Fortune's Light - Michael Jan Friedman [81]
The man hardly looked like the sort who could lead. But then, not every great leader looked the part.
Just then the crowd moaned—a huge sound, almost frightening if one was unprepared for it—and got to its feet as if it were one colossal entity. Unable to see, Picard got to his feet as well—in time to see a Sunset player rounding the bases.
Apparently he had missed something. A home run, if the Sunset player’s leisurely trot was any indication. There were boos from the crowd, to which the base runner responded by doffing his cap. The boos got louder.
Hardly an example of good sportsmanship, the captain mused. On either side.
And then he noticed a flurry of activity along the Icebreaker bench. He jockeyed for a better look. Finally, peering between two other spectators, he saw what was happening.
It was Terwilliger. With a bat. And he no longer seemed interested in concealing himself. Rather, he was intent on destroying a water cooler at the far end of the dugout.
The process didn’t take long. A moment later, the cooler’s water-filled container exploded with a loud crash, sending water and glass flying in every direction.
Picard looked at Data. The android must have sensed his scrutiny somehow, because he looked back—apologetically, as if it were he who had annihilated the water cooler. The captain consciously softened his expression.
“Freeze program,” he said quietly.
As before, everything came to a halt. He climbed past the statuelike spectators, vaulted the rail again, and approached Data.
The android anticipated his remarks: “It is his nature, sir. And it was the go-ahead run.”
Picard glanced at the Icebreaker bench. It was a study in chaos—an umpire standing at the top step, gesturing dramatically. Terwilliger holding the bat aloft, as if threatening to strike the umpire next. The players and coaches clustered at the opposite end of the bench, having sought protection there from the exploding water cooler.
“Data,” he said, turning back to his fellow officer, “there is no justification for such behavior. Certainly not from one who has been designated a leader.” He took the time to choose his words carefully, and the android remained patient, if troubled-looking. “As I understand it, your … affinity for this program has much to do with that man. But I fail to see how he inspires such dedication. Such loyalty.” He frowned. “Without question, you are entitled to your opinions. However, it concerns me that you have selected this Terwilliger as a role model. Is he really worth your time? Your respect?”
The android shook his head. “It is not a matter of respect, sir. It never was.”
Picard regarded him. He searched those golden eyes, that childlike countenance.
“No? Then what is it that inspires you so?”
Data’s brow wrinkled ever so slightly. “I believe, Captain, that it is called compassion.”
That put matters in an entirely different light. Picard nodded, then breathed a small sigh of relief. He had feared that the android might be losing his moral perspective, enthralled by some inexplicable fascination with Terwilliger.
But it was quite the contrary. The android’s moral perspective was coming along quite nicely.
“Sorry,” the captain said. “Again. I should have known better than to doubt you, Data.”
“Do not give it a second thought,” replied the android. “It is easy to jump to conclusions, sir.”
Picard wondered if he’d been rebuked. What the hell. I deserved it, didn’t I?
“I am going to return to the stands now,” he told Data.
“That would be best, I believe.”
And they went back to their respective positions.
They had set out immediately after Riker made his report to the captain. The streets were dark and deserted, hushed, blanketed by a newly fallen snow. The only sound was the homing device’s soft but insistent beeping.
After some trial and error, they were able to determine the general direction of the signal’s source. And to follow it, along silent, winding streets that seemed to resent their intrusion.
Riker had never seen Besidia at this hour. There