The Devil's Heart - Carmen Carter [92]
Fighting against a feeling of defeat, she finished with, “There were three fatalities.”
This last statement keyed the tension in the captain’s shoulders even tighter, but he made no comment beyond a curt nod of acknowledgment.
Picard turned to Geordi La Forge next.
“Maintenance teams have repaired the hull breach,” said the engineer, “and Deck 38 is already repressurized, but we’ve uncovered serious damage to several starboard deflector shield amplifiers and at least two gravity field generators.”
Crusher half-listened to Geordi’s unfolding report, but her attention was focused mainly on Picard. Troi’s concern had been well-founded; it was difficult to assess the captain’s condition from across the length of the conference table, but what she could see from here was disturbing.
At first glance, even as she had entered the room, Crusher had been struck by the haggard look of his face. Picard was a lean man at the best of times, but now the bones of his skull were far too prominent, and the skin that covered them was pale and stretched taut. From previous experience, the doctor knew that prolonged stress had a tendency to melt flesh off his frame, but she had never seen him develop a nervous tic before.
Yet she noted that Picard’s hands were in constant subtle motion, with fingers twitching or tracing patterns on the surface of the table.
Crusher waited until the round of reports had concluded and the other officers were filing out of the room before she approached the captain. Picard was still sitting at the head of the table, fingers drumming a repetitive rhythm, but he had turned to face the window. His eyes were flitting from side to side as he scanned the vista of stars. She wondered what he was looking for.
“Captain.”
His head jerked up, as if pulled against his will.
“Yes, Doctor?” His query was clipped with impatience.
One look at the stubborn set of his jaw, and Crusher realized that gentle persuasion would only waste her breath. “You look like death warmed over.
My medical recommendation is that you get some rest, immediately.”
As she expected, he shook his head. “In light of Mr. La Forge’s damage reports, Doctor, I don’t have the luxury of abandoning my duties to satisfy your whims.
Please direct your excess medical passion to the patients in intensive care.”
Crusher drew a sharp breath, stung by the cutting remark. Yet she also recognized that Picard’s bristling anger was probably just another symptom of his exhaustion. Before she could frame a tactful reply, the doctor felt someone brush against her arm; Riker had stepped back from the doorway to stand beside her.
“Captain,” said the first officer with an affable grin. “I don’t think a quick nap could be construed as abandoning your duties. In fact, this would be a good opportunity to take a break so you’ll be refreshed by the time Geordi has a new status report.”
Crusher rushed in before Picard could debate this point. “And if you’ve been having trouble sleeping, I can prescribe appropriate medication.” This was the obvious recommendation under the circumstances, yet she knew that Picard would perceive this suggestion as a veiled threat.
The captain shifted his glance from her over to Riker, then back again to her. Rising from his chair, Picard said, “No drugs will be necessary, Doctor. I will go to my cabin without further protest.”
“Very sensible,” she said, with what she hoped was a lighter tone, but Picard’s stoic reserve did not soften. He stalked from the room without uttering another word.
Crusher turned to the first officer. The grin on his face had faded away. “How long has he been this way, Will?”
“He’s grown noticeably worse in the last day,” said Riker. “But I think the trouble started when he took possession of the Heart.”
Crusher sighed. “I was afraid you’d say that.
Unfortunately, this is one condition I don’t know how to treat.”
Picard stripped off his uniform jacket and tossed it aside. This would be his one concession to comfort for