was the source of that regret her natural reluctance to equate the father's fate with the son's future? Or was she sorry because she knew she'd inadvertently reminded Picard of his own feelings of responsibility and regret over Jack's death?

He couldn't be sure. But he was certain of this: no captain ever forgets the death of a comrade. Nobody knew that better than Beverly Crusher. Through her own grief, she'd seen the sorrow in Picard's eyes the day he brought Jack's body home. And as Enterprise chief medical officer, she'd seen the echoes of that same sorrow every time she'd had to tell him a crew member had died.

When it came to Jack, though, they'd never completely sorted out their tangled feelings. It wasn't any great surprise, then, that throughout Beverly's years serving aboard Picard's starship, the ghost of Jack Crusher had been along for the voyage. For both of them.

She made a halfhearted attempt to erase the moment of revelation. "I didn't mean... oh, dammit, yes I did. I tell myself over and over that just because Jack died on a space mission doesn't mean my son will. But in here..." She brushed her hand across her heart. "...I can't convince myself of that."

"Beverly, sooner or later you'll have to let Wesley lead his own life."

"I know. And the closer that time comes, the more I want to push it back." She took a breath, not at all certain she wanted to pursue the matter. "Jean-Luc, can I ask you something personal?"

"Yes."

"When did you feel like your mother let you go?"

Picard suppressed a smile, but it lit his eyes. "Never."

Beverly Crusher winced. "Oh, wonderful..."

Shading his eyes with one hand, Wesley Crusher fended off the setting sun of Domarus Four as he peered toward the flattened crest of the mountain looming over him. She was up there somewhere, but he couldn't spot her. He wondered if she'd ducked back into one of those little caves pocking the flanks of the rugged mesa.

Gina Pace was forever charging headlong over, through and under things and places that most people would approach with caution. Wes couldn't call her reckless. Not exactly, anyway. She just treated risk as something to be prepared for and dealt with, rather than a cause for alarm. As both Gina's friend and fellow Starfleet Academy candidate, Wes found her enthusiasm alternately amusing and exasperating.

Right at this moment, however, he was not amused. The gathering dusk had already tinged the sky with darkening splashes of purple and red, and this field trip was drawing to a close. They still had equipment and samples to stow on the shuttlecraft before they could head for orbit and rendezvous with the Enterprise on the Starship's return from a supply drop at the Nivlakan colonies two days distant.

The Starfleet chest insignia pinned to his uniform let out an electronic chirp, followed by a voice. "Commander Data to Ensign Crusher."

Wes tapped the communicator to reply. "Crusher here, sir."

"Are you returning to base camp?"

"Uhh -- we're on our way, Commander. Crusher out."

Wes cupped his hands and bellowed up to where he'd last seen Gina. "Hey, Pace! Come down now!" He could have called her via communicator, but -- what the hell -- echoes were fun. Even at eighteen, and knowing the physics and acoustics involved, he still found a moment of childlike joy in hearing his own voice rebounding off cooperative rocks.

He squinted skyward again, just as Gina popped out of a cave entrance and clambered like a mountain goat down the steep slope. Loose pebbles skittered down ahead of her, but she never missed a step.

She hopped off a ledge and landed in front of Wesley. "I'm not late, am I? I just wanted to get a few more rock samples. Amazing formations up there! I couldn't leave without getting the best possible selection. If you were the captain and I was your science officer, wouldn't you want to know you could rely on me to do the best, most thorough job possible?"

She finally stopped for a breath, and he looked down at her, trying to maintain a gaze of Picard-like sternness -- no easy task, since Gina was small and exceedingly cute, with large dark eyes, and he really wanted to run his fingers through her thick shaggy hair. He and Gina hadn't always gotten along. A few years ago, at fourteen, he'd been shy as a fieldmouse, and he thought she was loud and obnoxious. Then, at sixteen, when he felt ready for some tentative flirting, he thought she'd become a lot less childish. Now, at eighteen...

But this wasn't the time or place. He was her commanding officer on an important field excursion detail and he felt duty-bound to set an example. It took him a second to refocus his attention. What did she just ask me? Oh, yeah...

"Yes," he managed to say, finding his way back to the loose end of their conversation, "I'd want my science officer to be thorough. But I'd also like to know that I wouldn't have to worry about her getting lost or left behind because she went off on her own. Understood?"

"Understood." She narrowed her eyes, weighing the gravity of the moment. "I don't have to call you 'sir,' do I?"

"Nobody's keeping score. Let's get back to camp."

They began walking, quickly. Gina barely came up to Wesley's shoulder, and the height disadvantage forced her to jog just to keep up with his long-legged strides. "Where's Kenny?"

"I sent him back while I was looking for you," he said with a reproachful look.

"Oh. Y'know, I can't believe he wouldn't go into those caves with us."

"Some people prefer wide-open spaces."

"But Kenny doesn't," she said with a derisive laugh. "He'd rather be on a space ship than a planet. Sometimes I just don't believe him. He can be so strange."

"He hates when you call him Kenny."

"And why would that be?" asked Gina with a defiant look that revealed her complete lack of patience for what she viewed as Kenny's eccentricities.

"He thinks it makes him sound like a little kid."

She shrugged. "Well, he acts like one sometimes."

"We all do sometimes," he said pointedly.

"So what does he want to be called, Captain Kenny?"

Wes grinned in spite of himself. "Just Ken, I think."

"I'll try to remember that."

The glint in her eyes made Wesley doubt her sincerity. As they approached the woods fringing the grassy plain which had been the object of most of their geology survey, Wes decided Domarus had been an interesting place for this field work. His satisfied judgment rested partly on the fact that it hadn't been just an academic exercise. Their performances would of course be evaluated by Data and Troi, and added to their Academy entrance application files. But the information they'd gathered would also enlarge the scanty file on a world which had been visited just once before, eighty years earlier.

The science vessel U.S.S. Jonathan Levy, one of the most active exploration ships of its time, had done that original survey, but hadn't had the time to log more than a cursory orbital scan, including the geological and biological basics and the conclusion that Domarus Four hosted no sentient life forms, just lots of plants and smaller animals. Wes and his team hadn't found anything to contradict those reports, but it was fun just the same to do some adult work with minimal supervision.

Though he couldn't be certain, Wes had a feeling more and more these days that his time aboard the Enterprise was drawing to a close. Was it only three years ago that he'd failed the Starfleet Academy entrance exam? It seemed like a lot longer. As a scared fifteen-year-old, he'd been devastated by a failure. He believed he'd let down his mother, the captain, his friends, the entire ship -- until Captain Picard had found him moping in the observation lounge and stunned him with a startling confession: "If it helps you to know this," Picard had said to him, "I failed my first time... and you may not tell anyone!"

Picard had also told him that a person's successes and failures could only be measured from within, not by anyone else but himself. Not an easy lesson to learn, but Wesley Crusher thought lately that he was finally beginning to understand it.

For reasons Wesley never quite understood, Picard had designated him an acting ensign, giving him access to experiences no Starfleet cadet could possibly have sitting in an earthbound classroom. Then, through a combination of natural talents and several tons of hard work, he'd achieved a field commission, earning his red ensign's uniform. He was a real starship officer.

After all that, he found it hard to imagine not being a member of the Enterprise crew. Would entering Starfleet Academy feel like a step backward? Maybe. But if he ever wanted to be even half the captain that Picard was, he knew he needed what the Academy had to offer, the theoretical foundation that would give perspective to practical experiences like this away-team mission.

Hiking over a grassy knoll, Wes and Gina entered a forest of towering, slender trees with golden leaves. En route, they found Ken Kolker hunched over like a stocky forest gnome, clipping and collecting some last-minute flora samples. All his classmates knew Ken as the most perpetually serious seventeen-year-old aboard the Enterprise, his moods often as dark as his close-cropped hair. As Wes gestured toward the clearing where the shuttle and their supervising officers waited, Ken fell into step.

But Gina stopped short. "Dammit."

Wes stopped, too, his hands on his hips and his mouth pinched into an expression of long-suffering impatience. "What did you forget to do now?"

"That stupid seismic testing rig -- I forgot to shut it down," she said, already backing away. "I'll go back for it -- I'll run -- I'll--"

"I did it," said Ken, halting her in mid-stride.

Gina blinked at him. "You did what--?"

"On my way back here, I ran down the mission checklist on my tricorder and I noticed the rig wasn't checked off. So I figured I might as well--"

"Oh, you and your stupid checklists," Gina said with a roll of her eyes.

"Checklists are important," Ken huffed.

"There's more to life than checklists, Kenny," she said, emphasizing the dimunitive she now knew he disliked. "Do you ever do anything without consulting one of your stupid checklists first?"

"Gina," Wesley said sharply, "his checklist kept you from getting into trouble."

"Oh, Wes -- that's not why he retrieved the seismic rig. He probably did it just to make me look bad."

Out of the corner of his eye, Wes saw how the accusation stung the shorter teen. No one who knew Ken would characterize him as the life of any party, and there was a germ of truth in Gina's opinion of his lack of spontaneity. But this jab was more than unfair. It was mean. "Gina, that's not--"

"Forget it, Wesley," Kenny said, gathering the remnants of his tattered dignity. With no intention of defending himself further, he turned and trudged toward the base camp.

Wes watched him go, then turned to glare down at Gina. "That was totally uncalled for. How do you think it would've looked if you suddenly remembered about that test rig after we'd closed the hatch and headed for orbit? You made a mistake -- and then you made it worse. We're a team and team members are supposed to back each other up. That's all Ken was doing."

Gina looked away and scuffed the dirt with her toe. "You're mad at me."

"Yes, I am -- but that's not the point."

"What is?"

"What do you think the point is?"

"Teamwork." She looked up at him. "Are you going to report me?"

He frowned, stretching the moment. She really is cute... "Nobody's perfect," he finally said, his tone softer.

"Not even you, Wes?" she teased.

"Especially not me."

"I guess I should apologize to Kenny."

"That's up to you."

Back at the away team's base camp, they found Ken kneeling in the shadow of the shuttle Onizuka, sorting his last batch of soil and plant samples into appropriate slots in a carrying case. As Gina approached him, Wesley busied himself just out of sight (but within earshot) on the shuttle's opposite side.

"If you came to make some comment on how compulsive I am," Ken said without looking up, "save it."

"Geez, you don't have to be so touchy. I just came over to apologize."

Ken's eyes flicked up in genuine surprise. "You did?"

Gina nodded. "I forgot we're a team." She peered over his shoulder, into a sample case awesome in its attention to total order and detail. "But you are the little compulsive, aren't you?" Delivered with a sly grin, her question was not meant as an insult -- and Ken didn't take it that way.

"It's one of the few things I'm really good at," he answered with a slight smile.

She crouched for a closer look. "God, I wish I could be that neat. Then maybe I wouldn't always be losing or forgetting things."

"Creative people are allowed to be a little absent-minded."

Her brows hitched, detecting a compliment. "You think I'm creative?"

"Gina, everybody loves your artwork."

"What do you think of it?"

Ken shut the sample case and they both straightened up. "I -- uh -- I'm the wrong person to ask. Some people are tonedeaf--"

"Oh, yeah, and you're art-impaired?" she scoffed. "Kenny, if you'd just have come into those caves with us -- the way those minerals looked under our searchlamps--"

"Me? In a cave? No way -- not where ceilings collapse and bury people!" he said with a shudder. Then he nodded skyward. "I'd much rather be up there in a ship, any ship."

"People die in space, too, y'know."

"Statistically, it's much safer to--"

"Oh, nooo -- not statistics again," Gina moaned, covering her eyes with her hands and shaking her head. "What've you got against being on a planet?"

"I was born in space."

"On a ship?"

Now it was Kenny's turn to roll his eyes. "Of course on a ship. I was five before I even set foot on a planet."

"God... that's weird."

"Not as weird as you think. It just gives you a different perspective on things, that's all. To me, it's perfectly normal to be inside a contained, controlled, predictable environment."

Eavesdropping from the other side of the shuttlecraft, Wesley thought this sounded like a good time to take advantage of the truce between his friends, and he rejoined them. Under his supervision, they set about packing and stowing the last of the base-camp gear.

"This part is not fun," Gina grunted as she maneuvered a bulky equipment crate toward the squat craft.

"We're not here to have fun," Ken said. "We're gaining experience that'll up our chances of getting into the Academy."

"There's no regulation that says we can't have fun, too. Hey, Wesley, help me explain--"

"No way. I'm not getting in the middle of another one of your debates," Wes said with a grin as he scanned the area. "That's it. We're done."

As the three teens climbed through the shuttle's side hatch, none of them noticed the glittering scintilla flitting in the air above and behind them, at the edge of the clearing.

Commander Data and Counselor Deanna Troi greeted the young away team in the main cabin.

"Ready for departure, sir," Wesley said.

"Very good, Ensign," Data said pleasantly. "Mr. Kolker."

Ken had already moved to a seat in the back when the android's voice made him turn. "Yes, sir?"

"In view of your expressed interest in helm and navigation studies, I thought you might like to pilot the shuttle into orbit."

Kenny's round, somber face lit with excitement and his answer started to tumble out. "Pilot--? Yessir--" He caught himself in mid-sentence and wrestled his excess enthusiasm back under control, an embarrassed flush tinting his cheeks. "I mean, thank you, Commander. I would."

As he passed Gina on his way to the cockpit, she stifled a giggle. "Wouldn't want to have fun... nuh-uh... not cool Kolker."

Wes and Data followed Kenny into the front compartment, leaving Troi and Gina behind. The counselor looked at her young companion with knowing eyes. "I see you're still giving Ken a hard time."

"Ooo -- he asks for it." Then Gina composed her gamine face into an expression of exaggerated dignity. "I know, I know -- it's not mature."

"But sometimes you can't help it."

With a confessional shrug, Gina slid into the form-fit seat. "I bet you were perfect when you were my age."

A sly smile curled one corner of Deanna's mouth. "Mmm... my mother would dispute that appraisal," she said dryly.

"So, how did we do on this mission?"

"Gina, you know I can't tell you what your evaluations will be. Though it is just like you to ask."

"Scientists have to be inquisitive, right?"

They felt the shuttle rise off the planet surface, shimmying for a couple of unsteady moments, then smoothing out and banking off toward the Domaran sunset.

"Hmm," said Gina. "Not too bad for a rookie."

Kenny seemed right at home in the pilot's seat as he guided the small spacecraft toward standard orbit (though he hoped no one had noticed his slightly wobbly lift-off). Wesley sat beside him, handling sensors and support systems, while Data hovered just behind the two boys, keeping his supervisory presence to an unobtrusive minimum.

"Estimated time of arrival at rendezvous point," Data asked. "Thirty-three minutes, sir," said Wesley.

"Maintaining course and speed," Ken said.

Wesley gave his scanners a cursory glance, then frowned as he noticed something unusual. "Commander, there's a ship approaching planet orbit."

"Is that the Enterprise arriving ahead of schedule?"

"No, sir, not the Enterprise. Unfamiliar configuration, with no identification beacon."

The android leaned over Wesley's shoulder for a look. "Hmm. Most curious." He activated the communications system. "Federation shuttle Onizuka to unidentified vessel. We are on a science survey mission -- our presence is nonhostile. Please state the purpose of your approach."

Awaiting a reply, Data punched up a magnified image of the approaching vessel on the main viewer. Ungainly in design, it was roughly the same size as the Enterprise, and apparently scarred by both battle and wear.

"Looks like she's seen better days," Wes murmured.

Data repeated his message -- again, without verbal response. The alien vessel held its heading, leaving very little doubt that its convergence with the tiny shuttlecraft was not coincidental.

"Mr. Kolker," Data said calmly, "evasive maneuver -- come to course one-two-five mark nine."

For a long moment, Ken sat frozen. Wes glanced over and saw the younger boy chewing his lip anxiously. "Kenny--"

At Wesley's prompt, Ken's fingers skipped across his panel, entering Data's instructions flawlessly. Out in space, the unidentified ship altered course, clearly bent on interception.

"We may be nonhostile," Wes said nervously, "but I'm not so sure about them."

Without warning, a tractor beam leapt from the silent intruder, crossing the void and snaring the shuttlecraft in a pulsing golden haze. The Onizuka immediately shook in protest, shuddering down to its rivets.

Kenny went pale, tightening his panicky grip on the edges of his control panel.

Wes Crusher swallowed hard, trying to moisten a mouth suddenly gone dry and pasty. "Commander, that tractor beam is too intense. If it keeps up, we're going to break apart."

Data peered at the sensor readout. "I concur," he said, his tone as mild and dispassionate as usual.

Wesley spun around and stared into the android's wide yellow eyes. For all his intentions of setting an example for the other kids and being the brave young Starfleet officer, Wes was an eighteen-year-old scared to the bone. Fear widened his eyes and spiked into his voice. "Data -- what do we do?"

Whatever Data decided, Wes knew it had to be soon -- and it better be right.