Ship of the Line - Diane Carey [66]
And these were those old days, the earliest days of the Enterprise’s missions under James Kirk. The ship would be ten or eleven years old, if Picard recalled correctly, relatively young in the tenure of a vessel.
Shadows lay dry-brushed across James Kirk’s smooth face. He was a stylish young man, Picard noticed, with a powerful presence that drew all eyes when he was in the vicinity. Now Kirk moved toward Spock and placed both hands upon the red rail between them.
“Position of the intruder, Mr. Spock?” he asked.
Such a quiet voice! One always expected a hero to project like somebody on a stage. Kirk wasn’t doing that.
“Disappeared,” Spock said. “Interesting how they became visible for just a moment.”
Excellent diction.
“When they opened fire,” Kirk murmured. “Perhaps necessary when they use their weapons.”
The captain had shifted roles that instantly—no, not shifted. He was still mourning. But he had also embraced the needs of the new moment.
“Have a blip on the motion sensor, Captain,” Spock said then. “Could be the intruder.”
Kirk turned forward. “Go to full magnification.”
The helmsman said, “Screen is on full mag, sir.”
That voice—
“Captain Sulu!” Picard looked at the helmsman. “Of course … I’d completely forgotten—”
“I don’t see anything,” Kirk said, evil-eyeing the main screen. He climbed up the short steps to the upper deck, leaned back on the rail, and put a foot up on the stand of Spock’s chair. “Can’t understand it.”
Evidently Spock took that as a question. “Invisibility is theoretically possible, Captain. Selective bending of light, but the power cost is enormous. They may have solved that problem.”
“Continuing to challenge, sir,” the communications officer said. “Still no response.”
“Discontinue. Contact remaining outposts, have them signal us, any sightings or sensor readings in their area.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Blip has changed its heading, Captain … and in a very leisurely maneuver. He may be unaware of us.”
“Their invisibility screen may work both ways. With that kind of power consumption, they may not be able to see us.”
“His heading is now one-eleven … mark fourteen.” Spock dropped off the reading, then turned once again to communicate with Jim Kirk in that personal way they had. “The exact heading a Romulan vessel would take, Jim … toward the Neutral Zone. And home.”
Home. So much meaning in a single word, and Spock had put all that substance into his tone, into his eyes as he connected with his captain’s, and the two continued to communicate after the words were done.
Picard paused in brief appreciation. Such a charming moment, a pivotal point in Starfleet history. He took an instant to glance around and enjoy the streamlined console desks in glossy black, with brightly colored knob-lights and buttons for easy identification, the rugged swivel seats, gleaming monitors at eye-level on the upper deck, the forward screen that seemed small compared to what he was used to, yet somehow still dominated the bridge … nostalgia was a universal comfort, and Picard found himself grinning in spite of the tense action around him. What a nice place to be, right in the middle of a myth. If he could only stay—
But he couldn’t. He had only as long as it took to get to Cardassian space. Then this rescue mission would require his personal vigilance.
Riker was smart, though. These holotapes not only would sweep Picard into confronting some of his own thoughts about command, but would keep a senior captain out of the hair of Reynolds and his crew, which could only be to the good. Having a Starfleet officer aboard and looking over their shoulders could be slightly terrifying to a private crew, who knew their jobs perfectly well otherwise. Picard was better serving himself and them too by doing Riker’s evil bidding.
On the starboard side, Kirk had given a helm order and come down to the command deck, and Picard wasn’t really paying attention. His mind was still in other places.
“Don’t you mean interception course,