Текст книги "Deny Thy Father"

Автор книги: Jeff Mariotte

Соавторы: Jeff Mariotte
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“Dennis Haynes?” Superintendent Vyrek asked with surprise. “You have never been involved with anything like this in your time with us. Or at your previous school, if you don’t count—which I won’t—that one incident when you were eleven.”

Does she knoweverything about us?Will wondered. He’d heard rumors that she had a virtually eidetic memory—that she read through each cadet’s file once a year, and remembered everything she saw. He had always discounted the rumors, though. Until just now.

“No, sir, I haven’t,” Dennis replied. “And I’m sorry that this happ—”

She cut him off mid-word. “Did I ask for a response, Mr. Haynes?”

He hesitated, as if unsure if she had this time either. “No, sir,” he finally said.

“That is correct. I am merely expressing my shock and dismay at this outrageous behavior, not asking you to explain—or worse, make some feeble and doomed attempt to excuse—it.”

Dennis remained silent, but his cheeks went crimson. Superintendent Vyrek continued her journey around the group, looking each cadet up and down, sometimes moving closer to peer at a fish-inflicted bruise or scrape.

“Is there anything remotely logical about battling with seafood, Admiral Paris, to your knowledge?”

Admiral Paris looked surprised to be spoken to, and Will had the impression that he wasn’t much more comfortable in the superintendent’s presence than the cadets were. “I confess that I don’t see the logic in it, Admiral Vyrek,” he replied.

“Nor do I,” the Vulcan said. “And yet, it happened. These cadets—second-year cadets, not raw freshmen—engaged in it. Creating a disturbance, damaging property, wasting food—that police officer said she was tempted to charge them with incitement to riot. How does one explain such behavior?”

Will swallowed hard. “May I speak, sir?” he asked.

“Cadet Riker. If you can enlighten me, I would be delighted to have you speak. You, I am sorry to say, I am not terribly surprised to hear were involved in such an unfortunate affair, given your history of altercations with fellow students.”

Those “altercations” she mentioned had been a series of fights Will had found himself having shortly after his father had abandoned him. He’d had a chip on his shoulder and a short fuse, and it had been a bad combination. But that had been well before he’d even applied to the Academy, and the fact that the superintendent knew about it gave even more credence to the eidetic memory theory. Not to mention confirming the “permanence” of permanent records.

“I don’t think our behavior can be excused, sir,” he said. “But it can be explained, to a certain extent. We were all under a significant amount of stress, with the end of our project looming, and the various personality conflicts that arise whenever a group of people is banded together closely for a number of days. We made a mistake, let our emotions get the better of us, and cut loose. We shouldn’t have done it. Had we thought it through we never would have done it. But we weren’t thinking, we were only reacting.”

“That sounds correct,” Superintendent Vyrek said. “Especially the fact that you were not thinking, any of you.”

“Yes, sir,” Will agreed.

“Interestingly, my understanding from the officer is that you were not taking part, Mr. Riker. Nor was Mr. Rice. Is this true?”

Will wanted to glance at Paul but he forced his head to remain still, eyes front. “Yes, sir. We were not fighting. However, we were apparently not doing enough to restrain our fellow cadets, either.”

“Should you have done more? Was that your duty?”

“Sir, if the fight had been with deadly weapons instead of fish, then it would certainly have been an abrogation of duty to let our fellow cadets become involved. I think that the principle is the same, regardless of the weaponry.”

“I have to agree with you, Mr. Riker. You and Cadet Rice are every bit as responsible as those who were flinging fish. You will all jointly work to reimburse the fishmongers whose stand you destroyed. There will, of course, be notations on your permanent records. And your summer plans will be altered—none of you will be going off-world this summer, so I hope you were not looking forward too strongly to any long trips. Admiral Paris?”

Will felt his heart sinking as the admiral stepped forward to face his students. “I won’t apply any further punishment to what the superintendent has outlined,” he said. “However, as Omega Squadron didn’t finish the assignment, the five of you will be repeating my survival class next year. Zeta Squadron, you completed your assignment—narrowly—before the altercation started, so your grades will stand. Congratulations to you.”

“Thank you, sir,” Boon said on behalf of the squadron.

“Have any of you anything to add?” Superintendent Vyrek asked. When the cadets remained silent, she fixed them with her sternest glare and said, “Dismissed.”

They began to file from the office, but Will, last in the line, felt Admiral Paris’s firm grasp on his arm. “Will,” he said. “I’d like a moment.”

“Of course, sir,” Will replied. The others glanced back at him, but kept going out the door. Will couldn’t blame them—he felt the compulsion to flee as well, but knew that he had to see what Paris wanted. When they were gone and Superintendent Vyrek had taken her seat, the admiral fixed Will with a somber gaze.

“I understand that you and your father aren’t close, Will,” he said. “But I’m a little worried about him. He’s been the apparent target of a couple of recent attacks. After the last one, he vanished from our infirmary and hasn’t been seen since. He hasn’t shown up at his office, and whenever we’ve checked his apartment he hasn’t been there either. Have you heard anything from him?”

“No, sir,” Will answered. “Before we left on the project, a couple of security officers came to my room looking for him. I told them the same thing.”

“ Beforeyou left?” Admiral Paris echoed.

“That’s right, sir. Early that morning.”

“Interesting,” the older man said. “And you don’t have any idea where he might have gone?”

“As you said, sir, we don’t talk much.”

“Yes, that’s right. Well, then,” Admiral Paris said, “we’ll keep looking for him. Try not to worry though, Will. He’s a tough one, your dad. He’s survived more than a few close calls in his time, and wherever he is, I’m sure he can take care of himself.”

“Yes, sir,” Will said.

“That’s all. You’re dismissed.”

The door had barely closed behind Will when he heard Admiral Paris burst into gales of laughter. It sounded as if the superintendent, notwithstanding her reticent nature, was joining in. “Fish, Owen!” he heard the Vulcan say through the door. “Have you ever heard of such a thing? Fish!”

Chapter 13

As they walked away from the superintendent’s office, out of the climate-controlled air and into the always-brisk San Francisco twilight, Boon grumbled and Estresor Fil expressed no emotion whatsoever and Dennis Haynes smiled, as if he’d expected the punishment to be far worse. Will, though ... Felicia tried to put a word to the look on his face, before he’d been stopped at the door by Admiral Paris. He had looked bereft, as if a bomb had snatched away his family and friends in a single instant. She had never seen him so grim. Generally speaking, she liked his face—liked it a lot, in fact. He had sparkling, intelligent blue eyes, and a mouth that was serious but could turn funny, even goofy, in a flash, perfect cheekbones, and the cleft in his chin exuded masculinity, to her.

But in the superintendent’s office, his lips had been pressed together in a tight, bloodless line, his eyes stared straight ahead blindly, and he seemed to have lost all color. She was nearly overwhelmed by a desire to mother him, to minister to his needs and assure him that everything would be all right if only he would let her take care of him. Not that he was the dependent type—that’s what made her want to do it, to play against what she knew was an independent, even solitary nature.

“We got off easy,” Dennis said, his voice low as if in awe of what had occurred. “They could have expelled us.”

“For getting in a fight?” Boon countered, disbelief giving his tone a harsh edge. “They’d have to expel half the student body, every year. Part of what they’re teaching us to do is fight.”

“When it’s the right thing to do, Boon,” Felicia said, feeling herself drawn into the argument in spite of herself. “As a last resort, and not just for fun.”

Boon laughed. “It was fun, though, wasn’t it?”

“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” she said. “Next time, spare me the pleasure.”

She turned back toward the office, hoping to see Will, maybe accompany him someplace away from the others where they could talk, even make some plans for the summer now that they’d be on the same planet. But she didn’t see him behind them. Felicia stopped walking, turned in a slow circle, and finally spotted him, heading away from their dorm and away from the group, over one of the low Japanese garden-style bridges.

“I think he wants to be alone,” Estresor Fil noted. “It’s not an uncommon response. I think I have a Flintstonesepisode that might be instructive.” She had stopped too, Felicia realized, and was looking at her with those big emerald eyes. Her blank face reminded Felicia of a puppy’s, to which people always seemed to impart whatever feelings they wanted to see there. She wondered suddenly if Estresor Fil had a crush on her. Why else would she have let the other guys go on without her?

Because she wants to make sure you’re okay, stupid,she answered herself. It has nothing to do with a crush. Not every person’s interest in every other person is romantic.

That, she realized, glancing at Will’s distant, retreating form, was a lesson she had learned many times over.

No Saturn.Will could scarcely believe the dumb luck. He’d already been tagged as a research assistant on a scientific project taking place there, and had been looking forward to it for months, and now, with the flinging of a few fish—flinging in which he hadn’t even taken part—it was gone, vapor through his fingers.

He figured the rest of his squadron had already gone home by the time he was released from Superintendent Vyrek’s office, but he wasn’t ready to face people he knew yet. Instead, he wandered alone across the Academy campus in the dying light. Boothby, the groundskeeper, looked at him with sad eyes and slowly shook his head, wispy white hair fluttering with the motion. So word is already out,Will thought. That didn’t take long, did it?Helping himself to a seat on one of the benches stationed at intervals along the paths, he watched the whirl of Academy life pass him by for a while. A cluster of cadets joked and laughed, Geordi La Forge—with his distinctive VISOR, everybody knew who Geordi was—at their center. Will knew that it was ridiculous to think he’d never be that happy again, but at this precise moment he had a hard time imagining any other fate.

He was still sitting on the bench, stewing in his own juices, as his father would have put it back in the days when they’d spoken to one another, when a first-year cadet named Arnis, a Trill female, sat down next to him. Though Arnis and Will had been friendly, they had not been especially close until both were picked for the Saturn team this coming summer. After that they’d spent a lot of time together, planning for the summer, studying the research project and the living conditions they’d face, and making guesses about their futures. She was an attractive young woman who kept her dark hair trimmed close, displaying the distinctive Trill spotting along her temples, cheeks and neck in all its glory. As she sat, she frowned at Will. “I’m so sorry, Will.”

“So you’ve already heard, too? Is there anyone on this campus who doesn’tknow yet?”

“It’s pretty much all anyone’s talking about,” Arnis told him. “You guys—you and Omega Squadron—are just about famous.”

“Infamous, maybe,” Will countered.

“Either way, it seems like everyone knows your names. You’ll be signing autographs before long.”

“So all you have to do to make yourself well-known is to be escorted back to campus in the custody of Starfleet Security,” Will said bitterly. “After having caused property damage and wasted enough seafood to feed a large family for a month.”

“Maybe it’s not something to message home about,” Arnis said. “Although, in your case, I guess you don’t do a whole lot of messaging home to begin with. But, you know, maybe it’s better to be known than not known. In time, people might forget whythey know your name, but they won’t forget your name. It could be a good thing, in the long run.”

Will shrugged. “Going to Saturn would have been a good thing in the short run,” he said. “Tomorrow I’ll learn what my replacement posting will be, but I doubt it’ll be nearly as interesting as that would have been.”

“Oh, I’m sure Saturn will be boring as anything,” Arnis said. Then, with a laugh, she admitted, “Okay, it won’t be. But I’ll pretend it is, for your sake.”

He tried to smile but had a feeling it wasn’t coming off quite right. “Thanks,” he said. “It’s just—you know, sometimes it doesn’t feel like anything ever works out for me here on Earth. I don’t think I was meant to be here. My destiny is out there somewhere, among the stars. Down here I’m just too landlocked.”

“Will, that’s not true,” Arnis said sorrowfully. “You’ve had a rough time, I guess. But you’ve also got an exemplary record here at the Academy. The way you whipped that Tholian ship in the battle sim? That may go down in Academy history just as much as your little fish fray does. Okay, you got a black spot today, but overall it’s still a record to be proud of. When you graduate, you’ll be assigned to a starship right away, with your record, and then you’re on your way.”

Will knew, intellectually, that Arnis was right. But he couldn’t shake the cloud of pessimism that hung over him with the near-arrest, the loss of his summer plans, and now the mystery of whatever had become of his father. It wouldn’t be the first time the old man had walked away from responsibility, but Kyle Riker took his job, if nothing else, seriously, so it was odd that they hadn’t heard from him. “Thanks, Arnis,” he said without notable enthusiasm. “You’ll keep me posted, right? Let me know what Saturn’s like?”

“Of course I will,” she promised. She looked out at the sky, which had grown dark while they talked, and stood up. “Hey, I’m meeting some people in the mess hall. Do you want to come with?”

Will hadn’t thought about dinner, but now that she mentioned it he did notice the first stirrings of hunger. “The mess hall? Do you know what they’re serving tonight?”

She hesitated for a moment. “Um ... I think it’s fish.”

“I’ll just get something in my room,” Will said. “Thanks anyway.”

Arnis gave him a half-smile and retreated to join her other friends. Zeta Squadron had scattered after the superintendent’s rebuke, and Will—not for the first time in his young life—found himself feeling utterly alone.

Kyle sat on his bunk, back up against the bulkhead and his padd balanced on his lap. It wasn’t very comfortable, but he was learning that nothing about the Morning Starhad been designed for the comfort of humans. But then, there were precious few humans on the ship to be inconvenienced. He kept reminding himself that he had chosen a freighter specifically so he wouldn’t have a lot of people around.

Well,he thought, you got what you wanted. In spades.

Ever since leaving Earth, the Starbase 311 flashbacks had lessened in frequency and severity. For that, he was profoundly grateful. But after having spent several days in no company but his own, he had decided that the best thing to do was to confront those memories in an organized way.

Someone at Starfleet, he had no doubt, was trying to ruin him at the very least, and more likely to kill him as well as ruin his reputation. He had gone over, in his own mind, all the Starfleet-related jobs he had done for the past few years, and couldn’t quite make the intuitive leap from any of those to his becoming a target. That left only Starbase 311 and the Tholian massacre that had taken place there. That was the wild card, the life event that seemed most likely to have brought him to the attention of his unseen enemy.

Had the whole attack on the starbase been designed to kill him, he wondered? Was the only survivor of the assault really the target? Was someone now trying to finish the job left undone two years before? It seemed unlikely, but he had to consider every possibility. And to do that, he had to try to recall those details he had intentionally boxed away, forever, he had hoped. Somewhere in that incident the key to what was happening to him now might be buried, and if it was there he had to turn it up. So he scanned the records on his padd of his work there, and he worked on remembering.

The Tholian Assembly took the concept of territoriality to new heights. There were various theories espoused for this, but the fact was that Federation relations with the Tholians had always been marginal at best, and very little was known about their forbidding world—a Class-Y planet incapable of sustaining human life—or their culture. Tholians were believed to have very short lifespans, possibly measured in months, although there was speculation that they passed on their consciousness in some kind of crystal memory formation from one generation to the next. Whatever the psychosocial reasons, though, they didn’t tend to stray far from their own territory, and they didn’t like it when others encroached. That was, in fact, a huge understatement—they defended their own territory with rabid determination. As a result, most other cultures tried to keep their distance lest they raise the ire of the Tholians.

Which, given the expansive nature of the Federation, was bound to happen someday. Starbase 311, a free-floating space station, was primarily a scientific field station, in the far outreaches of the Alpha Quadrant. While its stated purposes were science and research, the fact of the matter was that it was the closest Federation outpost to Tholian space and therefore of political and possibly military significance as well. If the Tholians would accept a starbase so near Tholian space, what else might they accept? Whole regions of the Alpha Quadrant were unexplored due to the Federation’s unwillingness to test the Tholian comfort zone, so 311 was intended from the outset to be somewhat of a test case.

Because of its military potential, Kyle had been assigned to the starbase to examine the situation for himself. If the Tholians permitted the starbase to function unmolested, then there might be room for further expansion, and Kyle’s role was to help arrive at that determination. If, on the other hand, the Tholians objected to 311’s presence, Kyle would be on the scene to help strategize a Starfleet response. Either way, his strategic expertise was needed there, and he went where he was needed.

He was there for only a couple of months, as it turned out. A couple of months—but for everyone else on the starbase, their final months. Sitting on his bunk on the Kreel’n ship, he brought up the list of those who had served on Starbase 311 alongside him. Humans, Deltans, Rigelians, Andorians, Vulcans, Saurians ... the sons and daughters of at least a dozen worlds had died that day. Looking at the names brought back flashes of memory. Li Tang, brilliant and sarcastic; Wulthrim, whose laughter could shake the starbase on its axis, Sul Sul Getreden, acerbic and humorless but with an unexpected poetic streak that showed through even on scientific reports. And so many more.

Combing the records on his padd, he noticed something he had forgotten about completely. Most of the scientists were fairly open about their research, and enjoyed talking about it even with those who might not thoroughly understand their stories. But there was a small group of scientists who claimed their work was classified at levels even beyond that at which Kyle was cleared, and this group remained secretive about their experiments the whole time Kyle was on the station. Other researchers began to suspect that they were up to something they shouldn’t be—genetic engineering experiments, strictly forbidden by Federation law, was the rumor. Now that he thought about it, he remembered the conversation he had with Simon Urs-Sistal, the half-Aurelian physicist who had confided in him.

“I’m just not sure what to do about it,” Simon had said to him. They’d been sitting together at a table in the starbase’s lounge, some distance away from anyone else, hunched over their drinks and talking in low tones. Kyle had known from the outset that this was a conversation Simon wanted to have in private, but he said it had to be in a public place, because anyone’s quarters might be bugged. That had piqued Kyle’s curiosity, and the story Simon told once they huddled in the lounge had more than lived up to it.

“Report it,” Kyle said simply. “What else can you do?”

“The thing is, these are only suspicions,” Simon said. Aurelians were humanoid but with a skull crest that came to a point at the top rear of their heads, and Simon had inherited that feature from his Aurelian mother. In times of stress—as now—he had a tendency to scratch at the base of the crest, as if to soothe an itch. “I can’t prove a bit of it. What Roone and Heidl and the others are up to in there, none of us know for sure. But that in itself concerns us.”

“Because the rest of you know what you’re all working on?” Kyle asked.

“Exactly,” Simon replied. “I’m assessing the intersection of pulse theory with superstrings—the idea that subatomic pulses can travel on the superstrings that bind all matter in the universe. Theoretically, this could give us instantaneous communication across vast distances, and possibly even, at some point, virtually unlimited transporter potential. Much faster and more efficient than subspace communication. I stress that it’s all very theoretical at this point. I’m interested in pure research, not necessarily the practical applications of the research, and this is a good place to do it. But the point is that everyone knows what I’m working on. We talk, we share ideas. A biogeneticist might have a brainstorm that will help me in my work, and by the same token I might give her an idea as well.”

Simon paused, scratching at his crest like he was trying to excavate it. His sunken eyes looked into Kyle’s meaningfully. Kyle was silent—Simon had a lot on his mind, and he’d spill it, given time—and waited. Finally, Simon continued. “But those guys—Heidl especially, but also Roone and what’s his name, Latriso Bistwinela—they’re so secretive you’d think they were working for the other side. They’re not, I’m sure—they came on Starfleet ships, and their research seems to have Federation support—but their attitude is such that it worries me. And then, from what little I’ve been able to glean by talking to other researchers, I’m not sure the Federation is precisely sure what it’s supporting in that lab.”

“What do you mean?” asked Kyle.

“This far from home, it’s very hard for the Federation to keep real tabs on anything. Yes, we send back reports and data, but reports can say anything we want them to, and data can be doctored. Falsified. I could say I’m working with subatomic pulses in deep space, while really I could be spending my days with holodeck simulations of Orion slave girls. It’s unlikely that anyone at Federation headquarters understands much of what my data shows anyway, so they believe what I tell them, for the most part.”

“So you think that team is working on something other than what they say they’re working on?”

“That’s the thing, Kyle. They don’t even have a cover story. It would be the easiest thing in the world for them to tell us they’re performing some simple experiment or other. But we might ask them how it’s going, or offer suggestions. They don’t seem to want even that much interaction with the rest of us, so they just don’t say anything. But Jenkins and Kauffman see the bills of lading from materials that arrive on every Starfleet vessel, and those materials suggest that there might be some genetic manipulation going on.”

“Which is frowned upon,” Kyle suggested.

“Which is absolutely illegal.” Simon had raised his voice unconsciously, and now he glanced around to see if anyone had noticed. “Illegal,” he repeated, more softly.

“Which is why you should report it.”

“Yes, yes,” Simon agreed. “I should. I will, Kyle. I mean, I have no definitive proof. But I have my beliefs, and those of several other prominent scientists on this base. We can ask that Roone and his crew be investigated—not that they’ve necessarily done anything wrong, but if they haven’t then they have nothing to fear, right?”

“Makes sense to me,” Kyle had said.

And report it, Simon had, Kyle remembered. The Federation officials had taken it seriously enough that a hearing had been scheduled, and Starfleet sent a ship out to 311 with an investigative team on board. The team had arrived at the starbase, and the starship—the Berlin,an Excelsior-class ship, Kyle recalled—had made arrangements to come back in several days to pick the team up.

But the day after the team arrived—the day the scientists were to explain what they’d been working on—was also the day the Tholians attacked. At the time, Kyle thought the attack had been prompted by the Berlin’svisit, as if the Tholians, barely able to tolerate a starbase, had been set off by the unexpected arrival of a heavy cruiser, instead of the smaller Oberth-class ships usually used to supply the station.

Whatever had prompted the attack, it had come suddenly and without notice, almost as soon as the Berlinwas too far away to return in time to help. Tholian warship activity in the sector was commonplace, as would be expected so close to their well-defended boundaries, so no one gave much thought to the approach of six ships until they crossed out of Tholian Assembly space and neared 311.

Kyle had been sleeping in his quarters when the Tholians had come close enough to raise alarms. He’d been called to the starbase’s command center, and by the time the turbolift got him there a red alert had been issued. Klaxons blared, flashing red lights declared a state of emergency, and Starfleet officers ran to their battle stations. This was precisely why Kyle was stationed here.

But the assumption had been that any Tholian incursion would come after a breakdown in negotiations, or after some aggressive posturing on their part. None of their battle simulations had included a seemingly unprecipitated attack out of thin air. Starbase 311, being primarily science and research oriented, had shields and phaser banks and photon torpedoes, but that was the extent of their defensive systems.

When Kyle reached the command center, the first of the Tholian ships were heaving into view near the starbase. Powerful red lights from their ships shone brightly—Kyle’s first thought was that they were already firing, but it turned out not to be weapons fire. He was never sure what it was—just illuminating their target, he guessed. But so much about the Tholians would remain a mystery to him. Whatever it was, when the first one appeared, Commander Bisbee, the ranking officer, looked at the red circle of light and said, “Looks like sunset over the Pacific.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Kyle had rejoined. “Sounds too final.”

Then the other ships pulled into position. Kyle had immediately started shouting suggestions to Bisbee, and Bisbee had instituted those as orders. Two Tholian ships were quickly knocked out of commission.

Two more, though, had started spinning an updated version of the famous Tholian web around the starbase. This web, instead of being a simple energy construct, had the additional effect of disrupting the station’s electronic systems. A message had gone out to the Berlinas one of the very first acts when the Tholians approached, but no one was at all sure if it had been received or if further messages were going out. Then other systems began failing—shields, intrabase communications, environment, weapons. As the Tholians began constricting their web, the starbase was rocked violently back and forth, slamming occupants and equipment alike into walls and floors. Sparks flew and control consoles burst into flames, and Kyle saw an ensign he knew cut in half by a computer bank ripped from its moorings and hurled into the young officer, crushing her against a bulkhead.

The two remaining Tholian ships pounded the starbase with phasers and plasma cannons. Kyle watched in horror as those around him died. Commander Bisbee was standing too close to a tactical systems control panel when it exploded, and a shard of tripolymer composite sliced through his carotid, fountaining blood across the room. The same explosion blinded Aikins, the security chief.

Starbase 311 consisted of two main rings built around a central core, which held power generation facilities. Kyle had often thought of it as two rings on a single finger, with just a little space between them. The upper ring was operational, and included engineering, navigation, and tactical departments, while the lower ring was the province of the scientists and researchers for whom the station had been built. During the attack, when comm systems were coming in and going out seemingly at random, Kyle heard a few moments of absolute panic as the Tholian cannons focused on the lower ring. Someone—he had always thought it was Simon, though he could never be sure—had tried to take control of the situation, though it was already hopeless. “Take cover!”the frightened voice had commanded. “Get behind something and hold on! It’ll be over in a few minutes!”

Other voices had screamed dissent, but the voice Kyle believed was Simon’s had overruled them. “I’m telling you, your best chance is to move into—”

But then that part of the lower ring had been breached. For a second Kyle heard the screaming of metal and polymers, then a great whooshing sound, and then nothing at all. Everyone in that chamber had been blown out into the vacuum of space.