Kyle waited as Admiral Sarah Brennan, the head of Starfleet Intelligence, poured herself a glass of sparkling water from the wet bar in her office and returned to her desk. He had worked with her enough over the years to know that she would speak when she was good and ready, and no sooner.

"There's a sect on Betazed," she said when she was finally situated behind her desk, "that believes sound is never lost. Unimpeded, it travels through space throughout eternity. If met with an impediment, such as a wall, it becomes trapped and remains imprisoned until someone who knows how is able to free it. I do believe, Mr. Riker, that I would sell my soul to someone who knew how to free the sounds trapped in these walls. It would be worth the price to hear everything that has gone on in here."

"If you're thinking I'm the one, I'll have to disappoint you, Admiral."

She laughed. "I do enjoy working with you, Mr. Riker. No, the reason I asked you here today is because I felt I owed it to you. You deserve to know what was accomplished because of your warning about the Romulans."

He sat very still. She shouldn't know about that report and this could be some kind of trap. "I don't understand."

"I no longer take an active role in Section 31, but I still get reports. At least on the more significant developments."

"I'm sorry, Admiral, I'm at a loss."

"Caution is an admirable trait, so let me reassure you. Section 31 was created in this very office by its first occupant, Desmond Paris. Since then, only four of his successors, including myself, were even aware of its existence. I was an active operative until my predecessor retired and I took his place. Your contact, Ngyen, reported to me."

He still couldn't relax. "That's very interesting, ma'am."

She laughed again. "All right. We won't acknowledge that there is such a thing as Section 31. Let us hypothesize that you have prepared an analysis of Romulan movement over the past several years. Perhaps you did this for your own personal gratification. Let us also hypothesize that in preparing this analysis you had access to data that was classified as Secret by this department, including data from the Maladon listening post."

Her eyebrow cocked upwards, and he realized she wanted him to say something. "All right. Hypothetically speaking."

"And you concluded that the Romulans are in the early stages of a full-scale assault on the Klingon Empire."

He nodded. "That's fairly obvious."

"Perhaps not to everyone, but the experts in my Department agree with that conclusion. Where they disagreed was on the issue of where the assault will begin. They were convinced that the line of attack would be here." She turned the desktop monitor around to face him. It showed a line leading from Narendra III to Q'onoS.

"That's ridiculous. The Romulans would never develop a strategy that was that straightforward. It's not their nature."

"There are several specialists who disagreed with you. They are, I might add, all sitting in the Officers Club bar this very minute, licking their wounds." She swung the monitor around again. "At 0200 local time, the Romulans attacked Khitomer, just as you predicted."

Riker closed his eyes. There were more than 4,000 Klingon civilians on Khitomer, which had been ceded to Q'onoS as part of the Accords of 2293. Knowing the antipathy between the two rival empires, he doubted that any mercy was shown.

"Fortunately, I chose to credit your report," she went on. "I passed along the warning to my counterpart and offered assistance. It was declined, but we sent the USS Intrepid that direction just in case. It was first on the scene, and able to rescue survivors."

"How many?"

"Two. A boy and his nanny."

He leaned back. "Am I supposed to feel good about that?"

"Actually, yes. The fact that we gave the warning and had relief there so quickly has impressed the High Council greatly. The President received word two hours ago that the Chancellor would like to open negotiations for a formal alliance." She leaned forward. "Your contribution, and that of the Enterprise at Narendra III, are probably the two single things that averted war between the Federation and the Klingon Empire. So yes, Mr. Riker, you should feel good about that."

Kyle stared, unwilling to quite believe what she had to say. It simply wasn't possible. He wasn't that important.

Sarah Brennan nodded. "Hard to take in, isn't it? You're a lot like your father, you know."

His stare turned to a goggle. "You knew him?"

"I knew both your parents. We were in the same class at the Academy. They were more than good officers, they were good people. We lost too many good people at Tomed."

"I don't remember," he managed to say.

"Of course not. You were what, three? Four?" She folded her arms across her chest. "Why did you quit the Academy?"

Obviously, she had reviewed his file thoroughly. "I don't tolerate fools, bullies or politicians."

"In the faculty or in your class?"

"Both."

This time her laughter was deep and loud, ringing off the walls. "Oh, my, you are so like your father. It is a pity you never knew him."

"I always thought so." He was becoming uncomfortable with the conversation.

Her smile faded. "You were raised by your mother's uncle. I gather he was strict."

Kyle looked her in the eye. "He was a sadistic son of a bitch and I left his house as soon as I could. But you know that already or you wouldn't bring it up."

"True. My apologies, Mr. Riker. Today you are a hero and you deserve all the accolades I can give you, because you won't get them outside of this office." She rose. "I would like to buy you a drink, sir. We can talk about your role in the Section another time."

He also stood. Although he was only of average height, he towered over the diminutive admiral. "My role with the Section is limited until my son is grown. I thought that was clear."

"Of course." She took his arm companionably. "But he's growing up fast, isn't he? A man of your ability shouldn't be closeted in the frozen wastes. We need you, Kyle."

"Thank you, Admiral." He wondered whether it had been a compliment or an order.

"Tell me about that son of yours," she said as they left her office. "I hear he already has ambitions to command a starship."

"Not just a starship. He intends to command the Enterprise."

She raised her brows again. "There is no Enterprise, sir."

"There will be. Starfleet won't let that name go unused for long. There will be another Enterprise, and Will will be on the command deck."

"You sound certain of that. He's only eleven."

"Eleven going on thirty. Just wait, Admiral. He's going to be one of the best."

Kyle managed to open the door despite having his hands full with his luggage and that of his guest. "Will!"

His voice almost echoed in the house. There was no answer.

"Damn," he muttered. "I've been gone for a week. You'd think he'd be here."

Behind him, his guest asked dryly, "Is school over for the day?"

Kyle glanced at the antique analogue clock on the wall. "Oh. You're right."

Commander Marguerite Ferrar stepped into the main room and looked around appreciatively. The house had been constructed to resemble an A-frame log house, with huge trunks of Ponderosa pine serving as beams and posts. The great room on the first floor included the kitchen, eating area, and several chairs and sofas arranged around a huge fireplace. One wall was transparent aluminum, giving a magnificent view of Prince William Sound to every point in the room. "Nice," she murmured. "I understand why you made this your home base."

"Susan designed everything, but I picked the spot." She had been determined to study the whales and other marine life in the Sound, but once he saw it he felt he'd come home. She had been so enthusiastic about building this house.

He shook himself mentally. All these years, and he could still get lost reminiscing about her just at the mention of her name. "Your bedroom's upstairs," he said.

Marguerite had wandered across the room to look at a holo of Will, holding his Junior Champion trophy for parises squares. "This is your son?"

"That's him, last spring." He couldn't quite keep the pride out of his voice. "He was the youngest junior champion in the history of the region."

"He doesn't look much like you."

"No. He takes after his mother."

She turned to him, holding the framed picture in her hands. "Before he gets here, there's something we have to talk about."

He felt cold, as if the wind had suddenly blown into the room. "About Will?"

"Certain people are getting restless. They need you back in the field."

"I had a deal with Ngyen."

"But Ngyen's dead and Rustoff isn't as patient. He thinks that twelve years is long enough. Things are happening out there, Kyle. We need you."

He almost laughed. "I'm good, but I'm not that good."

"You underestimate yourself. You're brilliant and you don't hesitate to do what needs to be done. There aren't many like you. We really do need you." She smiled. "And admit it. You miss it, don't you?"

"Maybe. Maybe. But Will's too young to be on his own, and we don't have any other family that can take of him. I need three more years."

"I understand, I really do." She laid a hand on his arm. "Look, Kyle, we've worked together a long time and in a strange sort of way I think we're friends. So I'm making a suggestion. Don't take three years." She looked him squarely in the eye, making her point. "They might decide they need to hurry you along."

For the first time in his adult life, he felt something close to panic. This was Marguerite; how many times had he seen her kill with no more afterthought than a wave of nausea? His hand closed over hers and gripped it tightly. "What is that supposed to mean?"

She tried to pull away, but he held her, his eyes boring into hers. "Exactly what you think it does," she said at last.

"He's just a boy, goddammit." His voice was suddenly hoarse. "They wouldn't."

"Remember who we are, Kyle."

He stared at her for several seconds, then let her go and turned away. "You didn't have a quarrel with Marty, did you? This isn't just a chance for you to get away."

She didn't answer.

His mind began to race through the possibilities. There was no place to go. No place to hide. No one who could help. There was only one way to protect his son.

"I need a year. One more year. I can have him ready by then. He's a tough kid, I've seen to that. Tell Brennan just one more year."

"I think that will be acceptable." She smiled. "I'm glad, Kyle. Everything will be a lot easier now."

Something in her tone made him turn back and study her. Her shoulders had relaxed, and for the first time since they arrived in Alaska she seemed at ease. He had seen that change in body language many times over the years. Certain assignments always made her nervous and tense. She would relax only when she had finished that assignment or it was cancelled.

"Marguerite," he said slowly, "thank you."

She made no pretense of misunderstanding. "You're welcome. He looks like a good kid."

"Yeah. He's real good kid."

***

Kyle set the duffel on the floor and looked about the room that had been his office for the past fifteen years. The shelves looked bare without the pictures of Susan and Will that he had kept there, pictures that were now packed in his belongings. The room had lost all of its personality and was now just a room, generic and vanilla. He wondered how long it would be before Will moved his trophies to the empty shelves.

Time had finally caught up with him. Procrastination was no longer an option; he had to complete this one last task now if he was going to catch the transport to San Francisco. From there he would catch a ride to France to say goodbye to Ellen, and then on to Starbase 115.

He moved to the desk computer and sat in front of it, suddenly frozen. You're a coward, he thought for the first time in his life, and for the first time in his life, it was true. If he had any guts at all, he would have told Will last night, face to face. But the one thing that he knew would stop him from leaving would be the look of hurt in his son's eyes. Susan's eyes.

Physically, Will was a man. He'd been taller than Kyle for months and was still growing. That wasn't all; Kyle had learned the hard way, only weeks ago, that his son was sexually active. He'd come home early from a business trip to find Will and his girlfriend – Jenna? Jenny? Ginny? – in a … delicate … situation. Kyle had fought a battle between pride and chagrin the rest of the evening, and later tried to get through 'the talk.' Will had almost laughed in his face; 'the talk' was a year too late.

More than that, Will was self-sufficient. He was tough, Kyle had seen to that, and he knew how to take care of himself. He had all the skills he needed to be a success.

But emotionally – that was a different story. Emotionally, Will was still a boy in many ways. He was going to be hurt by Kyle's departure, and he would stay hurt for a long time before he was angry. But, eventually, he would be angry. Kyle was counting on it. Anger, he knew, could be a great motivator. Will would probably be an admiral before he was forty.

It was the hurt Kyle feared. Will had Susan's eyes, and he knew he would crumble if he had to look at them when he broke the news. "Computer," he said quickly. "Message for William T. Riker."

"Recording."

"Will, by the time you read this I will probably be at Jupiter station waiting for transport out of the Sol system. Starfleet called with an assignment I can't possibly turn down. I’m going to be gone for at least three years.

"You'll find a folder with certain court papers in your personal computer. The papers say you're an emancipated minor. That means you don't need a guardian. You can make your own decisions and look after yourself. You're grown man, and you don't need anyone looking over your shoulder. Julia will still come every week to clean for you and do the laundry, but it wouldn't hurt if you did some of that in between.

"There's more than enough funds to see you through a couple of years. By then you'll be at Starfleet Academy and you won't have to worry about it.

"I don't suppose you'll understand why I'm doing this. I can only tell you that the Federation needs my help, and I'm going to give it. There are things about me you probably will never understand, but try to understand this: I help protect the Federation. Maybe I'm not in uniform, but what I do is important just the same. I've been waiting a long time for this chance, ever since your mother died. There was no one else I could leave you with. I know we didn't always get along, but I've done my best to be certain you learned how to take care of yourself. I wouldn't be leaving now if I didn't believe that you are ready to be on your own.

"There's one thing I have to ask you to do. Visit your Aunt Ellen every once in a while. She gets lonely, and she loves you. She loves you more than you know.

"I'm sure you'll be a fine Starfleet officer. You've got ability and you've got ambition. The next time I see you, you'll probably be in command of your own ship.

"Good luck, Will. I'm sorry I couldn't be a different father for you. I did the best I could."

He paused, took a deep breath. "Computer, end recording."

That was that. A chapter in his life finished, a chapter in his son's life beginning. God, this was hard. So much harder than he expected.

Thirteen years. He hoped it was enough. He hoped it would someday mean as much to Will as it had to him.

He pushed back from the desk, picked up the duffel, and left the house for the last time.

***

Kyle had been to countless starbases in his time, putting up with the cramped spaces and antiquated equipment of Starbase 2 and enjoying the state-of-the-art entertainment available at Starbase Earhart. In all his experience, though, he had never encountered a Federation Starbase that was a dirty and depressing as Starbase Lambda.

The physician of the Bonestell had dropped a hint to that effect. He had enjoyed a brief liaison with Katherine Pulaski during his transport; they had been almost instantly attracted to one another and Kate Pulaski was not one to let opportunity pass by. She was good company as well as a delightful partner in bed - witty, intelligent and candid, which was a refreshing change after months of working with petty bureaucrats. When he asked her about Lambda station, she replied that perhaps Commander deWulf had been too long on the frontier. When Riker asked for further explanation, she changed the subject and he let it pass.

Her meaning became clear, though, the moment Kyle materialized on the station. The transporter technician greeted him by saying, "Okay. That worked."

Kyle blinked. From his perspective, the transport had been flawless. As he stepped off the pad, he heard a transmission from Bonestell. "Lambda station, is the transport complete?"

"Yeah, he's here," the technician replied.

There was a pause, then he heard the voice of the Captain of the Bonestell. "Good luck, Mr. Riker. Sorry we can't stay, but the Exeter will be back for you in 90 days."

"Thank you, Captain."

Riker looked expectantly at the technician. The young man seemed to have forgotten his presence as he fiddled with some of the transporter's controls. His hair was shaggy and his uniform was carried several old stains of various colors. A rip in the seam of his pants created a four centimeter gap above his knee.

"Do you have a name?" Kyle asked mildly.

"Me? I’m Vince Johnson."

"Well, Mr. Johnson, where I come from it is customary to escort Federation dignitaries to the base commander." It was closer to the truth to say that the base commander should have been there to meet him, but sometimes urgent matters intervened.

Johnson straightened as if a drill sergeant had called attention. "Yes, sir. My apologies. We don't get many visitors here."

"Just take me to Commander deWulf."

"Yes, sir."

It was not a long walk from the transporter room to the operations center of the Starbase, but it was long enough for Kyle to form a very distinct impression. The corridors should have gleamed but instead were covered with dust, and when he touched one bulkhead, he felt a thin film of something greasy. The personnel they passed were as slovenly in their dress as Johnson, and few bothered to acknowledge him as they passed.

He had never seen a Starfleet base like this. Never.

By the time Johnson pointed him toward the door marked "Base Commander," Kyle had worked up a fine head of steam. He walked in without announcing himself and stalked to the desk where the C.O. sat. "What kind of shithole excuse for a base are you running, deWulf?"

"Ah. You would be the strategic attaché." deWulf leaned back in his chair. Like everyone else Kyle had seen, his uniform was dirty and the jacket opened carelessly. "Welcome to the Sacrificial Lamb."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Didn't anyone tell you? This is Starbase Sacrificial Lamb. This is where Starfleet sends its miscreants, misfits and mistakes in the hopes that the Tholians will solve all our problems and simply wipe us out." He smiled, but there was no humor in it. "Have you been sent to whip us into shape?"

"I have been sent," Kyle ground out, "to use this a base of operations to gather intelligence on the movement of the Tholians. The reports coming out of here have been next to useless for the past year."

deWulf was apparently impervious to insult. "Only 'next to useless?' We've been doing better than I thought."

Kyle made a concerted effort to control his temper. Reaching into his bag, he removed a data chip. "Here are my credentials and a description of my assignment. You are ordered to assist me in any way I request. For the moment, I shall require private quarters, secure access to both the station computer and the comm system, and access to all operations logs of the past 12 months. I will also need a shuttle and a pilot at my disposal. Any problems, Commander?"

"Just one. You're an arrogant son of a bitch, aren't you?

Kyle stared at him. "I try not to judge people too quickly, Commander, but at the moment I am struggling to understand why you weren't kicked out of Starfleet long ago."

"So am I, Mr. Riker. So am I." He hit a button on his desk. "Lt. Vargas, report to my office."

Almost immediately a young woman came in. Although she was wearing earrings that definitely were not regulation, at least her uniform was clean and worn properly. "Lieutenant, this is Mr. Kyle Riker, the special strategic attaché that Headquarters has been kind enough to send us. He's here to help us. Please show him to his quarters and see that he has anything else he requires."

Vargas nodded. "Yes, sir. If you'll come with me, Mr. Riker."

He glanced at deWulf, and the Commander waved casually. "Laura will take care of you. And welcome again to the Sacrificial Lamb."

Kyle said nothing, but turned on his heel and walked out beside Lt. Vargas. She waited until they were in the turbolift to break the silence. "I'm sorry about the Commander, sir. He's had a rough time lately."

"We've all had rough times, Lieutenant. Nothing justifies the attitudes I've seen here."

"With all due respect, Mr. Riker, you don't know what you're talking about." Her face flushed deeply. "This base is pretty low on Starfleet's list of priorities. There hasn't been a supply run in over six months. Our equipment is being held together with chewing gum and good thoughts. I'm well aware that my uniform is dirty but power usage is rationed, so we get to do laundry only once a week. Replicator access is rationed, too. Oh, but don't worry. As an important visiting guest, you have no limitations."

She ran out of steam abruptly, but continued to glare at him.

"Well. I guess you put me in my place."

Her eyes seemed to grow as she realized the extent of her insubordination. "Sir, I shouldn't have-"

"Never apologize, Lieutenant, especially when you're right. I didn't know what the hell I was talking about." All the more reason deWulf should have been sending in detailed reports. The base would have received more attention if HQ believed it was vulnerable.

The lift doors opened and she led him to his quarters. "Please let me know if you need anything. And … welcome."

"To the Sacrificial Lamb. Thank you, Lieutenant."

In less than half an hour, Kyle was ready to begin work. The cabin sufficient for his needs, but only barely, and it looked as if someone had gone to the effort to dust it before he arrived. After a quick shower he ordered a mug of minestrone from the replicator and sat down at the computer terminal.

The reports filed by deWulf over the past year had been increasingly cursory, lacking the kind of detail necessary to form a full picture. Most of Starfleet Intelligence was focused on the increasing threat from the Cardassians, so Admiral Brennan had engaged him to come out and see what was really happening along the Tholian border. His job was to review the raw data from the station records and come up with a realistic assessment of the threat posed by the Tholians. This was a straight Intelligence assignment, not a Section job, but he was considering suggesting that if Starfleet wasn't willing to replace deWulf, the Section should see to it.

Twelve hours, three sandwiches and two pots of coffee later, he was no longer considering it; he was definitely going to recommend it. Station personnel had either misinterpreted or overlooked vital signals that the Tholians were on the move. If Starfleet had received this information in a timely manner, the border would have been fortified long before this. deWulf was either completely incompetent, suicidal or a traitor.

He hit the control for the external communications system, but it did not respond. He tried it again without success. Impatiently, he switched to internal communications. "Riker to Vargas."

"Lt. Vargas here." She sounded sleepy, and he realized it was nearly 0200. Too bad.

"This is Riker. I thought I made it clear that I require access to a secure external communications channel."

"Sorry, sir. The subspace comm is down for repair."

"Then tell Commander deWulf I want to see him in his office. Now."

"Sir, Commander deWulf is in bed-"

"I don't care if he's screwing the Fabulous Traynor Triplets, I want to see him now."

"Yes, sir."

Furious, Kyle downloaded the conclusions he had drawn from the data and stalked out of the cabin. The few people he passed in corridors along the way took one look at his face and hurried past him without a word.

The operations center was manned with the skeletal staff of the night shift when he entered. One of them – an ensign, probably the O.D. on the watch, looked up in surprise. "Sir, you aren't supposed to be here without the Commander's permission."

"Stuff it, Ensign. What's the status on the subspace comm?"

Like most junior officers, she responded to the voice of authority. "Repairs will be finished in an hour."

"Make it less if you can." He turned and continued into the C.O.'s office.

deWulf was slow in arriving. With no hesitation whatsoever, Kyle sat at the desk and began searching its drawers. Two were empty; the last held exactly three items: a bottle of bourbon, a case containing the Medal of Valor and a holo of the Commander and a woman. There arms were around each other and they were smiling.

He activated the desk computer and in a few minutes had found the back door into the file marked "personal." There he found a copy of a certificate of divorce dated a few months earlier and some letters addressed to Sally deWulf and Sally Cheolas that had been returned, unopened.

"Wha' are you doing?"

At the sound of deWulf's slurred voice, Riker looked up. The Commander stood just inside the doorway of the office, swaying slightly. He word a bathrobe tied loosely over pajamas, and even at this distance he reeked of alcohol.

"I'm trying to determine if you are simply incompetent or if you are working for someone. Get in and sit down."

"You have no right-" deWulf mumbled as he staggered toward a chair.

"Shut up." He waved the data chip holding his conclusions. "I have just spent five hours analyzing the data you summarized for Starfleet. Why isn't this station on alert? Why aren't you battle ready? The Tholians could attack at any minute."

Laura Vargas had followed her commander into the office. She was, Kyle noted, in uniform, although her hair was pulled back into a barely regulation ponytail. "What do you mean?"

"It's been staring you in the face for the last two months. The Tholians are preparing for an attack. It could come at any time. Who the hell was interpreting this data?"

Vargas looked at her C.O. "Out Intelligence officer transferred out last year. The Commander took over until a replacement arrived."

"Ish nothing," deWulf said. "Ish the same thing they've been doing for years. They never attack."

"You idiot. Of course they attack. The one thing we know for certain is that Tholian ships attack in units of three. There are now three Tholian battleships within a parsec of here."

Vargas stared at him in shock.

"Jus' games. Thass all. They like to play games." He rubbed his face like it itched all over.

Riker looked at Vargas. "You're the Exec, right?" She nodded. "You can relieve him now or you can wait until the comm system is fixed and get confirmation from HQ but I'm not sure you can afford to wait that long."

She bit her lip, then squared her shoulders. "Commander deWulf, you are unfit for duty. I relieve you."

He struggled to his feet. "You can't do that."

Touching her commbadge, she said, "Dr. Preston, report to the Commander's office. Immediately."

"You're bluffing."

"No, sir, I am not." She turned to Kyle. "How much time do we have?"

"Not much."

She touched the commbadge again. "Ensign Yoshamura, initiate Yellow Alert."

"What?"

"Yellow alert, Ensign. Don't make me repeat myself."

"Yes, sir." The klaxon began flashing almost immediately.

The base CMO literally ran into the office. He was also a very young officer, probably fresh out of his residency, Kyle thought. "What's happening?"

"Doctor, I believe that Commander deWulf is unfit for duty and I require your confirmation in order to relieve him."

The young man's dark eyes widened. "Oh, shit."

"That is not an appropriate response, Doctor." Vargas snapped out the statement, and Kyle smiled slightly. "Please examine the Commander and record your findings for the record."

"You can't do thish. Don' lishen to them, Ken. I'm fine."

Preston looked at deWulf, not bothering to open his medical tricorder. "For the record, the Commander is bleary-eyed, suffering from slurred speech, impaired balance, impaired judgment. The odor of alcohol is strongly present. He is, in my best medical judgment, stinking drunk – again – and unfit for duty."

"Commander, you are relieved." Vargas nodded at Kyle, then went out to the Operations Center. "Yoshamura. Put this on the basewide channel."

When the Ensign nodded, she took a deep breath. "Attention all station personnel. As of –" she glanced at the chronometer – "0227 hours, Commander deWulf has been relieved of duty. I have assumed command of the station. Operations center alpha shift, report for duty. Lieutenant Alvarez is now acting Executive Officer. All personnel should prepare for imminent attack. I repeat, prepare for imminent attack. This is not a drill." Then she turned to Riker. "I'd appreciate it if you could remain in Ops, Mr. Riker. I could use your advice."

He nodded, impressed. Not every Starfleet officer knew when to ask for help and he admired those who could put their egos aside when necessary.

Vargas looked around Ops. "Our first priority is defense. I want maximum shield capacity and I want it now. I want a report on offensive weapon capability in ten minutes. And I want subspace comm now."

"Sorry, sir, but it's not possible. We've got at least an hour of work left."

"Too long. We need it now. Mr. Riker, can you brief me on the tactics of the Tholians?"

He nodded, and she took him to a computer terminal at one side of the Ops Center. Dr. Preston followed them over. "The Commander has passed out on the sofa," he whispered.

"Good," Vargas said. "Dr. Preston, you should be preparing for casualties."

"How many?"

She looked to Riker. "What's the status on your shields?" he asked.

"We haven't been above sixty percent efficiency in months. The Commander said that was good enough."

"Heavy casualties," Riker told the doctor. "Possibly sixty to seventy-five per cent of your complement."

"Lieutenant!" someone called from the Ops Center. "A ship is coming across the border. It's a warship and its weapons are hot."

"Red Alert! Call battlestations." She swallowed hard. "God help us."

Preston gripped her arm and squeezed once, then turned and ran out of Ops.

"Another warship has crossed the border."

Vargas ran to the commander's station. "I need more shield capacity."

"57% is all we've got."

"Here they come!"

"Another ship! There's three of them!"

Riker stood beside Vargas. Her console held the tactical data in one display and the station's internal data in another. He knew as soon as he saw it.

They weren't going to survive.

The first attack took out the shields. Vargas held steady, ordering weapons fire.

The second pass knocked out main power. The emergency power kicked in sluggishly.

The third pass hit the Ops Center. Several consoles erupted with flames, and thick black smoke made it impossible to see. Kyle could hear the screams, though. Then there was a cracking sound, the sound of seams and joints tearing apart, and Kyle had time for one final thought.

The pain wouldn't leave him alone. He wanted to drift in the blackness but the pain wouldn't let him. The pain insisted that he wake up.

At first he couldn't figure out where he was. There was still enough smoke that it was hard to see, and even harder to breathe. When he coughed, his lungs flamed into agony. He tried to move, but realized his legs were pinned by something. He reached up with his left hand – the right one wasn't responding to commands – and almost immediately encountered something hard and smooth.

A strut, his mind told him.

He wasn't certain he understood.

He heard whimpering from someplace nearby. "Who – who is that?" His voice was nothing more than a hoarse whisper that echoed around his head.

No answer. Just the whimpering. Then someone else began to moan.

He tried to swallow, to wet his parched throat, but only managed to set off another bout of coughing. The coppery taste of blood blossomed in his mouth and he spit weakly. A large, warm clot landed on his chin.

The whimpering and the moaning continued. He wondered if he was moaning, too. He wasn't certain anymore.

Susan. Susan, are you waiting for me? After an eternity, the pain surrendered to the blackness, and he slid into oblivion.

"Kyle, can you hear me?"

For just a moment his confused mind thought it was Susan calling. Then his vision slowly came into focus and he saw who was speaking. Blonde hair, crystal blue eyes, a beautiful woman. He couldn't quite come up with a name.

"I'm Dr. Pulaski. Katherine Pulaski, remember? You're on the Bonestell."

The Bonestell. A ship. He was on a ship. "Starbase," he managed to whisper.

"Don't try to talk. Your lungs and throat have been burned. The Starbase was attacked by the Tholians. We came as soon as we could. You were lucky, we found you in a pocket formed when the structure collapsed on itself."

Despite her warning, he croaked, "Others?"

She hesitated. "Almost everyone was killed. We found three of you still alive. I'm afraid the woman died half an hour ago. The other probably isn't going to make it."

He closed his eyes.

"You must be very important," she went on. "Admiral Brennan has already arranged for you to be taken to the facilities at Adigeon Prime. She must have had to pull some strings, because they told me they were full when I contacted them."

He opened his eyes and found that she was smiling encouragingly.

"I wanted to contact your son, but Admiral Brennan said she didn't think you would want that. Don't speak, just blink once for yes. Do you want me to get in touch with your son?"

He stared at her, unblinking. Don't tell Will. He's just getting started at the Academy. Don't ruin it for him.

"Really? You don't want him to know that you're hurt?"

He blinked once, squeezing his eyes tightly and swiftly.

"All right. We won't tell him. Don't be surprised if I ask you why later. You're going to need someone with you on Adigeon Prime, though, at least of a little while. If you don't want your son, I'd like to volunteer for the job unless you have someone else in mind. May I?"

He thought for a minute. Ellen's out of the question. Marguerite? Sloan? Hardly. What a sorry life, Riker. No one you trust enough to let them see you helpless. He blinked again, and she looked relieved.

"Good. Admiral Brennan arranged for me to get leave." She looked at him quizzically, a question in her eyes. "I never imagined the head of Intelligence would take such an interest in a civilian. I doubt you're her lover so you must be blackmailing her."

When he tried to smile, he felt a spasm of pain that seem to fly from his neck to his groin.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I've given you as much pain medication as I dare. And I don't want to put you in stasis unless we absolutely have to. Can you put up with the pain?"

He blinked.

"I won't lie to you. It's going to be very bad. It's going to hurt more than anything has ever hurt in your life."

"Once we get you to Adigeon and we get started with … the treatment, it will get better. But we're three days away. You're going to have to endure it if you want to live."

He managed to whisper. "Whatever. It Takes."

***

"And then there's Will."

"And then there's Will." Kate Pulaski looked at Kyle Riker with the serene expression that he had never been able to resist. Of all the women he had known in his life –and there had been many– she was the only one besides Susan who always seemed to have his interests at heart. Even Marguerite, sympathetic friend that she was, never convinced him that she was motivated by anything other than self-interest. "Why don't you tell him the truth?"

"I can't." Although he was doing his best not to show it, he was reeling from the events of the past hour. He had pulled every string at his disposal to get to Starbase Montgomery to give Will a special briefing on the mission of the Ares. His contacts had alerted him as soon as Will as selected for promotion; when he realized the danger and the distance involved in the mission he had arranged for this 12 hour layover. It might be his last chance for reconciliation with his son. But thus far Will had reacted with a hatred so cold it seemed impenetrable.

Kate shook her head. "Of course you can. Will's a grown man now, and a Starfleet officer. A very capable officer, I might add. If he hasn't heard rumors about Section 31, I'll eat my uniform."

Kyle looked around, making certain that no one had overheard her comment. "Be careful, Kate. You aren't supposed to know about that, remember."  They had been very close during the time they spent together on Adigeon Prime; close enough that she had guessed he worked for Intelligence and he had finally told her the truth to keep her from digging into it further.

"Oh, tosh. If the Section thought I wasn't trustworthy, they'd have eliminated me years ago. And no one's listening to us now. They're going out of their way to give us some privacy." She smiled. "I'm still new enough to have them all intimidated."

He returned the smile. "They don't know what a softie you are, then."

"No, and I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't give me away yet. But don't change the subject on me. You've got less than 12 hours left. Give me one good reason why you can't tell Will the truth."

"Marty."

She blinked in confusion. "I'm sorry?"

"Marguerite's lover. Marty is no longer among the living."

Kate considered him for a long moment. "And you think that S-"

"Watch it."

"You think certain colleagues were responsible?"

"Possibly. Or possibly someone figured out that Marguerite was doing more than taking notes all these years, and this was a form of revenge. It wasn't an accident, that's all I know."

"How's Marguerite?"

He looked away. "She's dead, too. She got careless on her first assignment after Marty's death. I don't think she wanted to live any more."

"Oh, God, Kyle." Kate reached across the table and covered his hand with hers. "I'm so sorry. I know you were friends."

He shook off the sympathy. He didn't need it, and didn't need to revisit that particular pain. "Don't you see? I can't take a chance with Will. I have to protect him if I can."

"Even if it means he goes on hating you?"

"I hope it won't come to that. I hope he'll be man enough to forgive me without explanations."

"That's a lot to ask. I saw his eyes, Kyle. There was real pain there, and it was deep and old. That doesn't just vanish with a gesture."

He shrugged. "That's the chance I have to take. If he won't accept me, he won't."

She shook her head. "You're something else. I guess that's why I fell in love with you. You're the closest thing to the perfect knight I've come across. You'll fight the good fight without recognition, without accolade, and even without the love you deserve. Lancelot had nothing on you."

"God, Kate, stop it."

"No, I mean it. You know, I came to admire and respect you on Adigeon Prime when I watched you bear the most unthinkable pain with grace and dignity."

Her words conjured up memories of surgeries and cloning and transplants and weeks and weeks of torture called physical therapy, and her choice of words made him wince. "Don't ever use the words 'grace and dignity' to describe me. Couldn't you just say I never complained?"

She ignored him. "But it wasn't until I learned of your commitment to Section 31 that I fell in love with you. You have sacrificed everything that is important to most people for what – an abstract concept? The Charter?"

"The safety of the Federation," he said quietly.

"Your life could have been so different. You could have had entirely different relationships with your son and yes, with me." She looked down at her drink. "Despite what I said before, we'd have been happy together, Kyle."

"Yes." He spoke softly, with surety. "We would have been."

He said nothing more, and her eyes misted with unshed tears. "Now look what you've done. I don’t cry, you big lout. People get nervous when their doctor cries. You haven't changed, have you."

It wasn't a question and he didn't try to respond. "All I ever wanted was for Will to be his own man, and not tainted by the decisions I've made in my life."

"Whatever it takes," she murmured. "Isn't that the Riker family motto?"

He looked at her with genuine regret. "No. It's not."

Looking around again to make certain no one was listening, he added, "It's just the reality of Section 31."

-the end-