They were, so the rumors went, surgically blinded before assuming their commands. Six eyes, none of which worked.

Maybe there was some sense to it, but for the life of him Kyle couldn’t fathom what it was.

* * *

His cabin was as promised—not particularly comfortable, but adequate for his very basic needs. Since the Morning Starwas of Kreel’n design, it was probably handy that in spite of their physiological differences humans and Kreel’n were about the same size. The room had a bed, toilet facilities that would meet his requirements, and a replicator. At the end of the bed was a trunk in which he could store his few belongings. The trunk’s lid was flat and could, he supposed, be used as a seat as well.

As in the captain’s office, the lighting was dim when he entered, but after examining the controls for a few moments he was able to override the default setting and increase the brightness a bit. The light glowed from walls that were otherwise unadorned, instead of being concentrated in specific fixtures.

All in all, there wasn’t much to entertain him on a long trip, he figured. But he hadn’t even begun to see the rest of the ship. As much as he intended to keep to himself, in order to preserve his privacy, he guessed he’d be spending some amount of time in the public areas. Maybe they had a gym or a holodeck, or both. A library would be good as well. Kyle wanted a lot of time to think, to reflect. But he also wanted to stay sharp, in body and mind, for the conflict that was sure to come.

He stowed his small bundle and then turned to the replicator for a cup of coffee. It would not, he knew, be as good as the real thing he brewed back home. That was a pleasure he’d have to forgo for a while, in the interest of survival. When he withdrew his cup from the replicator, it was the right color, and the aroma was good. Steam wafted from the surface. He brought it to his lips and sampled it.

Replicator coffee,he thought, disappointed in spite of himself. The same the universe over.As he drank, a Klaxon blared throughout the ship, signaling its imminent departure. Kyle sat down on top of the trunk, bracing himself for any sudden jolts, especially considering the pilot’s disability. But the launch was as smooth as any he’d experienced. He sat on the trunk at the end of his new bed and sipped his coffee, realizing he hadn’t had any solid food in hours. Once they were well under way, he’d do something about that. For now, though, he was content to drink his Java knowing that his most immediate troubles were slipping farther and farther away with every passing moment.

He needed sleep as well—it had been many hours since he’d slept, with the exception of a few fitful moments on the shuttle—but his mind was racing too fast for that to be a possibility anytime soon. Everything that had happened was still too fresh. The attacks on him were predominant in his thinking, of course, but other issues, more personal still, beat a discordant counterpoint. Running into Ben Sisko and seeing Jennifer and brand-new Jake, born on Father’s Day, so soon after being reminded by Admiral Paris that his own son Will was on the Academy campus less than a kilometer away, had been surprisingly jarring. He remembered the simultaneous joy and fear at Will’s birth and Annie’s illness. He had fond memories of times with Will, watching the boy grow up from day to day, learning new skills, forming a personality all his own. The boy had always been bright and quick-witted, and there had been days when father and son had both collapsed into puddles of hysterical laughter at Will’s antics and jokes.

But there had been dark days, too, when the pressure of Kyle’s own inadequacy as a father had weighed heavily on his shoulders. Days when Will had questions Kyle could not answer, needs Kyle could not begin to meet. Sometimes he thought his son a completely alien being, unable to be understood in the least. Other times—worse times, in some cases—he thought he was raising a carbon copy of himself, having handed down to his heir his own faults and weaknesses.

You did what you could,he told himself, sipping from his steaming mug. Given who you were—who you are—you made your best possible effort.

He had told himself that many times, over the years. As always, he wondered if it was true. Wasn’t there something more he could have given of himself, some other heroic effort he could have made had he only thought of it? Was there some other expert to whom he could have turned for advice and guidance? If he had stayed, instead of leaving—running away, he now understood, as he was running again—during Will’s fifteenth year, could they have reached some new plateau of understanding and acceptance?

Kyle shook his head fiercely. Those were questions of the past. While the past could be visited, with considerable difficulty, it could not be substantively changed, so it did no good to dwell on those matters. Kyle had never considered himself a great intellect, but he was a great problem solver. He didn’t like wrestling with issues that had no solutions. Instead, he did what he always did at such times, visualized his mind as a series of boxes. He took his thoughts of young Will Riker, tucked them deep into one of those boxes, and closed the lid on them.

Chapter 10

By the time they had all come down from the hills of Twin Peaks, the sun was sinking toward the ocean and the air was getting colder. “I’m hungry,” Dennis Haynes said when they met up. “What about the rest of you?”

“I could stand something to eat,” Boon replied.

“Me too,” Estresor Fil said. For her, food was often a matter of urgency. With her tiny size and fast metabolism, every meal was processed quickly, and she couldn’t wait too long for the next. Even as they’d made their way to Twin Peaks she had snacked now and again. When she needed food her patience grew short and so, Will had noticed, did her sentences. “Really hungry.”

“We should eat something, and find some shelter for the night,” Dennis suggested. “We can brainstorm on the new clue while we rest and hit it first thing in the morning.”

Will was glad to see that Dennis was finally taking a leadership position. “Do you think the other squadrons are doing one a day?” he wondered.

“That’s what it should average out to, anyway,” Dennis reminded him. “Five clues, five days, right?”

“That’s true,” Felicia said. “So we might as well pace ourselves.”

“Does anyone have any ideas for a place to sleep?” Dennis asked.

“There are several public shelters,” Estresor Fil pointed out. “That we can find afterwe eat.”

Dennis laughed, getting the point. “Okay, let’s go feed ourselves,” he said, starting back toward the city itself. Everyone else followed.

“I think we should avoid the public shelters, though,” Will suggested. “The other squadrons might be there.”

“So?”

“So you really think they won’t try to sabotage us if they see us?”

“We could do the same to them,” Boon offered.

“I’d rather try to win fairly,” Felicia put in. “Without doing anything to hurt anyone else’s chances, just by being the best.”

Boon pretended to stifle a yawn. “That’s no fun, Felicia.”

She shot him an angry glare. “You may not think so, Boon. But it’s the way I’d like to play it, and I think it’s the way Admiral Paris wants it. If you don’t think so, maybe you should reconsider a Starfleet career.”

Boon stopped in the middle of the street, pulling himself up to his considerable height, and loomed over Felicia. “Don’t be so sure of yourself,” he said, his voice low and rumbling. Will wondered if he should intercede, but then decided that if Boon moved from menacing to actual violence, Felicia would be able to handle him. “Sure, they talk about fair play and honor and integrity and all that stuff, but you think they really mean it? When the chips are down and it’s them or you, you’d better do whatever is necessary to make sure you walk away and they don’t.”