"Redemption"

written by

Michael Gray

Kyle Hoffman felt himself sink into the chair across from Patricia Olanski.

"I don't know why I put up with this, I really don't," she said, staring at the cold blue midday vista of San Francisco Bay outside her window. "I loved your mother. She and I..." Olanski shook her head. "Emma would have been so disappointed with you."

"It's all bullshit!" Hoffman cried, his face twisted in an orgy of frustration. "Wilmarza was insane!"

"Really?" Olanski turned back to her desk, activating the display panel in front of her. "For an insane person she sure has a lot of clear-minded references in this letter. She even has the security feed from that bar you met her in. Seems to back up her side of things rather well."

"I just went there to talk to her."

"And screw her?"

Kyle was caught off guard by the bluntness of the woman who had been a second mother to him.

"No... things just developed. But when I told her it wasn't right for us to have a relationship..."

"Her letter fails to mention that detail. In fact, she says you tried to encourage a relationship between the two of you even after she found out what you'd done."

Kyle boiled silently.

"I will admit you blaming yourself to the investigators afterward certainly quieted their suspicions you had murdered her."

"Now just a damn minute!” Hoffman shouted. “You don't really think I killed her do you?!"

Olanski stood, walking past Hoffman to stare out her window. "I don't know what to think about you any more. But I do know you're in a pit of shit so deep you may never be able to dig yourself out."

"I am not going to resign my commission,” he bellowed, leaping to his feet.

Olanski shook her head with a grin. "Emma was like that too. When she set her mind to do something, she'd never give up. That was what got her killed."

"Patricia, look..." he began, walking behind her desk.

"That's Admiral to you, Commander." She said with a softness which only reinforced her resolve. "Because of the reference to Orions in Wilmarza's message to Starfleet, and recent Orion activities in Federation space, I've been able to have it marked classified... for now. Eventually, someone will get their hands on it and there will be an investigation."

Kyle's hands tightened to an iron grip on the back of her desk chair. "What's my exposure?"

"Best case, you'll receive a reprimand and extensive counseling. Worst case..." She shook her head. "That will depend on the prosecutor. But if it goes to a trial, your career will be over. There won't be anything I can do."

"What if another counselor presents reports that..."

"Kyle, stop it! You can't play the system any longer! This has finally caught up with you, and there's going to be a price to pay."

Kyle Hoffman exploded, "I was just an obligation to you, wasn't I? All that talk about how you cared for me as if I were your son was bullshit, wasn't it? You were just paying off a debt to my mother."

"If you knew how many tears I've shed over you, there'd be no way you could say that," she murmured.

"Spare me... Admiral."

"Kyle..."

He marched to the door, slamming it behind him. Patricia Olanski didn't move from her place in front of the window. Despite the bright sun outside, she felt a darkness envelope her. And again, as she had so often, she cried for the son of her best friend.

***

“This one is excellent.” A tall, goggles wearing man, leaned back from the data and graph filled display screen which provided the only light in the twenty by twenty foot metal walled room. “Who is she?”

Kyle Hoffman smiled. “First, how much per data file, Murray?”

He slid the goggles up onto his forehead. “Is the second one as good as this?”

“Better. She's M'Naran.”

Murray rubbed his cheek a moment, his eyes looking over the data again. “An hour each.” He took a quick breath. “But there are new rules.”

Hoffman frowned. “I come here because you break the rules, Rothbard.”

“Until I find a way around the new search protocols and monitoring, you can only have two real people.”

“Two?!” Hoffman quickly buried his irritation with a smile. “But you know me, I like to have a big party.”

“Sorry, but not possible.”

“Last time you let me have seven.”

Rothbard shook his head. “New laws have been passed since you were last on Earth, things have changed.”

Hoffman laughed. “How? Earth government can't get its head out of its ass long enough to get a street named.”

“It can when enough people scream loud enough.” Rothbard pulled out a small, narrow white cylinder and stuck it in his mouth. “The holo-addicts are doing too much crazy shit.”

“I'm not a...”

“I'm not saying you are, Kyle. Jeez... give your paranoia a rest for once.”

“Okay, okay,” Kyle said, leaning back in his chair.

Rothbard laughed as he inhaled sharply from the tube in his mouth. His eyes glazed for a moment, then returned to normal. “There was this crazy bastard in Dayton who went into a holosuite four times a day to dismember his wife with an ax. Seems he had been doing it for seven years.”

“That's a very pissed off husband,” Hoffman said with a nasty grin.

“Now the guy's in a psych ward, probably for the rest of his life. The wife headed up protests for six months until they passed new laws concerning the use of real people in holo simulations.” Rothbard took another hit of the drug he was imbibing. “Now they don't just log when real people's likenesses are used, but they take detailed information about what happens in the simulation. Any sex, torture, or mayhem gets a government agent at your door and your equipment seized until they figure out what you were doing.”

“Yeah, but you've got a way around that, right, Murray?”

He smiled. “For two real people, yes. But it takes a lot of computation power to keep the government watchdogs at bay.”

“Why not just run rogue?”

“Holosuites use up a lot of energy and in very distinct ways. The last guy that tried it got nine years in the Titan Max Prison.”

“Damn,” Kyle whispered.

“Earth is changing my friend... and all for the worse.”

“I knew there was a reason I avoided this planet as much as possible.”

Rothbard stared at Hoffman. “Her name?”

“Natalie Fowler. She's an archaeologist in Starfleet.”

“She any good in bed?”

Hoffman grinned. “She had her moments. The problem was out of bed.”

Rothbard nodded. “And who's the second?”

Hoffman handed him a data chip. “A counselor... Akala Wilmarza. Sex with her was great.”

After a few attempts at his display, Rothbard turned to Kyle with a frown. “Her file is classified at Starfleet.”

“A bit of a problem with that one.”

“She going to come after me if she finds out about this?”

Kyle grinned. “You don't have to worry about that.”

After a minute of silence with Rothbard typing at his keyboard, he smiled. “So, who do you want this time?”

***

“She looks good,” Hoffman said, looking over the still female figure in front of him. “What about without the clothes?”

“Since you didn't have a full nude datascan of this one, I had to guess.” Rothbard took a long drink from a bottle of whiskey. “You sure you don't want one of the other two you brought me instead?”

Hoffman shook his head and sighed. “Well can't you pull some math trick based on how she looks with clothes on?”

Rothbard handed the bottle to Hoffman. “I did, but I can't guarantee anything. There's still a lot of guess work, especially on the breasts.”

“There's no point to this unless she's accurate,” Hoffman grumbled.

“You ever seen her nude?”

“No.”

“Then you wouldn't be able to tell the difference would you?”

“What about the personality?”

“Same thing. Without a recording I have to interpolate.”

“There are recordings of her,” Hoffman said, taking a drink.

“Yeah, giving speeches. All that gave me was her voice.”

“Turn her on.”

Rothbard held up a small control box, and spoke into it, “Computer, run program, Mei-Wan Lau.”

The female form wearing a Starfleet uniform came to life.

“Hello, Kyle,” the simulation of Mei-Wan said with a far too sultry voice.

“That's not how the bitch sounds, damn it!”

“Tone down the hostility a bit, Kyle. I can make adjustments.”

Hoffman finished off the bottle, but it didn't improve his mood. “The hell with it. I don't need her to talk.”

He swung the bottle and shattered it against the simulation's head, sending her falling to the floor, screaming.

“Now that's better!” Hoffman shouted. He gave her a solid kick to the stomach.

More screams.

Then the faux Mei-Wan vanished.

“What the hell did you do that for?!” Kyle screamed.

Rothbard glared at him. “Get the hell out.”

“Hey, you owe me two hours!”

“I can get sex past the scanning the government does, but not this violence shit.”

“The bitch has it coming! And a hell of a lot more!”

Rothbard walked up to Hoffman. “Then you go kill the real one, and face the consequences.”

“That's the whole point of coming to you, so I don't have to!”

“You're a sick son of a bitch, Hoffman. Now, get out.”

“I could turn you in.”

“That's your free one,” Rothbard said with a taut smile. “Threaten me again and I don't give a damn what Starfleet connections you have, it'll take a century for them to find the hole I put you in.”

Hoffman took a step back.

“Now, for the last time... get out Kyle.”

***

"Keep the drinks coming," Kyle told the twenty-something waitress. "And here's a tip for you with more to come."

The bright-eyed woman took the Nandorian credit chip he handed her. "Thank you, handsome!"

Kyle watched the dancer on his table gyrate to the loud music in the bar. His gaze fixated on her bare breasts as they swayed back and forth with her movement.

"I hear I can get more than dancing in this place," he said to her.

"Depends on what you can afford," she said, continuing to dance.

She seemed native enough to Hoffman. After Wilmarza, he could do with some human companionship.

He smiled to himself. But the green bitch was good in bed. I have to give her that.

His thoughts returned to the the woman in front of him and her dancing breasts. "Exactly how much we talking about?"

"If what you gave the waitress is any sign of what you've got, you can have anything you want, sweetheart."

***

Kyle Hoffman finally caught his breath and rolled off of her athletic body.

"I wear you out?" the dancer asked, turning to face him.

He stared up at the ceiling in the small, dark walled, room she'd led him to an hour before. "A little, yeah."

She smiled, pushing her long dark hair away from her face. "How about we try a fantasy now. I'm sure you've got a few you've never tried."

"Maybe," he said with a laugh. "Are there any Chinese girls here?"

The dancer frowned. "Why, there something wrong with me?"

"No, but you asked about fantasies."

Her ever present smile returned. "What was her name, this Chinese girl you never had?"

"Who says I never had her?" he asked, irritated at how well she was reading him.

"A man doesn't fantasize about the women he's had. Only the ones he hasn't."

Kyle considered making up a name until he realized he couldn't think of one. This once, he'd tell the truth. "Mei-Wan."

"You mean like that scientist who's in the news about the Ancient Progenitors all the time?"

"In the news? Mei-Wan?"

"Oh shit... she's the one, isn't she?"

Kyle closed his eyes. "Forget it."

"No, nothing wrong with it. Guys come in here all the time with fantasies about celebrities. There's an attraction to women you'll never have, let alone meet."

"For your information, I have met her, and worked with her, and..." He left it at that. Enough truth for one day.

"Really?" the woman asked. "What's she like?"

"Why do you care?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "Just curious. She seems nice."

"She's a first rate bitch." One last truth won't hurt, he thought.

The dancer rolled off the bed and started dressing. "We're done here."

"What the hell's this? I've got plenty of money, nearly a thousand Nadorian..."

"She wouldn't sleep with you, would she? This is some rape fantasy, right? We don't do that shit here. Go find another place."

"It's not a rape fantasy!" Kyle started for her as she headed to the door. He grabbed her arm just as the door slid open. "We're not finished!"

"Carl! I need some help down here!" she screamed.

In a flash, a six foot seven, man with tree logs for biceps grabbed Kyle by the neck. "We have a problem here, Mindy?"

"Yeah, get this piece of shit out of here. He's banned for life."

"Now wait... a minute..." Kyle pushed past his narrowed windpipe.

Carl smiled wide. "No more minutes, friend."

***

Kyle Hoffman hit the ground hard as he was thrown out the back door of the club. Rain poured out of the Nevada sky, stinging his bare skin.

"What about my damn clothes?!"

The door slamming shut was the only answer.

"You can't do this to me! I'm in Starfleet!"

Only the clouds responded, but with thunder.

"Damn it!"

Kyle looked up and down the alley for anything he could use to cover himself. All he had to do was make it back to his hotel room. He had plenty of clothes there, and more money.

The problem was how to get from here to there.

Lightning struck a building nearby with a crack loud enough to make Kyle jump.

"Shit!" he cried. "I've got to get out of here!"

He headed for the end of the alley, but ten feet from it, a man in a long coat and hat stepped into his path.

"Move it, moron!"

Silence from the new arrival.

"You deaf? Get the hell out of my way!"

Still nothing.

He extended his arm to push the man out of the way, but Kyle froze in place. A second later, he felt as if he were floating, tumbling end over end. Then everything went dark.

Just before he lost consciousness, he heard a woman's voice.

"The shuttle is ready."

***

Kyle felt extremely warm as he awakened. His throat was beyond dry. As his eyes opened, he raised a hand to shield them from the brightness.

"Where the hell am I now?"

But before he could ponder that question, he noticed an odd scratching on his leg. He looked and saw something moving. It took only a moment for him to realize it was a scorpion making its way up his leg.

"Oh, shit," he whispered doing his best not to move.

He looked about for anything he could use to knock the creature off of him, but all he saw in every direction was sand.

Kyle was about to ask how he got all the way out here, but returned his attention to the clawed visitor making its way up his leg and toward more important parts of his anatomy.

"Okay, I can take a chance I'll find someone to give me the antidote, or I can let it crawl up to my..."

The scorpion floated off his leg into the air.

Not really caring how it happened, Kyle immediately rolled away from where the creature hung in space, struggling to find its footing again.

After a few breaths, and a return of some courage, Hoffman inched closer to his former nemesis.

"How in the hell is it doing that?"

"I thought it best to help as it appeared the scorpion might inflict some pain on you."

Kyle spun about to the voice and found a smiling, human looking man, average height, with white hair, a short distance away.

"Are you doing this?"

"You object?"

"No, not at all," Kyle said. "But you mind if I ask a couple of questions?"

The man smiled. "No need. You are out in the Nevada desert some fifty kilometers north of Las Vegas, and my name is Forcas."

"And my clothes?"

"I believe they're still back at the strip club where you left them."

"Oh... I guess you can't uh, perform another miracle and make them appear here?"

Forcas laughed. "Why don't you?"

"If I had that kind of power I wouldn't be out here in the first place."

"And what if I told you that you did have that kind of power?"

Kyle sat down on the sand. "I'd say you've been out here in the sun a little too long."

"You've been here longer than I."

"Yeah," Kyle said with a sigh. "Anyway, how about taking me back to Vegas?"

Forcas pointed behind Kyle. "It's fifty kilometers that direction."

"Funny. You a comedian or something?"

"If you wish," the man's deep voice replied.

Kyle stood and began walking. "Thanks for the help with the scorpion."

"My pleasure."

Kyle went about ten feet expecting to hear Forcas call him back, but when he hadn't, Kyle stopped and turned around. "You know, you could give me a lift."

But Forcas was gone.

"Where the hell did you go? Hey! Come back here!"

He spun about, searching, but no one was there.

“I must be losing my mind,” Hoffman murmured. He looked south. “Fifty kilometers? That'll take all day!”

***

Two hours later, Kyle stumbled over a sand dune, barely able to hold his balance. The sun continued its assault on his body, sapping not only his strength, but his will to go on.

“I've imagined a dozen ways I could go out... but this?!”

He lost his footing, and rolled down the hill of sand. When he finally came to a stop, the sand followed, nearly burying him.

In a burst of fury, he flailed about, digging himself out of the sand.

“Where are you?!” he called out. “Why did you leave me all alone out here?!”

But the only response was the soft sound of loose sand dancing across the desert.

There was one other noise. Kyle's stomach growled like a caged animal.

“I could really go for a steak,” he muttered, pulling himself up to stand.

From out of nowhere, two large stones fell a few feet away from him.

Kyle leaped back, worried they were directed at him. Instead, he saw Forcas, wearing a smile.

“You!” Kyle howled. “You trying to kill me?”

“You seem to have that task well in hand, my friend.”

Kyle's building anger showed him one way of taking charge of the situation. He picked up one of the stones.

“How about I pay you back for tormenting me?!”

“Are you hungry?” Forcas asked.

“I've been out in the desert for the last four hours... hell yes, I'm hungry!”

Forcas smiled. “Then feed yourself... change that stone into bread.”

“Very funny,” Kyle said. “In case you aren't aware of it, humans don't have that ability.”

Forcas took several steps to stand nearly nose to nose with Hoffman. “What if I told you they have always had such power and more?”

Kyle took a step back. Something about the tone of this man's voice frightened him. He had to be insane. Had to be.

“Look, you obviously have a way of getting out here, so why don't you take us both back to Las Vegas. I'll pay you for your time and trouble.”

“My miracles require far more than compensation, Commander Hoffman.” He walked toward a tall dune. “The question is, do you have the courage to become the man you have always been destined to be?”

“Go to hell. I like who I am.”

Forcas laughed. “No you don't. Who could like the narcissistic creature you've become?”

Kyle threw the stone with all the strength he had. He smiled as it sailed through the air toward his target.

But at the last possible moment, Forcas raised his hand and grabbed the stone out of the air.

“I've never known a starving man to toss away the only food available.”

Forcas offered the stone to Kyle, but in the blink of an eye the dead rock had transformed into a steaming loaf of freshly baked bread.

Hoffman laughed, but his mouth had a different opinion which it expressed by salivating over the aroma from the bread.

“It's a trick, an illusion,” Kyle said.

“Does an illusion have taste?” Forcas asked with a grin.

Kyle took the offered sustenance, smelling it first, then he took a bite.

“Oh my god...”

Forcas smiled wide. “Yes?”

“This is the best bread I've ever tasted in my life!” Kyle shouted, nearly choking on the morsel in his mouth.

“I believe in experiencing the best the universe has to offer, Mr. Hoffman,” Forcas said. “Or when what the universe offers isn't up to par, creating the best myself.”

“I've got to be dreaming, or maybe hallucinating,” Kyle said, finally smiling. “Nothing tastes this good.”

“You have spent your entire life living the nightmare others set before you, Kyle. They had their reasons, none of which took into account what you wanted, or what you could accomplish when freed of their yoke.”

Hoffman nodded.

“But you bought into that nightmare. You lived life their way, and as such, you made bad choices based on a faulty perception.” Forcas walked up to him again. “Open your eyes to the prison you've been living in.”

This man's words felt like a knife piercing Kyle Hoffman's heart. Tears fell from his eyes. “How do I get out?”

“You walk up to the door and break it down. But first, you have to acknowledge that it's there and that you hold the only key.”

“No...” Kyle began. “Other people hold my life in their hands. Admiral Olanski, she wants me to...”

“Decide what you want your life to be, and take hold of it, Kyle. Stop allowing others to use it for their own ends.”

“Help me,” Kyle cried. “Please... show me what I have to do!”

Forcas was gone.

“Where did you go?!”

But he wasn't gone. His voice boomed in Kyle's mind.

Find me, Kyle. Walk across this desert and show me you have the determination to make your life worth living.

Kyle looked up at the sun, closing his eyes at the brightness. “I can't do it,” he cried.

You have magnificence within you, Kyle Hoffman. It's only waiting for you to show it to the world.

With more effort than he had ever applied to anything in his life, Kyle forced his foot to take a step. “I'm coming!”

Then another step.

***

Kyle's eyes popped open. He didn't know how long he'd been spread out on the sand of the desert floor. Hours? Days?

Darkness enveloped him. Only the stars above gave any light.

He rolled over on the sand, remembering how he'd collapsed after hours of walking across the never changing desert.

He smiled at the blackness overhead. Space had always made him feel so peaceful. If he died here, looking at the stars, he'd accept it.

Suddenly he felt himself floating, weightless.

Nothing was right.

He was in a re-entry suit, falling.

“You, however, are to blame, Kyle.”

That voice... he heard it in his ear. The suit's comm pickup.

How'd he get in the suit?

“You used me to protect your career, now I'm taking that away from you.”

He had to stop her.

Kyle screamed into the comm pickup, but Akala didn't respond. Why was she doing this?! Why?!

The next sound over the comm was a shriek of agony, then the signal cut out.

A minute or so later, pieces of a re-entry suit, along with bits of bone, soared past him.

“Akala...” He began to cry. “I never meant...”

A moment later, he felt his weight again. The suit was gone, but he was still floating. Now he was in a room of some sort. The only light came from above him.

Sleep came over him, but not fully. He could tell he wasn't alone in the room, but couldn't make out the figures there.

One of them whispered to him, “Humanoid life has a unique destiny, Kyle Hoffman. Walk with me on that path.”

It was that man he'd met in the desert.

“I want out...” Kyle mumbled. “I... please, help me...”

“What kind of help do you wish?” Forcas asked.

Kyle cried. “I want to feel good about myself... to have my life...”

“Mean something?” Forcas finished.

“Yes.”

“Walk with me on that path,” Forcas said.

Kyle's thoughts swirled about, leaving him unable to lock onto anything coherent.

He caught fragments of a conversation taking place seemingly far away.

“What is your interest in this one?” a female voice asked.

“I am interested in all humanoid life,” Forcas replied.

“You aren't going to answer, are you?”

“He is a Starfleet officer who has, shall we say, not exactly lived up to the ideals of that institution.”

“And you think you can redeem him,” the female voice said.

“I am here to redeem all humanoid life, Sirona” Forcas replied.

Aside from the low hum of some machine Kyle couldn't see, the room was silent for several minutes.

The mists cleared from Kyle's thoughts again. He was on a ship... the Chamberlain. And she was there.

"You're like every other woman I've ever met. You all pretend you're your own person, but once you're in my arms you realize you've always wanted to be tamed by the right man. It's in your DNA."

"I'm a human being,” Mei-Wan howled at him. “Not some animal to be tamed, or some prize to be won by you or any other man so you can go marching down the corridors in some parade of triumph! Maybe if you'd grow beyond that twelve year old mentality you've got, you'd understand women don't exist as playthings to satisfy your stunted sexual development."

"You sanctimonious bitch!" Kyle screamed. He could feel the rage building in him. Something terrible was about to happen. "You think you're so much better than me, don't you? You think because you're getting this institute job and I'm stuck on this god damn ship that you're the better scientist, don't you? But we both know I'm the better archaeologist."

"Is this why you came down here at this hour?" Mei-Wan laughed. "You're worried not everyone thinks you're the smartest one in the class?"

"Don't you laugh at me! You know I'm better. I should have gotten the institute position. Admit it, damn it!"

"Excuse me..." a female voice behind Kyle broke in.

Kyle turned to the woman in the corridor.

"I'm sorry to interrupt..."

Kyle took a step toward the woman. "Who the hell are you?!"

"Uh, I'm Renee Da... I, uh..." The forty-something blond appeared intimidated by Hoffman's outburst.

“Hold!” Forcas called out.

Everything in Kyle's mind slammed to a stop. The only difference from moment to moment was the sound of Forcas' voice somewhere near, but sounding so far away.

“I've seen that face before...” Forcas mused. “I'm sure of it.”

Silence for several seconds.

“Renee Dasari!” he declared in triumph. “An Engineer. But why? What interest could she possibly have in you, Kyle Hoffman?”

Again silence.

“Ah... She's improvising,” Forcas stated. “This wasn't a planned intervention. But how could an Engineer be caught so... A causality node. It has to be.”

“What is a...” the female voice began to ask in Kyle's mind.

“Remove any memory of this from Hoffman,” Forcas said. “It appears he may be of more use to us than I ever suspected.”

Kyle's mind sank again into the sea of sleep.

***

Kyle Hoffman rolled about on the sand, more than refreshed. He felt better than ever, no sign of hunger or thirst.

He sat up, hearing a voice in his mind speak softly...

“Together, we will change the face of the galaxy, Kyle. Join me on the path.”

Kyle grinned. For the first time in his life, he knew he had a real purpose, and not one forced upon him by his mother's memory, or Patricia Olanski, or anyone else.

This was his choice.

Kyle stood, looking across the night vista of the Nevada desert. On the eastern horizon, faint lights caught his eye.

“That's it,” he said. “That's where my future is.”

He walked to it.

An hour later, Kyle found himself among a crowd of thousands gathered around a stage just outside Las Vegas. Towers of lights from the city cast a golden glow on the assembled mass.

A single voice spoke from the platform...

His voice.

“There are many who would stand in our way, blocking the path,” Forcas told the multitude. “But together, we will change the face of the Galaxy, and nothing can stand long against us!”

The crowd cheered, and swooned to the rhythm of Forcas' words.

Kyle could feel them tug at his own heart.

“If you stand with me, the Ancient Progenitors will keep their promise and return to guide all humanoid life to the destiny which is our birthright!”

“YES! YES! YES!” the crowd replied.

Kyle felt it the most natural thing in the universe to agree with them.

***

Three days later, in full duty uniform, Kyle Hoffman walked into Olanski's office.

“Well, I didn't expect to see you come back so soon.” She set down the PADD she'd been reading. “If you think I've softened my position in the last two weeks...”

“I want a full investigation into my behavior,” Kyle said firmly, taking the seat in front of her desk.

“I told you I'm not going to cover up for you any longer, Kyle. I can't,” Admiral Olanski said, near tears.

“I don't want you to. I need to take responsibility for what I've done.”

Olanski laughed. “What game are you playing now?”

“No more games, Admiral.”

Her eyes took in every nuance of his face. “Why should I believe you? Why should Starfleet believe you?”

“Given my conduct, the last thing you should do is take my word for anything. Let my deeds speak and then make your determination.”

She nodded, trying not to hope something had changed. That led to too much pain. “A lot will be required of you, including a full confession of the events leading up to Wilmarza's death.”

He handed her a PADD. “I thought you might want that.”

She skimmed the text.

“My god...” Her eyes darted up to look at him. “You sure you want to admit to all of this, Kyle? I don't know if I can help you if...”

“I will accept whatever decision Starfleet makes about my future. If it is the opinion of the inquest that it would be best for Starfleet that I resign, I will do so.”

“What happened to you?”

He smiled. “I realized how much of my life I've wasted, but also of the potential I still have to make a difference. Whether as a Starfleet officer, or in another capacity, I am determined to live up to the ideals I swore an oath to when I first put on this uniform. I want to finally make my life count for something.”

Patricia Olanski did her best not to cry, but it was difficult. She could almost believe, now, after two decades, the best part of her friend Emma Hoffman had come back to life.

***

Olanski looked about the table at the half dozen admirals present. For reasons not explained to her, Admiral Sanol, Chief of Starfleet Intelligence, had insisted the meeting to discuss Kyle Hoffman take place immediately, and in this conference room normally used by the engineering division.

“I want to remind everyone that this meeting is off the record,” Sanol said.

Nods from the remainder of those present.

“I will assume everyone here has read the report on Mr. Hoffman's case.”

“Before we go any further, can you explain why this is a closed door meeting?” Olanski asked. “I made it clear I didn't want any further preferential treatment for Kyle. And neither does he.”

Admiral Turgidson, just to Olanski's right grinned. “While there's never been any love lost between you and I, Hoffman's contact with the Orions has not only answered questions we have had for some time, but may have also provided us with a rare opportunity.”

“How so?”

“When I came on as Chief of Tactical Operations seven months ago, I had the benefit of reports from my former position which had alerted me to strange behavior on the part of the Orions.”

“In addition, we have recent intelligence suggesting an upheaval within their social structure,” Sanol said with his usual Vulcan stoicism. “It has convinced us we can no longer ignore the Orions.”

“Look, I'm not going to let you railroad Kyle into something just because you have this Wilmarza incident to hold over his head.” Olanski cast a steel glance around the table. “If you intend to punish him, then do so.”

Sanol slid a PADD over to her. “On the contrary, we want him to continue just as he was before with regard to the Orions. It is our recommendation, with a note of reprimand in his record, that Kyle Hoffman be returned to his assignment on the Chamberlain.”

“But...” Olanksi began.

“Hoffman confirmed the Orions were keeping track of our vessels by having commercial dealings with key officers aboard our ships--- mostly department heads who were likely to stay assigned to the same ship for extended periods.”

“And the only reason to do so is they have something significant planned,” Turgidson said.

“In the end, the Orions are nothing more than pirates,” Sanol said. “It is time we remind the savages of their place.”

The previously silent Admiral James, the CinC of Starfleet, finally spoke, “Recently the Council sent envoys to the Klingons, Romulans, and Cardassians to negotiate a treaty for economic cooperation for this section of the galaxy. That can't happen with the Orions on the loose. Stability is the requirement, and the Orions are the enemy to that necessity. Our only course is to eliminate the problem.”

“But what about the Ferengi? Surely...” Olanski began.

“The Grand Nagus was quite willing to offer certain concessions in exchange for the elimination of the Orions,” James said with a toothy grin. “The galaxy is on its way to a better future. Those who stand in the way will be swept aside for the sake of civilization.”

Olanski nodded, and did her best to contain the happiness she felt over the news that Kyle Hoffman was to get a better than expected second chance.

***

After the meeting, Admiral James returned to his office where Ambassador Cyrus Wakernaggle awaited his return along with another man, the white-haired Forcas.

James strolled to his desk. “They agreed.”

Wakernaggle craned his wrinkled face toward Admiral James and smiled. “Good. Good.”

“I appreciate all that you have done, Admiral,” Forcas said. “Be assured, I am someone who remembers such things.”

“I'm glad I could assist you in this,” the admiral said. “Though I'm not sure what good you hope to achieve having Hoffman back on the Chamberlain.”

Forcas smiled. “The young man has a part to play in events which will change this galaxy. He is now in exactly the right place to accomplish great things.”

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Dark Horizon Story and Characters Copyright ©2011 Michael Gray

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