Pantheon - Michael Jan Friedman [221]
“I’ll be there,” he promised her.
* * *
Picard regarded the six officers whom he had summoned to the Stargazer’s observation lounge. Paxton, Cariello, Ben Zoma, Simenon, Greyhorse, and Vigo looked back at him from their places around the oval table.
“I called you here,” he said, “because you have all had questions regarding the events of the last several days, during which time I have been forced to sometimes operate on a clandestine basis. I thought I would answer these questions all at once.”
Then he proceeded to do just that. When he was done, not everyone was happy—Simenon least of all. But even the Gnalish understood the second officer’s need for secrecy at various times.
Greyhorse, who had apparently bruised his chin during an accident in sickbay, didn’t fully grasp Werber’s contribution.
“Chief Werber,” Picard explained, “was the one who predicted that the phaser junctions were likely to be tampered with next.”
“But he didn’t know which junction?” the doctor asked.
“That is correct,” said the second officer. “We only found that out when Vigo detected a problem in the line. And it wasn’t until we spoke to Jomar in sickbay that we understood his objective.”
Greyhorse nodded. “I see.”
Picard looked around the room. “If there are no further questions, I thank you for persevering in such trying circumstances…and commend you to your respective assignments.”
He watched his command staff file out of the lounge, one by one. However, one of his officers declined to leave.
“You have something on your mind,” Ben Zoma told him. “And it has nothing to do with flow regulators and distribution manifolds.”
Picard nodded. “You’re right, Gilaad. You see, my mother taught me that one can learn from every experience. I am trying to puzzle out what I can learn from this one.”
The other man shrugged. “Not to listen to your fellow officers all the time—especially if they’re as wrong as I was about attacking the depot?”
The commander smiled. “Perhaps. Or rather,” he said, thinking out loud, “to draw on every resource available to you…”
“Even if it means taking the advice of a sworn enemy as seriously as that of a friend.”
Picard mulled it over. “That was certainly the way it worked out.”
“You know,” said Ben Zoma, “I think your mother would have been proud of you right now.”
“I hope so,” the second officer replied earnestly.
“Captain Ruhalter would have been proud of you too.”
Picard looked at him askance. “You think so?”
His friend smiled. “Don’t you?”
The second officer wanted to believe that Ruhalter would have approved of his performance. However, he wasn’t so sure that that would have been the case.
And he was even less certain of what they would have to say about it at Starfleet Headquarters.
* * *
As the Stargazer hung motionless in space, her computer running yet another shield diagnostic, Gerda Asmund gazed at the immense, rose-colored expanse of the galactic barrier.
Of course, she didn’t blame Commander Picard for wanting to be thorough. The navigator wasn’t eager to go through the phenomenon with a soft spot in their shields either.
Beside her, her sister waited with the patience of a hunter for the order to engage engines and send them soaring through the barrier. Until recently, Idun had known everything about her.
But she didn’t know about Carter Greyhorse.
Life is funny, Gerda mused. Just when she discovered that battle was no longer enough for her, just when a hole had opened in her life, she found what she needed to fill it.
“Everything checks out,” said Vigo, interrupting her reverie.
Gerda liked the Pandrilite. He had been raw and unproven at the time of Werber’s mutiny, but no one could have done a better job at the weapons console than he had. In fact, he seemed to gain confidence with each passing day.
Picard turned to Vigo. “Thank you, Lieutenant.” Looking to the viewscreen, he said, “Helm…warp six.” Then, with a gesture that suggested forward motion, he added, “Engage.”
And they sailed