Dark Mirror - Diane Duane [91]
“With the exception of Crusher’s case, yes. But that’s just the problem. Encouraging the crew to believe that there’s a breakdown in discipline in the middle of a mission of such import …”
Picard set his mouth in a tight, thin smile for a moment: he had had a sudden idea. “Why such vehemence over an ensign? But he is fairly bright, isn’t he? Energetic. Doesn’t miss his chances. He’ll make a fine officer, once he works in a little. Worried about your job, Number One?”
Riker got redder than he had been. Not because Picard had hit any kind of target, but because he suspected Picard was playing with him. In Picard’s own Riker, that pride was tempered with humor; but in this man, humor seemed to exist only for the sake of innuendo, and teasing only provoked rage.
“Never mind that. Number One, I have my reasons. They are personal, but I guarantee they are not the ones you have in mind. If the ship’s efficiency is in question, that is your problem, by definition. On the other hand”—Picard raised a warning finger—”should anything whatsoever happen to Mr. Crusher, even if it’s just a hangnail, I personally will take it out of your hide. Consider yourself warned.”
Riker started to get up. “I haven’t dismissed you,” Picard said sharply. “Sit down.”
Riker sat.
“I understand perfectly well that you would like to be in charge of this operation. Your—allies—among the crew are not as tight-lipped as you might think they should be.” There, he thought, why should I be the only one around here feeling paranoid? And besides, it’s true. “If anything does start to go wrong, the responsibility is going to devolve on you, for not delivering to your captain, as your job description requires, a ship and crew in good working order. So you had better keep your own nose clean, Number One, before you start trying to wipe mine for me. And another thing. Don’t be confused by the events of the day. The conditions keeping Mr. Crusher alive don’t in the least apply to you. It doesn’t take the counselor to see you thinking, not by a long shot.”
And that was true enough: there was a thuggish, brutal look about this Riker’s face that Picard couldn’t believe he wasn’t aware of, and all the while he had been talking about discipline among the crew, and the “upper echelons,” his expression had been one of naked acquisitiveness, a greedy pleasure in the prospect that something might go wrong … and come out in the end to his advantage, and Picard’s discomfiture. What must it be like, he thought, studying that sullen face, to not be able to trust your second-in-command, to know that he wants your job and is plotting against your life— along with just about everybody else on the ship, it seems.
“Dismissed,” Picard said. Riker got up—
—and the red-alert sirens began whooping. “They’ve sighted it!” Riker said, and dashed out.
Picard broke out in an instantaneous sweat and followed him.
The bridge was silent at the sight of the image caught frozen in the middle of the viewscreen. Picard stood there in front of his seat, watching the graceful white shape, torn. He had rarely been gladder to see anything in his life—and at the same time he wanted to shout, Get away, for heaven’s sake get out of here!
“Lock on,” Riker said to O’Brien. “Don’t lose it this time.” He looked over his shoulder at Worf.
“Her shields are down,” Worf said.
“Riker to security. Counselor Troi to the bridge. Security teams to the transporter rooms, on the double! Phase two is ready to begin.”
They waited. Picard sat down because he was afraid if he stood up much longer, the trembling that he was fighting to control might start to show. Off to one side, Barclay was looking from him to Riker, his eyes thoughtful, but for the moment Picard ignored this. He sat there with his eyes fixed on the tiny white shape. What’s the matter with the evasive program—get lost, get out of here!
The screen flickered, then went back to normal again.
“What was that?