“And you think that they’ll give you these weapons, just to save us?” Pressman laughed at the screen. “You obviously don’t understand Starfleet.”

“Your superiors do not value you and your crew?”Oxxreg asked.

“Of course they do,” Pressman objected. “But they have priorities, and standards. Both of those require that they not interfere in wars that are none of their concern. Particularly in petty little skirmishes like the one you have going with the Ven.”

Oxxreg exploded at this. “Petty? I have lost my father in this war, and three sisters. Others of us have lost their whole families. We willingly give our lives because our cause is just.”

“Your cause is nonsense,” Pressman told him, pushing, Will knew, as hard as he dared. “You don’t like the Ven. They don’t like you. So instead of agreeing to be neighbors who just don’t get along, you pick this sector of empty space and decide that one of you must control it. If neither of you did, what would happen? Ships would still use it as a trading lane. Your war, sir, is idiotic.”

“I take it, then,”Oxxreg said, his voice newly dripping with hatred, “that you’re turning down our offer?”

“I’ll take it to Starfleet,” the captain said. “As you suggested. Just don’t expect to get the answer you want. Pressman out.”

Dusefrene broke the connection and the viewscreen went blank.

“At this point,” Marc Boylen put in, “I think the answer he wants is that Starfleet won’t cooperate, simply so he can shoot you.”

“You’re not seriously considering their offer,” Lieutenant Commander Rungius said. “Starfleet would never—”

“Of course they wouldn’t,” Pressman assured her. “I’m just buying time, that’s all. Besides, Starfleet heard the whole thing. If they want to weigh in, they will.”

“They must be insane if they think we’ll go along with that!” Vice Admiral Bonner exclaimed. His face was red with anger, white blotches showing up on his cheeks and forehead. Kyle thought his reaction was a bit extreme, and he, not Bonner, was the one with a family member on the vessel in danger.

“It would be a serious violation of the Prime Directive,” Owen Paris agreed. “I hate to see a war allowed to go on unchecked, particularly one with the potential to utterly devastate two different worlds. But if that’s their choice, we can’t interfere with them. We certainly can’t take sides in their fight.”

“It’s just a first offer,” Kyle pointed out. “They’ll likely agree to something more reasonable later.”

“Any agreement we should come to would be a bad idea,” a captain named Jensen observed. “It would be a signal that we’re willing to deal with those who threaten us.”

“We’ve done it before,” Kyle noted. “I’m not saying it’s a good idea. But I wouldn’t rule it out without some consideration.”

“I agree with Captain Jensen,” Bonner said. “We can’t cave on this one. We’ll have ships all over the galaxy held for outrageous ransoms. If the price we pay is the Pegasus,well, that’s just the way it has to be. Captain Pressman and his crew knew the risks when they took the job. I’m sorry, Mr. Riker, I know it’s hard to hear that.”

The room fell silent as everyone digested this. Kyle knew that it was true. He couldn’t say that he was close to Will anymore, or knew what was in his son’s heart, but he was still a Riker and he had put on the uniform of Starfleet, so there was every indication that he was aware of, and willing to accept, the dangers that went with it.

Kyle looked at the others, lost in their own contemplation, their faces different mixtures of rage and sorrow. Being a Starfleet officer, it seemed, didn’t require leaving one’s emotions behind, but rather learning to work through one’s feelings, to ignore them when appropriate, but not to deny them. Everyone in the room felt the pressure, understanding that the lives of everyone on the Pegasuswere dependent on the decision they reached.

“How much time do you think we have?” someone asked.

“Not much,” Bonner replied. “The way the Ven fleet is closing in, the Omistol is going to want a quick decision.” He cast a sudden glance at Kyle. “I doubt there’ll be time for a lot of back and forth. Like when the Tholians attacked Starbase 311, I expect we’re looking at minutes, not hours.”

The statement struck Kyle as odd. What did Bonner know about 311, outside of the stories he’d heard and the official record? And why bring it up now, as if it had been on his mind? Didn’t they all have plenty to think about with the current crisis? He nearly replied, but then decided not to. His attention had to be on the Pegasus,on coming up with a solution to the problem that didn’t involve giving any arms to the Omistol but still could help save the ship.

Owen Paris approached and sat next to him, heaving his bulk into the chair with a tired sigh. “Kyle,” he said softly. “I’ve got something I need to tell you.”

“What is it, Owen?”

Owen looked at him with a weary expression. “I’ve had it with the sedentary life,” he said. “Teaching is great—I love the young people, the open, eager minds. But the rest of it, sitting behind a desk ...” He nodded toward the display screen, where the steadily blinking red dot reminded Kyle of the urgency of their task. “I can serve better out there.”

“Out there?” Kyle echoed. “You want to leave the admiralty?”

“I’ve already got a ship,” Owen told him, smiling a little. “The Al-Batani.It’s being overhauled now, and I’m gathering a crew. Maybe it’ll only be for one five-year stint, but I feel like it’s important. Things aren’t so complicated out there. I feel more alive. Here I’m just getting old. Used up.”

“This is a strange time to tell me about it,” Kyle observed.

“This is the best time I could think of,” Owen said. He rubbed his face briskly with both hands, as if to restore circulation. “That’s what I’m talking about. They’re taking all the risks. I can’t stand sitting down here and sending them out to face danger, without putting myself in the same position. It’s just not right. Why should the young ones die so we old-timers don’t have to?”

“I see what you’re getting at, Owen.” Kyle said. “It’s a very courageous stand.”

“It’s got nothing to do with courage,” Owen insisted. “It’s got to do with being able to look at myself in the mirror. It’s got to do with sleeping well at night. It’s fairness, not courage, I’m talking about.”

“Well, congratulations, then,” Kyle said. “Sounds like you know what you want, and I’m glad you were able to make it happen.”

“The one good thing about seniority,” Owen Paris declared. “When you want something bad enough, it’s hard for Starfleet to find an excuse not to give it to you.”

“Not to change the subject,” Kyle said, intending full well to change the subject anyway. “But we’ve got to make a decision about the Pegasus.”

“I thought it had been made,” Owen said. “Bonner’s right, we can’t bargain with them.”

“I’m not suggesting that we do,” Kyle said. “But I think I might have another option to suggest. Before I do, though—and believe me, I understand that Will is on that ship and time is of the essence—do you have someone on your staff that you trust absolutely? Preferably someone who’s already in the room but who might not be missed if they leave for a little while?”

Owen pursed his lips together. “That’s a tall order, but I think I know just the person. Wait here.”

Owen rose and crossed the situation room to where a small knot of his staffers were working through some computations. He leaned in close to one of them, a young woman with auburn hair swept up on top of her head, a few locks fallen to her cheeks as she worked. She glanced over at Kyle, who nodded subtly to her. Then, as Owen went to consult with another group, the young woman approached Kyle.

“Admiral Paris said you wanted to see me, sir?” Her voice was unexpectedly husky, and her green eyes flashed with barely contained mischief. She held out a hand. “My name is Ensign Kathryn Janeway.”