Ship of the Line - Diane Carey [30]
The captain paused then, somehow knowing that Riker certainly didn’t have the answer to that and wasn’t very skilled at over-the-counter comforts.
Picard blinked a couple of times and then looked at Riker.”And is any of this fair to you at all? Will you ever move on if I don’t?”
Bridling his response, Riker determined not to get caught in that one.
After a moment, Picard looked away again and sipped his tea, then flinched. Too hot.
“I’ve managed to survive through a great deal,” he went on, “though I’ve had to watch members of my crew suffer and die … even had to order some of them to their deaths. That wears on you after a bit. I’ve lost two ships now … anyone with a lick of sense becomes circumspect after that. Seven years ago I was the EnterpriseD’s first mission commander, and now I’m her last. That should be enough for anyone.”
The lounge fell silent again, and Riker found himself wishing that cursed announcer would come back on and start talking about disasters at sea again. At least that would be noise.
“You think I’m being negative, don’t you?” Picard asked abruptly then, eyeing his first officer narrowly.
Fidgeting, Riker wished he’d gotten himself a drink too, so he could have something to hide behind.
“As a matter of fact,” Picard went on, “I’m rather looking forward to life without that weight on my shoulders. There are other frontiers, you know, Will. I’ve always felt drawn to archaeology. A quiet sunlit dig somewhere, a cool drink, a big hat, a shovel and a brush—”
Riker tucked his chin. “Sand in your teeth, sunburn on your nose, callouses on your knees …”
Picard grinned. “And the wind in my hair?”
They laughed a little, and Riker felt better. The captain had a rare smile, but a pleasant one.
Tensions lingered between them, though. That unanswered question—Will you ever move on if I don’t?
The captain gazed at him, still grinning.
Shaking his head, Riker uneasily chuckled, “I wish you’d stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like Geppetto looking at the puppet and being proud of what he built.”
“Well, I am proud of you. I’m tempted to agree with a few of those admirals.”
“And turn the next command over to me,” Riker huffed. “I wish they’d stop pressuring you to do that.”
“Oh, it’s not all that bad. We’ve been cleared in the loss of the ship, and that’s something. They’ve ruled her crash a viable option in that chain of events and subject to commander’s discretion. We’re all free to accept new assignments … if we want them.”
Picard stood up and strode to the large viewing windows. Outside this room was the inner spaceport of Starbase 12. The base itself was a huge hollowed-out spool hanging in space over the planet Rhodes, where the colony established a century and a quarter ago was now covering over half the planet. And at their fingertips, separated only by this window, was the protected inner docking area, where ships could be cuddled up close to repair bays and stocking complexes.
And there, permanently moored, was the reason the colony was still here and the reason this starbase was still here. Beneath Picard, and Riker as he came to stand beside his captain, was the permanently moored border cutter Bozeman, docked here as a spacefaring museum. The old ship was compact