Death in Winter - Michael Jan Friedman [13]
“Doctor Beverly Crusher,” said Picard.
“Just a second, sir.”
A moment later, Beverly’s face appeared on the screen. She was even more beautiful than the captain remembered, and he hadn’t seen her so very long ago.
“Jean-Luc,” she said, “how nice of you to call!”
Her voice was different from the way he remembered it. There was more laughter in it. It bothered him that he could have forgotten in so short a time.
“You must be bored up there,” Beverly said. “You were never one for sitting in spacedock.”
“A little bored,” he confessed. But he wanted to know about her. “How is Starfleet Medical? Still the way you left it?”
“Not in the least. For one thing, there’s an internship program here now-a way of encouraging young talent.”
“Not a bad idea,” he observed.
Beverly rolled her eyes. “You can’t imagine them, Jean-Luc. They’re kids!”
He could, actually. He had his share of young officers on the Enterprise as well. But he was so pleased to see and hear her, he didn’t comment.
“All with advanced degrees in xenobiology,” Beverly continued, “and out to conquer every disease in the quadrant.”
Picard couldn’t help smiling. “Reminds me of a young doctor I used to know.”
“They’re running me ragged,” she told him. “Nothing but questions day and night… I love it!”
He should have been happy for her without reservation, but instead he felt a pang of resentment. After all, she had never told him how much she loved serving with him on the Enterprise-though she must have, if she had spent all that time doing it.
“Come to dinner,” she said, her eyes sparkling, “and I’ll tell you all about it. There’s a Bajoran band playing at the officers’ mess this evening.”
Picard was touched that Beverly recalled his appreciation of Bajoran music. He had only mentioned it once before.
Still, his better judgment told him that he would do well to turn down the invitation. It was difficult enough trying to move on with his life. It would make it that much more difficult if he reminded himself of what he had lost.
“I would love to,” he said, “but I have so much work to do here.”
Was that a glimmer of disappointment in her eyes? Or was it merely his imagination?
“Soon then,” said Beverly. “I’ll save the last dance for you.”
Again, he smiled. They weren’t quite the words he wished to hear at this juncture, but they warmed his heart nonetheless.
He was still drinking in the sight of Beverly when she ended the transmission. Her image was replaced by the Federation insignia-leaving the captain feeling worse than if he hadn’t called in the first place.
Damn, he thought.
He shook his head, then crossed the room to look out his observation port. He had a good view of the single-man vehicles that were swarming around the Enterprise, continuing the refitting of sizable sections of her hull.
Taking notice of Picard’s scrutiny, one of the technicians waved at him. The captain waved back.
It reminded him that what he had told Beverly was the truth-he did have work to do. Perhaps as much as Riker would on the Titan. Picard didn’t have a new ship to break in, but he did have what was largely a new crew.
Of course, some positions were already spoken for, Worf’s and Geordi’s among them. Picard was grateful that they had decided to remain with him. Both had received offers to go elsewhere-tempting ones, no doubt-but they had seen fit to turn them down.
On the other hand, a number of other posts had yet to be assigned. And conspicuous among them was the rather significant position of chief medical officer.
It wasn’t that there was any shortage of applicants for the job. Picard had a padd containing more than a dozen of them, each one eminently qualified. Any of them could have come aboard and hit the ground running.
But the captain couldn’t bring himself to choose one over the other-because in doing so, he would have been compelled to acknowledge that Beverly was gone.
So he had procrastinated-for days, and then weeks.