"If you have built castles in the air your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put foundations under them."
          --Henry David Thoreau

      It wasn't all that long ago. Nothing really ever is, but sometimes it sure seems like it.
      Anyway, it wasn't all that long ago, and it was on Earth--or at least, in the Spacedock in orbit around Earth. It was there and then that a young man without purpose watched the graceful Galaxy-Class contours of the USS Enterprise slide softly and precisely into docking postion.
      The captain of the ship, Jean-Luc Picard, and his bridge staff would be disembarking soon. There was to be a farewell celebration; it was the end of Picard's tenure aboard the great starship. He was going to take up new duties as a Starfleet Academy instructor.
      A large crowd had gathered to see the famous Picard, his graceful ship and stalwart crew. Their work had already become the stuff of legends, carrying on the legacy of the name Enterprise.
      The young man watched the ship for a while, debating whether or not to stay and see Picard's farewell speech. He had underestimated the crowd, and he was already feeling out of place. As a civilian in Spacedock he stood out enough; being taller than most of the people didn't help. He had burned a whole month's worth of transporter credits to get up here, and suddenly he wasn't sure it was a good idea. Too many people.
      But this was where he wanted to be, more than anything. Have you ever wanted something so bad you could feel it throughout your body, the longing an almost physical sensation? When you get close to the object of your desire you gravitate toward it, lean toward it, promote it to the center of your universe.
      He looked at the starship with that very same intensity shining from his face. He craned his neck up to see the broad saucer section soaring overhead, and the warp nacelles, their powerful blue aura dimmed. It wasn't just the Enterprise. It was any starship, though the bigger the better. His desire, the center of his universe, was Starfleet. A place to finally belong, to contribute. To make the difference he knew he needed to make.
      Noise brought him back from wondering at the starship as the reporters arrived. Loudly. His dislike for crowds began warring with his desire to see the crew of the Enterprise, to see her captain. He harbored secret dreams, deep down, that he would someday meet Picard, and Picard would know at a glance that he was a kindred spirit and ask him to serve. Silly, of course. But the chance to even see the legendary Jean-Luc Picard, the man who had singlehandedly fought the Borg on their own territory while assimilated...and won. The chance to shake his hand, to give some demonstration of respect...
      But the reception lounge was rapidly filling up with people. In addition to reporters he now saw some Starfleet brass: Captain Shelby, Admiral Craig Bowman, a vulcan Captain he didn't recognize, several other high-ranking officers. Federation people were filing in too: Earth Ambassador Kathrine Kennedy with Tellarite Ambassador Torv in tow, arguing with him about something.
      Too many people. The chance of doing more than glimpsing Picard through the crowd was so small he turned and made his way out of the room and back to the transporters.
      Better to quit worrying about a meaningless fantasy and return to his life at the University.

      "I'm sorry, but your application to Starfleet Academy wasn't accepted. Your grades just aren't good enough." The older man, William Love, Professor of Physics at the University, looked at his charge. He didn't like being a counselor, but the department insisted that every professor be assigned at least one student to help them through their academic careers. Love didn't care much for this young man. He was brash, opinionated, and, while he was fantastically gifted in some areas, seemed to be incredibly stupid in others.
      "This is the third time," the young man said softly. Professor Love nodded. "Did you tell them about my idea?"
      "Well," said Love, lounging indolently in his chair, "I didn't think that it would really work. I mean, the Borg are extremely clever. Surely they'd see their way past something so simple."
      "It would work," he said, his voice rising.
      "Calm down," said Love. "If you want a nickel's worth of free advice, young man, you should get your head out of the clouds." He looked down at the young man's file, neatly labled, "Blake, Zephiram," and flipped the cover closed on the somewhat average academic scores. "Where the hell were you this morning anyway?"
      The young man shrugged. "I went up to Spacedock to see the Enterprise arrive."
      "That is exactly the sort of waste of time that is getting you in trouble," Love said with some relish. He liked being right. "You're not going to help yourself by mooning around Spacedock."
      "I wasn't mooning," Blake said. "And anyway, I didn't stay."
      "Obviously. Well, what's done is done," Love sighed, as if the wasted hours were incredibly important. "You need to get back to work in the lab. You can always reapply to the Academy next term."
      "For the fourth time," Blake mumbled. "Yeah, thanks." He got up and left.

      "Professor? Professor Love?" He poked his head in the open office, but Love was nowhere to be found. He went in to drop off the latest results from the experiment, and saw the computer terminal was on. Love must have been working on something. Blake looked at the redouts and simulations, trying to figure out how they applied to the experiments they were doing. The equations looked familiar, but they weren't right...
      Then he recognized them. They were his equations, subspace field tensors modelling a warp field that could be used to shunt aside the otherwise impenetrable defenses surrounding a Borg ship. HIS work. Love was working on refining the equations. And on the bottom window, underneath the simulations and equations, he found an open email:

------------------------------------------------------------------
TO: Earth Ambassador Kennedy, United Federation of Planets
           Federation Defenses Division, Starfleet Command

FROM: Professor William F. Love

Madame Ambassador,

I have been thinking a great deal recently about the Borg threat, and I have an idea. I think we should discuss it soon. Please let me know if you are interested in opening a dialogue.

Sincerely
Professor Love.
------------------------------------------------------------------

      "So it wouldn't work, huh?" Blake said softly. "You bastard."
      He stared at the innocuous green screen, feeling sick. He sat down suddenly in Love's chair. For some time, he sat, staring at the screen. Then his eyes moved to the keyboard, then back to the screen.
      Grinding his teeth together, he reached for the keyboard and started working.
      He was obviously going to have to take matters into his own hands.

---------------------------------------------------------------
TO: Earth Ambassador Kennedy, United Federation of Planets
           Federation Defenses Division, Starfleet Command
FROM: CROSSFIRE (anonymous rerouter @ terminal 2340s24)

Madame Ambassador,

It has come to my attention that Starfleet Command is looking for input concerning the Borg threat. I have a few ideas of my own; perhaps you'd like to know them. Give me a signal, I'll throw you the line.

CROSSFIRE
-----------------------------------------------------------------
TO: CROSSFIRE
FROM: Earth Ambassador Kennedy, United Federation of Planets
           Federation Defenses Division, Starfleet Command

Mr. Crossfire,

Thank you for your offer of help. Due to security restrictions we are unable to persue your offer.

Kathrine Kennedy
---------------------------------------------------------------
TO: Earth Ambassador Kennedy, United Federation of Planets
           Federation Defenses Division, Starfleet Command
FROM: CROSSFIRE

Madame Ambassador,

I understand your hesitance to believe me, much less even consider talking with me.

Allow me to assure you that my ideas are viable. Especially if the Borg utilize a subspace modulation field for defensive purposes.

CROSSFIRE
--------------------------------------------------------------
TO: CROSSFIRE
FROM: Earth Ambassador Kennedy, United Federation of Planets
           Federation Defenses Division, Starfleet Command

Mr. Crossfire,

Your last letter was most intriguing. If you would care to meet with me and my staff, please make an appointment by contacting my staff at the attached addres.

Ambassador Kennedy
-----------------------------------------------------------------
TO: CROSSFIRE
FROM: Ambassador Kennedy Appointments and Securities Staff
           Federation Defenses Division, Starfleet Command

"Crossfire"
Your appointment with the ambassador is 45446.6 in her offices in Boston.
Due to your anonymous correspondence you are considered a security risk and will be treated as such.
Bring no weapons or devices with offensive capabilites, and be prepared to submit to a security search.
Do not be late.
------------------------------------------------------------------

      Blake strolled purposefully into the offices at precisely 1:40 pm. There were two security guards waiting, and he looked calmly at them.
      "Crossfire?" asked one, somewhat incredulous.
      He nodded. The two guards looked at each other, somewhat amused, then motioned for him to stand in the scanning alcove for a security search. They scanned him, examined the padd he'd brought, and declared him safe.
      "Please come with us," and they left the room. They escorted him past offices and closed doors into a small, businesslike conference room. There were no art prints on the walls and no plants in the corner. Just a severe white table, at which were seated Ambassador Kennedy and four other men. When Blake entered, Kennedy looked him up and down with a raking, appraising gaze.
      "You're a little young, aren't you, Mr. Crossfire?" asked Ambassador Kennedy.
      "Is that a problem?" He returned without hesitation.
      She smiled a little, then motioned him to take his seat. "Now, what's this idea you're so sure is going to save us?"
      Blake took the opportunity he had been given, and explained his theory.
      Throughout the interview, Kennedy had observed him closely with her sharp eyes. He did his best to maintain a calm composure, but he was sure that she noticed the effort.
      When he had finished, she turned her gaze to the other three men and said, "Well?" It was their turn to fidget.
      "An intriguing analysis," said one.
      "Worthy of further research," said the other.
      "Possibly might lead to something we can use," said the third.
      "Bullshit," said Kennedy, and all four men stared at her. "That's the most insightful analysis I've heard since this whole fiasco began. Corey, arrange a meeting tomorrow morning with Admiral Bowman, Captain Shelby, and Captain Picard. Tell them we've got someone who wants to tell them something. Saff and Snider, go start looking into this. Get the computer crunching away at these equations, see if it can't find a more narrow solution to the frequency distribution permutation. Go!"
      The three men jumped up and left, bumping into one another. Kennedy watched them, smiling. "Jump," she said softly. Then she turned back to him, the smile gone.
      "You're not in the academy." It was not a question but rather an invitation to explain.
      "No. I've tried, but they won't accept me."
      Her eyebrow arched. "Even with an analysis as astute as this? I'm surprised."
      He fidgeted, unable to decide what to say.
      A small ping sounded in the room. Kennedy rose. "My office will be in contact with you about the meeting tomorrow. Good work, Mr. Crossfire." She left.
      Blake let out a pent up breath, then rose as the security guards arrived to show him out of the building.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------
TO: Professor Love
FROM: Postmaster

Detected several messages sent from an anonymous rerouter port using your office terminal.
Transcript of messages sent and recieved follows.
Please verify if this is a security violation.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------

      Love's eyes scanned the messages quickly, and he knew what they meant. "Goddammit!" Fury at being outsmarted warred with fear of discovery. Love paused for a moment, reading the messages thoroughly. The next meeting was scheduled for today...
      He left the room in a hurry, but not too fast to call in a favor from a friend in Kennedy's security section.

      Blake was escorted by the security guards back to the white conference room. When he entered the first thing he felt were the bright eyes of Picard as they fell on him. Blake paused on the threshhold to the room, then walked in. He saw Kennedy, Captain Shelby, and Admiral Bowman. They all stared at him, but all Blake could see was Picard.
      Oh lord, he thought to himself, what have I done?
      Picard raised an eyebrow, and Shelby stifled a smile. Bowman glared softly at Kennedy and said, "He's a bit young, isn't he?"
      "And you're a bit old. That makes you two about even," returned Kennedy tartly. Bowman and Shelby both laughed, but Picard just stared at Blake, his expression unreadable.
      "Well," continued Kennedy. "Shall we begin? I believe our friend has an interesting story for us."
      "I'll bet he does," came a familiar voice from behind them, and Blake whirled around.
      Standing there, positively oozing righteous indignation, was Professor Love.
      "Who the devil are YOU?" demanded Bowman.
      "Good question," said Kennedy. "I'm sure he'll explain, won't he?"
      "You're damn right I will," Love said. "I am William Love, a professor of physics over at the university...and this person," he pointed at Blake, "is my student. He is trying to pass off my work about the Borg defenses as his own. Thank GOD I got here in time," Love said dramatically.
      Blake stared at Love and felt the house of cards he'd built fall around him. Then anger flared up in him, fury at being lied to, having his idea stolen. His awe at being brought before the greatest people in the Federation vanished, replaced by the need to be heard and the anger to give return his voice. No way in hell was he going to let Love get away with this. "This is MY work, you fuck," he said softly, so softly that Picard and the others almost couldn't hear. He started to walk towards Love slowly. "Yeah, and you know it. MY work. I found your letter to Kennedy. I saw the simulations you were running. For something YOU said wouldn't work you were sure spending a lot of time on it." Blake's face was furious, his body shaking with the controlled rage. "But you were lying, weren't you? How about my applications to the Academy? Did you lie about those? Did you even SEND them?"
      The two were now standing toe to toe, and Love took a compensatory step backward, flinching from the fury in Blake's voice. The security guards began to look nervous, but Kennedy motioned them to keep their places. "Now you're going to try to keep the lie going, but it's not going to work. Not anymore. I've had it with you. You tell these people the truth. Tell them the work is MINE." Blake spat the last through clenched teeth, his fists held tightly to his sides.
      Love's eyes flicked from Blake to the others seated behind him and then back, small and watery and fearful.
      And then Love did tell them the truth as he turned and ran from the room.
      Blake turned back to Kennedy and the others, his eyes down and his anger fading and being replaced with a sort of dull ache. Then he looked up at their faces, not even daring to hope.
      Shelby was frankly astonished. Bowman was smiling, and so was Kennedy. And for the first time, Picard's expression showed something. It showed understanding.
      And recognition.
      Kennedy rose and approached him. "Was all that true?"
      Blake nodded, not daring to speak.
      "And that's why you came to me anonymously?"
      Blake nodded again. "Yes ma'am. I was afraid..." he trailed off.
      "That took alot of guts," Bowman's voice rumbled from behind Kennedy. Shelby nodded in agreement, smiling openly.
      Kennedy smiled a little. "Do you have the guts to do stuff like that every day, Mr. Crossfire?"
      He looked at the Ambassador in confusion. "Ma'am?"
      "In the Academy, for instance?"
      Blake smiled a little, then alot when he read the encouragement in her eyes. "You bet I do."
      "Very good, Mr. Crossfire." She took him by the arm and turned back to the table. "I believe we can prevail upon the new Commandant of the Academy to see to it you are placed in this term." She looked up at Picard. "Can't we, Jean-Luc?"
      Picard smiled, just a little. "I suppose so. If someone were willing to sponsor him. It is a rather unusual way to enter the Academy." He took a drink of his tea.
      "I thought," said Kennedy, smiling, "that that was precisely what I was doing."
      Picard feigned sudden understanding. "Oh, so you wish to sponsor him. Very well, I believe it can be arranged." Picard looked sternly at Blake. "The term has already started. You will have catch up with the rest of the freshman class. Do you understand?"
      Blake nodded, swallowing his nervousness. "Yes, sir. I can do it. I have to."
      Picard appeared to consider this last statement, and then nodded, once, in understanding and recognition.
      "You'd better not let me down, kiddo," Kennedy said, as she returned to her seat. "I'm going out on a limb for you."
      Blake wasn't sure what to say, so he simply stared at her instead.
      "Well," said Picard. "Let's begin."

      After the meeting was over, Kennedy insisted he join her for dinner. Blake accepted, unable to think of a way to politely refuse. In the end, he realized, the only reason why he didn't want to have dinner with her was out of fear, and when he finally understood that the fear vanished.
      Kennedy learned everything there was to know about him that evening. His family life, how he'd grown up on a farm with only his mother around. His academic life at the University and how he'd gotten tangled up with the two-faced Professor Love. Everything. As the evening went on Blake became more and more comfortable with Kennedy.
      After dinner Kennedy had her private shuttle take Blake straight back to his apartment. There, he immediately checked his mail. There was already a letter from Starfleet Academy in his mailbox.
      He paused, then keyed the message to the screen.

------------------------------------------------------------------------
TO: CROSSFIRE (Blake, Z)
FROM: Admiral Jean-Luc Picard, Commandant, Starfleet Academy

Mr. Blake,

You are hereby granted admission to Starfleet Academy. Report immediately to the main Annex. Bring only a minimum of personal items.
Good luck. I shall be watching your progress closely.

Jean-Luc Picard
------------------------------------------------------------------------

      Blake sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. All he could see was the recognition and understanding on Picard's face.

      After completing the registration paperwork (all of which was pre-signed by Picard himself), he was given a room assignment and sent off to bed. His formal instruction in the Academy was to begin promptly at 0600 hours tomorrow.
      He searched through the quiet dormatory, looking for his room. After a few minutes and retracing his steps twice, he found it.
      Gratefully he keyed open the lock, and the door slid aside softly. Inside was an empty room with two of everything: bunks, dressers, desks, chairs. He looked around, and saw various posters on the walls. His roommate was already there, of course, but nothing was on his side of the room. His roommate wasn't there, though. So much the better; he'd have a chance to catch his breath.
      Blake walked in, tossing his bag on the nearest bunk. He stretched, then noticed the wallcom. He keyed in his ident number, initializing his account, then entered the location number and waited. Soon the face of a friend appeared, the first of several people he was going to have to call.
      "Darin," he said, smiling. "Guess where I'm calling from."

Copyright 1994, 2000 by Jonathan H. Reid. All rights reserved.