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.

“No time for that, sir.” She tapped her Starfleet insignia badge, which she wore on her chest in spite of being out of uniform for this assignment. “Three to beam in.”

Kyle braced himself for the momentary vertigo that always overtook him when he was transported, and then it was over and he was standing in Owen Paris’s office.

“Thank you for coming, Kyle,” Owen said, rising from behind his desk.

“I’m not sure that I had a choice,” Kyle answered. “The ensign said there was an emergency.”

“That’s right,” Owen said. He excused the two security officers, asking them to wait in the hall. They would continue to keep their distance from Kyle, but would stay alert just the same. “Come on,” Owen said to Kyle. “I’ll explain as we go.”

“Go where?” Kyle asked, rushing to keep up with Owen. The admiral had already started down the hall, his strides long and purposeful.

“Situation room,” Owen replied. “We’ll be met there by the others.”

“What others?” Kyle queried. “What’s happening, Owen?”

Owen slowed a moment to give Kyle a chance to catch up, and when he explained he did so in low tones, so that not even the security officers following behind could hear him. “It’s a ship, the Pegasus.Captain Erik Pressman in command.”

“I don’t know him,” Kyle said. “What’s he like?”

“He’s a good officer. A bit too ambitious for my tastes, but otherwise I have every faith in him.”

“So what’s the problem with the Pegasus?”

“We’ll be there in a moment,” Owen said. “And you’ll see.”

He led the way through a door guarded by yet another gold-uniformed security officer. Inside, a long, curved table stood in front of a vast display screen. In addition to the seats around the table, there were a dozen workstations, and beyond those, auditorium-style seating for a couple dozen more. No one else was in the room when they arrived, but there was an image on the screen. Two planets, one reddish and the other predominantly green, but with orange splotches here and there. Arrayed around the planets were fine-lined spherical grids that intersected one another. In the area of intersections was a blinking red dot.

“That’s Omistol,” Owen said, pointing to the planet on the right. “And Ven, on the left. Heard of them?”

“I think so, but not recently. I’ve kind of been out of the loop recently.”

“I know you have, Kyle,” Owen said. “But we’re going to ask you to catch up fast now.”

“You still haven’t told me what’s going on,” Kyle reminded him. “Or what this has to do with the Pegasus.”

“Omistol and Ven have been at war for almost three years,” Owen said. “A vicious, bloody, terrible war. Each side has lost more lives than it can afford. We keep thinking the war will end because one side or the other will realize that they’re both committing suicide. So far, though, that hasn’t been the case. They’re still at it.”

Kyle nodded. He could follow this, all right, but he wanted Owen to get to the real point.

“Those grids on the display show each planet’s claimed sphere of influence. As you can see, there’s an overlap. That’s a big part of the problem, right there—they both want to control that section of space, which is a main shipping lane for their system. It’s not the whole problem, but it’s kind of symptomatic of the greater issues. They both claim that space, and neither will relinquish that claim. The red dot in the middle of the disputed territory? That’s the Pegasus.”

“What’s it doing there?” Kyle asked. As he did, the door opened again and more Starfleet officers filed in. Kyle recognized Vice Admiral Horace Bonner and Admiral J. P. Hanson, but none of the others, a mix of captains and some of their staff people.

“Captain Pressman was responding to reports that a pirate—one that has been preying on Federation ships, not too far from Omistol and Ven—had taken refuge in the disputed zone. He went in intending only to investigate the report and capture the pirate vessel if it was, in fact, inside there, and to leave immediately if it wasn’t.”