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.”
Chapter 37
“Yes, sir. I think we understand.”
Captain Pressman had been discussing their situation with Admiral Paris. Will was glad that Admiral Paris was involved—he had a lot of respect for Owen Paris, and he trusted the man’s survival skills. If they needed anything right now, it was a plan that would help them survive. He knew, though, that the Pegasuswas not the most important thing on the table—it was Starfleet’s resolve that mattered most. Like everyone else on the bridge, Will understood that if they backed down and dealt for their lives, others would take advantage of the example they set.
But Admiral Paris, living up to Will’s trust, had offered them a plan that might just get them out of this. The other alternative, of course, was that it might get them killed. Doing nothing would accomplish that same goal; this would just speed things up a bit. Will didn’t see a reason not to try, and he hoped the captain would agree.
“Thoughts, people?” Pressman asked.
“I don’t like it,” Barry Chamish said. “Suicide never seems like a good idea to me, not when there might be another solution.”
“Is there another solution?” Shinnareth Bestor asked.
“Not that I can think of,” Chamish admitted. “But I also don’t want to admit defeat, and that’s what the admiral’s plan sounds like to me.”
“It just might work,” Will countered. “I think it has a better chance of working than anything else we’ve come up with.”
“You’ll be the one doing the heavy lifting, Will,” Captain Pressman said. “Most of it, at any rate. So if you’re comfortable with that ...” He left the sentence unfinished. As the freshest face on the bridge, Will knew that a decision of this magnitude wasn’t really up to him. He appreciated being made to feel like he was part of the process, though.
“I can handle my end,” Will assured the captain. This earned him one of Pressman’s rare smiles. For such a rotten day, this one had its fringe benefits. He only hoped he might live long enough to look back on them fondly one day.
“I’m for it,” Rungius said.
“Same here,” Boylen put in.
Chamish looked horrified. “You’re asking us to kill ourselves!” he insisted. “How is that a good idea?”
“It’s a chance, at least,” Rungius argued. “One chance is better than none.”
“Agreed,” Bestor said simply.
“Very well, then,” Captain Pressman said. “This is a starship, not a democracy, and the majority of us are in agreement anyway. Mr. Dusefrene, hail Oxxreg, if you please.”
Will noticed that Dul Dusefrene’s hands quaked as she moved them across her control board. Since each of her hands had seven fingers, Will was reminded of a spastic spider when they shook. He wondered how many of the bridge crew had gone along with the plan because they didn’t want to appear cowardly, and how many genuinely were scared. Or if there was a difference.