“No, you don’t seem to. Not if Estresor Fil doesn’t count.”

“She doesn’t count.”

“Then I guess the answer is that you don’t. What was the question again?”

She lowered herself to her knees, now, in front of Will, and put her hands on his knees, looking right into his eyes. “The question, Will Riker, is just how long did you expect me to wait around for you?”

“For me?”

“Did I say ‘dense’?” Felicia asked, smacking his knees with her palms. “I meant impenetrable! The planet’s crust isn’t as thick as you, Riker!”

“Wait,” he said, slowly catching up. “You were waiting for me?”

Felicia covered her face with her hands. “Just don’t ask me why!”

“But that means ... you ...”

She pushed herself up on his knees again, bringing her face level with his. “I’m crazy about you, Will. I always have been. But you kept walling yourself off, closing yourself away from me. You hid from me for, what was it, six months? I would have said something but I knew you weren’t ready. I had to wait until you could make up your own mind, or you’d spend the rest of your life wondering if I’d pushed you into something. I wonder if there’s a Starfleet medal for extreme patience in the face of idiocy.”

A sudden vision of Trinidad clinking glasses with him at the bar flashed into Will’s mind. “Oh, no,” he said. “Speaking of pushing people into things ... oh, no.”

“What is it, Will?”

He held her face between his palms. “I’ve got to find Trinidad Khalil,” he said urgently. “And then I’ve got to go to Saturn.”

“Today? You’re leaving today?”

“If they haven’t left without me,” Will said. “Oh, no.”

“Will, what is it?”

“Just another bad mistake in a whole series of them,” he told her. He pulled her face closer and pressed his lips against hers. He liked the way that felt, a lot, and he did it again. “You’ve waited this long, you can wait a few more days, right?”

“I guess so, Will, but ...”

“I need to go.” He kissed her again, twice, then twice more. “I really need to go.” He kissed her one more time. “I’m going now.”

“Will, if it’s that important,” she said, her lips caught under his, “then you should really go. I’ll be here.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

Will caught Trinidad as he was leaving his room, his duffel packed for the trip to the Saturn base. “Trinidad,” he said, breathlessly. “You can’t do this!”

Trinidad eyed him. “You look awful, Will. What happened to you?”

“I know,” Will assured him. “I slept on a floor. But I feel wonderful.”

“What do you mean, I can’t do this? Last night you were trying to make me think it was my idea. Almost worked, too.”

“Look,” Will said. “There’s a certain diabolical cleverness to the idea. But it’s doomed to fail. Everyone knows you’re not me. Someone would accidentally call you Trinidad in front of the instructors and it would all be over. Or they’d call out ‘Will’ and you’d forget to answer. Or there would be a DNA scan or a retina scan at some point. There are too many ways for it to go wrong, don’t you see? If we got caught—and we would—we’d both be in serious trouble.” Will had had enough close scrapes at the Academy. If a Starfleet officer broke the rules with a good enough reason, that was one thing. But before he actually got into Starfleet, he knew it was important to play it safe—or he might find himself out before he ever got in.

“But ... you wanted it,” Trinidad said. He sounded mournful, and Will was sorry he’d ever brought it up. Trinidad loved to fly more than anything, and this must have seemed like the adventure of a lifetime.

“I know. I would love to stay and see Spock. But I can’t, and you can’t go to Saturn. You’re just third year, though, and already a better pilot than me. You’ll go next year, for sure.”

“You think so?” Trinidad asked, brightening a little.

“Definitely,” Will said. “I know it.”

“Well, if you’re going,” Trinidad suggested, “you’d better hustle. The shuttle’s leaving in twenty minutes.”

Will groaned. He had known it was late, but he hadn’t realized it was that late. “Give me your duffel,” he said.

“What?”

“Your duffel. You don’t need it. We wear the same size uniform. I don’t have time to pack.”

“Are you sure you’ve sobered up?” Trinidad asked him.

“I’m as sober as I need to be,” Will said. “Come on, quick. I need to go.”

Trinidad shrugged and handed over his duffel. “Have a good trip,” he said. “Don’t drink the Aldorian ale.”

“Never again,” Will promised him.

Borrowed duffel in hand, Will turned and dashed toward the lift. Less than twenty minutes to make the shuttle. With every step he ran, his head pounded, like someone opening and closing a vise on it.

And yet, in a different way, he had never felt better.

Chapter 23

Cyre was governed by a ruling council made up of seven members, each representing a different geographical region of the nation. Cozzen was in the largest region, an inland area dominated by that city. There were also two coastal areas, a mountain region, and three smaller inland areas, all making up a nation that was more or less rectangular, bounded on the north and west by seas, on the south by an enemy, and on the east by two separate but allied smaller states. The council members purported to represent the entire population of each region, so that the whole council would support the interests of the nation.

It didn’t work that way, Kyle had learned.

Instead, the council members really represented a small minority of the wealthiest and most powerful citizens in each region. New council members were chosen by existing council members, for terms, of nine Hazimotian years, so there was little chance of anyone who genuinely represented the population finding a seat at the council. Each council member also served as the chief executive officer of his or her region, with another, similarly chosen council at that level under his or her rule.

The main function of the council seemed to be—at least as Michelle and her friends described it—the raising of revenue through taxes, various fees, and fines for criminal behavior. That revenue, however, rarely came back to the citizens in the form of services, but instead seemed to be spent on a never-ending litany of important government contracts—awarded to council members and their allies, of course—that rarely had any real impact on the nation. At the local level, at least, some of the money eventually filtered down, as Kyle had learned. He’d been employed since arriving on Hazimot as a laborer for a perpetual series of municipal repairs. But the money budgeted toward those repairs seemed to be many times what went out in salaries and materials, so it was obvious that the local councilors were padding their pocketbooks the whole time.

The public, squeezed from the top and with no relief in sight, began to object, and so the fires of discontent spread. But the council, isolated from its populace, remained ignorant of how fast and wide their actions fanned those flames. And the population as a whole, though embittered and impoverished by the council’s decisions, didn’t know the full extent of their own unhappiness. Public displays of dissent were banned, the press strictly controlled. There are enemies at our borders, the council said. We’ll take care of you, but you have to be silent and let us do our jobs.

What the revolution needed was a public action, a Boston Tea Party, a storming of the Bastille, a barrage of Station Salem One. Something to show the nation that there was an opposition, that it was organized and strong and determined.

That’s where Kyle came in.

He sat with Michelle and her friends, with Cetra and Roog and Melinka, with Alan and Jackdaw and Baukels Jinython, and with the others who formed the extended planning leadership of Cozzen’s revolutionary cadre. From other cities, including the Cyrian capital of Coscotus on the northern shore, others came. They met, they ate and drank, they talked incessantly. Proposals were put forth, debated, and usually discarded. Others were massaged and kept for further consideration. With Michelle vouching for him, Kyle was accepted into the highest levels of the group. He appreciated the intent of their effort but he was not, by nature, a political activist, and he served as a kind of devil’s advocate for them, poking holes in their ideas to see where the air leaked out.