“And was it?”

“The Pegasuswas unable to locate the pirate. What it located instead was trouble.”

“Why?”

“Because the fleets of both Omistol and Ven were moving toward one another, in force. Omistol’s ships were cloaked. They were on the Pegasusbefore Captain Pressman knew they were coming.”

“Cowardly bastards,” Kyle growled. “I hate cloaking.”

“So does every civilized people,” Vice Admiral Bonner put in, joining the conversation. “Welcome back to the fold, Mr. Riker.”

“Thank you, Vice Admiral,” Kyle said. They shook hands. “It’s nice to be back, I think.”

“As you can see, we’ve brought you back at the best possible time. For us. Maybe the worst for you, I’m afraid.”

“What do you mean?” Kyle asked.

Bonner looked a little surprised. “You haven’t told him, Owen?”

“I’ve been trying to fill him in on the whole picture,” Owen Paris said. “Not just the details.”

“If the details are important,” Kyle said, “then I’d like to know them as well.”

“Very well, Kyle,” Owen relented. He looked like he was sorry to have to say it. “One of the bridge officers on board the Pegasusis your son, Will.”

Chapter 36

Will had tried every trick Starfleet Academy had taught him, and a few new ones he’d made up on the spot, trying to break the grip of the graviton beam that held them in place. The Omistolian warship was gigantic, half again the size of the Oberth-class Pegasus,and its tractor beam powerful beyond even the experience of Captain Pressman. Beads of sweat appeared on Will’s upper lip and at his temples, not from the heat but from the exertion and concentration he applied to the problem. And still nothing worked.

The worst part was, they had come here for nothing-chasing a shadow, a ship that wasn’t here in the first place. Captain Pressman had warned them of that possibility before they’d entered the system. But they had all agreed that it would be worth the risk if they could find Heaven’s Blade,the pirate vessel that had been making this region decidedly unsafe for Federation freighters. The Bladehadn’t been here at all, though. If by chance it had passed this way, it hadn’t stayed long.

The word that it might be here had come in from Starfleet Command shortly after they’d transferred Endyk Plure to the ship that would carry him to Earth. After a brief conference with his officers, during which the phrase “suicide mission” had come up a few times too often for Will’s liking, Pressman had given the orders to move into the war zone between Ven and Omistol. And so they had. They had still been in the disputed zone, looking for the elusive Heaven’s Blade,when the Omistolians had decloaked. There had been a brief verbal exchange between Captain Pressman and the leader of the Omistolian force, but no shots were fired. And then, when Captain Pressman gave the order to Will to get them out of here, now, the tractor beam had been engaged. They had gone, since then, exactly nowhere.

“We could try blowing them out of the sky,” Marc Boylen suggested. He’d already suggested it, a couple of times, with no luck.

“Mr. Boylen,” Pressman reminded him. “The ship holding us in its beam is just one of many. It’s far larger than we are and far more heavily armed. We’re a scientific exploration vessel, not a warship. Even if we could beat that one ship, they have many more. We would be begging for them to wipe us out.”

“May I speak frankly, sir?” Lieutenant Commander Rungius asked. Bethany Rungius was the ship’s chief of security, a hard-nosed officer with a reputation for making hard decisions quickly.

“Of course,” Captain Pressman said.

“While I would never suggest that we ‘beg’ to be wiped out, I can’t really see the difference. They’re not holding us because they want to play catch. If they don’t destroy us now they’ll destroy us later.”

“They want us for something,” Will argued, “or they’d have done it already.”

“Exactly, Mr. Riker,” Pressman agreed. “We just need to wait until they tell us what it is they want from us.”

“But meanwhile, sir, the Ven fleet continues to approach,” Rungius pointed out. “If we’re still here when they arrive, then we’re stuck in the crossfire and we’re dead anyway.”

“Maybe that’s why they’re holding us,” Marc offered. “To use as a shield, or a hostage, against the Ven?”

“The Ven have no more reason to like us than the Omistol do,” Rungius countered. “We’d make a pretty poor hostage. Neither world seems to be all that fond of the Federation.”

“All we can do,” Pressman told his crew, “is wait. When they want us to know, they’ll tell us.”

The wait wasn’t long. The bridge had fallen into an uncomfortable silence, everyone watching the implacable advance of the Ven fleet and the maneuvering into battle position of the Omistolians on their display screens, when Dul Dusefrene, the ship’s communications officer, spoke up. “There’s a hail from the Omistolians, sir,” she said. “It’s Oxxreg.” This, everyone knew, was the commander of the Omistolian fleet and the one who had carried out the short and unproductive dialogue with Captain Pressman earlier.

“On the screen,” the captain ordered. A moment later, the image of the Omistolian appeared on the big main screen. His face was flat, an unpleasant shade of dark olive. Will was reminded of toads back home.

“I have a proposition for you, Captain Pressman,”Oxxreg said, his voice sibilant and oddly mellifluous. “You’ll want to discuss it with your superiors.”

“This is my ship,” Captain Pressman replied. “I am fully empowered to make decisions regarding her safety.” Nonetheless, Will noticed that he put his hands behind his back and, so hidden from Oxxreg, gestured toward Lieutenant Dusefrene. She nodded, almost imperceptibly, and her hands flashed across her control board. Starfleet had already been alerted to their situation here, and she was opening a channel to headquarters so that they’d hear whatever Oxxreg’s proposal was.

“Not this decision, I would wager,”Oxxreg said. “But have it your own way.”

“I will,” Pressman said, standing firm. His jaw was set and he looked as determined as he sounded. Will hoped it was convincing to the Omistolians.

“I’m offering an extremely simple deal,”Oxxreg went on. “Your ship’s safety, in return for a very small favor.”

“We’re not in the habit of negotiating with those who make unprovoked attacks on us,” Pressman replied.

“You were inside our zone of influence with no prior authorization,”Oxxreg shot back. “A zone currently the subject of a rather bitter dispute. For all we know, you are working with the Ven.”

“I’ve already explained our mission to you.”

“Yes, chasing a ship. Which your Command, all the way back on Earth, claims was here, but which none of our instruments have located any sign of. Surely you understand that this explanation is not terribly convincing or believable.”

“Nonetheless, it’s the truth.”

“Be that as it may,”Oxxreg argued. “You’re in restricted space. You have not received, or even asked for, permission to be in this space. We are fully within our rights to destroy you as a trespasser and a spy. I’m offering you a way to avoid that fate.”

Pressman moved his shoulders a little. “Say we were to accept that negotiation is an option,” he said. “What would your offer be?”

“We would release your ship and grant you safe passage out of our vicinity,”Oxxreg replied.

“In exchange for ... ?”

“In exchange for Starfleet arms and assistance,”Oxxreg said. “This war has been brutally expensive, in terms of lives and finances. Both our planet and the Ven—”This word he said with a sneer, almost as if it were the worst curse he could think of. “—have nearly bankrupted ourselves waging it. We need but a few solid victories, though, to turn the tide. Starfleet could provide the necessary armaments to destroy Ven’s fleet, and maybe their entire planet.”