Ship of the Line - Diane Carey [62]
“Sir … we don’t resent you.”
Damn, what a lousy liar I am. Even worse, to be watched doing it by a whole pack of other lousy liars—Data’s poker face looks more like a go-fish face.
“Yes, you do,” Bateson parried easily. “Don’t blame you a bit, either. But look. Come over here.” He crossed the bridge to the science console and put his hand on the lower trunk. “See this?”
“You mean the panel?”
“Yes, the panel itself.”
“Yes, sir, I see it.”
“See these little scratches that have been painted over?”
“Yes, sir …”
“This panel is from the Enterprise.”
Riker looked at the panel, brushed-satin gray like the others. “I beg your pardon?”
Tapping the panel with one finger, Bateson said, “It’s made from salvaged terminium from the EnterpriseD’s structural trusses.”
Suddenly stepping back, a little spooked, Riker murmured, “Oh, sir …”
“That’s right. Now, come over there.”
Bateson “walked” across to the port side, to the most forward support pylon. He ran his hand up the after side of the pylon. “This too. Polyduranide from the secondary framework rods off your Saucer Module. And the corresponding pylon on the starboard side over there is the same. And all through the ship we incorporated little bits and pieces of the wreckage of the EnterpriseD. We know where they all are, too. Some of them have engraved brass plates.”
Now beyond spooked, Riker slid both hands across the part of the strut Bateson had touched. It was identical to the rest of the strut except for two little pocks and a thumbnail gouge that wouldn’t have been tolerated in a brand new piece. Wreckage …
“In the officer’s lounge,” Bateson said, “the table was salvaged, and it has a plaque on it dedicated to the EnterpriseD.”
Overwhelmed, Riker looked at the rail again, then looked up at Troi. Her eyes welled with tears, her face gaunt and ashamed.
Data sniffed. Geordi clasped his hands humbly.
Bateson rubbed the bit of salvage on the ship’s rail. “You know why I did this?”
Feeling obliged to fill up the pause, Riker murmured, “No, sir …”
Bateson gripped Riker’s elbow again. “Because ships are important. Salvage is important. To people. I’m the one who invited the Titanic and Mary Rose exhibits out to Starbase 12. I wanted everyone out here to see the sacrifice of those who had come before them. It’s special to stand a couple of feet from something that actually went down with the Titanic. It shows us that those people were real people, living and breathing just like we are. They really lived and they really died. These artifacts tie us to them in a concrete, physical way that we’ll never forget. Everybody who’s ever held his great grandfather’s watch or touched his mother’s wedding ring understands what I’m talking about. Things really are important. They take us directly back to that moment. Not to a legend or a story, but to an actual moment on a given day in the past. Because of these bits of your ship, all of us on this ship, for her whole future, will never forget you and your ship and what you did that day. It’s important.”
Could the human chest stand this kind of pressure? Steeped in shame, Riker gripped the pocked strut and couldn’t manage to speak.
Giving him and the others a few seconds to absorb what he had just said, Bateson added, “I never really had any roots. Only my ship and my crew. When we came through time, I found I wanted some roots. So I sort of adopted Starbase 12 as my hometown. I guess that sounds pretty provincial …”
Riker raised his lowered eyes. His hard demeanor cracked. He smiled. “No, sir, it doesn’t sound provincial at all.”
Well … why did it feel so good to smile?
He stood back a little and offered a hand. “Thank you, Captain. Thank you very sincerely, from all of us.”
Taking the hand, Bateson smiled and clapped Riker on the shoulder with the other hand, damn him. Why did he have to be such a decent guy?
“All right, enough partying,” Bateson said. “Work, work, work, slave, slave,