A Call to Darkness - Michael Jan Friedman [3]
“Understood,” said Worf. Was that a note of petulance in his voice? After all, Klingons hated to be lectured. “I will notify the others.”
Picard looked at him. “Don’t tell me,” he said, “that the others have overstayed their shifts as well.”
The expression that took shape on Worf’s face was a new one on the captain. It seemed to partake of surprise and shame and a desire to escape, in more or less equal portions.
The Klingon’s temples worked savagely as he tried to fashion an answer-one he could live with.
“Lieutenant?”
The security chief sighed. “Aye, sir. It is… as you say.”
Picard felt a gobbet of anger rise in his throat. Not at his crew, but at himself. How far had he let things slip in his preoccupation with the Gregor Mendel?
Turning away from the Klingon abruptly, he punched a code into his computer terminal. A list sprang up on the screen. After taking a moment to digest the information, he erased it.
Worf still sat on the other side of the desk, looking miserable.
“You are dismissed,” said Picard.
The Klingon rose. “Thank you, sir.” He turned on his heel and exited-grateful to be gone, the captain thought.
So. Worf was not the only one who had breached this regulation. Almost a third of the bridge crew had done the same.
In a way, it was all very touching. Picard had never made an effort to be popular-only to be fair. It was gratifying to see the lengths to which his people had gone on his behalf.
But he couldn’t allow it to continue.
Rising, he negotiated his way around his desk and crossed the cabin. A second later, the doors parted for him, revealing the bridge and its complement of scofflaws.
No one looked in his direction. It was almost comical.
Restraining a chuckle, Picard took up a position between the forward consoles and the main viewer. “Your attention,” he said in his deep, resonating voice-just loud enough to be heard at the aft stations.
Suddenly, all eyes were on him.
“It appears,” he went on, “that a number of you have overstayed your welcomes here. I expect that situation to be rectified immediately.” It occurred to him to take matters a little farther-as a sort of backhanded recognition of their efforts. “What’s more, all bridge crew not on duty are to take full advantage of the ship’s recreational facilities. And that is not just a recommendation.” He remembered Worf’s mention of Geordi. “This applies to the engineering staff as well.”
In the wake of Picard’s announcement, glances were exchanged. Resigned glances, for the most part. Hardly jubilant. After all, these officers felt that their place was on the bridge. If they had wished to recreate on their own time, they certainly could have done so without an order from the captain.
Nonetheless, they complied. Calls for relief personnel were placed to a number of different sections.
Satisfied, Picard made his way back to his seat. As he leaned back, he looked neither to his right nor his left. But he knew that he had the attention of both Riker and Troi.
“I am disappointed in you,” he said in a low voice. “The two of you-but particularly in you, Number One. When I’m not here, I look to you to be my eyes and ears-not to lead the revolt.”
He heard Troi muffle a chuckle with her hand. It was hard to feign annoyance with an empath around.
Riker, however, didn’t seem to notice. He shifted his weight in his chair. “It was hardly a revolt, sir. I’d call it a demonstration of loyalty. Of some good, old-fashioned values,”
“Perhaps. But you know as well as I that a crisis may be just around the bend-so to speak. I would prefer that my best people expend their excess exhuberance on emergencies-rather than on duties that can be handled equally well by others.” He harumphed. “Some of our