Ship of the Line - Diane Carey [22]
Enterprise? Bush almost blurted an accusation. Liar!
But Bateson chose for some reason to play along. “Captain Picard … your ship is unfamiliar to us.”
After a pause of underlying challenge, the other man asked, “Have you any idea what just happened?”
“Our sensors detected a temporal distortion. Then your ship appeared. We nearly hit you.”
Picard seemed very reserved, even stiff. “The Enterprise has been caught in a temporal causality loop. And I suspect something similar happened to you.”
“You must be mistaken,” Bateson told him. “We only left Starbase 12 three weeks ago.”
Another pause. Bush didn’t like the pauses. Not a bit.
“Captain Bateson,” the bald officer began again, “do you know what year it is?”
Feeling his innards coil, Bush knew what that particular question meant.
Bateson was remaining cool. “Of course I do. It’s 2278.”
The men on the screen glanced at each other; then the one called Picard took a couple of steps forward. “Captain, perhaps you should beam on board our ship. There’s something we need to discuss.”
For several seconds Bateson said nothing, then finally managed a by-the-book response. “Very well, Captain. I’ll be there shortly.”
“We’ll be waiting. Picard out.”
The screen flickered back to a view of the overwhelmingly large ship.
Wincing, Bush stepped forward on his bleeding leg. “Morgan, you’re going over there alone?”
Bateson took his arm and helped him down from the command platform. “I think I’d better. I want to have a look inside that ship. You’re bleeding, Gabe. You all right?”
“Oh, it’ll fix,” Bush said with a pat on his thigh. “Feels better already.”
“How’d you get cut like that?”
“Guess I fell against that open panel over there.”
“Are you fit to take the bridge?”
“Wouldn’t leave now except feet first.”
“Have a medic come up and tend that leg, at least. Even in this century we can still bleed to death.”
“Aye, sir. I really don’t like this, you going alone over there and all. Could be a trick. We don’t really know what we’re looking at. Take some men with you.”
Bateson held a hand toward the forward screen. “If that’s a Starfleet ship, it would be the height of indiscretion for me to beam on board with a security detail, even if we’ve never seen the design before.”
“Or those black suits before either,” Bush pointed out. “We’d know if headquarters changed uniforms, wouldn’t we?”
“Maybe. We’re pretty far out, you know. It wouldn’t be the first time they didn’t bother to tell us something.”
“But uniforms?”
“If it’s not a Starfleet ship … well, look at it. There’s not much we could do, is there? I’ll put on a sensor chip. You can monitor my whereabouts and physical condition. If I get hurt, zero in and beam me on out.”
“Then what?”
The captain hopped up the steps to the upper deck near the turbolift. “Who knows?”
Chapter 6
Year 2368
The U.S.S. Enterprise 1701-D.
“This way, Captain Bateson. Right through here, sir.”
A good looking man. Well-groomed, even elegant, and quick-witted, but with a raucous glimmer in his eye, something like a South American macaw until it started talking. Already he’d made several comments and even a joke. Something about how Daniel Boone would’ve liked all this “elbow room on a ship this big.”
And those old-style uniforms certainly were striking—black trousers under the angular maroon jacket, the black belt, the white command-division collar, and that fold-over chest placket … less comfortable, maybe, but certainly more stylish than today’s leisure-fitted two-piece uniforms, no belt, no collar, no placket.
“Captain.” Commander William Riker kept his opinions to himself and motioned to the ready-room door, behind which his own captain waited to speak to Bateson.
Morgan Bateson hesitated where he stood on the port side of the starship’s bridge, gazing at the huge vision of his own ship on the gigantic forward screen. This bridge must look very strange to him, with its beige carpeting and its wide ramps, the high ceiling and bright shadowless lights. Certainly that ship on the screen, the humble Bozeman possessed