Lost Era 05_ Deny thy Father - Jeff Mariotte [6]
“I’m sure there’s a good reason,” Kyle offered, generously, he thought. He took a seat in the suggested chair.
“Do you know everyone?” Paris asked.
Kyle looked at the two strangers. “Almost,” he replied. “I haven’t had the pleasure.”
“Right, sorry,” Paris said. With appropriate arm movements, he added, “Captain Sistek and Captain Munro. Kyle Riker.”
“Pleasure,” Kyle muttered, convinced that it would not be.
The conference room was anonymously Starfleet-lots of gray and silver, with no windows and mostly undecorated walls. The wall behind Owen Paris had a large reproduction of Starfleet’s arrowhead symbol mounted on it, and the wall Kyle faced had a holoimage of the old NCC-1701 Enterprise soaring through space. It looked like a room meant to emphasize that what was discussed in it was more important than the surroundings.
“The reason we’ve brought you here, Kyle,” Paris began, “with all these people and all the special treatment, is that an accusation has been made against you. An accusation that, should it be true-and let me say at the outset that I don’t believe it to be-but if I’m wrong and it were true, would be a very serious matter indeed.”
“Does this have something to do with last night?” Kyle asked. “Because if it does-“
Owen Paris waved away his question. “No, not at all,” he said. “I’m sure you had a terrible night because of that, and I guarantee we’ll get to the bottom of it. But this is a completely separate matter.”
“Okay, then,” Kyle said. “Please excuse the interruption.”
“Feel free to speak at any time,” Paris told him. “This is not a formal hearing of any kind, just a-well, let’s say a casual meeting to make you aware of what’s going on.”
“If I’m being accused of something, that doesn’t sound very casual,” Kyle pointed out.
“That may have been a poor word choice,” Paris admitted. “There has been an accusation made, to Vice Admiral Bonner, but so far no evidence has been presented to support it. We’re not at the stage of bringing formal charges, or doing anything other than launching an investigation that I suspect will be fruitless. But the matter, having been raised, can’t be dropped without the investigation.”
Kyle, not having slept to begin with, was beginning to lose patience with the way Paris was dancing around the issue. “So what’s the accusation?” he asked.
Owen Paris looked at the others, as if wishing someone else would take the lead. No one did. Vice Admiral Bonner shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and the others remained still, looking at either Kyle or Owen and waiting for the admiral to continue.
Owen cleared his throat before going on. “The attack on Starbase 311,” he said. “It’s been theorized that you, being the only survivor, might have had something to do with it. That you were somehow in league with the Tholians.”
Kyle couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “I almost died in that attack!” he exclaimed. “I’ve had nearly two years of therapy. I still see those Tholians in my dreams, and sometimes when I’m awake, hunting me down, chasing me from room to room, killing with utter brutality.”
“And yet, here you are,” Vice Admiral Horace Bonner said. His voice was calm and even, with a musical ring to it. A tenor’s voice, Kyle thought. Bonner had black hair, neatly cut and combed to the rear off his high forehead. His eyes were small but glimmered with intelligence, and his mouth, set now in a sort of half-frown, seemed extraordinarily wide for his narrow head. A strange-looking man, Kyle assessed, but not necessarily unpleasantly so.
“I’m sure you’ve heard the story,” Kyle said impatiently. “If not, I’d be happy to tell it again. What’s thirty thousand times, between friends?”
“We’re all familiar with it,” Owen assured him. “That’s not at issue here.”
“It sure sounds like it is,” Kyle shot back. “Because in my version there is no part where I conspire with the Tholians to kill everyone on the base.”
“It