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“It was good to work with you on the Excelsior’s first mission, sir,” he said, as they matched strides down the avenue that led back through the spaceport. “I don’t remember if I ever thanked you for everything you did back then.”

Kirk shook his head, smiling. “Maybe not, but it doesn’t matter. You’ll pay back the favor to some other young captain who rises out of your ranks someday. That’s the way Starfleet works.” His smile widened. “And in any case, I got a superb security officer out of the whole mess. If I weren’t retiring soon, I’d try to keep him awhile longer.”

Sulu laughed, knowing from the way Kirk had let his voice drift ahead of them that the words weren’t meant for him, but for the dark-haired man waiting at the spaceport’s gate. “And he’d probably let you, Captain, but I wouldn’t. I’ve got a hundred free flight simulator games coming to me, after the bet we made about whether you really were going to retire after the Khitomer treaty signing. And with the Excelsior’s schedule of deep-space missions for the next five years, the only way I’m ever going to get my payoff is if he comes along as my first officer.”

“Very funny,” said Chekov. “You’re late.”

Sulu glanced at his watch, suddenly worried that all that time in the Captain’s Table had really been the hours that it seemed. The time displayed there assured him otherwise. “By ten minutes, Pavel! Don’t tell me you never found a nice little Russian bar on shore leave and forgot exactly what time you were due back at the ship, because I remember”

“That was different, there were two diplomats and an alien tax collector involved”

A hand fell on both their shoulders, warm and friendly. “It’s good to see you two working out so well,” said Captain Kirk. “Enjoy your mission on the Excelsior, Mr. Chekov. And Captain Sulu let me know how everything goes next time we happen to be in the Captain’s Table together.”

He left them with a final clap on the shoulders, his strides fading away into the night. Chekov looked curious.

“The Captain’s Table?” the Russian asked. “I’ve never heard of that bar here on Mars. Is it new?”

“New to me, but I think a lot of people have already found it.” Sulu paused, remembering what Kirk had said about passing the favor on to a captain who would someday rise out of his ranks. He smiled at his new secondin-command. “Maybe I’ll get the chance to take you there someday. I don’t suppose you want to bet on whether”

“No,” said Chekov firmly. Sulu laughed, and swung around to walk beside him, heading back toward the spaceport, toward the Excelsior, and toward the stars.

Star Trek:Ž

The Next Generation

THE CAPTAIN’S TABLE

Dujonian’s Hoard

Jean-Luc Picard

as recorded by

Michael Jan Friedman

For Jason, Roni, Jesse, and Dana, who love to go a-wanderin’

Madigoor

CAPTAIN JEAN-LUC PICARD looked around at the thickening fog and decided he would never reach his destination.

In the pea soup that surrounded him, every building looked like every other. Floating street illuminators were few and far between. And as Madigooran cities were known to have their deadlier sides, he wasn’t at all comfortable not knowing where he was going.

Turning to his friend and colleague Captain Neil Gleason of the Zhukov, Picard shrugged. “Maybe we ought to turn back,” he suggested. “Return to the conference center.”

“Nonsense,” said Gleason, his face covered with a thin sheen of moisture, his blue eyes resolute beneath his shock of thick red hair. “We can’t turn back. We’re almost there.”

Picard cleared his throat. “Forgive me for sounding dubious, Neil, but you said the very same thing ten minutes ago, and unless I’m mistaken ten minutes before that.”

Gleason stopped and clapped his colleague on the shoulder. “Come on, Jean-Luc. I’ve never attended a more useless excuse for a conference in my life. Trade routes, transitional governments, border disputes … it’s enough to make me wish I’d become an engineer.”

Picard had to agree.

A year earlier, the