Pantheon - Michael Jan Friedman [24]
The security chief sighed and looked away. “I hear you, Commander.” “That’s not good enough,” Erwin told him. “Look, you’re an officer of this vessel. I want you to act like one.” He leaned back and pulled down on the bottom of his tunic. “Is that clear?”
The security chief saw that Erwin wasn’t kidding. “It’s clear,” he said.
“Good. And you needn’t worry—the captain won’t get wind of this. Just as he hasn’t gotten wind of the other reports I’ve received.” The first officer paused. “But it’s the last time I cover up for you, understand? The last time.”
Joseph seemed contrite. Reaching over the table that separated them, Erwin clapped him on the shoulder. Then he got up and made his way to the door.
It wasn’t easy to keep from looking back, but he managed. As the lounge doors opened and he emerged into the corridor beyond, he breathed a sigh of relief.
He’d been pretty harsh—maybe harsher than necessary. But this time, Erwin was worried. Marcus had made it sound like more than a brief exchange of hay-makers. Considerably more.
Of course, the message in the subspace packet couldn’t actually come out and say anything; otherwise, it might have come to the attention of someone inclined to handle it more officially—someone like Captain Ben Zoma. But if Erwin read correctly between the lines, Joseph’s opponent had taken a vicious beating. It was a miracle the man hadn’t pressed charges.
The first officer shook his head. “Vicious” wasn’t one of the words he’d ever associated with Pug Joseph. If things had gotten that far out of hand, his little reprimand had been long overdue.
He could only hope it would have the desired effect.
“I have the Excalibur on long-range sensor scan,” reported Worf.
The captain couldn’t help but notice the note of anticipation in the Klingon’s voice. “Excellent, Lieutenant. Give them our position.”
“Aye, sir.”
Picard took in the bridge with a glance. Data was intent on his ops console; likewise, Wesley at conn. Everyone, it seemed, was going about his business with clockwork efficiency.
If they showed any emotion at all, it was excitement; they were upbeat about the imminent arrival of their captain’s old comrades.
There was no trace of the trepidation Picard himself was feeling.
Fortunately, he had gotten quite good over the years at keeping his feelings under wraps. On the outside, he was his normal self—composed, focused, in charge. It was only on the inside that anything was amiss.
The dream of Jack Crusher still haunted him. Still, after all this time.
He remembered the lesson they taught at the Academy—the one that was supposed to put the loss of crewmen in perspective. It sounded as hollow now as it had then. A starship captain makes a hundred decisions a day, and a goodly number of them involve the well-being of part or all of his crew….
For a while immediately afterward, Jack’s death had cost him his confidence—caused him to second-guess himself. And for even longer, it had left a gaping pain of loss.
Because the victim of his decision wasn’t just another crewman. He was a friend. And at that stage in his career, Picard had never before lost a friend.
Certainly, he had lost others since. Vigo and the others at Maxia Zeta. And Tasha—dear, fierce Tasha. But the first, as the expression went, was the worst.
Perhaps he should have expected this. With his Stargazer officers converging on the Enterprise, was it any wonder that Jack was on his mind? Or that his memories would manifest themselves in dreams?
And that was all right—as long as it didn’t affect him the way it had once. As long as it didn’t in any way jeopardize the safety of those for whom he was now responsible.
He resolved that it would not.
“Captain?”
He turned and looked up at Worf. “Lieutenant?”
“I have a response from the Excalibur. It seems that Captain Morgen would prefer to beam over without any preliminaries.”
Picard smiled tautly, nodded to himself. “That sounds like Captain Morgen,” he said. “Inform him that I will attend his arrival.”
Worf took a moment