The Eyes of the Beholders - A. C. Crispin [44]
In the rush of directing the battle, of saving his crew, (and losing his ship, a mocking voice reminded him yet again), and of overseeing the abandon-ship procedure, he had felt no pain, nothing … and he still felt nothing.
“This can wait, Number One,” he said, “until all the other injuries are attended to.” He swallowed, the inside of his throat feeling as though fire had seared it. “Updates on casualties?”
“No deaths since the first two, Captain.” The commander paused, then said slowly, “Sir … it’s a long way back to civilization, a large part of it through uncharted space.”
Mentally, Picard pictured their most direct route, then he nodded silently.
“Sir?” The first officer’s tentative voice spoke again after a long moment.
Jean-Luc sighed; he’d rather hoped that the younger man had gone away. “Yes, Number One?”
“Respectfully, sir, may I remind the captain that we’re going to need him, or we haven’t a chance in hell of making it back?”
Slowly, Picard turned away from the receding Stargazer and looked up at his second-in-command. “We’ll make it back,” he said finally.
“I know, sir,” the man said. “But only if you’re in command. To be honest, sir, I can’t do it alone.” He nodded at the captain’s wound. “So will you please come see the medic, sir?”
It was the hardest thing Jean-Luc Picard had ever done, but slowly, slowly, he straightened his shoulders. He nodded, then, unsteadily, he climbed to his feet and stood unassisted. Feeling light-headed from reaction and loss of blood, he managed to speak in a level tone. “You’re right, Number One,” he said. “This wound needs attention. Where is the medic?”
As he turned to follow the commander into the cargo section of the shuttlecraft, which had been turned into an impromptu sickbay, the smoldering wreck that was the Stargazer caught Picard’s eye for the last time. I have lost my ship …
Deliberately, Jean-Luc turned his back on it and walked out of the pilot’s section on his own two feet. There will be a court-martial, he thought. I may well be stripped of my commission. I could even face criminal charges …
He knew also that they had barely embarked upon a journey that was every bit as perilous as the one the ejected captain and loyal crew of the Royal Navy ship Bounty had faced, hundreds of years ago. Braving the void in the tiny shuttlecraft was, most people would have said, hopeless insanity. But somehow Picard knew that he’d told his first officer the truth. They would make it back. It wasn’t over yet.
Next to the loss of his ship, the charges, the court-martial, the void to be crossed—all of it seemed as nothing. I am a captain who has lost his ship, he thought. Nothing worse can happen to me …
In the darkness of his cabin aboard the Enterprise, Jean-Luc Picard opened his eyes, then sat up unsteadily. “Lights,” he said quietly, and the room was obediently illuminated. He swung his legs out of the bed, his left hand going up to touch his shoulder, rub at it, trying to erase the ache that throbbed there. A phantom pain, he thought. A memory of pain, awakened by the most realistic dream I have ever experienced …
He padded into the bathroom to pull on a robe, then he walked over to the wall slot. “Tea, Earl Grey, hot,” he ordered from force of habit, but when it arrived he had no urge to drink it; instead he took the mug out and set it down on the dresser, scarcely feeling its heat against his fingers. “Water, cold,” he commanded.
When the water glass sparkled before him, he raised it and gulped the cold liquid gratefully, feeling it wash over the rawness of his throat. Memory of what it was like to inhale those fumes? he wondered. A psychosomatic reaction?
He rubbed his aching arm again. The doctors had managed to heal it so well that there was virtually no scar. But Picard could still trace the path of the old