Ship of the Line

by Diane Carey

  Riker winced and clapped a hand to his chest. “Oooh . . . that hurts.”

  “There’s another option,” Crusher suggested. “There’s talk of ‘Captain Riker.’ ”

  “She’s right, Will,” Troi said. “If Captain Picard wants to retire, you might not be able to dodge command now that this ship’s ready for launch.”

  “Who says I’m dodging?”

  “I do. And I think you’re going to get command if the captain doesn’t want it.”

  “He wants it,” Riker declared.

  Troi stepped in front of him. “Did he say that?”

  Crusher reached for his arm as he sidled away. “When did he say it? Tell us his exact words!”

  “Can’t.” Riker swiveled to one side. “Sorry. I’ve gotta go analyze a system. Now, look, ladies . . .”

  “Shh! Here comes the captain!” Troi batted Crusher’s hand away from Riker’s arm and they all turned together, looking like a vaudeville show as Captain Picard approached, scolding them with his glare.

  “You’re a sight, all of you,” the captain derided. “Captain Bateson’s waiting for you on the other side of engineering. He’s going to conduct your tour. I’ve been called away.”

  “Away, sir?” Riker prodded.

  Picard struck him with that glower. “Yes, I’ve been summoned to Admiral Farrow’s office.”

  “That’s got to be it,” Riker accidentally blurted, and it took all his self-control to keep from clapping the captain on the shoulder.

  “I don’t want to have this conversation,” Picard sighed. “No choice, I suppose . . .”

  “Jean-Luc, it’s wonderful!” Crusher exclaimed.

  And Deanna Troi smiled. “The ship is ours!”

  Chapter 11

  “Captain Picard, hello.”

  “Good morning, Admiral Farrow. I’m sorry I wasn’t on hand to greet you when you arrived on the starbase.”

  “That’s all right. Captain Bateson and Captain Scott were there. And I knew you needed some time to yourself after— what happened.”

  Admiral Farrow’s sympathy fell hard between them as Picard entered the office. Was it particularly chilly in here? Or was his discomfort simply turning up the air conditioning? He wished he could avoid what was to come, for he had no idea what answer he would give the options posed.

  Farrow was a big man, very blond and pink-faced, with a gap between his front teeth. He looked like something out of a Norwegian legend, and Picard knew the admiral’s record read a little like that. He had a slight accent, but Picard had never been able to place it and had never bothered to ask.

  Right at the moment he certainly didn’t care.

  “Have you seen the new starship?” the admiral asked as Picard sat on the plush antique-velvet couch.

  “Just came from there,” Picard said, trying to sound pleased. “She’s quite a work of art. I haven’t had the chance to examine the technology quite yet, but . . .”

  “But you’ll get to it, I know.” Admiral Farrow sat in the unmatched antique chair nearby, rather than in his desk chair, which would’ve been, apparently, more formal than he wanted to be at the moment.

  “Would you like some coffee?” Farrow asked. “Oh—forgive me, Jean-Luc. With you, it’s tea, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, but no, thank you. I’ve had some this morning. Even I can only take so much. Admiral . . . please put me out of my misery, will you?”

  “Yes, so sorry. Jean-Luc, on behalf of the admiralty, with all our congratulations and appreciation, I’m pleased to offer you the rank of rear admiral. Now, don’t say anything just yet. You don’t need to accept right away; in fact we prefer you didn’t. We have a thing or two bubbling in Cardassian space. You might like to take charge of those.”

  As his hands tingled as if frozen in time, Picard repeated, “Cardassian space? I’m hardly an expert on Cardassia—”

  “But you have unique experiences that will play into the mission we have for you.” Farrow leaned forward, his pink face beaming.

  “What kind of mission?”

  “Leading a small team to Cardassia Prime.”

  “I’m not a commando, Admiral. Why choose me for this?”

  “We’ve been contacted by a Cardassian with whom we’ve developed a—relationship. She confirmed some things that have only been suspected until now. She asked for you by name.”

  “This is entirely a mystery to me.”

  “It’ll all make sense once you’ve read this.” He handed Picard a padd. The top line of text read “Picard—Cardassia.”

  “Should I give you some time to absorb this?”

  “No . . . no, sir.” Picard shook himself, careful not to accept or deny the promotion. “May I only say I’m sure Will Riker will make a superb captain for the new starship.”

  Farrow sat back and crossed his ankles. “Yes, I know he would. But he’s not being given command of the new Enterprise.”

  Visibly stiffening, Picard frowned. “Then who is?”

  “Command will be going to Captain Bateson for the ship’s launch cruise.”

  Well, there it was. Despite the records of Picard, Riker, and the Enterprise-D, forces in another favor had won out. How much had Morgan Bateson himself fueled those fires? He’d been here all these three years, able to influence forces involved with the design and future of the newest starship. Proximity could certainly have been a factor, while Picard and Riker were represented only by reputation. Not to mention a touch of notoriety.

  Angry now, Picard put forth no effort to make his physical demeanor hide how he felt. “Sir . . . I genuinely believe Mr. Riker deserves command.”

  “He well may.” Farrow accepted Picard’s point. “To be honest, I agree with you. But some others don’t.”

  Picard leaned rather fiercely forward. “Who?”

  The admiral was unimpressed. “It doesn’t matter right now. Bateson has massive amounts of seniority.”

  “That’s because of a quirk of time travel!”

  “It was you yourself who recommended Starfleet give him full seniority consideration, to give him a boost in this century. Besides that, his record is not only spotless, but exemplary. He took risks above and beyond the call of duty several times, he effected some valiant rescues and some monumental arrests on border duty, and on top of all that he’s a hero in this sector. Starfleet can do worse, don’t you agree, than to recognize its own heroes, Captain? Or shall I say, ‘Admiral’?”

  “Don’t say it yet,” Picard snapped, and held up a restraining hand.

  The heady thrill of a promotion was completely lost on him, totally smeared by the idea that Bateson and not Riker would have command of the Enterprise-E. And very likely Picard would be the one to tell Riker. More delight.

  “Does Bateson know yet?”

  “I thought there was some discretion in telling you first.”

  “Mmm.” Good—then Bateson wouldn’t accidentally let anything slip as he toured Riker around the ship.

  “Now,” the admiral said, “let us discuss the mission Starfleet has for you.”

  “A mission,” Picard muttered. “For a captain without a ship.”

  Chapter 12

  “Thank you all for being here,” Picard said. “These quarters are not exactly a ship’s briefing room, but that would be strangely inappropriate today, I think.”

  The officers’ guest quarters were more like a hotel lobby, with cookie-cutter furniture that could’ve been in any room, anywhere. Only a painting on the wall—looked like Georgia O’Keeffe—offered any personality. On the opposite wall, near the glass dining table where Riker, Troi, and Crusher huddled, a starbase monitor ran constant silent viewings of the exhibit of Titanic and Mary Rose artifacts. Longbows, a steam whistle, a figurine, a set of 1900’s bagpipes, so on. An unlikely mixture of times and troubles.

  “Before you all pop from curiosity,” Picard went on, “and anticipation, I shall cut to the bottom line. I have not been offered command of the new Enterprise.
”

  Riker digested the captain’s words with a heavy heart. To his right, both Troi and Crusher gaped in astounded disappointment.

  “What?” the counselor huffed.

  And Crusher declared, “Oh, I can’t believe it!”

  “You heard me,” Captain Picard said as he stood at the other end of the small table, “and you shall believe it.”

  The captain didn’t sit down.

  “Please, Captain,” Crusher began, “please tell us congratulations are in order for Mr. Riker.”

  Will Riker tried not to react, and thought he did pretty well. He didn’t want command unless Captain Picard wanted, really wanted, to move on.

  He didn’t get that from the captain’s demeanor.

  Picard’s expression hardened. Clearly he was angry, but keeping it under control. He looked at Riker for a few seconds, then bitterly turned back to Crusher. “Command for the ship’s shakedown cruise has been given to Morgan Bateson.”

  “What?” Crusher exclaimed.

  Deanna Troi shook her head. “I don’t believe it! Morgan Bateson is ninety years out of date! He’d have to go through college all over again just to catch up with the ship’s basic systems! How can he command the newest ship of the line? He can’t possibly be qualified.”

  “You’re mistaken about that,” Picard said icily. “If we brought Benjamin Franklin forward in time, I guarantee he would be a formidable presence in government. Innate talents are worth something. Men of the past are not necessarily simple men. Galileo would flourish in these times. He would rise above the crowd even now.”

  “Bateson’s no Galileo,” Crusher grumbled, “or Franklin either.”

  “How do we know that?” The captain turned to her and held out a hand. “His career was just beginning to roll when he was lost in the Typhon Causality. In any case, captains of the past had to think fast, and that’s what Bateson has done. Bateson may not be technically up to snuff, but I’d be more circumspect about his command instincts.”

  Knowing from experience that Picard was fuming behind those words, Riker didn’t push the point. “We’ll try, sir.”

  Picard sighed as if it had taken all his personal resolve to choke that out. “Thank you.”

  “The shakedown cruise,” Troi clarified. “That’s what you said. Just the shakedown cruise, that’s all. Then Bateson’s in temporary command, right?”

  “It is in fact temporary,” Picard confirmed unwillingly, “but temporary status is usually only a formality. I wouldn’t hold my breath for any surprises. I’ve already given him my congratulations, and I expect no less from all of you. When I spoke to him, he asked me to carry a request . . . to you, Will.”

  Startled out of his misery, Riker looked up. “What kind of request?”

  “He’d like you to come along with him as first officer on his shakedown cruise.”

  Aridly Riker frowned and shifted on the plush seat. “Bateson already has a first officer. He doesn’t need two.”

  “No, but he does need someone familiar with current technology, star territory, and spacefaring until he familiarizes himself with those aspects of command. He’s no fool. He knows what he doesn’t know.”

  “Somebody else can teach him.”

  The words dropped like rocks.

  Riker knew he was being childish, if loyal to Captain Picard. If Starfleet concurred with Bateson’s logic, Riker would have no choice but to go along. It wouldn’t look good on his record to demand a transfer off the new starship, but right now he felt like burning his record. Only experience and circumspection kept him from saying so out loud, or imagining he might someday feel differently.

  Picard eased up a bit in his demeanor and paced around his end of the dining set. “When I went into Admiral Farrow’s office, I experienced the most curious splitting of hopes. Never in my life had I been so utterly of two minds about anything. I wanted command, yet I didn’t. My spacefaring career is winding down, or it’s about to launch again at full warp. I tossed a mental coin, and the damned thing hit an antigravity pocket and it’s still spinning about. When the admiral informed me that Captain Bateson would be taking command for now, I went strangely numb. No feeling at all, except perhaps anger on Mr. Riker’s behalf. Then, the admiral started talking about something else, and I forgot all about the starship. He’s given me an assignment. I’ve accepted.”

  “Assignment?” Troi repeated. “Without a ship?”

  “Yes.”

  “The Admiralty!” Crusher blurted.

  The next instant Riker asked, “Commandant of Starfleet Academy?”

  “No, I’m still a captain for now, and without a desk job. This isn’t just an assignment. It’s a mission. Now that the Klingons are making trouble with Cardassia and the peace in this quadrant is broken, the Cardassians are motivated to cooperate with the Federation. Or at least they need to keep the lines of communication somewhat open. We have an opportunity we haven’t had before. My mission is to go into Cardassian space and reclaim our MIA’s.”

  “What MIA’s?” Beverly Crusher put both hands on the table and leaned forward. “Missing in action? Federation nationals? Are you serious?”

  “I haven’t heard anything about this,” Troi said.

  Leaning forward and feeling suddenly fierce, Riker raised his voice and demanded, “You mean the Cardassians are holding Federation citizens as prisoners? Captain, is that what you’re saying?”

  “Not just Federation citizens. Starfleet personnel. Over the past three years, the U.S.S. Durant and several Starfleet personnel have been classified as missing in or near Cardassian space. Also there’ve been some merchant vessels and one satellite tender gone missing under suspicious circumstances. The Cardassians insist there are no prisoners, but I know otherwise. They also claimed I wasn’t there, being held, being tortured, and I certainly was there. I intend to take a private vessel, a non-Starfleet ship, go into Cardassian territory, and confront Gul Madred personally.”

  “Madred!” Beverly Crusher nearly choked. She gripped the edge of the table and shook it. “Jean-Luc, please—don’t do that!”

  Deanna Troi shriveled where she sat. Her hands turned white in her lap, her fingers tangled, and she pressed them hard against her thighs. “Sir . . . after what he did to you . . .”

  “I know what he did to me,” Picard snapped. “That’s how I know what he’s doing to our missing people. I’m going. Your orders are not to attempt talking me out of it. I don’t even want to hear the points of argument. Stop thinking them.”

  Silence fell again. No one knew what to say, though all of them listened in anguish to the arguments in their own minds. Riker could almost hear Troi’s mind clicking and Crusher’s nearly screaming.

  Feeling as if his veins were about to burst, Riker weighed a hundred versions of his request before making it. Finally, there was no other way but to ask outright. “Sir . . . permission to go with you into Cardassian space.”

  “That’s appreciated, Number One,” the captain said sternly, “but this isn’t the Federation volunteer corps. This is Starfleet, and you have your assignment. I expect you to go with Bateson cheerfully. Go on the shakedown cruise, and the next time you’re offered command, take it.”

  Startled, Riker clamped his mouth shut on anything else he might’ve said.

  Beside him, the two women stared at Picard.

  “Captain . . .” Troi began a sentence, then let her tone do the speaking.

  Picard snapped her a glare. “Counselor?”

  She hesitated now. “We’ve always been a family as well as an assignment . . .”

  Embarrassed that she was defending him from the captain’s rebuke, Riker bristled but didn’t say anything.

  The captain riveted Troi to her seat with a long stare. “We’re not a family, Counselor. Starfleet isn’t a social club. Our command staff is a close-knit unit of service who have been lucky enough to remain in each other’s sphere for many years. That doesn’t abrogate our responsibility as
officers, or make our relationship to each other superior to our duty. Our ship is gone and we must expect changes. Mr. Riker has been given an assignment where his talents are needed. You, Mr. Data, and Mr. La Forge are also assigned to the Enterprise-E, and I expect you to serve Captain Bateson with every bit the loyalty and energy I have enjoyed from you. Now, am I going to have to repeat that anytime soon?”

  A stunned silence fell briefly, a silence they knew would have to be broken. The captain would not let those words hang without a response.

  Riker knew Crusher and Troi were waiting for his cue. He slumped back in his chair. “No, sir.”

  Crusher folded her arms and Troi sank back also. “No, sir,” they half-heartedly echoed.

  “Thank you,” Picard responded. “Captain Bateson has assigned sixty-nine members of his Bozeman crew to the starship, short of two who found other pursuits and retired from Starfleet. His first officer, Gabriel Bush, second officer Mike Dennis, and science officer John Wolfe have all been working feverishly to upgrade their abilities to modern standards. The starship will also be manned by over three hundred additional starship crew members from . . . well, our time.”

  “Three hundred?” Riker interrupted. “That ship takes over a thousand.”

  “Not for a shakedown cruise. The scientists, medical personnel, analysts, and general maintenance crew won’t be going on board until she receives her first duty assignment. Only department heads and technical specialists will be aboard for now. Captain Scott will remain on board as chief engineer, and Mr. La Forge will be assistant chief. Counselor, Captain Bateson doesn’t want a ship’s counselor on duty, so you’ll be part of the medical staff. Mr. Data—well, he can do the work of almost the entire science staff, so they’ll be fine. We don’t know yet whether these assignments will be permanent, but I expect all of you to treat them as if they are. Dr. Crusher, on the other hand, you’ll be going with me into Cardassian space.”

  Letting out a long sigh, Crusher muttered, “Thank God . . .”

  Ignoring the knots in his arms, Riker tried to control his voice, his tone, the pacing of his request.