Lost Era 05_ Deny thy Father - Jeff Mariotte [127]
“Which will make us very unpopular when we arrive,” Marc observed. “Hence the yellow alert.”
“That’s correct,” Pressman noted. “If they get wind of our approach, the Candelarans may even try to intercept us. Not the authorities, but the citizens.”
Will felt an unfamiliar tension squeeze his gut at this discussion. He had wanted to do something-anything. He hadn’t wanted to simply cruise around space without apparent purpose- “exploring” for the sake of exploration. Now they had a purpose, a mission, and it sounded like a dangerous one. There was an element of excitement to it all, but also a nagging fear. His life had been in danger before-certainly when he’d followed Paul Rice onto Saturn’s moon, it had. But he hadn’t had a lot of time to think about it then. This time, he was in control of the ship, intentionally flying them right toward certain trouble.
He smiled, though he tried to hide it from the rest of the bridge crew. This is it, he thought. This is what I signed on for.
“Mr. Riker,” Captain Pressman said sharply. “My office. Mr. Chamish, you have the bridge.”
“Aye, sir,” Barry said.
Will gulped and followed the captain to his ready room, just off the bridge. He wondered if he’d done something wrong. He couldn’t imagine what. He’d brought the ship into orbit around Candelar IV, outside visual range from the surface, as instructed. They had made good time and arrived without incident.
When he entered the ready room, Captain Pressman was already sitting down behind a large desk. The door shut as soon as he walked through. This was the first time Will had seen inside it. The walls were a warm beige, set off by a cool blue carpet. Over the captain’s right shoulder was a large window, through which Will could see Candelar IV’s ocher sphere. Directly behind him was a shelf on which stood a small bronze sculpture that Will recognized as a Frederic Remington bronze, an old-fashioned Earth cowboy trying to hang on to a horse that reared up to avoid the strike of a rattlesnake. As if to demonstrate that he was not entirely old-fashioned, Pressman had put a model of an Ambassador-class starship on the shelf next to his Remington bronze.
“Sir?” Will asked, standing at attention.
Pressman fixed him with an unwavering gaze. “Nice flying, son,” he said. “I know it wasn’t particularly difficult, but you did what you were told to do without asking a lot of questions, and you got us here. Now we just have to get Plure off the planet and get out of here again.”
“Yes, sir,” Will said.
“At ease, Will,” Pressman said. “You prefer Will, correct? Not William? That’s what your file said.”
“That’s what I’m used to, sir,” Will answered, relaxing his stance a little.
“I make snap judgments about people, Will,” Pressman said. “Sometimes I’m told that I shouldn’t. That it’s a bad thing, a dangerous thing. Trouble is, more often than not, I’m right. My judgments are borne out in practice. So I keep doing it.”
“If it works for you, sir, I don’t see the problem.”
“There it is, Will, in a nutshell. It works for me. And I have to say, my judgment about you has been formed from precious little evidence. You’ve sat on my bridge for a few days, you’ve flown my ship, and you haven’t said much. The few times you have opened your mouth have been to ask intelligent questions or to offer opinions, most of which make sense to me. I’ve read your file, of course, and I know you had some rough times at the Academy, but I also know that you graduated near the top of your class and were quite an accomplished cadet.”
“I did my best, sir.”
“I’m sure you did. So here it is, Ensign Riker. I’m sending an away team to the planet to pick up Endyk Plure. I want you to be part of that team.”
“Me, sir?” Will asked, realizing even as the words passed his lips how stupid it sounded. The captain hadn’t been talking to anyone else.
“You, Will. I have a good feeling about you. I think you’ll prove to be a smart, capable Starfleet officer, destined for accomplishment. I