Crossover - Michael Jan Friedman [103]
“Speak for yourself,” commented McCoy, tinkering with what was left of the communications controls.
The Vulcan sighed. Some things, it seemed, would never change.
As Picard entered Ten-Forward with Riker at his side, his gaze was drawn to the twenty-third-century vessel keeping pace with them off their starboard beam. Somewhere on that vessel, Spock and his old comrades were enjoying a reunion of sorts.
There was something about those three that distinguished them from other people, he thought. They possessed a stature that seemed to transcend the physical. A…
“Camaraderie,” he said out loud.
His first officer turned to him. “I beg your pardon, sir?”
The captain indicated the Yorktown with a lift of his chin. “Those three, over there. They exemplify the meaning of camaraderie like no one else I’ve ever seen.”
Observing the Yorktown for a moment on his way to the bar, Riker grunted. “I see what you mean. But then, they served together for a long time. Almost thirty years, wasn’t it?”
Picard thought about it as he slid onto a stool. “Off and on, I suppose. On one mission or another.”
His exec commandeered the next stool over. “And still friends. Still willing to risk their lives for one another.”
Not so long ago, the being called Q had shifted the captain back and forth in time. In a future that might yet take place, Picard had seen his friends separated and at odds with one another—Riker and Worf in particular. On his return to normalcy, he’d sworn not to let matters take that course.
Now the value of avoiding such a future was brought home to him even more resoundingly. The captain very much wanted his officers to be like Spock, McCoy, and Scotty thirty years hence. He wanted them to be able to look into each other’s eyes and know that they were in a place where they could feel at home. He—
“What can I get for you gentlemen?”
Turning, Picard saw Guinan standing expectantly behind the bar. He smiled.
“Listening in?” he asked.
“How could I?” she said, answering his question with another. “You weren’t saying anything.”
The captain chuckled. “That never stopped you before.”
“Duhlian Twist,” said the first officer. “Spicy, the way I like it.”
“All right.” Guinan eyed Picard. “And you?”
“Ale,” the captain responded.
But before he’d quite gotten the word out, she had produced a foamy mug full of the very stuff. He had to smile.
“You poured that before I said anything,” he pointed out.
“Of course I did,” Guinan told him, smiling back. “I can’t wait all day for you to make up your mind.”
Riker shrugged. “You can’t beat the service,” he observed.
“I suppose not,” Picard agreed. “For that reason alone, it was worth rejoining the saucer section.”
A moment later, Guinan brought the first officer his drink as well. The color of rust, it came in a squat, round glass.
“So,” said the bartender, “what happened to those charges?”
The captain had to think a moment before he realized what she was talking about. “The ones related to Captain Scott’s theft of the Yorktown, you mean.”
“Uh-huh. He’s not going to be court-martialed, is he? Not after he managed to pull Ambassador Spock out of prison?”
“No,” Picard told her. “He won’t be court-martialed.”
Riker grinned. “The captain pulled a few strings at Starfleet Command. After all, it’s not the first time anyone’s ever stolen a ship for a good cause.”
“True,” said Picard. “I understand that in Captain Scott’s day, it happened on a fairly regular basis.”
Guinan wagged a long, graceful finger at him. “You’re pulling my leg now.”
“Indeed,” the captain admitted. “In any case, I had to promise Starfleet that Scott would return the Yorktown and refrain from such thefts in the future. I trust that from now on, he’ll restrict himself to the shuttle we loaned him.”
Riker looked past Picard to the old Constitution-class vessel. “They’ve been out there for hours already— probably so glad to see each other, we’ll never be able to pry them apart.”
Guinan had to stifle a snicker. The captain shot