All Good Things__ - Michael Jan Friedman [27]
“Will,” he said, his eyes trained on the forward viewscreen, “this time-shifting business… when it happens, I experience a moment of disorientation. If this should occur during a crisis, I want you to be ready to take command immediately.”
There was no reaction. Turning to his first officer, Picard saw the faraway look on his face.
“Number One?”
Abruptly, Riker realized that the captain was looking at him. He straightened in his seat.
“Sorry, Captain. Be prepared to take command. Aye, sir.”
But a moment later, it was clear that he was still absorbed by something—and Picard was willing to wager it had nothing to do with his duties.
The captain frowned. “Speaking of disorientation… are you all right, Will?”
The first officer nodded reassuringly. “Just a little distracted. I’m fine, sir. Really.”
Picard didn’t quite believe him, but he decided not to pursue the matter. Even Will Riker was allowed a daydream now and then. If an emergency arose, the captain had no fear that his exec would respond to it.
Besides, Picard told himself, I have to get some work donembefore I pop out of this time period again. It Sounded silly when he put it that way, but right now he had to juxtapose the unfathomable with the very mundane.
“You have the bridge, Number One. I’ll be in my ready room.”
Riker turned and smiled at him in a perfunctory way. “Aye, sir.”
Rising, the captain made his way to his ready-room door. It slid aside at his approach, and the room itself was revealed to him.
As never before, he was grateful for the sanctumlike nature of it… the steady, predictable peacefulness. Everything was right where he expected it to be, from his antique Shakespearean folio to his model of the Stargazer… from his Naikous statue, acquired on the Federation planet Kurlan, to his majestic Terran lionfish.
It was very heartening… and very much an illusion, in that regard. There was no guarantee that he’d be here an hour from now, or even a minute. Anyway, what significance could those terms have when one was weaving in and out of Time?
But enough of such mind-bending concerns. Right here, right now, Picard sat down behind his desk and applied himself to the ship’s affairs. After all, life on the Enterprise had a way of going on, no matter what dangers might emerge in its path.
Yet he had barely begun when he heard the sound of chimes, notifying him that there was someone outside his door. Turning in that direction, he said, “Come.”
As the door slid away, it showed him his chief medical officer. He thought he saw a look of concern on her face, but she was moving across the room too quickly for him to be sure.
Stopping by the replicator, she made her request. “Milk… warm. A dash of nutmeg.”
The replicator hummed for a moment, then produced the required beverage. Taking it away, Beverly brought it to the captain.
He looked up at her. “What’s this?”
She smiled. “A prescription. A glass of warm milk and eight hours’ uninterrupted sleep.” Picard sat back in his chair. “Beverly…” “Doctor’s orders,” she insisted. “You’re exhausted. I don’t know if you’ve slept in the past or the future, but I know you haven’t slept in the present. Now, get some rest, or I’ll have you relieved and sedated.” The captain chuckled, resigned to his fate. “Yes, sir.” For a second or so, they just looked at each other, sharing the humor of the moment. Then Beverly leaned forward and put her hand on his.
It began as a friendly gesture, or so Picard thought. But the doctor left it there a beat longer than necessary, giving it a little squeeze before she lifted it again.
And as she straightened, he saw what he was now certain was a look of concern. The captain gazed into her eyes, trying to divine her thoughts. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
She seemed on the verge of telling him. Then, apparently thinking better of the idea, she turned and headed for the door. Picard stood, refusing to let the matter lie—whatever it was. “Beverly!”
She stopped at the sound of her