Ship of the Line - Diane Carey [44]
“He well may.” Farrow accepted Picard’s point. “To be honest, I agree with you. But some others don’t.”
Picard leaned rather fiercely forward. “Who?”
The admiral was unimpressed. “It doesn’t matter right now. Bateson has massive amounts of seniority.”
“That’s because of a quirk of time travel!”
“It was you yourself who recommended Starfleet give him full seniority consideration, to give him a boost in this century. Besides that, his record is not only spotless, but exemplary. He took risks above and beyond the call of duty several times, he effected some valiant rescues and some monumental arrests on border duty, and on top of all that he’s a hero in this sector. Starfleet can do worse, don’t you agree, than to recognize its own heroes, Captain? Or shall I say, ‘Admiral’?”
“Don’t say it yet,” Picard snapped, and held up a restraining hand.
The heady thrill of a promotion was completely lost on him, totally smeared by the idea that Bateson and not Riker would have command of the Enterprise-E. And very likely Picard would be the one to tell Riker. More delight.
“Does Bateson know yet?”
“I thought there was some discretion in telling you first.”
“Mmm.” Good—then Bateson wouldn’t accidentally let anything slip as he toured Riker around the ship.
“Now,” the admiral said, “let us discuss the mission Starfleet has for you.”
“A mission,” Picard muttered. “For a captain without a ship.”
Chapter 12
“Thank you all for being here,” Picard said. “These quarters are not exactly a ship’s briefing room, but that would be strangely inappropriate today, I think.”
The officers’ guest quarters were more like a hotel lobby, with cookie-cutter furniture that could’ve been in any room, anywhere. Only a painting on the wall—looked like Georgia O’Keeffe—offered any personality. On the opposite wall, near the glass dining table where Riker, Troi, and Crusher huddled, a starbase monitor ran constant silent viewings of the exhibit of Titanic and Mary Rose artifacts. Longbows, a steam whistle, a figurine, a set of 1900’s bagpipes, so on. An unlikely mixture of times and troubles.
“Before you all pop from curiosity,” Picard went on, “and anticipation, I shall cut to the bottom line. I have not been offered command of the new Enterprise.”
Riker digested the captain’s words with a heavy heart. To his right, both Troi and Crusher gaped in astounded disappointment.
“What?” the counselor huffed.
And Crusher declared, “Oh, I can’t believe it!”
“You heard me,” Captain Picard said as he stood at the other end of the small table, “and you shall believe it.”
The captain didn’t sit down.
“Please, Captain,” Crusher began, “please tell us congratulations are in order for Mr. Riker.”
Will Riker tried not to react, and thought he did pretty well. He didn’t want command unless Captain Picard wanted, really wanted, to move on.
He didn’t get that from the captain’s demeanor.
Picard’s expression hardened. Clearly he was angry, but keeping it under control. He looked at Riker for a few seconds, then bitterly turned back to Crusher. “Command for the ship’s shakedown cruise has been given to Morgan Bateson.”
“What?” Crusher exclaimed.
Deanna Troi shook her head. “I don’t believe it! Morgan Bateson is ninety years out of date! He’d have to go through college all over again just to catch up with the ship’s basic systems! How can he command the newest ship of the line? He can’t possibly be qualified.”
“You’re mistaken about that,” Picard said icily. “If we brought Benjamin Franklin forward in time, I guarantee he would be a formidable presence in government. Innate talents are worth something. Men of the past are not necessarily simple men. Galileo would flourish in these times. He would rise above the crowd even now.”
“Bateson’s no Galileo,” Crusher grumbled, “or Franklin either.”
“How do we know that?” The captain turned to her and held out a hand. “His career was just beginning to roll when he was lost in the Typhon Causality. In any case, captains of the past had to think fast, and