Star Trek: Pantheon (8 page)

Wesley turned in his seat to look back at the command center, where Data was seated in the captain’s chair. The android seemed pleased by the recognition.

“I
am
Commander Data,” he said. “It is my pleasure to invite you aboard the
Enterprise.”

Wesley studied Ben Zoma carefully. Up until now, he had met only one person who’d served with his father aboard the
Stargazer
—Captain Picard. And the captain wasn’t always the easiest person to strike up a conversation with.

But for the next few days, there would be
seven
other people who had worked alongside Jack Crusher—and Captain Ben Zoma, the man on the screen, was one of them.

Not that it was likely he’d have much of a chance to speak with any of the visitors. No doubt, they’d all want to reminisce about old times. Besides, these were important people. They probably wouldn’t have much time for him…

“I accept your invitation,” replied Ben Zoma. “There will be three of us altogether.” The man had an infectious charm about him, an affability. “Oh, and Commander…If you will humor me, I would like to
surprise
Captain Picard. So it will not be necessary for you to alert him as to our arrival.”

That caught the android off balance. “This is most irregular,” he said.

“Granted,” said the captain of the
Lexington.
“But I would appreciate it nonetheless.” He paused. “Would you feel better if I couched my request in the form of an order? You can hardly disobey the instructions of a superior officer—providing you have no standing orders to the contrary.”

Data took a moment to mull it over. “I have no
orders
as such, Captain. However—”

“Then it’s settled.”

The android was still perturbed—but he no longer had any choice in the matter. Ben Zoma had seen to that. “As you wish, Captain” was all he could get out.

Interesting guy,
Wesley mused. A different style from Captain Picard’s, for sure.

Wesley assumed the conversation was over, and was turning his attention back to his conn board, when he noticed Ben Zoma looking at
him.

He returned the man’s gaze—an eerie feeling, considering people on the viewscreen usually ignored anyone outside the command center. He’d almost forgotten he was even visible in some of these transmissions.

“And you,” said Ben Zoma, “must be Wesley Crusher.”

The ensign felt the heat of embarrassment climbing into his cheeks. He cursed inwardly.

“Aye, sir.”

The captain of the
Lexington
nodded. “Without question, your father’s son.” The skin around his dark eyes crinkled. “I look forward to meeting you as well.”

Wesley straightened eagerly. His heart was pounding in his chest, and all he could think of was to repeat his earlier response: “Aye, sir.”

Then Ben Zoma’s image blinked out, and once again the ensign found himself staring at the lines of the
Lexington.

Riker happened to be facing the door, so he was the first to mark the trio of unfamiliar faces as they entered the lounge. He was on the verge of saying something about them when he observed the gesture of the dark-skinned man in the lead—a finger planted vertically across his lips.

Seeing the captain’s pips on the man’s collar, Riker kept his mouth shut. Nor did any of his companions take note as the newcomers wound their way among the intervening tables.

It wasn’t long before the dark man was directly behind Picard and Morgen, a mischievous gleam in his eye. He paused there, savoring the moment. Finally, he spoke. “Damn. I’d heard the two of you had aged, but the stories didn’t say just how much.”

As recognition set in, Picard declined to turn around immediately. He looked at Morgen. “Just remember,” he said, “it was
you
who invited him.”

The Daa’Vit nodded. “In a moment of insanity,” he said, straightfaced. “One that I am already beginning to regret.”

“Liar,” said Ben Zoma as they got up to face him. “You’ve missed me like crazy—both of you have.”

He took their hands—first Picard’s, then Morgen’s. Riker found himself smiling.

“You haven’t changed,” observed Captain Picard. “Still the same old Gilaad Ben Zoma.”

“I
can attest to
that,”
said one of the other newcomers, stepping up alongside the dark man. A lieutenant commander, Riker noted, though she didn’t look old enough to have come that far. Her freckles and tousled strawberry-blond hair gave her a girlish sort of appeal—but not the air of authority one generally associated with high rank. “That is, I
could
attest to it,” she amended with a hint of an Australian accent, “if not for the fact that Captain Ben Zoma is my commanding officer.”

“Cadwallader,” said Picard. He took her hand. “Still keeping this madman in line, I trust?”

She nodded. “It’s a tough job, but someone’s got to do it.”

“Don’t make it sound like you do it alone,” said the third arrival. A stocky, almost squarish man, he evidenced a slight limp as he came closer. “Security is something of an adventure on the
Lexington
—to say the least.”

Riker tried to imagine the
Enterprise
officers talking about their captain that way. And to his face! But then, he knew from experience that not all ships were run the same way—and when formality was suspended to a degree, it didn’t necessarily mean that the crew was any less efficient. It was just a matter of each captain’s individual style and preference.

Apparently, however, Ben Zoma wasn’t
quite
as liberal as first appearances indicated—because he stifled his companions with a glance. Then, turning back to his fellow captains, he said: “Don’t listen to Commander Cadwallader—
or
Mr. Joseph. They’ve never had it so good in their lives.”

Joseph—the stocky man—looked skeptical. The woman just smiled. And not a bad smile at that, Riker mused.

“I am glad you could come,” Morgen said.
“All
of you.”

“You couldn’t have kept us away with phaser cannons,” said Joseph.

“Please,” said Picard, “pull up a chair, won’t you? And I will try to forget that you bullied your way aboard behind my back.”

Once they were all seated, Picard made the introductions. “Commander Riker here is my first officer. Troi is our ship’s counselor.”

“Something we could have used on the
Stargazer,”
Ben Zoma pointed out. He smiled at Troi. “Of course, someone of
your
beauty would be welcome anywhere.”

The Betazoid took the compliment in stride. She smiled back.

“Captain Ben Zoma,” Picard continued, “besides being one of the galaxy’s great flatterers, was my first exec. We served together for twenty years, if you can bring yourselves to believe that.”

The dark man shook his head. “I can scarcely believe it myself.”

Picard indicated the woman who had come in with Ben Zoma. “Tricia Cadwallader. The best damned communications officer a captain ever had—back in the days when there
were
such things as communications officers. Today she’s the second officer of the
Lexington.”

Riker nodded by way of a greeting. It caught her eye, and for a moment she lingered on his gaze. Then she turned to Troi.

“Pleased to meet you,” she said.

“Likewise,” the ship’s counselor replied.

“And last—but certainly not least—” Picard resumed, “Security Chief Peter Joseph—though we all know him as Pug.”

The reasoning behind the nickname was self-evident. Joseph resembled nothing so much as a bulldog.

“The genuine article,” the security chief quipped. “Accept no substitutions.”

There was laughter all around at that, and when it quieted, Riker took the opportunity to raise his glass. “I’d like to propose a toast. To Captain Morgen. May his reign be a long and fruitful one.”

There were sounds of agreement—not only from their own table, but from a number of others around them.

“And,” added Morgen, “to the former officers of the
Stargazer.
May they never forget how fortunate they were to have served under the legendary Jean-Luc Picard.”

As the others drank, Picard grunted.
“Legendary?”
he repeated. “I’m not
old
enough to be
legendary.”

As Troi approached the bar, Guinan shook her head in motherly fashion.

“You’re a trouper,” she told the empath.

Troi smiled. “What do you mean?”

“What do I
mean?
Counselor, you’ve spent the last five
hours
listening to
Stargazer
stories. And now that the
Lexington
contingent has joined us, you’ll probably be in for
another
five hours’ worth.” Guinan grunted. “In my book, that’s being a trouper.”

“Oh, come on,” Troi said. “I
like
listening to those old stories. Apart from their entertainment value, they give me insights into the captain that I’ve never had before. I can understand a little better how he became the person he is.” She glanced at the table she’d just come from, where Ben Zoma was recalling some incident involving a shuttle and a pair of Grezalian ambassadors. “You know, it’s funny. I get the feeling that Commander Riker and myself are being shown off in a way—almost as if we were his children.” Troi paused thoughtfully. “Which is not so difficult to comprehend, I suppose. Captain Picard never had any offspring of his own. Why
shouldn’t
he think of us as his children?”

“Actually,” Guinan responded, “I think he considers you
all
his children—not only you and Commander Riker, but Morgen and the
Stargazer
people as well. And he’s pleased that all his children are enjoying an opportunity to get to know one another.” She shrugged. “It just seems a little barbaric for you to have to force yourself to stay awake.”

“I am
not
forcing myself to stay awake,” the empath protested. Then, noting the way Guinan’s mouth was curling up at the corners, she added: “Besides, I can’t let the older kids have
all
the fun.”

Guinan looked past Troi. “Uh-oh. Don’t look now, but one of the older kids is hitting the sack.”

The counselor turned and saw Joseph getting up from his chair. He said something under his breath, got a round of laughter for his trouble, and gave the group an old-fashioned salute. Then he made his way to the exit.

When Troi turned back, she looked thoughtful.

“What?” probed Guinan.

The empath raised her eyes. “Mr. Joseph—Pug, they call him. He’s not quite as happy as the rest of them. Oh, he
seems
to be, on the outside. But inside, he’s—” She paused, trying to translate perceived emotion into words—not always an easy task. “Bitter,” she said finally.

“About what?” asked Guinan.

Troi shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m not a telepath, remember? But I can guess.”

Guinan leaned forward over the bar. “I’m listening,” she said.

“When the
Stargazer
set out,” said the Betazoid, “Joseph was the chief of security. Cadwallader was a junior-grade communications officer, Morgen was an ensign, and Ben Zoma was the first officer. Obviously, they’ve all moved up—Morgen and Ben Zoma to captaincies, and Cadwallader to lieutenant commander. But Pug is still security chief. No change in rank or function.”

Guinan nodded. “No wonder he’s bitter.”

“And particularly so toward Cadwallader. From what I gather, he took her under his wing when she joined the
Stargazer.
Treated her like a kid sister.”

“And then she grew up and left him in the dust.” She flicked her finger at a tiny piece of napkin left on her bar. “But then, that must be fairly common in Starfleet. Not everybody is moving-up material.”

“No,” said the counselor. “But that doesn’t make it any easier on the ones who are left behind.”

“Mom?”

Beverly Crusher jumped at the sound. She looked up from her desk, saw that it was only Wesley. Her heart pounding, she tried not to show how badly he’d startled her.

“Mom, are you feeling all right?” asked Wesley, entering her office. Unlike her, he was still in uniform.

She smiled. “Of course I’m all right. Why shouldn’t I be?”

He shrugged. “I heard that Captain Picard had assembled some of his officers in Ten-Forward. You know—to meet the
Stargazer
people. And I knew you weren’t on duty, so…if you’re feeling okay, why aren’t you there? In Ten-Forward, I mean, with everybody else?”

Crusher sat back in her chair. “That’s a good question, Wes.”

The boy—she would
always
think of him that way, she couldn’t help it—regarded her with a lack of understanding. “I don’t get it,” he told her. “Don’t you
want
to see Dad’s old friends?”

She shrugged. “Yes and no.”

The lack of understanding deepened. “Why the
no
part?”

The doctor sighed. “This may sound strange, Wes, but I’ve come to terms with what I knew of your father. With the Jack Crusher I knew. And
loved.”
Another sigh. “I don’t know if I want any
new
memories. Not if they’re going to make me start mourning him all over again.”

Wesley started to say something, thought better of it. “Mom,” he went on finally, “this isn’t like you. You’re not the kind of person who backs off from things.”

“From most things, no.” The doctor found she couldn’t look at him, so she looked at her desktop monitor instead. She didn’t blame him for being surprised at her. To tell the truth, she was surprised at herself. “From
this
thing…I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.”

Silence. An uncomfortable silence—for him, no doubt, as well as for her. But she didn’t break it.

In the end, it was Wesley who took the initiative. “I suppose,” he said, “you’ve got the right to do what you want.” There was a hint of pain in his voice; maybe someone else wouldn’t have noticed it, but
she
did. “If it doesn’t bother Captain Picard, maybe it shouldn’t bother me either. But I intend to get to know these people—that is, if they let me.”