Maker - Michael Jan Friedman [77]
Joseph nodded approvingly. “I hope so, sir.”
The captain sighed. So do I.
Picard reported early to the small, windowless courtroom where his case was scheduled to be heard, and took the seat that had been reserved for him.
It was one of only four in the front of the room. The other three, set aside for the admirals who would judge the captain and his record, faced him from behind a long table.
There were seats in the back of the room as well—an even dozen of them, arranged in two rows on either side of a central aisle. They would accommodate whatever spectators cared to attend the hearing, since—by agreement of all parties concerned—it was to be an open proceeding.
Picard sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. Finally, he thought, it has come to this. He had been thinking about it for weeks, preparing himself for it, but the reality was weightier than anything he had imagined.
If the jury of three ruled against him, he would lose his command. It was that simple.
It would be difficult to turn his ship and crew over to someone else. A little like turning one’s children over to another father. But he would have no choice in the matter, and no possibility of appeal. In accordance with Starfleet regulations, the admirals’ decision would be final.
For several minutes, he continued to sit there by himself, girding himself for the inevitable. Then he heard the door slide open and looked back over his shoulder.
It was McAteer, dress uniform and all. He spared the captain a look of sympathy as he moved by him, as if he were sorry all this had to take place.
Of course you are, Picard thought.
There was a minute or two when he and McAteer were the only people in the room. It was not a comfortable stretch of time—for either of them, the captain imagined.
Then the door opened again and Admiral Mehdi walked in. He looked vaguely dissatisfied, as was his custom. Normally, Picard wondered why the man didn’t look happier, but on this occasion he knew all too well.
Finally, Caber entered the room. He was a tall, strapping man with dark hair, not unlike his son. But his face was narrower and sterner, and a goatee covered the lower half of it.
He didn’t look at Picard, but he had to know who the captain was and what he had done to the younger Caber. It had to be in the back of his mind, coloring whatever ruling he made.
And that, even more than McAteer’s active disdain, was what gave Picard cause for concern.
Only when the judges were seated did the security guards at the door permit the gallery to file in. Picard didn’t look back to see their faces, but he was certain that Ben Zoma would be among them, and perhaps some of his other officers as well.
When everyone was seated, McAteer stood and addressed the room. “This hearing is hereby convened,” he said, “its purpose to review the actions of Jean-Luc Picard, captain of the U.S.S. Stargazer, and decide whether he is qualified to go forward as a commanding officer in Starfleet.”
He turned to Picard. “Captain, do you have any questions before we proceed?”
“None, sir,” said Picard.
McAteer came around the table at which his colleagues were sitting and took up a spot at the captain’s right hand, from which position he could address both Picard and his fellow admirals. Then he paused for a moment, apparently to gather his thoughts.
“Captain,” he said at last, “several months ago, on the far side of the galactic barrier, you encountered a species known as the Nuyyad. Is this correct?”
“It is,” said Picard.
“And in a first-contact situation with the Nuyyad, you fired your weapons at their vessels without first attempting to communicate with them. Is this also true?”
“My predecessor, Captain Ruhalter, made that attempt,” said Picard. “The Nuyyad ignored it and attacked us. It was Captain Ruhalter who fired back initially, having been left little choice in the matter.”
“Little choice?” McAteer echoed, putting an ironic spin on the phrase. “The Stargazer was in unfamiliar space, which may well have belonged to the Nuyyad. Why didn’t Captain Ruhalter simply