The Klingon quoted the message they had received only minutes earlier: “ ‘Be careful with the captain. He is still a little shaken up.’ However, he did not say by what.”
“Maybe,” said Geordi, “he felt that was none of our business.”
Worf made a sound of disdain. “If it is his business, it is ours as well.”
The engineer felt the same way, of course. But before he could reply, a pillar of light planted itself squarely on the transporter platform.
It took a few seconds for something to take shape in the glow. But then, cargo haulers weren’t known for their state-of-the-art transporter equipment.
Finally the column of light began to fade, and Geordi got a better look at the transport subject. The fellow looked familiar, though at the moment he was uncharacteristically out of uniform.
Stepping down from the platform, Picard looked at Worf and then Geordi, and said, “Don’t tell me you have nothing better to do than supervise transporter operations.”
The engineer smiled. “Some transporter operations are more important than others.”
“Welcome back, sir,” said Worf.
Picard smiled. “Thank you, Commander.” Then, herding his officers along as he made for the exit, he said, “Tell me how the repairs are going.”
Geordi was surprised, if pleasantly so. This wasn’t at all the man Joseph had warned them about.
“Pretty well, sir,” said the engineer. “There was some trouble with the plasma manifolds, but I think we’ve worked it out.”
The captain nodded. “Excellent. What about the shield emitters?”
The spacedock crews had just begun to install them when Picard was called away on his mission—which Geordi still didn’t know much about. However, he was sure he would hear about it before long.
“All the forward emitters and a couple of the aft emitters are operational,” he said. “It’ll be another few days before we get the rest of them online.”
“Is the bridge in any shape yet?” Picard asked.
“Not exactly,” said Worf. “The chairs still are not in yet.”
“What, if I may ask, is the holdup?”
The Klingon scowled. “They sent us the wrong ones. However, they have taken them back.”
“And,” said Geordi, as they emerged into the corridor, “they tell me the right ones are on their way.”
Picard sighed. “They always say that.”
The engineer chuckled. “Yes, sir, they do.”
“By the way, sir,” said Worf, casting a glance at Geordi, “we received a visit from Admiral Janeway. She wanted to see for herself how the retrofit was proceeding.”
The captain looked surprised. “It is rather unusual for an admiral to visit drydock. But then, Janeway is an unusual admiral.”
“Right,” said Geordi, hoping the subject could be brought to a close without any mention of their aborted rescue party.
“And,” asked Picard, “what about the plasma manifolds?”
Geordi looked at him. “We went over that a moment ago, sir. You remember I said there was a problem with them?”
A shadow seemed to pass over the captain’s face. “So you did. My apologies. It appears I will need a little time to…decompress.”
In the engineer’s memory, the captain had needed that only a couple of times before. But that was after he had been turned into a Borg, or tortured by a Cardassian gul.
It told Geordi that Joseph had known what he was talking about. And it made him wonder what had thrown Picard off his game, despite his attempt to cover it up.
But the engineer wouldn’t pry. If the captain wanted a sympathetic ear, he knew where he could find one.
“Take all the time you need,” Geordi said. “I’ll let you know if anything cries out for your attention.”
Picard nodded. “Thank you, Commander. Carry on.” He glanced at Worf. “Both of you.” Then he left them standing there in the corridor and went on alone in the direction of his quarters.
Geordi watched him go for a moment. Then he turned to Worf. “More than a little shaken up.”
Worf’s brow creased with concern. “I will keep an eye on him, in case he needs assistance.”
The engineer nodded. But he had a feeling this was something Picard would have to work out on his own.
Picard spent his first two days back by himself, doing his best to shake his malaise. But it was not an easy task.
On the third day, he finally said to hell with it and shoved his personal problem aside. He had a duty to his ship and crew, after all. It is time, he thought as he left his quarters, that I acted like it.
But en route to the turbolift, something strange happened. The captain was wondering about the placement of an EPS relay when, out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a woman in a pale blue lab coat.
By the time he turned his head, she had gone down a perpendicular corridor. However, he had seen enough of her to be certain.
It was Beverly.
She was there on the Enterprise. But for what reason? And how was it possible he had not known of her arrival?
Hastening down the corridor, Picard peered around the bend of the perpendicular passage and caught sight of her again. But as he did, his heart sank in his chest.
It was a woman, all right. And she was indeed wearing a pale blue lab coat. But her hair was decidedly more blond than red. And now that he got a good look at her, she wasn’t as tall as Beverly either.
Just another new person in the science section, Picard thought as he went on to the turbolift. One whose name I will learn in time. But definitely not the woman he had believed her to be.
In the lift compartment, he encountered a couple of new engineers and made small talk. Then he got out and crossed the bridge, which was still a mess of circuitry, to his ready room.
As the captain went inside, he wondered how he could have been so stupid. Beverly was elsewhere, either on a starbase or a ship or perhaps back at Starfleet Medical. But she was not on the Enterprise and might never set foot there again.
And the sooner I get used to it, the better.
Circumnavigating his desk, Picard took a seat and looked around the room. Something is different, he decided. Then he realized what it was: a new carpet. The same color as the old one, but cozier somehow. More cheerful.
The place was shaping up, he conceded. And the rest of the ship along with it. Before long, Enterprise would leave drydock and do what she was meant to do: plumb the mysteries of a vast and still largely unexplored galaxy.
The captain smiled a little at the thought. There were still adventures ahead. A great many of them. All he had to do was put the past behind him and look to the future.
As he had done as a boy, when he looked at the stars and yearned to be among them. As he had done as a young second officer, bringing a battered Stargazer back to Earth.
As he would do again and again, for as long as the fleet had need of him.
Just then, he heard a familiar voice over the ship’s intercom: “Commander Worf to Captain Picard.”
The captain looked up. “Picard here.”
“Sir,” said Worf, “the new chief medical officer has arrived.”
Picard was taken aback. Had Worf alerted him to the imminence of this person’s arrival? Probably—and he had been so distracted, he had failed to pay attention.
I am not ready, he thought. However, he would have to meet the fellow sooner or later. “Send him to my ready room.”
“You mean…send her to your ready room.”
Picard sighed. It would have to be a woman, wouldn’t it? “Yes, of course. Send her.”
Suddenly, he didn’t feel comfortable behind his desk. He yielded to a need to get up, to stretch his legs, and wound up in front of his observation port.
For once, there weren’t any repair vehicles floating around. Just him and the stars. At least, for a little while.
Then he heard a chime, and a chill ran down his spine. “Come,” he
said, forcing certainty into his voice.
But he kept his back to the door. After all, until he actually saw Beverly’s replacement, he wouldn’t have to acknowledge the fact that she was really gone.
It was a bit rude, yes, and he had always prided himself on his manners. But he couldn’t help it. Funny, he thought. He had faced all sorts of enemies and nightmarish circumstances in the course of his Starfleet career, but he couldn’t bring himself to face his new medical officer.
Picard heard the whisper of the door as it opened, and then again as it closed. And by those signs, which cut him like knives, he knew that Beverly’s replacement had entered the room.
“I apologize,” he said, keeping his eyes on the stars as he gathered himself. “I was tied up, or I would have greeted you in the transporter room. In any case, I am glad to have you aboard. You are obviously highly qualified, or you would not have been selected for this assignment.”
For the first time, he heard his new CMO speak. “I requested this assignment, Captain.”
Had he heard only the words and not the voice, he might have marveled at the coincidence—because they were among the first words Beverly uttered when she came aboard the Enterprise- D. But hearing the voice, he knew it was no coincidence, because the woman who had uttered the words the first time was the same woman who had uttered them a second ago.
The captain turned from the observation port and saw Beverly Crusher standing before him, a sheepish smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. “I don’t…understand…” he said, stumbling over the words like a schoolboy.
By way of a response, she crossed the room and took him in her arms. Then she raised her perfect mouth to his and kissed him—long and passionately.
Afterward, she said, “I’ve been a fool, Jean-Luc. I was given a second chance at loving you and I almost threw it away. Can you forgive me?”
Picard smiled and brushed a lock of hair from her face. “Perhaps in time. But then, we have plenty of that now, don’t we?”
And he kissed her all over again.
Acknowledgments
After some sixty books, this is the central lesson I’ve learned about the writing life: Acknowledgments get harder all the time. Dedications aren’t so bad, because there are always people you want to honor, but acknowledgments are a bear.
In this case, for instance, I want to thank my editor, Margaret Clark, for her insights into the Trek mythos, her creativity, and her recognition that writers are people with mortgages, dental appointments, and kids to pick up at the bus stop. And that’s the sort of thing I would say about her, except I’ve already said it. A lot.
Take a look at the books I’ve written in the Stargazer series, all six of them (buy ’em, collect ’em, trade ’em with your friends), and you’ll see I just keep thanking Margaret for this stuff.
Nor is she the only one. I heap a load of gratitude on Scott Shannon, my publisher, as well. So I could tell you he’s a smart guy who always seems willing to go out on a limb for a good cause (i.e., me), but you’ve heard that song before. On the other hand, the guy deserves a few props for his efforts, so what am I going to do—ignore him?
And how about Paula Block, the Trek guru in Viacom’s licensing department? I’ve already waxed poetic about how understanding she is and how much she contributes to a manuscript—sometimes even going so far as to reject a stupid idea and force me to come up with a better one, which is more or less what happened in the case of Death in Winter. And I’ve told you also how indebted I am to Paula for letting me cover unexplored Trek ground in books like Reunion, when that privilege seemed to be reserved for the TV shows.
But how many times can you listen to that? How many times can even Paula listen to it? It’s embarrassing already.
Even my medical experts, Doctor Seth Asser of Rhode Island and Doctor Laurence Glickman of across the street, are guys I’ve thanked before. They’re brilliant, they’re exemplary human beings, and I couldn’t have handled the bits of science in this book without them. But then, I couldn’t have done those other books without them either, and I’m not going to thank them any better now than I did then.
So look, here’s what I’m thinking. Just go out and buy my other books and read the acknowledgments in them. Believe me, they’re a lot better than the acknowledgments in this one.
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