Pantheon - Michael Jan Friedman [30]
There was laughter all around at that, and when it quieted, Riker took the opportunity to raise his glass. “I’d like to propose a toast. To Captain Morgen. May his reign be a long and fruitful one.”
There were sounds of agreement—not only from their own table, but from a number of others around them.
“And,” added Morgen, “to the former officers of the Stargazer. May they never forget how fortunate they were to have served under the legendary Jean-Luc Picard.”
As the others drank, Picard grunted. “Legendary?” he repeated. “I’m not old enough to be legendary.”
As Troi approached the bar, Guinan shook her head in motherly fashion.
“You’re a trouper,” she told the empath.
Troi smiled. “What do you mean?”
“What do I mean? Counselor, you’ve spent the last five hours listening to Stargazer stories. And now that the Lexington contingent has joined us, you’ll probably be in for another five hours’ worth.” Guinan grunted. “In my book, that’s being a trouper.”
“Oh, come on,” Troi said. “I like listening to those old stories. Apart from their entertainment value, they give me insights into the captain that I’ve never had before. I can understand a little better how he became the person he is.” She glanced at the table she’d just come from, where Ben Zoma was recalling some incident involving a shuttle and a pair of Grezalian ambassadors. “You know, it’s funny. I get the feeling that Commander Riker and myself are being shown off in a way—almost as if we were his children.” Troi paused thoughtfully. “Which is not so difficult to comprehend, I suppose. Captain Picard never had any offspring of his own. Why shouldn’t he think of us as his children?”
“Actually,” Guinan responded, “I think he considers you all his children—not only you and Commander Riker, but Morgen and the Stargazer people as well. And he’s pleased that all his children are enjoying an opportunity to get to know one another.” She shrugged. “It just seems a little barbaric for you to have to force yourself to stay awake.”
“I am not forcing myself to stay awake,” the empath protested. Then, noting the way Guinan’s mouth was curling up at the corners, she added: “Besides, I can’t let the older kids have all the fun.”
Guinan looked past Troi. “Uh-oh. Don’t look now, but one of the older kids is hitting the sack.”
The counselor turned and saw Joseph getting up from his chair. He said something under his breath, got a round of laughter for his trouble, and gave the group an old-fashioned salute. Then he made his way to the exit.
When Troi turned back, she looked thoughtful.
“What?” probed Guinan.
The empath raised her eyes. “Mr. Joseph—Pug, they call him. He’s not quite as happy as the rest of them. Oh, he seems to be, on the outside. But inside, he’s—” She paused, trying to translate perceived emotion into words—not always an easy task. “Bitter,” she said finally.
“About what?” asked Guinan.
Troi shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m not a telepath, remember? But I can guess.”
Guinan leaned forward over the bar. “I’m listening,” she said.
“When the Stargazer set out,” said the Betazoid, “Joseph was the chief of security. Cadwallader was a junior-grade communications officer, Morgen was an ensign, and Ben Zoma was the first officer. Obviously, they’ve all moved up—Morgen and Ben Zoma to captaincies, and Cadwallader to lieutenant commander. But Pug is still security chief. No change in rank or function.”
Guinan nodded. “No wonder he’s bitter.”
“And particularly so toward Cadwallader. From what I gather, he took her under his wing when she joined the Stargazer. Treated her like a kid sister.”
“And then she grew up and left him in the dust.” She flicked her finger at a tiny piece of napkin left on her bar. “But then, that must be fairly common in Starfleet. Not everybody is moving-up material.”
“No,” said the counselor. “But that doesn’t make it any easier on the ones who are left behind.”
“Mom?”
Beverly Crusher jumped at the sound. She looked up from her desk, saw that it was only Wesley. Her heart pounding, she tried not to