Encounter at Farpoint (10 page)

“Yes, sir.”

“Then I mean
now
, Commander.”

Riker bounced to his feet and strode from the ready room. Picard leaned back in his chair, contemplating the young first officer’s back as he left the room.
Adequate
,
so far
, he thought.
At least he’s not afraid of a challenge
. He rose and followed Riker out to the bridge.

Riker had settled himself at the control console and was studying the main viewscreen when Picard slid into the command chair. Data sat beside Riker at the Ops console, but Riker was too busy concentrating on the upcoming maneuver to pay attention to him. The viewscreen showed the rear end of the saucer section as it loomed above and ahead of the stardrive section. Riker could see the docking link area. It looked smaller than he remembered. Disturbingly small.

“Ahead—docking speed,” Riker said.

Data and Tasha, as well as Picard, studied him from their own viewpoints, evaluating the new man. His hands moved easily on the console as he made his initial adjustments. His posture indicated tension, but his voice was firm and steady.

“Confirming this is a manual linkup,” Data said. “No automation.”

Riker did not spare him a glance. He was concentrating on the angle and speed of approach. “As ordered,” he replied.

The goosenecked battle section slowly moved ahead toward the vast disk.
Still a little low
, Riker noted. “Velocity to one-half meter per second. Adjust pitch angle to negative three degrees.” His hands moved over the panel, long fingers delicately tabbing in gentle adjustments. “All stations, prepare to reconnect.”

The two enormous sections were even, quite close together. The battle section continued to ease forward. “Level flight,” Riker intoned. “Maintain docking speed.” The trailing edge of the saucer section loomed into the viewscreen, the docking link area dead ahead and growing closer. Riker’s hands moved quickly over the console now. “Thrusters to station keeping, all velocities zero. Her own inertia should do the job now.”

The two sections slid together smoothly. The great locking mechanisms began to rumble forward out of their sockets. Riker hit two more tabs on the control console. “Lock up . . .
now
. Docking crew complete all reconnections.” He turned in the chair to look back at Picard. “Docking board is green across, sir.”

A voice floated from the ship’s intersystem communications. “Docking Chief to Bridge. All reconnection systems are secure.”

Picard tabbed the right hand command chair panel. “Thank you, Chief. Bridge out.” He stood up and nodded to Riker. “If you’ll join me, Commander, we have some things to discuss.”

The two men entered the turbolift, and Picard snapped “Observation Deck” at the controls as the doors sighed shut. The lift rose swiftly from the battle bridge toward the now rejoined saucer section. Riker waited for Picard to speak; he would have felt presumptuous pushing a conversation at this point.

“Reconnection is a fairly routine maneuver, but you handled it quite well.” Picard knew perfectly well it was a dangerous maneuver unless the person in command had both a sharp eye and quick responses. The Academy reconnect simulator was a horror chamber for those who couldn’t get the hang of the maneuver, and those who couldn’t washed out of command training. They were routed into operations or sciences where their lack in that one area would never endanger a ship.

“Thank you, sir.” Riker said wryly. “I hope I show some promise.” Riker was annoyed at being damned by faint praise. He had been the highest scorer of all time on the Academy reconnect simulator and had successfully accomplished the maneuver on both the
Yorktown
and the
Hood
. Judging by the appraising look he shot at Riker, Picard probably knew it too.

“I do have a number of other tests for you,” the captain said mildly as the turbolift eased to a halt. The doors opened, and he gestured the younger man around a curving corridor to their left.

“Yes, sir. I thought you might.” Riker was not sarcastic or disrespectful, but his tone left the distinct impression he would not be walked on.

The observation lounge Picard stepped into was a large, slightly curving room that fit smoothly into the great arc of the saucer section. The windows allowed a panoramic view of the bulk of the disk and the vast depths of space winking with the cold light of the stars. The yellowish surface of Deneb IV glowed softly below them in reflected light from its sun. Picard crossed to a wall slot, speaking to Riker over his shoulder. “Coffee?”

“Thank you, sir. Black is fine.”

Picard tabbed one of the flat controls twice, and in a moment two mugs of the steaming, aromatic brew were delivered. Picard handed a cup to Riker and motioned him to be seated in one of the comfortable chairs near an observation window.

“This is not your first starship.”

As you very well know
, Riker thought. “No, sir. Three years as second officer on the
Yorktown
before I moved up to first officer on the
Hood
.”

“Now you’ve transferred again—to a larger starship. Is it that you simply crave more space or that you don’t like a stable environment, Commander?”

Riker grinned and shrugged lightly. “What could be more stable than a twenty-year mission?”

Picard ignored Riker’s joke. “I see in your file that Captain DeSoto thinks very highly of you. I respect his opinion. One thing interests me, however. You refused to let him beam down to Altair III.”

“In my opinion, sir, conditions on Altair III were too dangerous to risk exposing the captain.” Riker paused and regarded Picard steadily. “I’d do it again.”

“I see. A captain’s rank means nothing to you.”

“Rather the reverse, sir. A captain’s
life
means a great deal to me. I would be failing in my duty if I allowed my captain to negate
his
duty to his ship and crew by beaming down to a planet where his life could be at risk.”

The captain’s voice hardened. “Isn’t it just possible, Commander Riker, that you don’t get to be a starship captain without knowing if it’s safe to beam down or not? Isn’t it a little presumptuous for a first officer to second guess his captain’s judgment?”

“Permission to speak candidly, sir?”

“Always.”

Riker leaned forward intently, his elbows braced on his knees, his big hands moving in eloquent gestures as he spoke. “Having been a first officer yourself, you know that assuming responsibility for the safety of the ship must, by definition, include the safety of the captain. I have no problem with following any rules you lay down. But under no circumstances will I compromise your safety. If you have a problem with my position, sir, you can forestall my transfer and put me back on the
Hood
before she leaves.”

“You don’t intend to back off that position?”

“No, sir,” Riker replied firmly.

Picard studied him carefully, and Riker levelly returned the stare. Riker’s service envelope had indicated he was an ambitious officer, but counterbalancing the ambition was the simple fact that the man was good. Crew followed him naturally; he had an affinity for communicating with people; he worked hard; and he was bright. All his commanding officers had made special note of his extra study courses in subjects relating not only to command of a starship but engineering, communications, and several sciences. If he had been an academic, Riker could easily qualify for several doctorates.

As for his obstinacy on this point of refusing to let a captain lead an away team . . .

Picard finally nodded. “I’m glad to hear it, Commander. I would have refused your transfer to the
Enterprise
if you
had
backed down.” He paused. “One further thing . . . a special favor?”

“Anything, sir.”

Picard cleared his throat, covering a faint stir of embarrassment. “Help me with the children.”

“Sir?” Riker asked, puzzled. What problem could a self-possessed man like this possibly have with children?

“I’m not a family man, Riker, yet Starfleet has given me a ship with children aboard. Using the same kind of strength you showed with Captain DeSoto, I’d appreciate it if you can keep me from making an ass of myself with them.”

“Yes, sir.”

“They make me uncomfortable,” Picard went on. “But, since a captain needs to have the image of ‘geniality’ toward them, you’re to see that’s what I project.”

Riker carefully hid his smile, managed a serious “Yes, sir.”

Picard didn’t seem to notice Riker’s struggle to contain his grin. “I don’t know about you, Commander, but the idea of children living aboard this ship—I don’t care for it. They get into things. They make a mess. There have to be special security measures to keep them out of certain areas. And they’ll
all
want to get onto the bridge.”

“Of course they will. And we can give them supervised tours of it. I think children learn best through experience. It’s all part of growing up.”

Picard threw him a jaundiced look. “My experience has been that ‘growing up’ has been a catch-all phrase to excuse a lot of mischief. And mischief is the last thing I need aboard the bridge of my ship.” His expression softened somewhat. “However, we’ll have to deal with the children elsewhere—and still run a tight ship.”

“Yes, sir. We can do that.”

Picard smiled and held out his hand. “Welcome to the
Enterprise
, Commander Riker.”

The two exchanged a firm handshake. For the first time, Riker felt the warmth of the man under the steely captain’s facade. Picard’s reputation as an old burrhog was no doubt earned—but behind that Riker was sure there was a fair and understanding man of compassion.

*   *   *

Riker stepped from the forward turbolift onto the
Enterprise
’s main bridge, and let out a long, slow breath of appreciation. It was spacious, even compared to the
Hood
’s main bridge; and the clean lines of its architecture could not conceal the fact that it bristled with the most advanced technology Starfleet had to offer. On his left, the main viewscreen offered a huge ceiling-to-deck picture of the arc of the planet below and the glittering sweep of the starfield beyond. The control and operations consoles with their lowslung couches were immediately in front of the viewscreen. Further back, tucked into the horseshoe-shaped curve of the section that divided the rear of the bridge from the command well was the captain’s chair, flanked by chairs for the first officer and the ship’s counselor, plus comfortable seats for any visiting guests or ship’s officers called to the bridge. Ramps led up either side of the horseshoe to the aft bridge section where instrument and computer stations were ranked for science officers, propulsion systems engineers, emergency manual override, and environmental systems. The aft turbo fitted into the bridge next to the emergency equipment lockers; and, immediately to Riker’s right, was the captain’s main bridge ready room. Overhead, a dome offered another view of the stars. Riker found it breathtaking, but the minimal station keeping crew on the bridge tended their business as though it were completely routine. Riker supposed he would get used to it, too; but he hoped he would never lose the proud lift of his heart that he had felt when he stepped onto the bridge the first time.

The young Klingon lieutenant (j.g.) who sat in the command chair respectfully came to his feet as he recognized the commander’s insignia. The only stranger wearing that rank had to be the new first officer. “Commander Riker?”

“Yes,” Riker said, stepping forward. “You are . . . ?”

“Lieutenant Worf, sir. May I help you?”

“Where will I find Lieutenant Commander Data?”

“He is on a special assignment, sir. He’s using one of our shuttlecraft to transfer a senior officer back to the
Hood
.”

“Senior officer?”

Worf corrected himself. “Beg pardon, sir. A
retired
senior officer. He’s been aboard since we made reconnect, inspecting the medical layout of the ship.”

Riker began to smile. “Ah. The admiral.”

“Yes, sir,” Worf agreed. “A remarkable man.”

Data led the old man along the
Enterprise
corridor with a gentle care for his fragility. The admiral was stooped, wrinkled, his skin almost transparent with his great age. What remained of his hair was a yellowy white. “When we gonna get there?” he asked in a cracked and cranky-sounding voice.

“It’s not too far, sir,” Data said. “Just along here. The transporter will have you on the
Hood
in a matter of seconds.”

The admiral stubbornly planted his feet and straightened up as far as he could, glaring with brilliant blue eyes at Data. “Hold it right there, boy. You can just cancel that transporter talk right now. Only reason I let ’em promote me to admiral was so’s I could commandeer a shuttle when I wanted one.”

“But, sir—”

“And I want one now.”

“Sir, the transporter—”

The admiral shoved his face into Data’s and scowled fiercely at him. “Have you got some reason to want my atoms scattered all over space?” he asked belligerently.

“No, sir.” If he could get a word in edgewise, Data could reason with a rhino with a toothache and a hangover. “But at your age, sir,” he said diplomatically, “I thought you should not have to put up with the time and trouble of a shuttlecraft—”

The admiral’s growl told him that was the wrong tack to take. “What about my age?”

“Sorry, sir. If that subject troubles you—”

“Troubles me? What’s so damned troubling about not having died? How old do you think I am?”

Finally, a statement Data could make with no fear of misinterpretation. “One hundred thirty-seven years, Admiral. According to Starfleet records.”

The old man’s eyes narrowed as he studied Data’s calm face. “Explain how you remember that so exactly.”