A Time for War, A Time for Peace, page 14
Worf nodded, wondering if he could justify doing this by subspace.
No, he thought, this will need to be done in person. Even on a secure channel, we cannot risk confirming the replacement of Kahless with a hologram over a com line. Rov has already proven himself capable of circumventing security measures and having access to classified intelligence.
Which meant that he had to turn right around and go back to Earth.
Wu’s earlier words came back to him, both regarding the staffing situation at the embassy and about his son’s performance during the crisis.
“Chancellor, I must make a request.”
“Yes?”
“My son is currently assigned to the investigation into Klahb. When those duties are concluded, I would like him to be temporarily assigned to Mr. Wu at the embassy. We are short-staffed since the Klahb takeover, and his assistance would be—useful.”
For the first time since Worf entered the Great Hall, Martok smiled. “Very well, my friend. It shall be done.”
Worf inclined his head. “If there is no other business, I will arrange for a return to Earth.” He wondered if the Sugihara was still nearby. At the very least, it might be able to bring him to Starbase 24, and he could more easily find transport back to Earth from there.
As he left the chamber, he felt the eyes of many of the councillors drilling into his back. Worf wondered how many of them believed as Rov did, that the Federation was responsible for Kahless’s fate. He also wondered how many of those believed that Worf himself was responsible.
Chapter 7
U.S.S. Enterprise
PICARD HAD JUST settled down with his backlog of archeological journals when the door chime sounded.
He came very close to not answering. The week since Captain Go and her inspection team’s arrival had been grueling. Truth be told, the entire last year had been grueling, and Picard was hoping that, on this night at least, he would be able to relax. The recent issues of the various journals to which he subscribed to feed his amateur’s interest in archeology had been piling up over the past six months, and tonight when he came off duty he was bound and determined to finally catch up. The days of questioning and of Go’s team interfering with his people’s work had worn thin, and Picard longed for an evening where he could lose himself in the ruins on Myrmidon or the artifacts of the Tkon Empire or the recent discoveries in the B’Hala excavation on Bajor. Better that than listening to a team of so-called experts second-guessing his command decisions.
We all had our fill of that after Rashanar, he thought bitterly.
Still and all, whoever rang the door chime would not have done so without reason. At least I hope they haven’t. “Come,” he said.
The doors parted to reveal the tall form of William Riker. Upon seeing that Picard was wearing civilian clothes and sitting in a relaxed position on his sofa, Riker’s face fell. “I’m sorry, sir, if this is a bad time—”
“Not at all, Number One, please, come in.”
“I’ll only be a minute, sir, I just wanted to give you the news.”
Picard raised an eyebrow and indicated the chair perpendicular to the sofa. “Oh?”
Riker took the offered seat, sitting comfortably with left leg crossed over right. “There’s been a lot of communication back and forth between the Enterprise and Betazed.”
“Yes,” Picard said with mock gravity, “I’ve been reading Lieutenant Vale’s reports on communications traffic.” He smiled. “Or should I say Lieutenant Commander Vale’s reports.”
Riker returned the smile. “She’s quite happy about the promotion, sir. I wasn’t sure if it was appropriate to have the usual promotion ritual, given the inspection team…”
Growing serious, Picard said, “Probably not, Number One. Anything that can be interpreted as frivolous should probably be avoided for the time being—though I suspect that Captain Scott, at least, would appreciate it.”
Letting out a breath, Riker nodded. “You’re probably right—on both counts. Anyhow, Deanna and her mother have been talking. Or, rather, Lwaxana’s been talking, and Deanna’s been listening.”
“Not an unusual state of affairs.”
“No,” Riker said emphatically. “But—well, we’ve decided to have the wedding on Betazed.” He chuckled. “Actually, we decided that a couple weeks ago, but it took a while for Deanna to get that through to Lwaxana. She’s been playing the injured mother role after Deanna hung up on her after the poker game.”
That surprised Picard. “Really?”
Quickly, Riker said, “It’s a long story. Anyhow, it’s all settled now, so with your permission, I’d like to set a course there, and engage as soon as the inspection tour is finished.”
Picard wondered what the story was behind Troi’s actions toward her mother, but trusted that if it was important, Riker would share it. Aloud, he simply said, “That could be another week at least, Will.”
Chuckling, Riker said, “It’ll take Lwaxana that long to get everything together, if not longer.”
“Mm.” Picard rubbed his chin. “It will, I assume, be a proper Betazoid ceremony?”
“Yup.” Riker adopted a grave tone. “A very open people, the Betazoids.”
“You may want to add an extra warning to Ambassador Worf.”
“Only if I get to tell him in real time.” Riker grinned. “I want to see the look on his face.”
“Understandable. Was that all?”
Riker hesitated. “I also wanted to talk to you about the Titan.”
“What about her?”
“Well, not the ship so much as her personnel.” He uncrossed his legs. “I have several positions to fill—including first officer.”
Picard nodded, understanding. “You wish to choose from among the Enterprise crew?”
“Yes, sir. That is—only if you don’t object. The senior staff is already coming apart at the seams with me and Deanna leaving, and Beverly going off to Starfleet Medical.”
“If she’s going.” Picard regretted the words as soon as he said them, if only for the slight bitterness he detected in his own tone of voice. The truth was, when Dr. Yerbi Fandau informed the captain that he was making a formal offer to Crusher to take his job as head of Starfleet Medical when he retired, Picard felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. To make matters worse, Crusher waited months before discussing it with Picard—though she had talked it over with other members of the crew. However, that did give him an advantage when she did finally talk to him about it at the end of the Tezwa mission. Mentally prepared, he had been able to say the supportive words that she needed to hear as opposed to the selfish answer he wanted to give.
If Riker noticed Picard’s bitterness, he gave no indication of it. “So—do you object, Captain?”
Picard had, in fact, been anticipating Riker’s request, giving the matter some thought ever since Admiral Janeway told him that she planned to offer Riker the Titan. Initially, his desire for Riker to have the best personnel available warred with his own desire to keep the Enterprise crew together. But he soon realized that the latter was pointless wish-fulfillment. He had been extraordinarily lucky in his career as a shipmaster to keep his senior staffs in place for longer than usual—both on the Stargazer and the two Enterprise s—but all good things had to come to an end eventually, and he would not be so churlish as to deny Riker the chance to start off his captaincy without restriction.
“Not at all—with one exception. Mr. Data is off limits. He’s long overdue for a first officer’s position, and I want to keep him on the Enterprise.”
“Well, I can’t argue with that.” Riker stood up. “Thank you, Captain. I’ll leave you to your reading.”
“Very well, Number One.” He smiled. “Sorry—Captain.”
As he moved toward the door, Riker said, “Like I said two weeks ago, Captain, I’m still your first officer.” The doors parted at his approach; he stopped and turned. “Oh, that reminds me, the first debate between Pagro and Bacco is tonight—Data’s having it piped into Ten-Forward, if you’re interested.”
This time Picard had no problem with the bitterness in his voice. “I’ve had my fill of politics and politicians, Number One. I’ll watch the recordings of the speeches and interviews next week when we’re closer to the election.”
“Fair enough. Good night, sir.”
“Good night.”
As the door closed on Riker, Picard picked up the padd he’d set aside and reactivated the display. Now, he thought, do I read about B’Hala, Myrmidon, or the Tkon Empire? So many choices…
Before he could make that decision, the intercom beeped, followed by the airy voice of Captain Wai-Lin Go. “Go to Picard.”
Picard leaned his head back and gazed to the ceiling in supplication. Sadly, the ceiling was not forthcoming with any aid or comfort. Finally he said, “Picard here.”
“I have some questions for you regarding your personnel.”
Several possible replies were considered and rejected by Picard over the course of half a second. Go was probably fully aware of the fact that he had just gone off duty. Picard, on the other hand, was aware of how important this inspection tour was—not so much for him, but for the rest of the crew. In all honesty, Picard couldn’t give a damn what Starfleet Command thought of him, nor did he much care about what he personally had to suffer in order for the Federation to keep face with the Ontailians after Rashanar. He did the right thing, and was willing to face whatever consequences that action precipitated.
But he cared very much about his crew, and they had been unfairly tarnished by his own pseudo-disgrace at Rashanar. The only way it would end was if they passed this inspection with flying colors. That was why he had told Captain Go that he would available at any time to speak to her.
It would seem she took me at my word.
“Shall we meet in my ready room in ten minutes, Captain?”
“That would be acceptable, yes. Go out.”
Picard rose from the couch, grateful she’d acquiesced to the ten minutes. That gave him time to change into uniform. Somehow, he didn’t imagine that Go would be receptive to having so official a conversation with a person in civilian clothes.
As he removed his shirt, he wondered if the other shoe would drop regarding Go’s friendship with Jill Leeden. The destruction of Leeden’s ship, the U.S.S. Juno, was the primary reason for Picard’s censure, and while Picard would not expect a Starfleet captain of Go’s experience to let personal concerns get in the way of a professional evaluation, he also knew that Go had to be at least initially biased against Picard because of his connection to her friend’s death.
The question is whether or not she has overcome that bias to give the Enterprise a fair hearing, he thought as he fastened his uniform’s jacket and then pulled it down to straighten it. To date, Go had provided no indication one way or the other in her demeanor. Picard hoped that was a good sign.
Exiting his quarters, he proceeded briskly to a turbolift. The doors parted to reveal two officers, both wearing the gold of operations. They were, Picard noted, holding hands, but unclasped them as soon as they saw the captain. After a moment, Picard placed them—the large, dark-skinned, broad-shouldered man was Lieutenant Aaron Studdard from security, and the short, lithe woman was Ensign Anh Hoang from engineering.
“Captain!” Studdard said, straightening.
“As you were.” Picard entered the lift and said, “Bridge” as the doors closed behind him.
The lift proceeded up a few decks before stopping at deck four. As the two officers moved past Picard to exit, the captain said, “I understand the view of the gas giant from the forward section of deck four is quite spectacular.”
Hoang smiled sheepishly, and Studdard’s mouth opened and closed. “Uh, we’d heard that, too,” the security officer finally said.
Picard smiled. “Enjoy it.”
In a soft voice, Hoang said, “We will, sir, thank you.”
The lift doors closed and took Picard the rest of the way to the bridge. It did the captain’s heart proud to see the young people under his command finding happiness amidst all the tragedy they’d gone through of late.
Nodding to Data in the command chair, Picard proceeded to the ready room. His many decades of service, which included more than a fair share of diplomatic experience, made it easy for Picard to put on his game face, as it were, presenting a pleasant affect for the benefit of his audience.
Go was waiting in one of the ready room’s guest chairs, engrossed in one of her padds. Several other padds sat on the other guest chair.
Looking up, she said, “Thank you for coming, Captain.”
“Not at all.” Picard moved over to the replicator. “I did, after all, promise to be available to you at any time. May I get you anything?”
Shaking her head, Go said, “No thank you.”
“Tea, Earl Grey, hot.”
The replicator glowed and the steaming beverage materialized before Picard with a soft hum. Gingerly holding the hot ceramic cup by its handle, Picard took his seat opposite Go. “How can I be of service?”
“I’ve been going over the personnel movements on the Enterprise over the past year. There’ve been over a score of transfer requests and resignations, all of whom are from junior officers in the top tenth percentile on their evaluation reports. In the meantime, your replacement crew have all been officers who generally scored considerably lower on their evaluation reports before arriving here.”
Picard tried to keep his voice even. “There were only two resignations.”
“Yes, Lieutenants Peart and Perim both resigned their commissions after Tezwa. Both of them were top-flight officers, and both of them squandered good careers by quitting Starfleet. I have to wonder what happened to make them want to go.”
“I believe, Captain,” Picard said tightly, the pleasant affect now struggling to maintain itself, “that a casual perusal of the Federation News Service reports on Tezwa would provide some enlightenment in that regard. After what they’d been through, the lieutenants wanted to begin their lives anew away from Starfleet.” What’s noteworthy, Picard thought, is that they were the only ones to resign.
“Very well, but what about Crain, Nybakken, Johanssen, Bdgralsik, Kawasaki—”
Now the pleasant affect was shattered, and Picard interrupted in a more imperious tone than it was perhaps politic to use with the head of an inspection tour. “Lieutenant Bdgralsik and Ensign Kawasaki did not transfer. Neither did Ensign Malak, nor did Lieutenant Hsu.”
Go regarded Picard with a maddeningly placid expression. “It isn’t whether or not they transferred, Captain—it’s that they asked in the first place. And then there are the replacements: Ensign Fillion, who washed out of special ops training; Ensign Hoang, who has had several notations by counselors regarding poor socialization in her file; Technician Nafir, a disciplinary problem; Chief Petschauer, who has more reprimands than this ship has decks; Ensign Studdard, whose jacket indicates that he’ll never advance in security; Lieu—”
“Yes, enough, Captain.” Picard sighed, paused to take a sip of his tea. The beverage burned his tongue, which only added to his irritation. He set the cup back down on his desk. “I am aware that there were several—defections, for lack of a better term, following the incident at Rashanar. However, I believe that we can both agree that such is to be expected after the Enterprise endured such a public—” He hesitated.
Showing the most emotion since he met her, Go smirked slightly. “Humiliation?”
“That is one word for it, I suppose.” Picard thought about Hoang and Studdard, both on Go’s list of “substandard” officers, both of whom had performed excellently at Delta Sigma IV. He recalled glowing reports from both La Forge and Vale following that mission, and the fact that they were seeing each other belied the “poor socialization” Go cited. “However, Captain, I think that your inspection of this ship would be best served by paying less attention to the service records of my crew before they arrived, and on what they’ve done since then.”
Go gathered her padds, then rose from her seat. “This is my inspection tour, Captain, not yours. And you can rest assured that all the records on this ship are subject to my perusal.”
Without another word, she departed the ready room.
Beverly Crusher took the Hippocratic oath very seriously. She had lived her life by its tenets, to work to benefit the sick, to keep them from harm and injustice, and to keep all matters between doctor and patient confidential.
Right now, that devotion to medicine in general and to the oath in particular was the only thing that was keeping Crusher from hitting Dr. Toby Russell.
Russell was that most unholy of combinations: a brilliant researcher and a dreadful physician. Had she been content to remain in the lab, Crusher probably would have never crossed her path except as a name on a few monographs. But because she was a practicing neurospecialist, and because she was well regarded in that field, Crusher had called her in eleven years earlier when Worf—then the chief of security of the EnterpriseD—had suffered a severe spinal injury. Worf’s Klingon pride would not allow him to accept traditional therapies that would grant him only limited mobility. Russell proposed a radical, and very risky, treatment that would mean full recovery—or death. The latter option came very close to being the result, but Worf did pull through, and Russell was vindicated.
Still, Crusher had reported her ethics violations—both with Worf and with her unorthodox treatment of a civilian the Enterprise rescued from the U.S.S. Denver who died—to Starfleet Medical. Russell had received a reprimand, but Crusher’s hoped-for revoking of Russell’s medical license never came. At the time, she’d chalked it up to the success of her genitronic procedure on Worf.
More than a decade later, after the two of them had disagreed both in print and once at a medical conference on Trill, Russell was now assigned to evaluate the medical practices on the Enterprise.
That irresponsible medical hack is going to evaluate me. That’s just too rich.
