Eagerly joining us will be Cadet Wesley Crusher, formerly ensign aboard my ship.  He has spent four academic years at Starfleet, but he has only three academic years' worth of credits, as he was forced - persuaded or coerced may be better words - to do something of a nut-ball stunt at Saturn by a team-leader at the end of his second academic year.  That same team-leader, former Cadet Nicholas LoCarno, accepted most of the punishment; he was expelled, while the other three members of the team lost all credits for that year.  That was his second year at the Academy, and Dr. Crusher, Commander Riker, Commander Data, Counsellor Troi, Commander LaForge, Lt. Worf, and I have forgiven him for that act; I am sure that he, himself, will never forget.  Since he was one of my bridge crew before he went to the Academy and we had gotten to know him well before he went to the Academy, the senior officers are planning a sort of an informal reunion celebration for him in our Observation Lounge. . . as a surprise.

            July 8.

            Above Pluto.

As he swooped above Pluto's plane of orbit, he finally realised that his team had been able to do the manoeuvre with such expert proficiency in the past.  But it didn't matter.  The important things were that they did do it and that they had done it well.  Wesley opened a comm-line.  "Very good, group," he said.  "That conforms to our flight plan, so let's go to Io and dock.  Crusher out."  Wesley felt so proud of his Pulsar Squadron.  He learned well from his mistake with Nova Squadron (which, he remembered, was why he had included it in this universe), and it served him extremely well.  Mistake with Nova Squadron, he thought to himself.  All because I didn't want to disappoint my friends.  Boy, if I allowed my male ego any more than 10% of my control, I would be up the creek. . . or up a subspace anomaly.  He smiled at his joke.  He couldn't control his emotions as well as Picard, but he managed to keep them under control extremely well.  His squadron knew how he felt about nonsense and filing inaccurate flight plans.  (The only reason he had a squadron was that he had made that slight alteration from the original universe in this one.)  They never had to worry about that, because, out of Wesley's insistence, they checked everything before flying.  A practice to which they had no real objection; they just found it a little annoying after a while.  Wesley did not care; he had set down certain rules for his group, and the four who worked with him were four of the top academy students on his level.  He was the best on his level, as signified by the award given to him by Admiral Brand.  (In the original universe, he left the Academy; in this one, however, he changed that.)  No, he said to himself.  I will not let it go to my head.  That causes too much swelling of the head, and, sometimes, a swelled head can get to the point where it will pop.  Another joke, but he did not smile at it.  It was serious to him. . . he would never again allow his ego to get carried away with him.  It had almost cost him his career in Starfleet. . . that incident around Saturn.  It had almost cost him his life, too.  It had cost the life of one of his teammates.  He remembered it almost as if it were yesterday. . .

            They had been flying near Saturn.  They did a low-apogee turn in a diamond-slot formation, and they had begun to do a Kolvoord Starburst.  Their flight plan had said a Yeager Loop, but their leader wanted to graduate in a death-defying stunt.  Well, it was rather death-defying. . . for all but one of their members, anyway.  They had just released the plasma-locks when one of them made a slight error.  He rammed into another shuttlecraft, and, before they knew it, all the shuttles had hit each other.  Wesley still could not remember touching his emergency transporter.  However, he awoke in a medical facility on Titan, where he found out the awful truth. . . that Josh - Joshua Albert - had died.  That had been one of his best friends in the Academy.

            After that, Brand opened an investigation, and Nick told them what they ought to do. . . cover up the facts and lie.  Nick and the two young ladies on the group had no problem doing as Nick had said, but Wesley did.  The worst punch of all was when Picard called him to his Ready-Room on the Enterprise and told him he knew what had happened. . . what Wesley's group had wanted to do.  Picard told him to tell Admiral Brand what happened and that the first duty of any - any - Starfleet officer is to the truth.  Wesley called Nick to his quarters and told him that Picard knew, that Picard was going to give the information to Brand.  Nick had quite a problem accepting that Wesley wanted to tell before they got in any deeper.  After quite a wrestle with his conscience, Wesley spoke up and told Brand what really happened just as she was about to close the investigation.  In the end, Nick did protect them. . . he made a plea to Brand.  The academy expelled him, revoked the flight privileges of the others temporarily, gave the three a permanent reprimand, and, worst of all, simply flushed the credits of their entire year down the drain.

            The very start of the next year had been a little bumpy for him (though it had been much bumpier in the original universe), but he got through the bumpy first stages, and he told Brand that he wanted - he really wanted - his flight privileges back.  He claimed he would never make the mistake he had, and, in addition, he asked for permission to get a flight team.  "Much against my better judgement," Brand had said, "I have decided to grant you your request.  You have your flight privileges back, and you have permission to make a flight team.  However, you are cautioned extremely that, if your team is intentionally not at the scheduled planet or planets and is intentionally not within the distances specified in your flight plan, your privileges will be revoked, and it will take more than pleading to get them back.  Is that understood, Mr. Crusher?"

            Certainly, that was understood.  Wesley would not make such a mistake again.  (His grades had dropped in the original universe, but they skyrocketed in this one.)

            This past year was what followed.  Excellent.  The junior year of his friends and him was very good.  He still had to write that letter to Mother. . .

            He snapped out of his reverie.  Frantically, he checked his computers and sighed in relief when he read the results.  The most important one was that he had not broken formation with his group.  Fortunately, he had not strayed from the flight plan either.  He tapped his communication console.  "Cadet Wesley Crusher, Pulsar Squadron leader, to Station Io 2," he said.  This was specified in his flight plan, and he called at the exact second recorded in his flight plan.  Lucky him!  (Actually, he knew it was going to happen.)

            "This is Station Io 2," said a commander's voice.  "Have you completed manoeuvres, Pulsar Squadron?"

            "Aye, sir," said Wesley, "and we are going to Station Io 2 as specified."

            "Very good.  Dock 2 has been reserved and is waiting."

            "Thank you, sir.  Cadet Crusher out."  So far, so good, he thought to himself.  All per flight plan.  He checked his sensors.  Everything was in order.  Soon, he would be back on Earth, and he would be able to participate in Captain Jean-Luc Picard's next mission:  to investigate the far reaches of space.  Not exactly secret news, that next mission.

            * * *

            Admiral Brand's Office, Starfleet Academy, Earth.

            Picard entered Admiral Brand's office, where the lady was sitting behind her desk.  The two smiled at each other.  "Good day, Jean-Luc," said Brand.  "It appears that we meet under better circumstances than. . . well, you get my point."

            "I certainly do," said Picard.  One of the only people to whom he knew he could talk freely.  He felt comfortable in his friend's office.

            Both officers wore uniforms with red vests, black pants, and black strips across the shoulders.  Both were also in the latter part of mid-life.  Captain Jean-Luc Picard was a little shorter than average and was in rather good shape.  His oval-shaped head was almost completely hairless, except for a crescent of grey hair going from ear to ear across the back and for black eyebrows above his eyes.  He had four gold discs on the right side of his collar, signifying his captaincy.  Brand had dark hair; she was not much shorter than Picard but was a little wider.  Also, the collar of her uniform was a bit different from his.

            Brand indicated the chair and said, "Have a seat."  Picard had a seat.  "So how's it been?"

            "Oh, fine," said Picard.  "And with you?"

            "Fine," said Admiral Brand.  "Some tea?"

            "Yes," said Picard.  "Earl Grey, hot."  Brand nodded, got up, went over to the replicator, and told it to make two of them.  She gave one to Picard and drank from the other.  "Tell me about Wesley, please. . . how he has progressed, everything like that."  Brand smiled.

            The admiral told Picard, "Cadet Wesley Crusher has done impressively well, Captain.  It is my impression from his teachers that almost every single thing he did this year was excellent.  A common late-20th-century American might have said, 'Saying he earned all A's is not giving him enough credit.' "

            Picard said, "If he has the basic personality with which I left him, plus some more intelligence, I'll be more than happy enough.  Naturally, I would expect some change."

            "He is quite serious about his work and other things," replied the admiral, "but his personality remains nearly unchanged.  At the commencement, when I personally handed him a certain reward, it felt hard to distinguish him between a rising senior - which he is - and a graduating senior - which he is not.  I'll let him tell you what reward that was."

            Picard raised his right eyebrow.  "You rarely kid, my friend.  I heard that he got his flight privileges back at the beginning of last academic year.  Tell me, who was the commanding cadet of his flight team this year?"

            "That was he, himself.  In fact, same as last year."

            "Did he do anything wrong this or last year?"

            "Not a thing.  And he kept his team well-in-line.  His team's flights were all according to the flight plans he sent in to us.  I would prefer that you let him explain the details; I do not want to ruin it for him.  He has definitely learned from his mistake year before last.  His mother will definitely be proud of him."

            Picard smiled.  "I knew that Wesley would take after my old friend, Jack Crusher, - and also Dr. Crusher - in intelligence and determination."

            "If I am correct," said Brand with a pleasant smile, "he gets in less trouble than an android might."  Picard almost laughed, but he did not do that.  Something beeped on her computer.  She activated it and read the screen.  When she finished, she shook her head with a smile.  "Well, his team just finished the run around Pluto.  I tell you, it seems as though they could do almost anything.  It is Wesley that makes that team what it is, I think.  He seems to be a model for his fellow students.  In fact, his team just filed a simple flight plan. . . fly back here to Earth and, just before docking at the Academy Docks, do a few manoeuvres around the moon."  She rechecked the time.  "In fact, they should pass Mars's orbit in half an hour."

            "We should see it," said Picard.  "Mind if the Enterprise records his team's performance?"

            "No," said Brand.  "Not at all."

            Picard tapped his communicator.  "Commander Data, this is Captain Picard.  Cadet Wesley Crusher's flight team should arrive in about half an hour and do some manoeuvres around the moon.  I would like this performance recorded."

            "Aye, sir," replied the android science officer's voice over the communicator circuits.  "Commander Data out."

            "Shall we read their flight plan?" queried Picard.  Brand nodded.  She turned the computer so that both she and Picard could read the screen.  They began to read the flight plan.

            * * *

            Above the Moon.

            "Very good," said Wesley.  "Now, the diamond-slot manoeuvre."  Their shuttles entered that formation.  They made an arc above the Moon and toward Earth's atmosphere.  Excellent! Wesley thought to himself.  I hope the Enterprise is watching.  They came within range of seeing the Enterprise, orbiting Earth outside spacedock.  Their next manoeuvres involved some action around the large ship, so Wesley got a little apprehensive.  And, if we so much as scratch it, Captain Picard will have my hide. . . maybe literally.  The five shuttles lined up side-by-side.  "Good.  Let's make this excellent."  As the shuttles approached the Enterprise, they changed formation so that they were like the five points of a star.  They then 'orbited' the Enterprise for a moment, releasing some gases.  Then, the shuttles sped away, leaving by deposits that illuminated the gases.  The result was what appeared to be a star enclosing the Enterprise, showing its every line with respectful dignity.  Wesley was proud; this was one of the most complicated, yet academy-legal, manoeuvres because of the adjustments needed, and his team had done it with pinpoint accuracy.  "Excellent, team!  Now, down to Earth."  They neared the planet and headed for the upper continent in the north-western semihemisphere, going toward the San Francisco area.  Wesley radioed in.  "Cadet Wesley Crusher, leader of the Pulsar Squadron, reporting in to Academy Shuttle Bay 3."

            An officer replied, "This is Academy Shuttle Bay 3.  Report."

            "We have finished our manoeuvres and are returning," said Wesley.  "Am I correct in assuming the shuttle bay is ready?"

            "Yes," said the officer.  "The shuttle bay is ready.  You may come on in."

            "Thank you, sir.  Crusher out."  Wesley cruised his shuttle toward the Academy and slowed down.  Something happened; some force just seemed to invade his mind.  He could not fight it off.  (His powers should have let him fight it off, but they did not.)  It was conquering him, and it was just after he had made the necessary adjustment.  Lucky me, he mused again as he tried to regain control of himself.  As suddenly as it had invaded his mind, it left.  No trace, except his nervousness.  He checked everything and found that everything was all right.  He sighed and led his team to the docking point.

            * * *

            Wesley's Quarters, Starfleet Academy, Earth.

            He had just returned and gotten some hot chocolate. . . his personal remedy for a little headache.  The young man had black hair and no facial hair.  He was about Kevin Keene's height.  His uniform was similar to Picard's, except that it was the part across the shoulders that was red rather than the vest, and the vest was black.  He had three gold capsules on his right collar to indicate that he was a junior; he would soon get the fourth, as he would be a senior next year.

            Someone knocked on the door.  "Come in," he called.  The doorknob twisted, and the door opened.  Captain Picard came in, and Wesley put his hot chocolate on his desk and stood at attention.  "Sir!"

            "At ease," said Picard.  Wesley returned to 'ease' and picked up his hot chocolate again.

            "Might I offer you anything to drink, sir?" asked Wesley.

            Picard said, "No, thank you.  I just loaded up on Earl Grey with Admiral Brand."  Wesley took a sip of his hot chocolate and seemed to draw some strength from it.  Picard noticed that Wesley seemed a little nervous.  "Are you all right, Wesley?"