Enigma - Michael Jan Friedman [54]
“You’ve given him two kinds of missions, Admiral—the kind in which he can’t possibly succeed and the kind that pushes him out of the way. Don’t tell me you call that being fair.”
“I wanted to trust him,” said McAteer. “But after the mess he made of his contact with the Nuyyad, what was I supposed to do? Give him another chance to screw things up?”
Ben Zoma met his gaze. “Picard handled the Nuyyad the way any good captain would have handled them. They were out for our blood from the moment we laid eyes on them. If you had been there, you would have seen that.”
“If the Nuyyad were out for blood, it was because you were in their space.”
“We were in their space,” said the first officer, “because they lured us there.”
“If I recall correctly,” said McAteer, “it was your friend Santana who lured you there.”
“Under orders from the Nuyyad.”
“You didn’t know that at the time.”
“We were attacked,” said Ben Zoma. “We defended ourselves.”
“And went on defending yourself, even when you had to look high and low for someone to defend yourselves against.”
“What should we have done?” Ben Zoma asked. “Abandoned a colony full of human beings?”
“You should have done your job,” said McAteer, “which, if I recall correctly, was simply to reconnoiter and report to Starfleet Command.”
“Is that all you expect of your captains? Reconnaissance? Even when there’s a clearcut danger to the Federation, and it’s in their power to eliminate it?”
“Clearcut to whom, Commander?”
“To the man who was there, Admiral. Certainly clear to him, and to anyone who was fighting alongside him.”
“Then,” said McAteer, “I question all your judgments.”
Ben Zoma laughed. “Why not? It’s a lot easier than questioning your own.”
The admiral gave him a hard look. “My judgment is based on decades of experience.”
“So is Admiral Mehdi’s,” said Ben Zoma, “and he’s given Captain Picard a vote of confidence. Why can’t you?”
“Why?” The admiral snorted. “Because it’s not my job to make someone else’s bad decisions look good. Making Picard a captain was a bad decision.”
“Nothing like keeping an open mind.”
“Open minds,” McAteer snapped, “are for people who lack conviction.”
Ben Zoma stared at him. How could he argue with someone who believed that?
“In any case,” said McAteer, “this is the wrong time and place to debate the wisdom of your captain’s decisions. If you want to defend him, you can do it when his case is heard.”
“I will,” said Ben Zoma, putting his helmet back on.
If we live that long, he added silently.
Chapter Thirteen
PICARD SWORE BENEATH HIS BREATH as he read the information on Paxton’s monitor screen.
Two more starships had dropped off the subspace communications map. One was the Yorenda, whose Vulcan first officer had graduated from the Academy just ahead of Picard. The other was the Gettysburg, commanded by Tabitha Jenkins, ahead of even Sesbella in terms of longevity.
Neither vessel had been much farther out from Earth than the Stargazer when Command lost contact with them. If the aliens were responsible for the disappearances, they were a good deal closer than anyone had expected.
Close enough to clash with Starfleet’s line of defense sometime in the next few hours. It was a daunting thought.
And it had to be even more daunting to the rank and file, Picard reflected. No one knew that better than he, who had been one of them until a few short months ago.
He looked around his bridge, noting the air of tension that pervaded the place. Expressions were strained, shoulder muscles taut, postures painfully erect.
Not one of his officers was taking the enemy lightly. Nor could they. Not with the stakes so terribly high.
The captain wished he could say something to lift everyone’s spirits. Had Ben Zoma been there, he would have found a way—perhaps with a word, perhaps with just a gesture.
But Picard didn’t have his first officer’s knack in that regard. All he could do was move from station to station and let his people know they weren’t alone.
“Thank you,” he told Paxton.
“No