Enigma - Michael Jan Friedman [78]
Ben Zoma knew, all right. Everyone did. “You haven’t exactly kept it a secret, sir.”
The admiral spared him a glance. “No, I don’t suppose I have. So as you can imagine, when the Antares failed to show up for our rendezvous and we were left to our own devices out there, I didn’t have a great deal of faith in your judgment—no more, really, than I had in your captain’s.”
The first officer frowned at the slight. Why was the admiral telling him this?
“Then,” said McAteer, “you saw an opportunity—a chance to help our forces against the enemy. Most officers would have missed it, and I feel compelled to include myself in that number. But you spotted it, and that’s to your credit.”
Ben Zoma looked at his superior, certain that he had heard the last part incorrectly. Was it possible that McAteer had just thrown him a bone?
“I beg your pardon?” he said.
“You heard me,” said the admiral. “You did yourself proud—and I’m not just talking about your plan to board the enemy’s supply vessel and stow away when they took on supplies, though that was certainly commendable in itself. I’m also talking about the patience you showed in that cargo container, and the way you carried yourself when you met Otholannin.”
This is more than a bone, Ben Zoma realized. We’re getting into crow pie territory.
“The approach I took,” said McAteer, “would have worked nine times out of ten, given the circumstances in which we found ourselves. However, you had the insight to recognize that this was that tenth time, and you acted accordingly.”
It’s a dream, Ben Zoma told himself. A bizarre, waking dream. It was the only reasonable explanation.
“Of course,” the admiral continued, “we still had a problem—how to defuse the situation before both sides went at it hammer and tongs. And you found a way to do that too.” He chuckled. “Your method was a little unorthdox, you have to admit, but your courage and ingenuity kept us from getting into a fight that might well have devastated us.”
Ben Zoma didn’t know what to say.
“Which,” McAteer added, “is why I’m recommending you for a commendation. Congratulations, Commander.” He crossed the room and, with a little smile on his face, extended his hand.
Numbly, the first officer shook it. Then he stood there looking at the admiral.
“Is there something you want to say?” asked McAteer.
Ben Zoma didn’t want to break the spell. “Nothing, sir.”
The admiral nodded. “Carry on then, Commander. Dismissed.”
The first officer started for the exit—and then stopped in his tracks. “Actually,” he said, “there is one thing, sir.”
“What’s that?” asked McAteer.
“An apology, from me to you. Frankly, I thought you had made up your mind about Captain Picard and me. I thought you were so dead set on taking the Stargazer away from us that nothing we could say or do would make a dent. But I see now that I was wrong.” He couldn’t believe he was saying this. “I misjudged you, sir, and I want to tell you that to your face.”
The admiral’s eyes narrowed. “I accept your apology, Commander, and I appreciate the courage it took to make it. Though given what I’ve seen of you, I’m not surprised.”
Better and better, Ben Zoma mused. With luck like this, I ought to be at a dom-jot table.
“However,” said McAteer, “it’s only you I’m commending. I haven’t changed my mind about Picard in the least. I still have every intention of taking the Stargazer away from him, considering he never should have been given command of her in the first place.”
Ben Zoma felt the house of cards collapse in on itself. “But—”
“In fact,” the admiral said in a conspiratorial tone, “when Picard is forced to step down, I had it in mind to make you his replacement. I don’t suppose that would be too bitter a pill, would it?”
The first officer clamped his jaw shut until he had control of himself. When he finally spoke, it was in a measured way, with words that had been carefully chosen.
“If that’s what you had in mind, sir, I wouldn’t bother making the offer. I’m not in the market for a captaincy—especially one that’s not