Relics - Michael Jan Friedman [14]
Again, something of which Picard had full knowledge. But he didn’t wish to interrupt a second time.
“When I was transferred to the Enterprise, it was like a dream come true. My father had always spoken very highly of you, sir. And also of your ship. I told myself that all my hard work had paid off. But I also knew that the hardest work was still ahead.”
A pause. “But?” said the captain.
“But I haven’t been given a chance here. I’m willing to put in the hours. I’m willing to accept responsibility. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to become a captain myself one day. But I’m not going to get there by checking cargo day in and day out.”
“Cargo oversight is one of the duties assigned to ensigns on this ship,” Picard reminded him.
“I understand that, sir. And I wouldn’t mind doing it-if I also got the opportunity to do something more. Or, for that matter, if I was only being treated the same as everyone else. Out of all the ensigns on the Enterprise, I’m the only one who hasn’t even gotten near the bridge level-until now. And with all due respect, Captain, your ready room isn’t quite the part of the bridge I had in mind.”
Picard nodded. “Have you discussed this with Commander Riker himself, Ensign?”
“Yes, sir,” Kane replied. “On more than one occasion. And he’s told me that the assignments he gives his ensigns are his own business-not a matter that’s open to discussion.”
“I see,” said the captain. He considered the ensign and could see no hint of duplicity in him. He appeared to be telling the truth.
But if that were so, then Riker was guilty of some sort of private vendetta. And that didn’t seem very likely.
Abruptly, Kane got to his feet again. “I didn’t mean to take up so much of the captain’s time,” he remarked.
“Don’t apologize,” Picard told him. He stood as well. “You can be sure I will look into the situation, Ensign.”
Kane looked grateful. “That’s all I ask, sir.”
Lt. Commander Data had come a long way toward understanding human beings in the handful of years he’d served aboard the Enterprise. And one of the human beings he had come to understand best was his commanding officer, Captain Picard.
Data had barely joined the crew of the Enterprise when he noticed that Picard was given to extensive use of his ready room. It was a matter of style; some captains preferred to spend most of their time in their command seats, while others sat there only when it was absolutely necessary. Picard leaned more toward the latter than the former.
But even among those who retreated to their sanctums at the drop of a communicator, there were stylistic differences. Some wished to be left alone as much as possible; others wanted to be alerted to every little detail of the ship’s management, no matter how slight or inconsequential.
On this behavioral axis, Picard favored the former more than the latter. Nor was it a matter of reclusiveness, as the android had suspected early on. The captain simply felt that once he had selected the best people for the job, they should be allowed to do that job.
By the same token, he did not expect to be interrupted needlessly. After all, a ship’s captain had a job to do as well, and much of it-too much, some would say-came in the form of correspondence, analysis and continuing education.
Unfortunately for Data, he’d had to learn Picard’s foibles the hard way. In his first day on the bridge, he had found occasion to invade the sanctity of the captain’s ready room half a dozen times-until Picard finally called him in for a one-on-one meeting.
“Mr. Data,” he’d said, his voice thick with what the android now recognized as irony, “have you never heard of something called initiative? Do you intend to check with me before breathing?”
Data’s answer had been “Of course not, sir. Breathing is ah involuntary part of my program. The process requires no conscious decisions. However, if it ever becomes preferable not to breathe …”
“You will make that choice on your