Текст книги "Deny Thy Father"

Failed? What do you mean, failed?

He made an attempt. It went bad. He’s dead.

Well, that’s some consolation, at least. And Riker?

He’s fine. Unhurt.

He’s been gone for, what, two years? And now that he’s back we still can’t manage to get him?

To kill him. His career is in tatters. And we’ve been watching his son; we can move against him anytime we need to.

Still... sweet as that might be, Kyle Riker is the main goal. He has to be. What he did out there must be avenged.

I can’t argue that. But the way things happened... at least there were some positive results.

How can you even think that! Are you—

Insane? Don’t even bring up the idea.

Then what?

It made us... closer... than we ever had been. Than we could ever have expected. And we know the research bore... certain fruits.

I suppose. Still... had it never happened—

We needed it to happen, remember? For that matter, we pulled the trigger. We created the situation...

Because there was no other way. Starfleet would have found out.

That’s a risk we ran, knowingly. And with the backup measure in mind. That’s why we chose 311 in the first place, because of its remoteness, and because of the possibility, if we needed it, of using them. It was just the schedule that went a little... haywire.

Yes, haywire. But Riker survived it And you didn’t. Which is why he has to pay the price. But...

Yes... ?

Since we know, for the first time in quite a while, where the father and the son both are, how much more delicious would it be if Riker had to watch his son die before he drew his own last breath?

I do like the way we think.

Kyle passed a few days in San Francisco, enjoying the feeling of being back home. Except for the hole in his insides every time he thought of Michelle, he was already beginning to feel like his time on Hazimot was a dream, half-remembered, some of the details already fading as real life went on. Not that this is anything like real life,he thought. He wasn’t working yet, still hadn’t even entered the Starfleet Command complex.

He was bored already and growing more so by the hour. Now he stood on the crest of a long hill, wishing someone would attack him just to provide some diversion. When he heard footsteps approaching rapidly from behind him, he whirled, half-expecting and, he realized, almost desiring some kind of assault.

But it was Ensign Halalaii, one of the guards assigned to protect him. She was panting, as if the climb had taken more out of her than him. “Sir,” she said, “Admiral Paris would like you to report immediately to Starfleet Headquarters. There’s an emergency of some kind.”

The thought of going back to Headquarters—the lion’s den, as far as Kyle was concerned—was still a bit unnerving. But Owen had done a lot for him, and if he could help out the admiral, he had to do it. “I’ll catch an air tram right away,” he said.

“No time for that, sir.” She tapped her Starfleet insignia badge, which she wore on her chest in spite of being out of uniform for this assignment. “Three to beam in.”

Kyle braced himself for the momentary vertigo that always overtook him when he was transported, and then it was over and he was standing in Owen Paris’s office.

“Thank you for coming, Kyle,” Owen said, rising from behind his desk.

“I’m not sure that I had a choice,” Kyle answered. “The ensign said there was an emergency.”

“That’s right,” Owen said. He excused the two security officers, asking them to wait in the hall. They would continue to keep their distance from Kyle, but would stay alert just the same. “Come on,” Owen said to Kyle. “I’ll explain as we go.”

“Go where?” Kyle asked, rushing to keep up with Owen. The admiral had already started down the hall, his strides long and purposeful.

“Situation room,” Owen replied. “We’ll be met there by the others.”

“What others?” Kyle queried. “What’s happening, Owen?”

Owen slowed a moment to give Kyle a chance to catch up, and when he explained he did so in low tones, so that not even the security officers following behind could hear him. “It’s a ship, the Pegasus.Captain Erik Pressman in command.”

“I don’t know him,” Kyle said. “What’s he like?”

“He’s a good officer. A bit too ambitious for my tastes, but otherwise I have every faith in him.”

“So what’s the problem with the Pegasus?”

“We’ll be there in a moment,” Owen said. “And you’ll see.”

He led the way through a door guarded by yet another gold-uniformed security officer. Inside, a long, curved table stood in front of a vast display screen. In addition to the seats around the table, there were a dozen workstations, and beyond those, auditorium-style seating for a couple dozen more. No one else was in the room when they arrived, but there was an image on the screen. Two planets, one reddish and the other predominantly green, but with orange splotches here and there. Arrayed around the planets were fine-lined spherical grids that intersected one another. In the area of intersections was a blinking red dot.

“That’s Omistol,” Owen said, pointing to the planet on the right. “And Ven, on the left. Heard of them?”

“I think so, but not recently. I’ve kind of been out of the loop recently.”

“I know you have, Kyle,” Owen said. “But we’re going to ask you to catch up fast now.”

“You still haven’t told me what’s going on,” Kyle reminded him. “Or what this has to do with the Pegasus.”

“Omistol and Ven have been at war for almost three years,” Owen said. “A vicious, bloody, terrible war. Each side has lost more lives than it can afford. We keep thinking the war will end because one side or the other will realize that they’re both committing suicide. So far, though, that hasn’t been the case. They’re still at it.”

Kyle nodded. He could follow this, all right, but he wanted Owen to get to the real point.

“Those grids on the display show each planet’s claimed sphere of influence. As you can see, there’s an overlap. That’s a big part of the problem, right there—they both want to control that section of space, which is a main shipping lane for their system. It’s not the whole problem, but it’s kind of symptomatic of the greater issues. They both claim that space, and neither will relinquish that claim. The red dot in the middle of the disputed territory? That’s the Pegasus.”

“What’s it doing there?” Kyle asked. As he did, the door opened again and more Starfleet officers filed in. Kyle recognized Vice Admiral Horace Bonner and Admiral J. P. Hanson, but none of the others, a mix of captains and some of their staff people.

“Captain Pressman was responding to reports that a pirate—one that has been preying on Federation ships, not too far from Omistol and Ven—had taken refuge in the disputed zone. He went in intending only to investigate the report and capture the pirate vessel if it was, in fact, inside there, and to leave immediately if it wasn’t.”

“And was it?”

“The Pegasuswas unable to locate the pirate. What it located instead was trouble.”

“Why?”

“Because the fleets of both Omistol and Ven were moving toward one another, in force. Omistol’s ships were cloaked. They were on the Pegasusbefore Captain Pressman knew they were coming.”

“Cowardly bastards,” Kyle growled. “I hate cloaking.”

“So does every civilized people,” Vice Admiral Bonner put in, joining the conversation. “Welcome back to the fold, Mr. Riker.”

“Thank you, Vice Admiral,” Kyle said. They shook hands. “It’s nice to be back, I think.”

“As you can see, we’ve brought you back at the best possible time. For us. Maybe the worst for you, I’m afraid.”

“What do you mean?” Kyle asked.

Bonner looked a little surprised. “You haven’t told him, Owen?”

“I’ve been trying to fill him in on the whole picture,” Owen Paris said. “Not just the details.”

“If the details are important,” Kyle said, “then I’d like to know them as well.”

“Very well, Kyle,” Owen relented. He looked like he was sorry to have to say it. “One of the bridge officers on board the Pegasusis your son, Will.”

Chapter 36

Will had tried every trick Starfleet Academy had taught him, and a few new ones he’d made up on the spot, trying to break the grip of the graviton beam that held them in place. The Omistolian warship was gigantic, half again the size of the Oberth-class Pegasus,and its tractor beam powerful beyond even the experience of Captain Pressman. Beads of sweat appeared on Will’s upper lip and at his temples, not from the heat but from the exertion and concentration he applied to the problem. And still nothing worked.

The worst part was, they had come here for nothing-chasing a shadow, a ship that wasn’t here in the first place. Captain Pressman had warned them of that possibility before they’d entered the system. But they had all agreed that it would be worth the risk if they could find Heaven’s Blade,the pirate vessel that had been making this region decidedly unsafe for Federation freighters. The Bladehadn’t been here at all, though. If by chance it had passed this way, it hadn’t stayed long.

The word that it might be here had come in from Starfleet Command shortly after they’d transferred Endyk Plure to the ship that would carry him to Earth. After a brief conference with his officers, during which the phrase “suicide mission” had come up a few times too often for Will’s liking, Pressman had given the orders to move into the war zone between Ven and Omistol. And so they had. They had still been in the disputed zone, looking for the elusive Heaven’s Blade,when the Omistolians had decloaked. There had been a brief verbal exchange between Captain Pressman and the leader of the Omistolian force, but no shots were fired. And then, when Captain Pressman gave the order to Will to get them out of here, now, the tractor beam had been engaged. They had gone, since then, exactly nowhere.

“We could try blowing them out of the sky,” Marc Boylen suggested. He’d already suggested it, a couple of times, with no luck.

“Mr. Boylen,” Pressman reminded him. “The ship holding us in its beam is just one of many. It’s far larger than we are and far more heavily armed. We’re a scientific exploration vessel, not a warship. Even if we could beat that one ship, they have many more. We would be begging for them to wipe us out.”

“May I speak frankly, sir?” Lieutenant Commander Rungius asked. Bethany Rungius was the ship’s chief of security, a hard-nosed officer with a reputation for making hard decisions quickly.

“Of course,” Captain Pressman said.

“While I would never suggest that we ‘beg’ to be wiped out, I can’t really see the difference. They’re not holding us because they want to play catch. If they don’t destroy us now they’ll destroy us later.”

“They want us for something,” Will argued, “or they’d have done it already.”

“Exactly, Mr. Riker,” Pressman agreed. “We just need to wait until they tell us what it is they want from us.”

“But meanwhile, sir, the Ven fleet continues to approach,” Rungius pointed out. “If we’re still here when they arrive, then we’re stuck in the crossfire and we’re dead anyway.”

“Maybe that’s why they’re holding us,” Marc offered. “To use as a shield, or a hostage, against the Ven?”

“The Ven have no more reason to like us than the Omistol do,” Rungius countered. “We’d make a pretty poor hostage. Neither world seems to be all that fond of the Federation.”

“All we can do,” Pressman told his crew, “is wait. When they want us to know, they’ll tell us.”

The wait wasn’t long. The bridge had fallen into an uncomfortable silence, everyone watching the implacable advance of the Ven fleet and the maneuvering into battle position of the Omistolians on their display screens, when Dul Dusefrene, the ship’s communications officer, spoke up. “There’s a hail from the Omistolians, sir,” she said. “It’s Oxxreg.” This, everyone knew, was the commander of the Omistolian fleet and the one who had carried out the short and unproductive dialogue with Captain Pressman earlier.

“On the screen,” the captain ordered. A moment later, the image of the Omistolian appeared on the big main screen. His face was flat, an unpleasant shade of dark olive. Will was reminded of toads back home.

“I have a proposition for you, Captain Pressman,”Oxxreg said, his voice sibilant and oddly mellifluous. “You’ll want to discuss it with your superiors.”

“This is my ship,” Captain Pressman replied. “I am fully empowered to make decisions regarding her safety.” Nonetheless, Will noticed that he put his hands behind his back and, so hidden from Oxxreg, gestured toward Lieutenant Dusefrene. She nodded, almost imperceptibly, and her hands flashed across her control board. Starfleet had already been alerted to their situation here, and she was opening a channel to headquarters so that they’d hear whatever Oxxreg’s proposal was.

“Not this decision, I would wager,”Oxxreg said. “But have it your own way.”

“I will,” Pressman said, standing firm. His jaw was set and he looked as determined as he sounded. Will hoped it was convincing to the Omistolians.

“I’m offering an extremely simple deal,”Oxxreg went on. “Your ship’s safety, in return for a very small favor.”

“We’re not in the habit of negotiating with those who make unprovoked attacks on us,” Pressman replied.

“You were inside our zone of influence with no prior authorization,”Oxxreg shot back. “A zone currently the subject of a rather bitter dispute. For all we know, you are working with the Ven.”

“I’ve already explained our mission to you.”

“Yes, chasing a ship. Which your Command, all the way back on Earth, claims was here, but which none of our instruments have located any sign of. Surely you understand that this explanation is not terribly convincing or believable.”

“Nonetheless, it’s the truth.”

“Be that as it may,”Oxxreg argued. “You’re in restricted space. You have not received, or even asked for, permission to be in this space. We are fully within our rights to destroy you as a trespasser and a spy. I’m offering you a way to avoid that fate.”

Pressman moved his shoulders a little. “Say we were to accept that negotiation is an option,” he said. “What would your offer be?”

“We would release your ship and grant you safe passage out of our vicinity,”Oxxreg replied.

“In exchange for ... ?”

“In exchange for Starfleet arms and assistance,”Oxxreg said. “This war has been brutally expensive, in terms of lives and finances. Both our planet and the Ven—”This word he said with a sneer, almost as if it were the worst curse he could think of. “—have nearly bankrupted ourselves waging it. We need but a few solid victories, though, to turn the tide. Starfleet could provide the necessary armaments to destroy Ven’s fleet, and maybe their entire planet.”

“And you think that they’ll give you these weapons, just to save us?” Pressman laughed at the screen. “You obviously don’t understand Starfleet.”

“Your superiors do not value you and your crew?”Oxxreg asked.

“Of course they do,” Pressman objected. “But they have priorities, and standards. Both of those require that they not interfere in wars that are none of their concern. Particularly in petty little skirmishes like the one you have going with the Ven.”

Oxxreg exploded at this. “Petty? I have lost my father in this war, and three sisters. Others of us have lost their whole families. We willingly give our lives because our cause is just.”

“Your cause is nonsense,” Pressman told him, pushing, Will knew, as hard as he dared. “You don’t like the Ven. They don’t like you. So instead of agreeing to be neighbors who just don’t get along, you pick this sector of empty space and decide that one of you must control it. If neither of you did, what would happen? Ships would still use it as a trading lane. Your war, sir, is idiotic.”

“I take it, then,”Oxxreg said, his voice newly dripping with hatred, “that you’re turning down our offer?”

“I’ll take it to Starfleet,” the captain said. “As you suggested. Just don’t expect to get the answer you want. Pressman out.”

Dusefrene broke the connection and the viewscreen went blank.

“At this point,” Marc Boylen put in, “I think the answer he wants is that Starfleet won’t cooperate, simply so he can shoot you.”

“You’re not seriously considering their offer,” Lieutenant Commander Rungius said. “Starfleet would never—”

“Of course they wouldn’t,” Pressman assured her. “I’m just buying time, that’s all. Besides, Starfleet heard the whole thing. If they want to weigh in, they will.”

“They must be insane if they think we’ll go along with that!” Vice Admiral Bonner exclaimed. His face was red with anger, white blotches showing up on his cheeks and forehead. Kyle thought his reaction was a bit extreme, and he, not Bonner, was the one with a family member on the vessel in danger.

“It would be a serious violation of the Prime Directive,” Owen Paris agreed. “I hate to see a war allowed to go on unchecked, particularly one with the potential to utterly devastate two different worlds. But if that’s their choice, we can’t interfere with them. We certainly can’t take sides in their fight.”

“It’s just a first offer,” Kyle pointed out. “They’ll likely agree to something more reasonable later.”

“Any agreement we should come to would be a bad idea,” a captain named Jensen observed. “It would be a signal that we’re willing to deal with those who threaten us.”

“We’ve done it before,” Kyle noted. “I’m not saying it’s a good idea. But I wouldn’t rule it out without some consideration.”

“I agree with Captain Jensen,” Bonner said. “We can’t cave on this one. We’ll have ships all over the galaxy held for outrageous ransoms. If the price we pay is the Pegasus,well, that’s just the way it has to be. Captain Pressman and his crew knew the risks when they took the job. I’m sorry, Mr. Riker, I know it’s hard to hear that.”

The room fell silent as everyone digested this. Kyle knew that it was true. He couldn’t say that he was close to Will anymore, or knew what was in his son’s heart, but he was still a Riker and he had put on the uniform of Starfleet, so there was every indication that he was aware of, and willing to accept, the dangers that went with it.

Kyle looked at the others, lost in their own contemplation, their faces different mixtures of rage and sorrow. Being a Starfleet officer, it seemed, didn’t require leaving one’s emotions behind, but rather learning to work through one’s feelings, to ignore them when appropriate, but not to deny them. Everyone in the room felt the pressure, understanding that the lives of everyone on the Pegasuswere dependent on the decision they reached.

“How much time do you think we have?” someone asked.

“Not much,” Bonner replied. “The way the Ven fleet is closing in, the Omistol is going to want a quick decision.” He cast a sudden glance at Kyle. “I doubt there’ll be time for a lot of back and forth. Like when the Tholians attacked Starbase 311, I expect we’re looking at minutes, not hours.”

The statement struck Kyle as odd. What did Bonner know about 311, outside of the stories he’d heard and the official record? And why bring it up now, as if it had been on his mind? Didn’t they all have plenty to think about with the current crisis? He nearly replied, but then decided not to. His attention had to be on the Pegasus,on coming up with a solution to the problem that didn’t involve giving any arms to the Omistol but still could help save the ship.

Owen Paris approached and sat next to him, heaving his bulk into the chair with a tired sigh. “Kyle,” he said softly. “I’ve got something I need to tell you.”

“What is it, Owen?”

Owen looked at him with a weary expression. “I’ve had it with the sedentary life,” he said. “Teaching is great—I love the young people, the open, eager minds. But the rest of it, sitting behind a desk ...” He nodded toward the display screen, where the steadily blinking red dot reminded Kyle of the urgency of their task. “I can serve better out there.”

“Out there?” Kyle echoed. “You want to leave the admiralty?”

“I’ve already got a ship,” Owen told him, smiling a little. “The Al-Batani.It’s being overhauled now, and I’m gathering a crew. Maybe it’ll only be for one five-year stint, but I feel like it’s important. Things aren’t so complicated out there. I feel more alive. Here I’m just getting old. Used up.”

“This is a strange time to tell me about it,” Kyle observed.

“This is the best time I could think of,” Owen said. He rubbed his face briskly with both hands, as if to restore circulation. “That’s what I’m talking about. They’re taking all the risks. I can’t stand sitting down here and sending them out to face danger, without putting myself in the same position. It’s just not right. Why should the young ones die so we old-timers don’t have to?”

“I see what you’re getting at, Owen.” Kyle said. “It’s a very courageous stand.”

“It’s got nothing to do with courage,” Owen insisted. “It’s got to do with being able to look at myself in the mirror. It’s got to do with sleeping well at night. It’s fairness, not courage, I’m talking about.”

“Well, congratulations, then,” Kyle said. “Sounds like you know what you want, and I’m glad you were able to make it happen.”

“The one good thing about seniority,” Owen Paris declared. “When you want something bad enough, it’s hard for Starfleet to find an excuse not to give it to you.”

“Not to change the subject,” Kyle said, intending full well to change the subject anyway. “But we’ve got to make a decision about the Pegasus.”

“I thought it had been made,” Owen said. “Bonner’s right, we can’t bargain with them.”

“I’m not suggesting that we do,” Kyle said. “But I think I might have another option to suggest. Before I do, though—and believe me, I understand that Will is on that ship and time is of the essence—do you have someone on your staff that you trust absolutely? Preferably someone who’s already in the room but who might not be missed if they leave for a little while?”

Owen pursed his lips together. “That’s a tall order, but I think I know just the person. Wait here.”

Owen rose and crossed the situation room to where a small knot of his staffers were working through some computations. He leaned in close to one of them, a young woman with auburn hair swept up on top of her head, a few locks fallen to her cheeks as she worked. She glanced over at Kyle, who nodded subtly to her. Then, as Owen went to consult with another group, the young woman approached Kyle.

“Admiral Paris said you wanted to see me, sir?” Her voice was unexpectedly husky, and her green eyes flashed with barely contained mischief. She held out a hand. “My name is Ensign Kathryn Janeway.”