Boogeymen - Mel Gilden [13]
“In a minute. I want to talk to Jean-Luc, er, the captain.”
“We will be in the exobiology lab on deck five.”
“I’ll be there,” Baldwin said, a little too brightly.
When the door closed behind Mont and Shubunkin, Baldwin opened his arms and smiled apologetically. Counselor Troi stood up and held out her hand for Baldwin to shake again. She said, “Come on, Data.”
“Captain?” Data said.
“I believe Professor Baldwin wishes a private conference.”
Looking a little confused, Data said, “Aye, Captain,” and left with Counselor Troi.
When they were gone, Baldwin walked to the food dispenser and said, “A Randy Yeoman.” He looked at Picard, who nodded. “Make that two,” Baldwin said. A moment later two tall, sweating glasses with red smoke in them appeared on the stage of the dispenser. Baldwin picked up both of them, gave one to Picard, then sat down in the seat Data had just vacated.
They toasted old times, and then Baldwin said, “Command agrees with you, Jean-Luc.”
“As it never did with you. But you landed on your feet as you always have. Fame. Fortune. Adventure. You have the life you always said you wanted.”
“Yes. And the enemies to go with it.”
Baldwin took a long drink while Picard said, “Oh?”
“This is good,” Baldwin said as he peered into his drink. “I tried to make an alcoholic beverage from some of the plants on Tantamon Four. Couldn’t do it. Something wrong with their sugars or something. I never figured it out.”
“You were busy with the alien ship. What about those enemies?”
“I’ve been an exologist for a long time. I’ve rubbed a lot of faces in the dirt, even without trying.”
Picard waited.
“Do you know how many people hate me for getting someplace first, for finding something first, for drawing correct conclusions first, for sending artifacts and information to Starfleet and Federation museums rather than selling them to the highest bidder?”
“How many?”
“A lot,” said Baldwin and set his drink loudly onto the table.
When he did not speak for a few moments, Picard said, “So you want out.”
“You bet I do. I want to die in bed, not in some forsaken backwater where I was sent by a museum.” He took another drink and said, “Two weeks is a long time.”
Picard smiled. “Surely you can’t feel yourself in danger aboard the Enterprise.”
“Silly, huh? Paranoia will get me if nothing else does. Pretty soon I’ll be balling up antique newspapers and scattering them around my bed so that nobody can sneak up on me while I’m sleeping.” He shook his head.
“You must have a plan.”
“Yes. There is always a plan. I’m going to disappear.”
“That will be difficult on Memory Alpha.”
“Ships stop at Memory Alpha. And they leave again.”
They studied each other for a while. Picard could sympathize with Baldwin. There had been moments —when life-and-death decisions had to be made, when confronting situations from which there seemed to be no escape—when he had considered disappearing himself. He understood from Troi that people in responsible positions frequently had such fantasies. But fantasies were all they were, and Picard knew it. He could captain a freighter or a cruise ship. He could become a farmer on some frontier world. He could even teach at the Academy. Certainly, and be bored in a week.
Quietly Picard said, “Risk is in your blood as it is in mine. The risk takes different forms, but it is there just as certainly.”
“Not anymore, Jean-Luc.”
Picard finished his drink and said, “If all you want is an ear, I’m certain Counselor Troi would be glad to oblige.”
“An ear is only the beginning. I want your help.”
“If I don’t deposit you at Memory Alpha, people are sure to notice.”
“You’ll think of something.” Baldwin stood up and went on, “You’re the captain.” He left the conference lounge.
Picard watched the rainbow smudges go by, while wondering if he really would think of something. And if he did, would he tell Baldwin?
Wesley found Lieutenant Commander Geordi La Forge in Engineering sitting at a table almost as large as the one in the conference lounge. Set into the top was a variety