Star Trek_ Generations - J M. Dillard [24]
Time, Spock quoted quietly, the devourer of all things.
Yes, time … McCoy looked up swiftly, sudden anger in his voice. I cant stop thinking about time …
Part Two
Seventy-eight Years Later
SIX
On the main deck of the Enterprise, Captain Jean-Luc Picard stared up at the fluttering blue-and-white banner of the United Federation of Planets and drew in a deep lungful of brine-scented air. Beneath his feet, creaking timber rocked softly to the rhythm of lapping waves; above, wind whistled through the rigging.
More than anything, he wanted to throw back his head and laugh, to revel in the perfection of the moment. Fate seemed unutterably sweet; he felt blessed to be a man who had found what he most wanted to do, what he was born to do, with his life. Yet, as he looked over his assembled bridge crewappropriately costumed for the historical periodhe kept his expression somber.
The task proved challenging, especially when he met his second-in-commands mischievous gaze. Will Riker looked amazingly at home in white breeches and dark blue waistcoat with gold epaulettes on the shoulders; but the beard and rakish tilt to his plumed hat spoke more of a buccaneer than a nineteenth-century naval officer. With a macaw on his shoulder, say, and a peg leg …
Picard signaled Riker with a curt nod, then looked away swiftly before his own smile gravitated from his eyes to his lips.
Bring out the prisoner! Riker bellowed with obvious relish.
A nearby hatch opened. Crouching to avoid losing her tri-cornered hat on a low-hanging beam, Deanna Troi emerged, followed by Geordi La Forgelooking distinctly un-nineteenth-century in his VISORand the prisoner: Worf, hatless and in shirtsleeves. Prodded by his two escorts, the Klingon moved slowly to the clank of iron chains binding his wrists and ankles.
Mr. Worf, Picard intoned with what he hoped was convincing severity, I always knew this day would come. Are you prepared to face the charges?
Worf blinked and took in his strange surroundings, seemingly overwhelmed.
With mock ferocity, Troi jabbed him in the ribs.
Answer him!
The Klingon gave her a glance at once puzzled and bemused, then gathered himself with dignity. I am prepared.
Picard directed another nod at Riker, who produced a large scroll of parchment from beneath his waistcoat. He cleared his throat and began to read as Geordi removed the prisoners shackles:
We, the officers and crew of the U.S.S. Enterprise, being of sound mind and judgment, hereby make the following charges against Lieutenant Worf: One. That he did knowingly and willfully perform above and beyond the call of duty on countless occasions. Two. That he has been a good and solid officer on this ship for one score less twelve years. And three. Most seriously … that he has earned the respect and admiration of the entire crew.
As the last of the prisoners chains clattered to the wooden deck, Riker rewound the scroll.
There can be only one judgment for such crimes, Picard proclaimed, working hard to maintain his stern visage. I hereby promote you to the rank of Lieutenant Commander, with all the rights and privileges thereto. And may God have mercy on your soul.
The crew roared its approval. Picard at last permitted himself to smile, and leaned forward to shake Worfs hand. Congratulations, Commander.
Worf could not quite restrain a small smile himself.
Thank you, sir.
The captain continued to remain in the Klingons strong, warm grip until Riker stepped between them, his eyes bright with merriment. Extend the plank! The crew swarmed in to surround Worf and pushed him toward the ships flank, where a long, narrow plank appeared over the lapping sea.
Lower the badge of office! Riker shouted.
Above him, a crewman who had shimmied up a yardarm lowered a rope, at the end of which hung a naval officers three-cornered