Chapter 37

“Yes, sir. I think we understand.”

Captain Pressman had been discussing their situation with Admiral Paris. Will was glad that Admiral Paris was involved—he had a lot of respect for Owen Paris, and he trusted the man’s survival skills. If they needed anything right now, it was a plan that would help them survive. He knew, though, that the Pegasuswas not the most important thing on the table—it was Starfleet’s resolve that mattered most. Like everyone else on the bridge, Will understood that if they backed down and dealt for their lives, others would take advantage of the example they set.

But Admiral Paris, living up to Will’s trust, had offered them a plan that might just get them out of this. The other alternative, of course, was that it might get them killed. Doing nothing would accomplish that same goal; this would just speed things up a bit. Will didn’t see a reason not to try, and he hoped the captain would agree.

“Thoughts, people?” Pressman asked.

“I don’t like it,” Barry Chamish said. “Suicide never seems like a good idea to me, not when there might be another solution.”

“Is there another solution?” Shinnareth Bestor asked.

“Not that I can think of,” Chamish admitted. “But I also don’t want to admit defeat, and that’s what the admiral’s plan sounds like to me.”

“It just might work,” Will countered. “I think it has a better chance of working than anything else we’ve come up with.”

“You’ll be the one doing the heavy lifting, Will,” Captain Pressman said. “Most of it, at any rate. So if you’re comfortable with that ...” He left the sentence unfinished. As the freshest face on the bridge, Will knew that a decision of this magnitude wasn’t really up to him. He appreciated being made to feel like he was part of the process, though.

“I can handle my end,” Will assured the captain. This earned him one of Pressman’s rare smiles. For such a rotten day, this one had its fringe benefits. He only hoped he might live long enough to look back on them fondly one day.

“I’m for it,” Rungius said.

“Same here,” Boylen put in.

Chamish looked horrified. “You’re asking us to kill ourselves!” he insisted. “How is that a good idea?”

“It’s a chance, at least,” Rungius argued. “One chance is better than none.”

“Agreed,” Bestor said simply.

“Very well, then,” Captain Pressman said. “This is a starship, not a democracy, and the majority of us are in agreement anyway. Mr. Dusefrene, hail Oxxreg, if you please.”

Will noticed that Dul Dusefrene’s hands quaked as she moved them across her control board. Since each of her hands had seven fingers, Will was reminded of a spastic spider when they shook. He wondered how many of the bridge crew had gone along with the plan because they didn’t want to appear cowardly, and how many genuinely were scared. Or if there was a difference.

And if there was, which camp he fell into.

When Oxxreg’s amphibianlike face appeared on the main viewscreen, Captain Pressman faced him, shoulders square, hands again clasped behind his back. “We have considered your offer,” the captain said. “And I’m here to tell you that there will be no deal.”

Oxxreg arched what would have been an eyebrow, had he possessed them, wrinkling his forehead. “Your superiors don’t care what happens to you?”

“They care,” Pressman argued. “But they care more about upholding Starfleet regulations. We are a neutral party, as far as your war is concerned, and we will remain so. I hereby demand, once again, that you release us and let us be on our way. Starfleet is no threat to you.”

“I’m sorry you have to so humiliate yourself, Captain.”Oxxreg sounded almost disappointed. Will supposed he probably was—he had probably been congratulating himself on the brilliance of his plan, and now faced having to explain to his own superiors why it wasn’t going to work. “But very well,”he went on. “You’ll have a few more minutes to live, then. We’ll see how willing the Ven are to fire on a Starfleet ship when they get within range.”

This time, Oxxreg broke the connection. Pressman turned toward the bridge crew. “So we’re to be a shield, apparently.”

“Maybe the Ven are more reasonable,” Dusefrene suggested.

“We’re one ship—a small one, compared to the Omistol ships,” Will noted. “We won’t make a very good shield. And when the shooting starts, I doubt anyone will make a special effort to miss us.”

“Mr. Riker’s right,” Captain Pressman said. “So let’s put the admiral’s plan into motion, see what happens. Are you still with us, Admiral?”

“I’m here,”Admiral Paris’s voice replied after a few seconds. Communication by susbspace radio was far from immediate, but it was pretty fast. “I wish you the best of luck, Captain.”

“We’ll need more than luck,” Pressman said. “Let’s see if we’ve got it. Mr. Riker, commence.”

“Yes, sir,” Will said, trying to sound as sharp and military as he could. He knew what they were proposing was risky, so he wanted to try to keep everyone’s morale up as best he could. The only morale he could directly influence was his own, though, so he focused on that.

He tapped at the conn controls, reversing the thrust of the Pegasus’sengines. Where before they had been burning fuel trying to escape the tractor beam, now he began to gently nudge the ship closer to the Omistol vessel that held them.

“They’re on the move,” Captain Jensen pointed out.

There was increased tension in the situation room, but also a growing sense of elation. At least something was being done. No one knew if it would work, but it was movement.

To Kyle, the success or failure of the plan had even greater significance than it did to the Starfleet officers in the room. Sure, it was their ship, their personnel. But his son was on that ship. He’d been a lousy father, and he wasn’t likely to change now. The last couple of years had taught him some hard lessons, though, and one of those was that his standard approach to life—duty first, all other considerations a distant second—was perhaps not the healthiest way to live. It had cost him too much. He knew he couldn’t simply waltz back into Will’s life, even if the boy survived the next few minutes. But at least Will would still be out there, and maybe somewhere down the line he’d be able to find it in his heart to forgive his old man for the stupid mistakes he’d made.

“I hope this works,” Admiral Paris muttered.

“It hasto,” one of the other officers fired back.

“It may not,” Kyle said, always willing to play devil’s advocate to his own tactics.

“We’ll know soon enough,” Bonner observed. “There’s nothing we can do now except wait.”

“They’re getting closer,” Jensen said, as if he were the only one who could see the screen.

Over the subspace radio relay, Kyle heard the words he’d been waiting for—the words that would make this plan work.

Or fail miserably.

“This is Captain Erik Pressman,”the captain’s voice said. “Initiate auto-destruct sequence.”

There was a pause, and Kyle knew the next voice he heard should be the first officer’s. When it finally came, it quavered with fear and uncertainty.

“This is Commander Barry Chamish... Captain, I can’t. I won’t.”

“Number One, I must insist,”Captain Pressman said.

“You can’t make me,”Chamish replied. To Kyle, he sounded more like a petulant child than a Starfleet officer.

“It’s your duty,”the captain urged. “To this ship and this crew.”

“That’s exactly why I won’t do it,”Chamish said. “I think it’s the wrong decision for the crew. I refuse to give my authorization.”

“You’re relieved, Mr. Chamish.”Kyle could hear the fury in Pressman’s voice as he did so.