Lost Era 05_ Deny thy Father - Jeff Mariotte [140]
“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