The Devil's Heart - Carmen Carter [2]
It was not a comfortable pose, but then Picard was not a comfortable man.
A spacious cabin with generous furnishings, their smooth wash of pastel colors, a lush plant gracing the table by his bed—none of these luxuries had softened his sense of responsibility, or his conviction that danger could be held at bay only by unceasing vigilance.
As if to vindicate his subconscious wariness, the trill of a communications call marred the silence that had surrounded him. The captain was awake and alert before the second ring of the summons had sounded. Quickly rolling to a half-sitting position, he cleared his throat to erase any trace of sleep from his voice.
“Picard here.”
“Incoming message from Starbase 193, Priority Two.”
“Thank you, Ensign Ro. I’ll take it here in my quarters.” Knowing the commander of the starbase in question, Picard automatically scaled down the urgency of the call by at least one degree; Miyakawa had a tendency to overdramatize, an occupational hazard for officers mired in the mundane activities of an administrative post. He allowed himself the indulgence of a leisurely stretch before slipping out of bed to activate the transmission.
At his touch, the viewscreen on the wall flickered to life. The first part of the communiqu`e was brief and to the point, but then Vulcans were not given to circumlocution. Miyakawa’s subsequent request for aid was brusque, even imperious, as if she suspected the captain of the Enterprise might balk at such an insignificant task.
Perhaps there were some captains who would resent the diversion of a galaxy-class starship on a small errand of mercy, but Picard was not one of them.
Besides, he wanted this particular mission.
A combination of natural reticence and Starfleet training stripped Picard’s voice of emotion as he activated the intercom and issued orders to the bridge crew. His excitement was strictly personal and had no place in the execution of duty.
“Course change initiated.”
Data’s voice betrayed no reaction to the new coordinates, but Picard could swear he heard Ro Laren’s muffled curse in the background.
Merde. The captain belatedly remembered the consequences of this diversion on the crew’s own affairs. “Increase speed to warp six.” That was faster than the assignment warranted, but a more moderate pace might tax everyone’s patience.
In the time it took him to step out of his pajamas and into a clean pair of uniform pants, Picard was hailed over the intercom yet again.
“Riker to Captain Picard.”
“It’s a routine diversion, Number One,” said Picard, aiming his reply at the ceiling intercom. “At warp six, we’ll only experience a short delay.” He slipped the tunic jacket over his head, confident that the heavy cloth could not drown out his first officer’s emphatic response.
“With all due respect, sir, routine missions aren’t rated Priority Two. If this takes more than a few extra days … well, it’s damn inconvenient for Geordi’s maintenance agenda at spacedock.”
“Ah, yes, the new magnetic constrictor coils,” said Picard, careful to keep the smile on his face from seeping into his voice. Reaching for his boots, the captain did his best to allay Riker’s anxiety. “In my opinion, the urgency of the situation was slightly overstated, so we should be able to make up the lost time without too much difficulty. Schedule a briefing this morning for all senior officers so we can ensure a swift completion of this mission.”
“Aye, sir.”
The soft hum of the open channel cut off.
Now that the immediate demands of duty had been fulfilled, Picard walked out into his living room and turned his attention to breakfast. As was his custom, he ordered a light menu for two from the food synthesizer. However, reflecting over Riker’s strained reaction to the change of plans, the captain considered the probable effect on his guest’s more volatile temper.
“Computer,” he said quickly. “Extra butter and cream.”
He had added two different fruit juices and a jar of orange marmalade to the spread on the