Dark Mirror - Diane Duane [62]
“If you think that’s the right idea, Captain,” Barclay said, sounding doubtful. He sounded very afraid, as well. Picard would have liked to say something to reassure him, but didn’t dare: he thought it might be out of character. “I’ll do what I can, Mr. Barclay. It’s the least return I can make for loyalty.” But he wondered what in heaven’s name he could do. “Meantime …” He allowed himself a slight smile. “As far as Commander Riker is concerned, this conversation never happened.”
“Yes, sir,” Barclay said, sounding grateful. “Thank you, sir.”
The doors opened. There were guards on either side of them; as Picard came out, they snapped to attention and saluted. He returned the salute, trying to seem idle about it, and glanced around him, trying to keep the look casual.
The bridge was as he had seen it in the recorded scan. It seemed smaller than his own because of the darker colors, but somehow plusher at the same time. The sense of luxury was more pronounced in the softer carpeting on the floor, the gleam of polished metal here and there, the somber colors. And down there in the center seat—
The other Will Riker stood up and saluted him, smiling a crooked smile. The gesture, which looked too formal, too respectful on everyone else, this Riker somehow made appear sloppy and insulting. The expression in his eyes was chilly, but amused. Picard found himself wishing very much that he had even a smattering of the counselor’s ability to directly sense emotion. For the time being, he had to make do with his own aptitude in that area—not inconsiderable. On any other man’s face, he would have read the expressions there as meaning insolence, insubordination simmering below the surface, treachery waiting for a chance. The problem was that this was Will Riker’s face as well, and Picard had never caught so much as a hint of any of those emotions in Will. This led him toward a tendency of unbelief. But forcefully Picard reminded himself that in this situation particularly, he must not allow that unbelief to affect him by reflex.
“Report,” he said as he swung down toward the three center seats. “Ship’s status?”
“Unchanged,” Riker said. “Still no sensor contact with the target. We’re sure they’re avoiding us: we’re continuing our search pattern.”
“Very well,” Picard said, and made for his chair. Riker did not immediately move away from it, so that for a moment he and Picard were almost nose to nose, and Riker looked down at him with an expression that bordered on amused pleasure at making Picard wait. Insolence again. What was the man waiting for? Picard remembered quite clearly Kirk’s report, and how officers in this universe routinely moved up in rank via assassination. Did they duel as well? Picard found himself wondering. Was this Riker trying to provoke a confrontation? Had he been trying for a while? No way to tell now.
“Mr. Riker,” Picard said as pleasantly as he could, “kindly take yourself away from my seat before I am forced to request my chief bodyguard to put his phaser up one of those unlovely nostrils of yours and give your brainpan, such as it is, a much-overdue cleaning.”
There were muted snickers around the bridge, just as there had been long ago in the Academy when one of Picard’s cadet martial-arts instructors made the same comment to him. Riker backed away —but only just, with a smile that suggested he thought Picard’s chief bodyguard might not do what he was told. Or am I reading too much into this? Picard thought. He doubted it, though. It seemed unwise to take anything for granted at the moment, and in this milieu, it seemed to him that paranoia might be the most logical approach to staying alive and getting his job done.
He sat down in that center seat, astonished to feel the soft give of it under him: a seat that tempted a man to feel comfortable. He disliked the feeling intensely. On his own bridge, Picard wanted to feel alert, not to be tempted to drowse off—especially not around here.
Picard turned his attention to the main viewer. It showed empty space, the stars flowing slowly by, just as on his