Crossover - Michael Jan Friedman [78]
“What can I do for you?” asked Picard, taking a chair opposite Troi’s.
She smiled. “Actually, I started out with the intention of seeing how you were feeling. How you were dealing with the loss of your command, I mean.” She sighed. “Then, about halfway here, I realized needed someone to talk to as well.”p>
The captain chuckled. “Perhaps we can console each other, then.”
The counselor’s dark eyes were wistful in the extreme. “It’s been very difficult with Admiral McCoy in charge of the ship,” she confided.
“I can imagine,” Picard remarked. “And for you in particular.”
With a certain reluctance, she nodded. “Being able to sense the emotions of everyone on the bridge is not a pleasant experience right now. There’s resentment. Uncertainty. Distrust. Even anger. And of course, I share all these feelings to one extent or another, which makes it even harder.”
The captain sympathized. “Tell me, Deanna, what did you make of the admiral’s conversation with Governor Tharrus?”
The counselor shrugged. “As you know, I’ve never been very good at reading Romulans. Their minds are too strong, too shielded.”
Picard leaned forward. “I’m not referring to your empathic talents, Deanna. I want to know what you observed.”
Troi thought about it for a moment. “What I observed,” she replied finally, “was a Romulan with a bit of power who thoroughly relished the idea of increasing that power—even if it meant putting himself at risk.”
The captain grunted. “Then you believe he fell for McCoy’s ploy?”
The counselor thought some more. After a while, she shook her head.
“Not necessarily. I got the impression that Tharrus was considering the proposal. But the kind of man I believe him to be might not have accepted it at face value. He might have sought out other ways to turn the offer to his advantage.”
Picard absorbed the information. “I see. And have you made Admiral McCoy aware of your reservations?”
Troi sighed. “He’s not exactly open to my observations, sir. As little as he values your input, he values mine even less. And I can say that with a high degree of certainty.”
The captain sat back in his chair. “Then what happens now? We wait for a reply from Governor Tharrus?”
“Apparently,” the counselor replied. “But the admiral didn’t seem to think it would be long in coming. And for all I know, he’s right about that.”
Picard could feel his fingers clenching into fists. With a conscious effort, he relaxed them.
“I wish there were something I could do,” he said. “I wish I could take back my command and pursue a more rational course of action.”
“But you can’t,” Troi told him. “I know that, sir.” She paused to share his frustration and his pain. “We all do.”
McCoy opened his eyes with a start. It took him a moment or two to remember where he was and what he was doing there.
This was the bridge of the Enterprise, and he was seated in the command center. The reason Captain Picard was nowhere to be seen was because he had banished the man from his own bridge.
Not that he’d wanted to. He’d been forced into doing it by the captain’s lack of initiative. Hell, the very last thing he’d expected was to have to assume command of Picard’s ship.
The admiral straightened in his chair. Somewhere along the line, he must have dozed off or something. He’d have to watch that. It wouldn’t do to let the bridge crew see their commanding officer conk out that way.
Bad enough he looked like some old nag who’d been put out to pasture. He couldn’t afford to act that way, too.
“Sir?” said a deep voice. It came from behind his back, and it sure sounded as if it expected something from him.
McCoy turned in his captain’s chair and cast a glance at Mister Worf. “What is it?” he asked the tactical officer, barely bothering to conceal his annoyance.
Worf frowned. “I merely alerted you to an incoming message, sir.”
“A message?” the admiral repeated. “From whom?”
The Klingon leveled a glance at him that could have sliced duranium. No doubt, McCoy mused, Worf resented his presence there as much as Counselor Troi had. Maybe even more,