Picard entered his waiting room and walked to the replicator. Rubbing the space between his eyebrows with his thumb and index finger, the captain decided that he needed something a little different this morning. Plain old earl grey wasn't going to cut it.
"Irish tea," Picard ordered. "Warm."
A glass cup of brown liquid materialized and Picard grasped it in both hands. He behind his desk and sat down. Just before he could take a drink, however, he heard a familiar chirping sound—someone wanted to come in.
"Come," Picard said.
Picard internally groaned when he saw who it was. Ensign Wesley Crusher walked somewhat apprehensively to Picard's desk. Characteristically, his hands came together in front of him, fingers intertwined and moving. The fidgeting irked Picard. It must have shown on his face, because Wesley suddenly looked even more nervous.
"Yes, Mr. Crusher?" Picard sighed.
"Sir, I'll try to make this brief," Wesley said.
"In that case," Picard frowned, "you better take a seat." The captain had complete and absolute faith that Wesley would fail miserably at every goal he set. If the ensign wanted to make things brief, then this talk would be anything but.
A look of puzzlement flashed across Wesley's face, but it was instantly replaced by his perpetual expression of low-level nervousness. Wesley sat down in a chair facing the captain. Picard took a sip of his tea and frowned when he didn't taste any whiskey. That's when he remembered that Irish tea was an actual tea.
"Sir, Star Fleet just issued a fleet-wide request for a team of officers to volunteer for a goodwill mission on Glosant," Wesley said.
Picard said nothing while staring at Wesley. I hate his face so much, the captain thought. I wish I could jump across this table and deck him right now.
Wesley continued, "One of the members needs to be a junior officer. I'd like to volunteer, sir."
Picard replied, "I see."
The fact was that Picard had often offered Wesley for Starfleet missions that required a junior officer. All these mission descriptions included terms like "extremely dangerous" or "high risk of personal injury or safety." Time and time again, unfortunately, someone else had always been chosen. Oh, if only Wesley knew how many times he had "volunteered" for missions. Picard felt a smile creep onto his face.
The smile seemed to have a reassuring affect on Wesley. The ensign seemed to relax. "Would you recommend me for the mission?"
Picard knew nothing about the mission Wesley was referring to. He still had yet to search through the endless stream of messages Starfleet Command sent to all its ships. The captain also knew nothing about Glosant (in fact, he had never heard of it). It was unusual for Wesley to volunteer for anything. Why exactly did this mission appeal to him?
The captain asked Wesley as much, but all he got was some nervous muttering from the ensign about duty and a great opportunity to learn more about new cultures and blah, blah, blah. It was the typical bulls**t answer.
Picard told Wesley he'd consider it and then kicked the ensign out of his waiting room. Wesley seemed mildly optimistic, but still nervous on the whole. Before leaving he thanked Picard for his time and recommendation.
After Wesley was gone, Picard went back to the replicator and carefully ordered another drink. Walking back to his desk, the captain kicked his feet on top of it and leaned back. Taking a sip of his new drink, Picard started going through the new batch of Starfleet messages, searching for the one Wesley had referred to.
He wasn't terribly interested, however. His mind was drifting to the thoughts of the poker game he would be joining that evening. Normally he didn't attend those regular games that his officers played, but he felt that hankering for something to do. Earlier, when he asked Riker to join, his executive officer looked both surprised and pleased. But Picard knew that wasn't true. He was once a mid-level officer himself. He knew the only reason why subordinates regularly meet was to complain about the captain. It was basically a team building exercise built on a mutual hatred.
Of course, with the captain present, there would be no complaints. There would be nothing but repressed and seething hatred at the fact that the captain was present during the time when the officers were suppose to unwind. Picard felt a big grin grow on his face. He loved messing with people.