Текст книги "Deny Thy Father"

Автор книги: Jeff Mariotte

Соавторы: Jeff Mariotte
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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

Chapter 29

More than a year had passed since Kyle Riker had last seen Earth, and the sight of his home planet filling the shuttle’s viewscreen filled him with a sense of joy that took him by surprise. He knew there were still dangers ahead, and difficult times, but he would meet them on his home turf and face them in a way that he hadn’t been equipped for when he had let them drive him away before.

Getting to this point had been a challenge, to be sure. The night Michelle died had ranked right up there with the worst nights of his life. The police had been out in force that night, he remembered, clustered together in groups on street corners, armored and tense. They had stared at him as he passed by, a ragged-looking man with what might have been blood sprayed across his face and clothing, but they hadn’t stopped him. He figured he looked too beaten down to be much of a threat.

Kyle knew that when things went downhill they would happen fast, but even he was unprepared for the velocity and brutality of the next morning’s events. Instead of waiting for Cetra and the others to give themselves up, the army simply returned to The End in full force, with far more soldiers and machines than they had used the day before. The tanks rumbled into the old part of Cozzen five abreast, not paying attention to where the roads wound. They made their own roads. The ancient buildings barely slowed them down. When they approached one that looked more substantial than the rest they simply fired upon it before they got to it, their energy beams lancing across the early morning landscape and blowing huge chunks from the walls. Then the tanks rolled forward, their sheer mass finishing the job their guns had started. Soldiers, on foot and in troop carriers, came behind, using their handheld weapons on any who survived the destruction of their homes. Smaller and weaker structures were merely ground into dust by the big machines.

Kyle had finally fallen asleep in an alley, but the thunder and crash of the army’s advance woke him up early. It took a few moments to get his bearings—he felt hungover, though this hangover had only to do with grief, not with drink—but once he figured out where he was, he ran through the chaotic streets to Cetra’s place to warn her. When he got there, he saw that a police unit had already raided her place. As Kyle watched, helpless to stop it, Cetra was led out of the building with her hands in shackles by five uniformed police officers, the shortest of whom towered over her by half a meter. Another dozen stood outside the building around an armored vehicle, as casually as if this were any other day, any other job.

“Cetra!” Kyle cried, oblivious to the risk this raised for him.

“It’s okay, Joe,” she said, tossing him her most gentle, motherly smile. “You can’t worry about me. You take care of what you can.” The police led her into the vehicle and slammed the doors.

Taking care of what he could was his intention, although he thought it might sadden Cetra to know that his goal had nothing to do with Cyre, or Hazimot. Michelle had come to the conclusion long ago that her future was here on Hazimot– such as it was,he thought bitterly—but that Kyle belonged back on Earth. He never had told her any details of his troubles there, but she insisted that the time would come when he’d have to go back and face them. “You’ll never be really at peace until you do,” she said. “Even with me, you’ll always be unhappy, unfinished. I’d hate for you to leave me, but you need to return there someday.”

He had remembered that conversation, last night, even through the anguish he felt at her death. He had decided that she was right, that he needed to go back and take care of things at home. Only by accomplishing that could he be the kind of man Michelle deserved. And even though she would no longer know it, that was the kind of man he meant to become.

Seeing that to try to act against the police who had taken Cetra was purely suicidal, he turned and ran toward home. There were things hidden in his apartment that he would need, if only he could get to them before the building was flattened. Michelle had helped him acquire authentic identification papers in the name of Joe Brady, and a second set in the name of Henry Blue in case the Brady name became compromised somehow. And there was some cash set aside there, since Hazimot operated on a largely monetary basis, and he would need that as well.

The streets were almost impassable now. Everywhere, buildings Kyle had grown accustomed to were burning. Fire licked at the edges of windows or spat high through broken roofs, all accompanied by a crackling roar. Instead of dissipating the smoke, the omnipresent winds just fanned the flames and spread smoke everyplace. Kyle inhaled great hot lungfuls of it and began coughing before he even reached home. Refugees, driven out of their own last-resort housing, clogged the streets, clutching infants and threadbare belongings to their breasts, holding children and lovers by the hands. Many were weeping openly, others angry and scared, readying weapons or looking for an escape route. The thunder of heavy artillery filled Kyle’s ears, and the concussive shock of explosions rattled his bones. He felt much as he had that day on Starbase 311—terrified, overwhelmed, and bordering on hopeless. However, he was not experiencing any flashbacks. None of the crowd turned into Tholians, the noises around him sounded like artillery, not those awful Tholian hand-weapons. Under other circumstances, he might be pleased by this, but not right now.

After working his way through the crowd, clenching his lips against the grit and smoke and dust that filled the air, he finally made his way to the building in which he’d lived these many months. The building in which he’d met Michelle, and loved her so powerfully. It stood there, dun colored through the thick smoke, its few remaining windows shattered by the blasts and gaping dumbly at him, and he ran for it as if it offered shelter from the insanity that surrounded him.

Of course, it didn’t.

Inside, he couldn’t see any of the residents, just a pack of looters, youthful Cyrians, mostly, who were busily trying to make off with what few possessions of value had been left behind. Kyle felt he should challenge them, but then common sense won out. Anything not already claimed would be rubble anyway, soon enough, when this building was flattened like the rest of The End. Instead of confronting the looters, he just shoved past them and dashed up the stairs, hoping they hadn’t yet raided his apartment.

In fact, when he burst through his door there were three muscular Cyrian males ransacking his place. “Get out!” he snarled at them. They spun around to face him, one dropping an armload of his clothing on the floor.

“This one’s ours,” he said, almost calmly. “There are plenty of other places you can pilfer.”

“No!” Kyle shot back. “This one’s mine. All that stuff is mine. Like you say, there are plenty of other places—leave my things alone.”

One of the Cyrians laughed out loud. “Yours? You lost any claim to this place when you walked out the door. You don’t defend what’s yours, it’s not yours any longer.” He bunched his huge hands into fists.

Kyle normally didn’t care much about material possessions—he had left behind an apartment full of them on Earth, almost two years ago now—but this was quickly becoming a matter of principle as well as survival. “You know what?” he asked, feeling the tension flow out of him and a remarkable sense of peace take its place. “I’m having a bad day. A very bad day, in fact. The woman I loved died, my neighborhood is being taken apart piece by piece, and all my friends are either under arrest or missing. There’s nothing I’d love more right now than to tear you all apart, one by one.

“We got what we need,” one of the Cyrians said with some reluctance. “Let’s go.”

The others grumbled, but that one seemed to be in charge, and they finally indicated their assent. They all dropped what they held and made their way to the door, trying to give Kyle as wide a berth as they could. He knew they’d destroy him in a fight, of course—he was just one man, and although he was strong and athletic and driven by fury, Cyrians in general were bigger and more powerfully built than even the biggest humans. But he figured anyone who’d loot the homes of people driven out by invasion wasn’t the bravest guy on the block, and even with numbers on their side, these looters would rather have easy pickings in uninhabited apartments than risk injury or worse at his hands.

When they were gone, he went to the hiding place where he had stashed his money and false identification papers, under a loose floorboard concealed by his bed. He shoved the bed aside and pried up the board, and everything was still where he’d left it, wrapped in a cloth bag. He scooped it all up and pocketed it, then did a quick scan to see if there was anything else he needed. Clothing and toiletries would be nice, but he could always acquire more, and he didn’t want to look like a man who was traveling. He ended up grabbing a holoimage of Michelle and stuffing it into a pocket, and then he left the rest for the looters.

The first barrage hit the building while he was still running down the stairway. The whole structure shook under the assault. Plaster flew, and a wall opposite him imploded into dust. The staircase groaned and swayed. Kyle gripped the banister to steady himself and continued down, hurtling five and six steps at a time. He heard screams and shouts from elsewhere in the building—probably the looters, he suspected, since he hadn’t seen any of the residents around. At least, he hoped it was them—poetic justice if they were trapped inside the building when it came down.

Another wave hit and this time more walls blew in. Dust and debris rained down on Kyle. Above, he saw powerful energy beams lance through the walls, leaving further destruction in their wake. He leapt the last flight of stairs and landed awkwardly on the lobby floor, his feet slipping out from beneath him on the slick, dust-coated tiles. But he caught himself on his palms, righted himself and sprinted for the door.

Outside, he saw machines of war rolling toward the building, already loosing another fusillade against it. Infantry troops supported the tanks. They spotted Kyle running from the building, but ignored him; just another homeless refugee. When he was almost a block away he heard another, still louder boom, and glanced back to see most of his building collapse in a massive cloud.

The rest of the day had passed, like the building, in the cloud of dust and smoke—mostly obscured, always uncertain, never far from danger. He worked his way out of The End, joining the throngs of other refugees trying to escape the morning assault. Once beyond the boundaries of the neighborhood, the castaways scattered into every direction. The Cyrian authorities didn’t seem to have developed any kind of a plan except for the attack. There was no one except the soldiers to provide any direction for the refugees, and they didn’t seem to have a clue, which meant no order to the evacuation. The newly homeless drifted wherever they chose. Some keened or wailed in their sadness, but most simply wept quietly or were silent, faces caked and streaked with tears, eyes wide and haunted. Most didn’t seem to have any plan or goal, which was the main thing that set them apart from Kyle.

He very definitely did. Much as he’d done more than a year ago back on Earth, he made his way to the nearest shuttle port. Security was tight because of all the military activity at The End, but it was nothing that some carefully applied bribery couldn’t overcome. He wound up booking passage on the next departure from the planet—traveling, in fact, with the families of some of Cyre’s richest inhabitants, being sent off-world until things calmed down there. That ship took him to an orbital spaceport where he was able, after a couple of days’ wait, to find a berth on a passenger and trading ship headed for Tau Ceti. From there, he knew, he could catch a ride back to Earth.

The journey had taken weeks, and put Kyle back in the uncomfortable position of having to tell a brand new set of lies to everyone he met. But his return, he knew, probably wouldn’t be quite as discreet as his departure had been. He was pretty sure that enough time had passed that Starfleet Security wouldn’t be combing every incoming ship for him, and that his fake identification was good enough to get him back to San Francisco safely. From there, though, he’d have to come up with a new plan—he couldn’t afford to believe that whatever plot had forced him away had simply collapsed on its own. But he had also come to understand that working out his troubles from such a great distance just wasn’t going to be effective.

He had combed through all the records on his padd. He had examined every interaction he could remember ever having had with another individual—and that had been painful indeed, at times. He had even recalled as much as he could about his family’s history, in case this was some ancient grudge rearing its head. None of that had proven particularly helpful. Kyle came from a long line of soldiers, all of whom, by definition, had enemies. He also came from a long line, he realized, of taciturn men who kept their own confidences. Riker men weren’t the type to share their feelings or their fears with others. If any of them had made an enemy who hated them enough to chase down their descendants, they would have tried to battle it themselves, but they would not have talked about it.

As a result, Kyle had come up empty, and he felt that emptiness tug at him with new urgency. Earth blossomed below, closer with every passing minute. As it did, he felt his stomach tighten with anxiety. He had, for a long while, escaped his problems, even though he had found new ones along the journey. But now he was returning to the root of it all, no better off than he had been before.

With one exception. Now, he felt ready to face it. No more Tholian flashbacks, no post-traumatic stress disorder, no more physical or mental weakness relating to Starbase 311. He was as fit as he’d ever been. He was still in mourning over Michelle, but that just made him madder, sharpened his edge. Kyle Riker was walking into unknown trouble, but he would be ready for it when it came.

Chapter 30

Captain Erik Pressman cut a commanding figure on the bridge of his ship, the U.S.S. Pegasus.Will realized that it might have just been because he was still feeling slightly awed by even being on board a starship—being posted to a starship as an officer, that was, rather than simply visiting as a cadet. But the captain seemed to feel so comfortable there. He gave the impression of a man who knew his way around the ship, and his crew was appropriately deferential to him. The man stood straight and though he was not a conventionally handsome man, he radiated command and authority. His uniform hung nicely on his slender but powerful frame. He had a broad, gleaming forehead, and his mouth and jaw were set and determined. All in all, he looked every bit the military man that Will had hoped to serve under.

Pressman was standing behind the captain’s chair looking toward the turbolift doors when Will, in the company of First Officer Barry Chamish, stepped onto the bridge of the Pegasusfor the first time. He looked at Will appraisingly, just the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his wide mouth.

“Captain Pressman,” Commander Chamish said, “I’d like to introduce your new helm officer. This is Ensign William T. Riker.”

Will saluted. Captain Pressman returned the salute, and then extended his hand. Will stepped forward and took it. “Welcome aboard, Ensign,” the captain said, shaking Will’s hand firmly and then releasing it. “Outstanding Academy record. I look forward to having you on the team.”

“I look forward to being part of it, sir,” Will said, with all sincerity.

“Has Number One shown you the ship?” Pressman asked.

“Not much of it, sir. We came straight here.”

Pressman glanced around him. “A bridge is a bridge, more or less,” he said. “You don’t get the personality of a ship from the bridge. You get that from the crew quarters, public areas, lounges. The bridge is functional, that’s all. Anyway, you’re not on duty until tomorrow, correct? Why don’t you take some time and see the rest of her, and then report back here?”

“I’d like that, sir,” Will agreed.

“Number One, Mr. Riker needs to continue his tour. Perhaps Mr. Boylen can show him around.”

“Yes, sir,” Commander Chamish said. He touched his combadge. “Lieutenant Boylen, to the bridge.”

Captain Pressman, seemingly immersed in other business, sank into his seat and began studying the status display screens built into the chair’s armrests. A few moments later, the turbolift door whooshed open and a tall, sandy-haired officer appeared. He looked like an athlete, with arms that strained his gold uniform sleeves and a jaw that looked like it could cut steel. “Sir?” he said as he entered the bridge.

“Lieutenant Boylen,” Chamish said. “This is Ensign Will Riker. He’s taking over as helm officer, and the captain would like him to get a full tour of the ship.”

Boylen fixed Will with an appraising stare. “Yes, sir,” he said. Then, to Will he added softly, “Let’s go, rookie.”

Will obeyed. As they stepped onto the turbolift, he caught a glint of mischief in the taller man’s eyes. “You sure you’re old enough to be an Academy graduate?” Boylen asked.

“Yes, sir,” Will replied, understanding that he was being set up for something but not comfortable responding to an officer in any other way.

“Because I don’t want any kids getting in the way around here,” Boylen continued. “There are enough kids as it is, what with the families on board. Chamish has three, all by himself.”

“I’m no kid, sir,” Will answered.

“Kind of a babyface, though, aren’t you?” Boylen needled. “You shave yet?”

Will allowed himself a smile. “Yes, sir. Once in a while, sir.”

Boylen laughed at that. “That’s good,” he said. “I like an officer with a little sense of humor. I think you’ll do just fine around here, Ensign Babyface. You can call me Marc.”

“Thank you, sir. Marc.” Will said. “You can call me Will.”

“No thanks,” Marc Boylen responded with a smirk. “ ‘Ensign Babyface’ works for me.”

They started Will’s tour at the starboard warp nacelle. “All right, Will,” Marc said when they arrived there. “This is where you’ll get to know your new home. U.S.S. Pegasus,NCC-53847. How much do you know about her?”

“ Oberth-class starship,” Will recited. “Primary assignments are science and exploration. Named for the flying horse.” Will paused. “That’s about it, I guess.”

“That’s about all you need to know,” Marc told him, suddenly more serious than Will had seen him before. “Because a ship’s history, distinguished as it might be, doesn’t really have an impact on your life. What matters is where she goes from here, and what you can bring to it. What you care about is the ship’s future, not her past, and rightfully so.”

“Makes sense,” Will observed.

“Of course,” Marc went on, “it’s a lie, but then that might apply to anything I tell you, so you’ll have to stay on your toes. You need to know a lot more about the ship than that if you’re going to fly her. But most of what you need, you already know if you’ve flown starships before. The rest you can learn.” They walked along the length of the warp nacelle. “I don’t need to describe the propulsion system to you, do I? Or general starship construction?”

“No, sir,” Will told him.

“That’s good, because if I did, I’d get you booted off this ship so fast your head would spin.”

“What’s your position again, Marc?” Will asked.

“You don’t know because I didn’t tell you, Ensign Baby-face. I’m a tactical officer.”

“So you couldn’t actually boot me off the ship yourself.”

“But I know the captain much better than you do,” Marc pointed out. “So watch your step.”

“Yes, sir,” Will said with a chuckle.

“Now, an Oberth-class ship has a pretty unique construction,” Marc continued, as if he hadn’t interrupted his own lecture for a gag. Will took what he said to be the truth, for the most part, since it agreed with what he knew about Oberths.But he tried to stay alert for any lies. “The saucer section, which contains the bridge, is connected to the port and starboard warp nacelles. The warp nacelles are connected to the long engineering hull. But the saucer itself is not connected to the engineering hull, except via the nacelles.” He drew a diagram in the air to illustrate his point. The long, narrow engineering hull ran horizontally underneath the saucer section, and the large spar that stuck out behind the saucer, with the warp nacelles out to the sides holding the whole thing together.

“But you can beam between the saucer and engineering,” Will speculated.

“Of course, if you need to get there in a hurry. We don’t, right now, so we’re walking. You can also get there by turbolift, although because the lifts need to be shunted off to the nacelles before going down to the engineering hull, there is a momentary delay. It’s not long but it might seem long compared to turbolift operation on other ships.”

They reached a narrow, steep passageway where they had to descend on ladders. “We’re inside the struts now,” Marc said. “There’s not much functionality here, except for connecting the various parts of the ship. It’s an interesting design, but you can see why it didn’t really catch on for other classes of ships.”

He led Will through the engineering section, which looked much like every other engineering section Will had ever seen, and introduced Will to an assortment of engineering staff whose names he knew he wouldn’t remember until he’d met them all again a few times. That didn’t take long, and then they were climbing up, instead of traveling via turbolift, the port strut to the port warp nacelle. The ship, as far as Will could tell, was in excellent shape. If she’d had any problems or damage at any point, it had been thoroughly repaired and patched. When they finally made their way back to the saucer section, Marc showed Will the crew quarters, including his own berth. As a junior officer, Will had a single room, with a bed that tucked into the wall until a control panel was pressed and a washbasin hidden away beneath a shelf. The walls themselves were a soft pastel off-white, with blue-gray trim and accessories here and there. The replicator was built into the wall opposite the bed, and there was a tiny, curved worktable in one corner. Compared to his Academy quarters it was a little cramped, but it would serve his needs. A crew member had already dropped off his belongings, he saw.

“Home sweet home,” he said as he looked at the room.

“Until you get promoted, anyway,” Marc told him. “Then you get a place big enough to turn around in.”

“Good incentive.”

“You can personalize it to your heart’s content, though,” Marc assured him.

“I don’t own much,” Will said, pointing to the duffel he had brought on board. “A couple of books, some uniforms, that’s about it.”

“That’s good,” Marc said with a grin. “If you had any more, you’d have to borrow space from someone else who owned even less than you. And frankly, that person would just be pathetic.”

Leaving his quarters behind, Will followed Marc around the saucer section. He saw the holodeck, the shuttlebay, the transporter rooms, the observation lounge, and perhaps most importantly, he thought, suddenly realizing that it had been many hours since breakfast, the mess hall and lounge. In this area he also saw quite a few civilians walking around. As Marc had suggested, families were common on the ship, and he guessed that some of the people out of uniform were the spouses and children of the crew.

“When are you supposed to be on duty?” Marc asked him as they watched the parade of humanity pass by.

“Not until tomorrow morning,” Will said. “I was to report to the ship today, but my first shift is tomorrow.”

“That’ll give you some time to get acclimated,” Marc said.

“That’s what I was thinking too. When do we push off?” He had boarded the ship at Starbase 10, after shuttling there from San Francisco the day before.

“Push off?” Marc echoed. “We’ve been under way for the last hour.” He swiveled and led Will back to the observation lounge, but this time he opened the door and they went inside. Will peered through the large windows and saw the starscape drifting past them.

“Indeed we are under way,” he observed. “Smooth.”

“Nothing’s second-rate on the Pegasus,” Marc told him. “Tomorrow morning it’ll be your turn to fly smooth. Think you can do it, Babyface?”

Will swallowed once. He wouldn’t have been assigned the job if Starfleet hadn’t had faith in his abilities. Unless,he thought, Superintendent Vyrek just wants me far away from her.

“I can do it.”

Marc Boylen nodded. “That’s good. You keep thinking that way.” He drew back one of the chairs and sat down at the long, shiny table. “Have a seat, Ensign.”

Will did as he was told. Marc looked serious again. Will had only known the man for a short time, but he knew these serious moments were rare and should be taken, well, seriously. He waited.

“You’re going to be on this ship for a long time, Ensign Babyface,” Marc said. “Years. You ready for that? That’s the hardest part of the job, for some.”

Will had given a great deal of thought to this aspect of the job. What was he leaving behind on Earth, though? He had no family, except a father who had abandoned not only him but also, apparently, his career and everyone who had depended on him. He had no girlfriend, and the few friends he had left that he felt close to were all scattered on their own postings. Of the class that had graduated with him, there were only two other cadets he knew who had wound up on the Pegasuswith him, and neither were especially good friends.

“I’m ready,” he said finally.

“You won’t miss Earth?”

“Sometimes, I guess. Not a lot.”

“Where’d you live, before the Academy? I’m from Vermont. Stowe. Not much skiing around here, except on the holodeck.”

“Valdez, Alaska,” Will said. “So I guess we’re both used to plenty of snow.”

“You ski?”

“Cross-country,” Will said. “Downhill’s okay but it’s not really my thing.”

“We’ll have to go out sometime,” Marc said. “What else are you going to miss? Got a lover?”

Felicia’s face flashed through Will’s mind but he forced the image away. Ancient history. “No, not now.”

“Family?”

“No.”

Marc scrutinized him. “You have a life at all, outside the Academy?”

“I guess not much of one,” Will admitted. “I’m kind of career-oriented, I guess.”

“You’ll do fine, then, on this ship. Just remember, there will be times when you’ll get homesick, no matter what kind of home you left behind. There’ll be times when you miss having terra firma under your feet. If it gets bad, you can talk to the ship’s counselor, or you can talk to me.”

“What will you do about it?” Will challenged.

“Laugh in your face,” Marc said. “Won’t do much for you, but it’ll make me feel a whole lot better.”

“I appreciate that, Marc,” Will said, chuckling. “It’s nice to know you’re looking out for me.”

“I’m a tactical officer,” Marc reminded him. “I look out for everyone. I’m only looking out for you because you’re such a rookie, and because I don’t want you to run us into anything when you’ve got the helm.”

“I’ll try not to,” Will promised.

Marc pushed back his chair and stood up, and Will did the same. “Think you can find your way back to your quarters?” Marc asked him.

Will looked around, orienting himself. “I think so.”

“Good. You know where the mess hall is, or you can eat replicator food in your quarters. I was you, I’d go to the mess hall so you can meet some more folks and start learning names. Show up on time for duty tomorrow—if there’s one thing Captain Pressman hates, it’s lateness. Watch out for Shinnareth Bestor. She’s the operations officer. Good at her job, but with a foul temper, especially in the mornings. She’s become addicted to coffee, I think.”

Will tried to absorb all this. “Any other advice?”

“Don’t run into anything. Don’t break the ship. You’ll be fine.” He turned and started to leave, but then stopped after a few steps and looked back over his shoulder. “And when you start having to shave every day, be sure you do. The captain also hates unkempt officers on his bridge.”

Then Marc was gone, and Will was, for the first time, really alone on his new ship. His new home. It was big and strange and he knew virtually no one, and first thing in the morning strangers would be depending on his ability to do his job.

But if there was one thing Will was confident about, it was that. He knew he could do the job.