Lost Era 05_ Deny thy Father - Jeff Mariotte [142]
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 Pegasus were 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