Pantheon - Michael Jan Friedman [41]
Simenon snorted. “Overrated, I tell you.” He turned to Geordi. “Listen to me, Commander La Forge, and listen well. Someday you’re going to be faced with a choice like I had—a ‘promotion,’ they call it. For the good of the service.” He poked a finger in Geordi’s chest. “Don’t do it. Manacle yourself to a monitor. Stow away. Name of Scaraf—steal a ship if you have to. You hear me?”
Geordi smiled. “I hear you. But somehow I don’t think it’s quite as bad as you make it out to be.”
Simenon frowned. “No. You wouldn’t, I suppose. Not until you’ve been there.” He turned to Wesley. “And you—what do you really want from me?”
The ensign looked helpless for a moment. Then Simenon put him out of his misery. “You needn’t explain,” he said. “Even an old cog like myself can figure it out.” He seemed to inspect Wesley with fresh interest. “Crusher. As in Jack Crusher. Your father, I gather?”
The young man nodded. “Yessir.”
“You want to meet someone who served with him—yes? To learn a little more about him?”
Wesley nodded again. “Not that I’m not fascinated by your work,” he amended quickly, “because I am. But I guess that’s not all I’m interested in.”
The Gnalish snorted again. “I’d be surprised,” he confessed, “if it were any other way.” He eyed the ensign. “Then again, I may not be the best person to ask. Certainly, I served with your father—but he was closer with some of the others. Captain Picard, for instance. And Vigo—though he can’t help you much, having perished in that nasty business at Maxia Zeta.” He paused to think for a moment. “Of course, there’s Ben Zoma—he was your father’s immediate superior. Cadwallader, I recall, used to trade research monographs with him. And he seemed to joke a lot with Pug Joseph…”
A resigned sort of look had come over Wesley’s face. Geordi empathized with the young man’s disappointment. Apparently, he’d really been looking forward to this opportunity to pump Simenon for some information.
The Gnalish must have noticed the look too, however. Because he stopped dead in his tracks and did an about-face. “On the other hand,” he said, “I do remember a few things about your father. In fact, a particular incident comes to mind…”
Wesley smiled.
Without excusing himself, Geordi withdrew and headed for the nearest unoccupied workstation. He had a feeling that Simenon might be a little more open with the ensign if it was just the two of them.
Besides, he had work to do.
Five
“Strange,” said Picard. “As I recall, Mr. Joseph was always quite punctual.”
Standing on the other side of the battle bridge, Asmund shrugged. “Something must have held him up.”
The captain frowned. “Apparently.” He looked at his former helm officer, and gestured to the captain’s chair. “Care for a seat?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No. Thank you.” She looked around. “Actually, this reminds me more of the Stargazer than anything else.”
Picard nodded, leaning back against one of the peripheral station consoles. “I have remarked on that myself, Idun. But then, that makes sense, doesn’t it? When we separate the battle section from the primary hull, speed and efficiency are at a premium—just as they would be in a deep-space exploration vessel.” He folded his arms across his chest. “There’s no room here for the sort of luxury we enjoy on the main bridge.”
Asmund went over to the conn position, leaned over the console, and looked at the empty viewscreen. “I like this better,” she said. “Without the luxuries.” She ran her fingers over the dormant control panels. “Yes. It feels more comfortable.”
Picard watched her. It seemed that she belonged here—much as Worf had seemed to belong here, on those occasions when it had been necessary for him to man the battle bridge.
“And when you separate,” said Asmund, “the battle section retains the full range of ship’s capabilities? Weapons, propulsion, everything?”
“That’s correct,” said the captain. “The battle section is equipped with both impulse and warp drive engines, a shield generator, two photon torpedo launchers,