Kyle, not having slept to begin with, was beginning to lose patience with the way Paris was dancing around the issue. “So what’s the accusation?” he asked.

Owen Paris looked at the others, as if wishing someone else would take the lead. No one did. Vice Admiral Bonner shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and the others remained still, looking at either Kyle or Owen and waiting for the admiral to continue.

Owen cleared his throat before going on. “The attack on Starbase 311,” he said. “It’s been theorized that you, being the only survivor, might have had something to do with it. That you were somehow in league with the Tholians.”

Kyle couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “I almost died in that attack!” he exclaimed. “I’ve had nearly two years of therapy. I still see those Tholians in my dreams, and sometimes when I’m awake, hunting me down, chasing me from room to room, killing with utter brutality.”

“And yet, here you are,” Vice Admiral Horace Bonner said. His voice was calm and even, with a musical ring to it. A tenor’s voice,Kyle thought. Bonner had black hair, neatly cut and combed to the rear off his high forehead. His eyes were small but glimmered with intelligence, and his mouth, set now in a sort of half-frown, seemed extraordinarily wide for his narrow head. A strange-looking man, Kyle assessed, but not necessarily unpleasantly so.

“I’m sure you’ve heard the story,” Kyle said impatiently. “If not, I’d be happy to tell it again. What’s thirty thousand times, between friends?”

“We’re all familiar with it,” Owen assured him. “That’s not at issue here.”

“It sure sounds like it is,” Kyle shot back. “Because in my version there is no part where I conspire with the Tholians to kill everyone on the base.”

“It does seem odd, however, that you would have been spared,” Bonner observed. “The Tholians went room to room, as you’ve said. They dismantled equipment, checked ventilation ducts and Jefferies tubes, even went so far as to blast holes in walls to make sure they weren’t missing anyone. And yet, they left you alive.”

“They thought I was dead,” Kyle objected. “Hell, Ithought I was dead. Take a look at my medical records. Ask Dr. Pulaski what shape I was in when she started working on me.”

“Hardly an impartial witness,” Captain Sistek put in. She was a Vulcan, with typical Vulcan features—straight black hair, slanted eyebrows, pointed ears. The only thing Kyle found unique about her was her nose, which was long and aquiline. She spoke with her head tilted back a little, giving the impression that she was sighting down it, as if it were some kind of weapon.

“My ... relationship with Katherine began when I was in therapy,” Kyle insisted. “Not before. I was hardly in any position to romance her when they took me off the starbase, unless she has an odd attraction to jellyfish. I was near-dead, more than half the bones in my body were broken, I had lost enormous amounts of blood. Katherine herself said that she had never seen anyone so badly injured. If I was in cahoots with the Tholians, they sure are lousy allies.”

“ ‘With friends like that,’ eh?” Owen quoted.

“Exactly,” Kyle said. “I’d like to know just who is making this charge.”

“Should it ever go beyond this stage, to a formal complaint, you will have that opportunity,” Owen promised him. “But for now, that person’s identity will remain confidential.”

He kept up a strong front, but inside, Kyle was shaken. The attack the night before had been one thing—the threat of physical violence was unpleasant, but he had survived violence before. A body could be mended. But this threatened to attack his career, the very thing that had carried him through those bad days after the destruction of 311. Kyle had, for most of his adult life, defined himself through his career. He was an asset to Starfleet, an important cog in the big wheel that kept the peace and explored the galaxy. Without Starfleet, he would be lost.

And it could get worse yet. There could be prison time, if he were found guilty of treason. Starfleet justice was fair but firm. If whoever was behind this had somehow trumped up evidence against him, then he could be looking at a hard fall.

“So,” Kyle said, working to keep his concern out of his voice. “Where do we go from here?”

“As I said, there’ll be an investigation,” Owen replied crisply. “I’ll keep you informed of its progress as we go. If formal charges are to be brought, I’ll let you know that as well. Kyle, this is not a railroad job, and no one is out to get you. But we need to follow procedure. I’m sure you can understand that.”

“I understand,” Kyle said. Something else had been nagging at him, and suddenly he realized what it was. He decided not to bring it up now, though, but to hold back in case it was something he could use later on. Vice Admiral Bonner had seemingly known details that he had never reported—at least, that he didn’t remember having told anyone, though his first few weeks in therapy were pretty fuzzy in his mind—about the attack. He had described the Tholians looking into the ventilation units and Jefferies tubes, but he was pretty sure he had never shared the fact that they had torn apart equipment and walls looking for more victims. That meant that Bonner’s source, whoever it was, had some good information—information no one alive should have had.

His future was looking more bleak by the minute.

“We’re dismissed, then,” Owen said. “Thank you for your cooperation, Kyle.”

The meeting broke up, and Kyle started back toward his office, without escorts and without a backward glance. But Owen Paris caught up to him before he’d gotten very far from the conference room. He tried on a wan smile, but it didn’t fit well and he dropped it. “Kyle,” he said, taking Kyle’s arm in his hand. “I want you to know I feel terrible about this.”

Kyle nodded. He just wanted to close his eyes and drift off to sleep right there. He wouldn’t go back to his own office after all, he decided, but he’d go home and get some sleep, if he could. If the Tholians in his brain let him. “I know, Owen,” he said. “You have to do what you have to do.”

“That’s right.” Owen sounded gratified to be let off the hook so easily. “Say, Kyle. Today’s Father’s Day. Have you heard from Will? I saw him in class yesterday. He’s a terrific lad.”

“Will?” Kyle asked. He recognized the sound of his own son’s name, but was so tired, so distracted that he almost didn’t make the connection. “No. He’s in town?”

“Of course he is,” Owen answered with a chuckle. “You have had a bad night, I see. Will’s at the Academy. Second year. He’s in my survival class.”

“That’s right,” Kyle said, trying to cover. “You’re right, Owen, I’m exhausted. I’m surprised I know my own name. I’m sure Will’s much too busy to remember something like Father’s Day, anyway. Boy’s got much more important things on his mind.”

“Well, he’s swamped with work, I can tell you that,” Owen said. “Second-year students don’t have much free time.” He released Kyle’s arm and started back up the hall, then stopped again. “You take care, Kyle. If there’s anything I can do for you, just let me know.”

“I’ll do that, Owen. Thank you. And give my best to Thomas.”

“I’m on my way home to spend some time with him now,” Owen replied. His son Tom was about ten years younger than Will, Kyle remembered.

Kyle continued down the corridor then, mentally berating himself for his ignorance. You should have known Will was at the Academy,he thought. Or you should have remembered, if you did know.He thought maybe he’d heard something about it before, and just forgotten. But the last couple of years had been hard ones for him, and most everything that wasn’t immediately crucial to his survival had gone by the wayside in favor of the physical and emotional therapy he had needed to get back on track.