Inside the den, though, they found something that cast a different light on things. There were three cubs inside the den—dead cubs, bearing wounds that could only have been made with phasers. None of the campers had claimed to be hunters, and indeed none of them had joined this hunt. But they’d been the only ones out in this area that any of the townspeople knew about.
The hunting party returned to the campground and ransacked the tents until they found the hidden phaser rifles. The campers protested, denied, and then finally, faced with the evidence, admitted their guilt. They had tracked the bear for sport, finding her den and killing her cubs just because they could. It hadn’t occurred to them that the animals were an endangered species, that they had done something stupid and shameful, until it was too late. And when the bear came to their campsite, she was only seeking revenge for her loss.
Will told Marden the story in as much detail as he could remember, and when it was over Marden looked puzzled.
“Are you saying revenge is never legitimate?” he asked.
“Not at all, Marden. I’m just saying it’s something you have to be careful with. It’s more complicated than it looks, sometimes. If you kill Plure, are you the hunters? Or are you the bear?”
Marden shook his head. “Will, that story doesn’t even make any sense.”
“Who said life has to make sense?” Will shot back. “It’s just something that happened. Whatever you want to take away from it is up to you.”
“Well, what do you get from it?”
Will considered for a moment. “Something really unexpected,” he said. He described what his father had said, and what he now thought it meant. “It was my father’s good-bye speech,” he said. “It wasn’t much of one, but it was the best one he could bring himself to give.”
The hours passed as Will and Marden talked. Will battled sleep, and eventually reached a point beyond tiredness, where he became more alert, and might not have been able to sleep if he’d tried. Later, they’d made some coffee and sat in silence, drinking it. Finally, Marden looked at the time.
“We’re there,” he said. “Unless the schedule has been thrown way off for some reason. Plure is being beamed to the starship that’ll take him back to Earth for his trial, or he will be soon.”
“Probably so,” Will agreed.
“I know what this was all about, Will. I know you just wanted to keep me talking so that I wouldn’t get my shot at Plure. I wanted my revenge, and you kept it from me.”
“I can’t apologize for that, Marden,” Will said. He felt different, somehow, after the long night and the unexpected revelations. Maybe it was just lack of sleep, but maybe it was something more. Maybe it had to do with a new kind of maturity making itself felt. He hoped that was it, in fact—he had wondered if he’d ever grow up, and now it seemed that he might after all.
“You don’t need to. I appreciate it. I’m mad as all hell—but I appreciate it anyway. You stopped me from making a fool of myself, from throwing away my career and maybe my life. More than that, though, you corrected my course even when I couldn’t. I’m not a vengeful person, I’m not a judge and a jury, and I’m damn sure no executioner. If I had let myself become those things, it would have been a terrible mistake.”
Will was as pleased as he was surprised by this response. “I think you’re right, Marden,” he said. “But if it’s all the same to you, now that you’re on to me, I’m going to kick you out of here. I need a shower. I’m on duty in a little while, and I need to wake up.”
“On duty?” Marden asked, shocked. “I guess you’re right. We’ve been at this all night, haven’t we? I’m sorry, Will, honestly.”
Will stifled yet another yawn and stretched his arms behind his head. “Don’t sweat it,” he said sleepily. “I’ll be fine.” But as he prepared himself for another duty shift, after his most exhausting day on the job and without a wink of sleep, he couldn’t help remembering what Marc Boylen had said on his first day here. “Don’t run into anything.”
If he was going to, today would be the day.
Chapter 35
Cook failed.
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.