The Sky's the Limit - Marco Palmieri [166]
Dave is married to Ambassador Mollari and lives in Yorkshire with B’Elanna, Seven of Nine, Cannonball, and a Stripey Git.
Captain’s log, Stardate 56934.1
Repairs to the Enterprise continue as we prepare for our next assignment, but the crew, I fear, will never completely heal from the damage inflicted by Shinzon and his Scimitar. Commander Data, and so many others, will be greatly missed. As indeed will Commander—correction, Captain Riker and Counselor Troi, and also Doctor Crusher. So far the crew rotation is going smoothly, both in the departure of those leaving for other posts and the new arrivals.
IT HAD BEEN CONSTRAINED FOR TOO LONG. IT DIDN’T MIND losing track of time while it had been cooped up and not knowing whether it had been imprisoned for hours or for days. Nor did it mind the darkness. It hated the physical sensations of the walls hemming it in.
Frustration built up like charge in a battery. It tried to calm down and put its concerns aside. It reminded itself that there were others, somewhere, in just the same situation. It knew that it was not alone, and that helped a great deal.
Best of all, it knew it would soon be free.
Lieutenant Commander Worf stood in the control booth overlooking the Enterprise’s shuttlebay and watched an angular cargo shuttle settle into place on the deck. He checked a padd that he held; this would be the delivery of new transporter phase coils. Phase coils could not easily be transported themselves without risking their delicate balance, and in any case the Enterprise’s one working transporter room was being prioritized for personnel movement rather than cargo.
A few uniformed figures emerged and began to unload crates from the shuttle. Things seemed to be going efficiently enough, but Worf still felt uneasy. The sleek form of the Sovereign-class U.S.S. Enterprise had been built for speed and grace, but now, in the embrace of an orbiting drydock, she felt weary and vulnerable. Once the ship and her crew were free of this mechanical nurse-maid’s influence, Worf would know he was back where he belonged. He would feel better then.
As Worf made his way toward the bridge, he passed several technicians working on the innards of the power distribution systems. Having to pause or step aside irritated him, but he said nothing. It was just another symptom of the strangeness of being tethered to a drydock. There was something ironic in so many more corridors than usual being obstructed, when the crew complement on board was a shade over half the normal strength.
He took a turbolift to the bridge and triggered the chime at the ready room door. “Come,” the captain’s voice answered almost immediately.
Captain Jean-Luc Picard looked up from a screen as Worf entered. Picard looked a little tired but was fully alert. His professionalism was the best Worf had ever seen in a human; he bore difficult times with equanimity, as a warrior should. There was no doubt that times had been difficult lately. The triumph over the Reman pretender, Shinzon, and his warship Scimitar had been soured by the loss of many comrades, including Lieutenant Commander Data. Having the Enterprise towed home like a barge had been the final insult.
Picard bore the shame well, but Worf could see that he felt it. He could see it in Picard because it was an attitude they both shared.
“Captain,” Worf began, proffering the padd, “the final supply delivery from Station McKinley has arrived on schedule. All new and replacement hardware has either been installed or is on board ready to be installed.”
Picard nodded. “Good. What about structural repairs?”
“All structural repairs are progressing ahead of schedule. Engineering reports we will be ready to conduct maneuvering tests later today.”
“That is good news, Mister Worf.” Picard gave a very genuine smile. “It feels good to be standing aboard a functioning Enterprise again, doesn’t it?”
Worf allowed himself a smaller, answering, smile. “It does, sir.”
“I believe you’re off duty now, is that correct?