A Time to Sow Page 7

  “Tell me, Doctor, have you ever discussed the physiological impact of suppressing emotions with a Vulcan before?”

  “Well, yes, I have,” Crusher replied.

  “And I’m willing to bet that you’ve talked with Captain Picard at length about the rationale and justifications of the Borg collective?”

  Crusher actually felt herself flinch at that question. She and Captain Picard had spoken at length about the Borg on numerous occasions, though usually it was in the context of his own traumatic experiences with them. In the months following his abduction and transformation into Locutus, it had been very difficult for Picard to discuss the incident and what he had been feeling. The intervening years had eased that pain somewhat, but Crusher knew that the captain might never fully come to terms with what had happened to him.

  Unsure whether she appreciated what she perceived as a loaded question, the doctor nevertheless nodded in response. “Yes, of course I’ve talked with him.”

  “Well then,” Perim said, “anytime you want to talk about Trills, just pull up a chair. Maybe we can broaden each other’s horizons a bit. Besides, the more time I talk, the less time I have to tear myself up in the holodeck.”

  Smiling, Crusher nodded as she rose from her seat. “I just might take you up on that, Kell. You’ve given me something new to think about, and that’s my favorite part of this job.”

  “Then you must really like it here on a starship,” the Trill said as she lay back on the diagnostic bed. “I’ve learned something or found something new to think about just about every day since I came aboard.”

  Saying nothing as she made her way back to her office, Crusher stopped short when her gaze fell upon the still-activated padd lying atop her desk. With it came everything she had been thinking about and putting off and agonizing over for the past several days.

  Damm it.

  Perim was right. She did like it here on the Enterprise, but she had liked it at the Arvada III colony and in San Francisco and on Delos IV and other places she once called home.

  They were also places she had left behind.

  Standing alone in her private refuge, protected from the eyes of her staff or Kell Perim or anyone else who might enter sickbay, Beverly Crusher shook her head and sighed in exasperation.

  I guess making the decision just got harder.

  Chapter Eight

  “LIEUTENANT?”

  Lost in thought, Christine Vale was startled by the forceful voice coming from her right. Looking up, she saw Lieutenant Taurik, one of the Enterprise’s junior engineers, standing next to her. In the subdued lighting of the dining facility, the Vulcan’s green-tinged skin looked even paler than usual, and his black hair seemed to absorb some of the room’s ambient light.

  “I’m sorry,” Vale said as she reached for her glass of juice, as untouched as the rest of the meal she had prepared in one of the dining hall’s replicators. It was a pitiful attempt to cover up the fact that she had allowed her mind to wander, one she knew the engineer probably saw through easily. Sighing in resignation, she shook her head. “I guess I sort of drifted away there for a minute. I hope you weren’t standing there long.”

  Taurik replied, “Precisely one minute and forty-three seconds.” His expression never wavered as he added, “I had begun to wonder if you had fallen asleep or perhaps suffered some form of hearing loss.”

  Vale chuckled at that. Few Vulcans understood humor, at least in the manner that humans embraced it, and fewer still actually employed it themselves. Taurik was an exception to that unwritten rule, his stoic nature being ideal for the deadpan manner he used to deliver his attempts at humor. By Vulcan standards, the engineer was practically jovial.

  Holding a tray of his own, Taurik said, “I hope I am not interrupting you, but I was wondering whether I might speak to you for a few moments.” Vale indicated the empty chair across from her and the engineer sat down. His tray held a single bowl containing what her nose told her was plomeek soup, a Vulcan dish.

  “What’s on your mind?” Vale asked, watching with some surprise as the engineer seemed to search for the appropriate words.

  “Though you and I are of equal rank,” he said, “as security chief, you are cognizant of things others of us are not. I was wondering whether you had noticed anything out of the ordinary in the behavior of the senior staff. I am speaking specifically of Commander La Forge.”

  An odd question coming from a Vulcan, Vale thought, even Taurik. Perhaps all the time he had spent among humans had rubbed off on him in other ways. “How do you mean?”

  Straightening in his seat, Taurik replied, “I have heard some of the other engineers talking, and they all seem to agree that the commander has not ‘been himself lately,’ as one put it. I admit that while I do not understand the full range of human emotions, I believe I am familiar enough with his personality to know when there is a…deviation.”

  Vale cocked an eyebrow at that. “A deviation,” she repeated, nodding after a moment. “Well, we’ve all had a lot on our minds lately. He could just be tired. I’m sure he’d be open to talking about it if one of his people thought it was affecting his duties in some way.”

  Taurik shook his head. “No, it is nothing like that. My interpretation of the others’ comments is that they are troubled about his well-being. I would be remiss if I did not say I shared their concern.” Pausing a moment, he added, “I apologize if I am overstepping my bounds, but it has been my experience that humans often work out their problems by talking about them to someone else.”

  “Thinking of a career change, Taurik?” Vale asked, grinning. “Counselor Troi might have something to say about you muscling in on her turf.” She almost laughed at the shock that momentarily clouded the Vulcan’s expression. It was fleeting and Taurik regained his control almost instantly, but there had been no mistaking his reaction. Even as he opened his mouth to defend himself, the security chief raised her hand. “I’m kidding. Look, this whole affair with Starfleet and the captain has us all a little frustrated, probably because there’s really not anything we can do about it. I’ve tried to keep it from affecting my work, and I’m sure Commander La Forge has too, but he deserves to know if you or someone else under his command is troubled. I think it speaks well of you and the others to be concerned. Have you tried talking to him about it?”

  “I have not,” he replied, “but perhaps you are correct in that I should approach him.”

  Vale nodded in approval. As Taurik had already said, discussing a problem with someone else helped to resolve the issue. At the very least, it sometimes made the problem seem as though it was not insurmountable.

  Truth be told, she had not yet discussed with anyone else her own feelings over Starfleet’s decision to send the Enterprise on this latest mission or the manner in which they had treated Captain Picard. Displaying anger over how the entire affair had unfolded did not seem to be the right avenue to take, even though she could easily have argued the justification for such an emotion. Disappointment, perhaps? Yes, that seemed more appropriate.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the pleasant aroma of Taurik’s plomeek soup as the Vulcan brought a spoonful to his mouth and sipped it. The action caused her stomach to grumble, reminding her that her own meal remained largely untouched.

  “Tell me something, Taurik,” she said after eating a few bites. “What made you request a transfer back to the Enterprise?”

  The Vulcan replied, “I had not yet had the opportunity to serve aboard a Sovereign-class vessel, and felt such an assignment would provide an opportunity to enhance my skills and experience. That the Enterprise-E was the first such vessel in need of replacement engineers was fortunate happenstance. I am most pleased to be a part of Commander La Forge’s team once again.”

  Vale recalled from her review of Taurik’s service record when he had transferred aboard that he had been posted to the Enterprise-D after graduating from Starfleet Academy. Following that vessel’s destruction, he was one of sev
eral crew members to be transferred to other assignments. In his case, it was to the Utopia Planitia shipyards orbiting Mars. When the Dominion War started, he joined the crew of the U.S.S. Ilan Ramon, where he remained throughout the conflict. His transfer to the Enterprise-E had come only two months before the incident with the Juno.

  Unable to suppress a humorless smile, Vale said, “Given what’s happened, I bet you’re regretting that decision now, huh?”

  “Regret?” Taurik asked. “Our current mission will provide the entire engineering staff an uncommon opportunity to expand our skills, without the benefit of Starfleet repair facilities. It will be a most interesting challenge.”

  Vale could not argue with that. Part of her welcomed the coming mission, for at its heart was the embodiment of why she had entered Starfleet in the first place. It seemed like forever since they had been given a mission of pure exploration, and now they were traveling to a part of space never before visited for just that purpose. Under any other circumstances, the promise of discovery would be exciting.

  Instead, thanks to the way Starfleet had seen fit to give them their new assignment, the entire undertaking left a sour taste in her mouth.

  “Lieutenant,” Taurik said, “before the Enterprise departed on this mission, Starfleet extended an offer of transfer to another assignment to any member of the crew who might want it. If I may ask: Do you regret not taking advantage of that opportunity?”

  “No,” Vale replied without hesitation. Though Starfleet had seemed to focus its attention, and its ire, on Captain Picard with regard to the Juno incident and the fallout with the Ontailians, practically the entire crew had felt that scrutiny in one fashion or another. Rumors had run rampant that remaining on the Enterprise in the wake of the affair was an almost certain deathblow to one’s career.

  Nearly two dozen members of the ship’s complement had elected to accept transfers to other vessels or stations, but her check of the personnel files for those individuals revealed that most of them had been assigned to the ship for only a short time to begin with. Perhaps they had not been aboard long enough to appreciate fully the sense of family displayed by those who had served here for a much longer time. Maybe there were those in the upper ranks of Starfleet who had lost their faith in Picard, but most who had served under him for years still trusted him without reservation. Even though she herself had been aboard the ship for a short time compared with others, she still felt a sense of belonging unmatched by any of her previous postings.

  “I’ve only been the security chief here for a couple of years,” she said, “but I see no reason to leave now.” In truth, she had not given the decision a moment’s thought. In her view, there were no other captains in Starfleet, and no other crews for that matter, with whom she wanted to serve. Looking around the dining room and seeing the dozen or so crew members sitting at other tables, recognizing each of them even though they were assigned to departments throughout the ship, only reinforced her feelings: For better or worse, the Enterprise was still the place to be.

  She might not like where they were going, or why, but if she had to go, then she was happy to do so aboard this ship and alongside this crew. Besides, if she knew Picard as well as she should even after her arguably short tour of duty, it went without saying that the captain would find a way to turn their current setback into an opportunity for redemption.

  And there’s no way I’m going to miss having a ringside seat for that.

  Chapter Nine

  SETTING HIS PADD DOWN on the table before him, Will Riker raised his arms over his head, interlocked his fingers, and reached for the ceiling, welcoming the sensation as his back muscles flexed and stretched. That small motion, along with a deep cleansing of breath, helped clear his head and worked to shake off the fatigue that had been building steadily all afternoon.

  Oh yeah, he chided himself. I feel like two slips of latinum, all right.

  The task of reconfiguring the crew’s duty rosters, to allow for ample free time as requested by Captain Picard while keeping the most qualified officers on hand across the day, had proven anything but simple. Even with the input of the department heads, it seemed to be taking forever. He wanted it done, though, so here he sat as he had for the past several hours, hunched over his data padd. He had forsaken his quarters for a seat in one of the Enterprise’s dining lounges, but refused to break for anything more than a mug of raktajino—or had it been two?—until he was finished.

  Tuning out any distractions from the comings and goings of crew members, he found himself pushing to complete the assignment in short order, just as he had done with all of his tasks during the last few days. Not that Riker viewed himself as typically lackadaisical when it came to his orders; on the contrary, he strived to be efficient and precise, not merely to please himself but to set a standard for the rest of the crew on how Captain Picard should be followed.

  Riker stepped up his pace now because he felt that loyalty had been compromised, and not by any member of the Enterprise crew. No, it had been wounded by the elite of Starfleet Command, and that, more than anything, angered him.

  For two-thirds of his Starfleet career, he had served as Jean-Luc Picard’s first officer. During that time, Riker had watched his captain make life-or-death decisions and lead fragile diplomatic negotiations, all while continuing to revel in the wonder of the unknown.

  Time and again, Riker had been invited to leave Picard’s side and assume a command of his own. Each time, he had declined, feeling that he still had more to learn, and more to contribute, right here. His place, he continued to believe, was on the Enterprise.

  He had tried to rationalize Starfleet’s viewpoint, arguing with himself that his understanding of Picard was something he had honed through years of experience. Many Starfleet admirals obviously did not share that perception, most likely only gleaning a fraction of it from reviewing mission reports or hearing apocryphal stories at strategy sessions. Consequently, they failed to appreciate or really even comprehend just how fortunate the Federation was to have Picard as one of its representatives. Otherwise, the first officer decided, they would not be doling out to the Enterprise captain the most menial of responsibilities and effectively putting him out to pasture, sending him to graze in the galaxy’s open fields as did the Alaskan caribou Riker had watched in his youth.

  It’s no way to treat any captain, much less my captain.

  Sighing loudly, Riker tossed his padd onto the table. Leaning back in his chair, he said, “Computer, dim lighting in this area to forty percent.”

  As the illumination in the portion of the lounge he currently occupied grew softer and more relaxing, he heard a voice call out in mock disapproval. “That’s not very conducive to getting any work done, you know.”

  Looking up at the new voice, one that most definitely did not belong to the ship’s computer, Riker sat upright and smiled at the new arrival. “Hello, Deanna. I didn’t see you come in.”

  Deanna Troi returned the smile, her dark hair framing her soft features. As she drew closer, Riker was sure he detected the faintest hint of the Risian perfume she liked to wear on occasion. It was a pleasing scent, which was why he had purchased the perfume for her in the first place.

  “You seem fairly engrossed there,” she said. “Still working out the rosters?”

  “You guessed it,” he said, gesturing for her to take a nearby seat. “I might’ve been done sooner, but I’m trying to rig things for everyone to make the most out of this relaxation time prescribed by the captain. I’m adjusting the three shifts into four and rotating them so that everyone has opportunities for downtime at varied hours of the day.”

  Troi smirked as she settled into a chair at Riker’s right. “Sounds complicated.”

  “You’d know if you’d been working on your assignment as well.”

  “Oh, but I have,” she said. “It’s done and filed for your review.”

  His eyebrow rising suspiciously, Riker retrieved his padd. A few touches broug
ht Troi’s proposed duty-roster alterations to its screen. “Well…damn, Deanna, this is pretty sharp.”

  “I found it easier to cut required postings in each department and extend the three shifts by two hours each. That allows for twenty-hour breaks while offering the duty-time variations you are suggesting.”

  “And it gives people even more time off than I’d calculated,” Riker said, nodding appreciatively. “Excellent work, Counselor.”

  “It’s nothing we haven’t discussed before,” she said, her expression turning to one of understanding. “You would have hit on it, too, were you not so preoccupied.”

  “I’m not that preoccupied.”

  Troi offered a slight smile. “Will, even a non-Betazoid could sense that you’re not all here right now.”

  Never could fool you, could I?

  Reaching out, she placed one hand on Riker’s forearm. The simple touch caused him to relax muscles in his neck and shoulders for the first time in what seemed like days. “I’ve asked before and I’ll ask again,” she said. “Are you ready to talk about it?”

  Frowning, Riker began to turn away, but her presence had already succeeded in disarming him as efficiently as ever. He knew there was no one else on the ship—hell, in his life—to whom he would rather vent his feelings and frustrations at that moment. Still, he hesitated as he questioned whether she was seeking connection with him as his ship’s counselor, his fellow officer, his friend, or his Imzadi.

  Maybe it doesn’t matter right now.

  “Deanna,” he said, “this whole situation can’t be sitting well with you, either. What would I say that you don’t already know?”

  “I’m not seeking information, Will,” she said, her voice continuing to soothe the edge on his nerves. “Just talk to me. If it’ll help, I could use someone to talk to myself.”