Ship of the Line - Diane Carey [121]
“Oh, well, I have to confess,” Picard said as they rounded a corner toward the lounge, “the ulterior motive is to give you and your own crew a rousing sendoff.”
“I think we’ve both been cornered.”
“I think we have.”
“Jean-Luc, before we go in …” Bateson paused before their proximity triggered the lounge door. “Let me say that I admire you. You’re an excellent synthesis of old and new. I hope you’ll take my apology for my contributions to what happened. I had all the fire and fight of the old century, but none of the restraint of the new.”
“You were right about the Klingons,” Picard told him quietly. “They were massing to attack. The Cardassians were in their sights, but certainly the Federation wouldn’t be far after. You circumvented that by attracting Kozara. If you hadn’t, their attack would’ve been better planned, less spontaneous, and probably far more deadly.”
“Thank you. But …”
“We all have our inner questions,” Picard interrupted him. “The past few days have helped me put into words many things I never thought about being a captain. It’s helped me a great deal, especially now that …”
“Now that you’ve been made official commander of the E-E. She suits you better than she does me,” Bateson said. “And I don’t think you’d fit on a destroyer. I want to thank you privately for sticking up for me with the admiralty and recommending reassignment. I thought they’d hang me.”
“You’re too valuable for that. Command of the Roderick is no desk assignment. You’ll be the last line of defense for whatever comes. And I know you believe trouble will come.”
“It’s brewing on too many fronts to ignore. I still believe that. When the Klingons and Cardassians and Romulans become free societies, then I’ll look again. Until then, no. But thank you again, really.”
“You’re quite welcome. Let’s go in before we have to get a charter for this club, shall we?”
“Yes, let’s.”
Picard felt a spring in his step as he led the way through the double door panels into the crew lounge.
When he and Bateson entered, they were walking side by side, and that is how they stopped short, both staring at the crowd of mixed crew before them.
From wall to wall, the lounge was lined with Picard’s crew and Bateson’s.
At the apprearance of their captains, the happy crowd broke into applause and whistles.
Picard was speechless, but Bateson leaned to him and muttered, “They like us. They really like us.”
“I think you’re right,” Picard noted.
The crews laughed and descended on them.
They were pulled to the buffet table, where Riker and Bush were waiting, indulging in evil grins. Even George Hill, Bateson’s squishy mascot, had one coil around a wine goblet and another around Bush’s ankle.
“Number One,” Picard drawled. “I’ll get you for this.”
“Well, you’re welcome, sir. We just wanted to make you feel at home.”
“Oh, well, this’ll do it. Mr. Bush, how are you?”
Bush smiled. “High and dry, sir. Looking forward to duty on board the Roderick. I think that ship fits us better.”
Bateson smiled, glanced at Picard, and shrugged. “Guess we think alike,” he said, hanging an arm around Bush, who indeed looked far better than he had the last time Picard had seen him.
Picard accepted a goblet of a pleasantly scented burgundy and raised it immediately. “To our ships!”
The intermingled crews cheered again, and raised the toast.
When the glasses came down again, Picard said, “It’s my pleasure to offer Captain Bateson and his crew a proper sendoff to their new assignment aboard Starfleet’s newest destroyer. However, Captain Bateson, I do have a bit of news for you and your men. In appreciation for all you have done, for your sacrifice and your resilience, Starfleet has accepted Mr. Riker’s recommendation that, at its launch next week, the U.S.S. Roderick will be redesignated the U.S.S. Bozeman II, registration number NCC-1941-A.”
The crews were stunned silent for a moment, then erupted into a whoop of approval. The crew of the new Bozeman fielded hugs and