Reunion - Michael Jan Friedman [43]
“No,” Riker assured him, “I’m not here to check up on you.” “What then?”
“We’ve got a problem. And since it may affect your arrival on Daa’Very, Captain Picard felt you should know about it.”
At the mention of his homeworld, Morgen’s attention turned up a notch. “I’m listening,” he said.
“The Enterprise has run into a subspace phenomenon,” Riker explained. “Something we’ve never encountered before.”
“Has it thrown us off course?” the Daa’Vit asked. The first officer shook his head. “No. Our course is
unchanged. But the phenomenon has got us traveling at warp factor nine point nine five.”
Morgen’s forehead ridged over. “What?”
Riker nodded. “I know how it sounds, sir. But it’s the truth.” The Daa’Vit gestured to one of the chairs. “Sit, Commander. Please.”
The human conformed to the request. Morgen sat across from him on a rather queer-looking couch-a stone-and-moss affair which had come from ship’s stores. “Now,” the Daa’Vit told him, “say that again.” Riker spread his hands. He went over the whole business, leaving nothing out. After all, it was Morgen’s right to know-not only as the next ruler of his people, but as a captain in Starfleet. And his initial surprise notwithstanding, the Daa’Vit seemed to take it in stride.
“You know,” he told Riker, “we had our share of close calls on the Excalibur. Maybe more than our share. Somehow, we always seemed to get out of them.” He smiled as he remembered, the surliness brought on by his confinement forgotten. “After a while, you develop a belief that there’s no problem you can’t solve—no trap from which you can’t devise an escape.” He looked meaningfully at his guest. “Do you know what I mean?” The first officer nodded. “Yes, sir. I do.”
“Some might call that kind of confidence a trap in and of itself. And I suppose it could be. But more often, I think it’s an asset. Because if you really believe you’re going to upset the odds, you generally will.” Morgen ran his palm over a clump of moss on the couch, studied it. “I really believe we’re going to get out of this, Riker.” He raised his head, fixing the human with his yellow eyes. “How about you?”
“And that,” said Troi, “is our predicament as I understand it.” The rec cabin was empty but for the six of them—Troi herself, Ben Zoma, Cadwallader, Joseph, Greyhorse, and Asmund. The ship’s counselor looked from face to face. “Questions?” “I take it Simenon is already involved in solving the problem,” said Greyhorse, his voice implying criticism of the idea—which was usually the case when he was talking about the Gnalish. “That is correct,” Troi told him. “He is working closely with Geordi La Forge.”
The doctor added, “Much to Commander La Forge’s delight, no doubt.” That drew a murmur of laughter; even the empath had to chuckle. Only Asmund, who sat in the back of the room apart from the others, seemed less than entertained by the remark. “And Morgen?” asked Cadwallader.
“Commander Riker is discussing this with him separately. After all, there are political ramifications to his late arrival which will have to be dealt with.”
“Is there anything the rest of us can do?” asked Asmund. Troi shook her head, noting how the woman’s professionalism had come to the fore as soon as she’d heard about the emergency. Otherwise, she would probably have resisted meeting with the others.
“Not at the present time,” said the counselor. “But if the situation changes, you will, of course, be notified.” “Have you tried to contact any of our other ships?” asked Joseph. “The Lexington, for instance?”
The empath nodded. “We have sent out communications beacons. However, as long as we progress at this
speed, no other ship can catch up to us-much less help us.” Ben Zoma, who was sitting next to Joseph, clapped his security chief on the shoulder. “Well,” he said, “we all wanted to know what was out there. Maybe now we’re about to find out.” He looked at Troi, his dark eyes full of good cheer. “Don’t worry, Counselor. We served on the Stargazer-we’re used to blazing new territory.