Star Trek: Pantheon (17 page)

“Warp Factor Four,” commanded Picard.

“Warp Factor Four,” said Wesley, complying.

This time the ship’s trembling was more pronounced, and it lasted longer. But when it was over, the streaks of starlight on the viewscreen were longer and a little less frantic.

“Progress,” announced Geordi triumphantly. “We’re down to warp nine point nine one.”

“Which means we’ve cut our speed by a third,” said Simenon. He looked at the captain. “Sorry. It’s the professor in me.”

“Quite all right,” said Picard. If they had been alone, he would have clapped the Gnalish on the back—as he’d had occasion to do so many times on the
Stargazer.
“How is the ship holding up?” he asked.

“Considerable stress on hull integrity,” Geordi told him. “But we can handle it.”

“Should we try Warp Factor Five?” asked Wesley.

The captain glanced at Simenon’s hand. There were still only four fingers extended.

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” called La Forge. “I think we’re on the edge now. And we’ve slowed down considerably—why take the risk?”

“Then we will remain at Warp Four,” Picard decided. “And Mr. Crusher—do not anticipate.”

The back of the ensign’s neck turned red. “Acknowledged, sir.”

“All right,” said Geordi. “We’ve bought ourselves that time we wanted. Let’s do something with it. Data, Crusher, Professor Simenon—you’re with me.”

The Gnalish gave the captain one last look as he swept past—a look that said his contribution was all in a day’s work. Then he was on his way to the turbolift along with Wesley and the android, his tail switching back and forth over the carpeted deck.

Geordi was leaning on a bulkhead, his arms locked across his chest. He looked at Simenon, Data, and Wesley in turn.

Not the most upbeat bunch, he remarked to himself. But then, he wasn’t feeling too upbeat himself just then. Of them all, only Data was still holding his head erect—and that was only because he wasn’t human enough to know when he was licked.

“We’ve been at this for hours, and we’ve got nothing to show for it,” Geordi said. “I’m opening the floor to any idea, no matter how wild. Hell, it doesn’t even have to be an idea—just a half-baked notion.”

The others looked at him. Simenon grunted.

“I mean it,” Geordi said.
“Anything.”

Wesley straightened a little. “Okay. What if we separated the saucer section from the battle bridge?”

Simenon shook his head. “It wouldn’t help. If we were moving strictly under engine power and you disconnected the saucer, it would drop out of warp. But since the warp field is being imposed on us externally, the saucer would continue to be dragged along with the battle bridge.”

The android nodded. “That would be the most likely result.”

“I agree,” said Geordi. “All right—forget separation. How about the shuttles?”

“Same thing,” responded the Gnalish. “They’d be stuck here just as we are.”

“They might proceed more slowly,” offered Data, “because of their lesser mass. Remember, we are not in normal space; Newtonian principles may not hold here.”

“And what if they
did
proceed more slowly?” asked Simenon. “It would only be a stop-gap maneuver.”

“Besides,” said Wes, “none of them can travel faster than warp one—so whatever advantage we enjoyed on the way out we’d lose in spades on the way back.”

Geordi nodded. “Even assuming there were enough of them to evacuate the ship—which there aren’t, even including the lifeboat pods. Next.”

“We launch a probe,” said the Gnalish. “And then we blast it with photon torpedoes. Our shields should protect us from any damage, but the backlash—” Abruptly, he waved the idea away. “No. If we wanted to go backward more forcefully, all we’d have to do is go to warp five.”

“That’s right,” said Geordi. “And we’ve already scotched that idea because of the safety factor.”

Data’s brow creased. “It may be that we are approaching the problem the wrong way.”

“What do you mean?” asked Wes.

The android looked at him. “We seem to be focusing on finding a way to slow down. Perhaps it would help us more to
speed up.”

That
was
a fresh slant. “Go on,” said Geordi.

“The slipstream is carrying us forward at warp nine point nine five. If we can exceed that speed, we might be able to outrun the phenomenon’s frontal horizon—assuming it has one—and thereby free ourselves.”

It was almost childlike in its conception. And yet, in a common-sense kind of way, it seemed as if it could work.

Of course, there was a rather large
practical
problem.

“You’re talking about the ship traveling in excess of warp nine point nine five,” Geordi pointed out. “We’ve never done that before.”

“We’ve never
tried,”
said Wes.

“And if Mr. Data is right about there being a frontal horizon,” added Simenon, “it might take only a fraction of a second to pierce it.”

“Or it could take millennia,” the chief engineer reminded him.

“Yes,” the Gnalish conceded. “Or that. It depends on the magnitude of the phenomenon. And where we are in relation to its boundaries.”

Geordi mulled it over. “I usually like to give the captain more than one option.”

Silence from Data and Wesley. Simenon rolled his fiery red eyeballs at the notion. After all, it had taken so long to come up with
this
plan…

“But in this case,” said La Forge, “I think I’ll make an exception.”

Standing in the corridor outside Morgen’s door, Crusher was starting to become a little concerned. After all, she’d been there for more than a minute, waiting to give the Daa’Vit his routine follow-up exam, and there had been no response to her presence. Of course, Morgen could have been taking a nap—but it seemed unlikely with all that was going on.

Finally, she tapped her communicator. “Computer—where is Captain Morgen?”

The reply was nearly instantaneous. “Captain Morgen is in the forward lounge on deck seventeen.”

“Thank you,” the doctor said out loud. As she headed for the turbolift, she thumped herself on the head.

Dumb, Beverly. You should have checked out Morgen’s whereabouts
before
you came all this way.

Nor could she just call him via the intercom system. If someone were with the Daa’Vit, they’d wonder why the ship’s doctor wanted to see him. No, she would have to seek him out in person—and drag him back to his apartment only if he were alone.

The turbolift doors opened at Crusher’s approach. She stepped inside.

“Deck seventeen,” she instructed. “Forward lounge.”

The lift’s movement was imperceptible except for a subtle hum. And since she hadn’t been more than a couple of decks away, she arrived in a matter of seconds.

As she exited, she made a left and followed the curve of the corridor. The lounge appeared on her right, its doors open—not uncommon, if there was nothing going on inside that would disturb others on the ship.

Voices. One was Morgen’s—subdued yet resonant. The other was female, human. Not Troi’s, or she would have recognized it. Nor Asmund’s, unless things had changed drastically since dinner the other night.

Cadwallader’s, she decided. And as she entered the lounge, she saw that she’d guessed correctly. Ben Zoma’s Number Two was sitting across a small table from the Daa’Vit, engaging him in a game of
sharash’di.

At Crusher’s arrival, they both looked up. Cadwallader smiled. “Greetings, Doctor. Fancy meeting you here.”

Beverly smiled back. “I saw the doors open and I couldn’t resist peeking inside.” She indicated the game board.
“Sharash’di,
eh?”

Morgen nodded. “Commander Cadwallader thought it was high time I left that stuffy apartment you’ve given me—and spent some time in this stuffy lounge.”

The doctor wondered about that. Had Cadwallader lured the Daa’Vit in here for something other than a simple diversion?

Certainly, the woman didn’t look like the type to go around assassinating people. But the captain hadn’t omitted anyone when he’d ordered his former officers watched—and he knew them better than she did.

Maybe I should stick around, she told herself. For a while anyway, just in case—

Abruptly, they heard Picard’s voice addressing them over the intercom. All three of them looked up.

“As you know by now,” said the captain, “we are caught in a subspace phenomenon. We will be attempting to escape that phenomenon in a few moments. Once again, I must ask that all decks be secured.”

Well, Crusher mused, so much for whether I should stay or go. Picard’s announcement had taken that decision out of her hands.

Cadwallader gestured to a chair. “Have a seat, Doctor. After I thrash Captain Morgen, you can have a whack.”

Picard sat back in his command chair. In front of him, Wesley and Data had once more taken up their positions at the forward stations. And as before, Geordi was off to the side at the engineering console.

But with Riker and Troi on the bridge, Simenon was content to take the proverbial backseat. He now stood next to Worf at tactical, no doubt scrutinizing the efficiency with which the Klingon did his job.

“Mr. Crusher,” said the captain, “reverse engines.”

Wesley carried out the order. Abruptly, the ship seemed to shoot forward again. The light streaks on the viewscreen resumed their earlier velocity.

“Engines reversed, sir,” said the ensign. “We are now proceeding forward at warp four—or at least that’s our engine speed.” He glanced at another monitor. “Our actual speed is warp nine point nine five—just as it was before.”

Picard nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Crusher. Go to warp nine point six.”

“Aye, sir.” Wesley touched the necessary controls.

It had absolutely no effect on their velocity. The captain knew that even before Data announced it.

“Warp nine point nine,” Picard instructed.

Still no change—other than the fact that their warp drive was laboring as hard as it ever had before. At this speed, the engines would hold out for only a few minutes—then they’d simply turn themselves off.

And as they accelerated beyond warp nine point nine, their ability to maintain speed would no doubt diminish accordingly—perhaps to no more than a matter of seconds. Nonetheless, the captain was inclined to approach his goal by degrees. He refused to play Russian roulette with in excess of a thousand lives.

“Nine point nine three, Mr. Crusher.”

“Nine point nine three, sir.”

Geordi spoke up: “Estimate one minute and forty-five seconds until engine auto-shutdown.”

Picard could feel the thrum of the engines through the deck. “Nine point nine five,” he said.

“Nine point nine five, sir.”

The vibration in the deck grew worse, joined by a high-pitched whine. Picard set his teeth against it.

They were moving as quickly as the slipstream now. Keeping pace with it, as remarkable as that seemed. He thought he could feel the g-force pressing him back into his seat. But of course, that was just his mind playing tricks on him—wasn’t it? Or had the inertial dampers reached their limit?

“Estimate auto-shutdown in nine seconds,” Geordi said over the whine. “It’s now or never, sir!”

With an effort, the captain leaned forward.
Come on, Enterprise!

“Nine point nine six, Mr. Crusher.”

“Nine point nine six!” Wesley repeated, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice. Nor did Picard blame him—no Federation vessel had ever traveled even
this
fast under its own power.

The ensign made the necessary adjustments—and holding his breath, or so it appeared to Picard, pressed the “enter” key.

Suddenly, the bridge was caught in the grip of chaos. The viewscreen seemed to burst with blinding light, while the whine became the worst kind of spine-shivering squeal. Worst of all, the captain felt himself thrust back as if by a giant hand, crushed into his command chair.

Then, as abruptly as it began, it was over. No whine, no vibration, no intrusion of g-forces. The viewscreen was blank, the ship’s visual sensors having apparently overloaded. Picard took a deep breath, let it out.

He looked around. “Is everyone all right?”

Everyone was, though some of the bridge officers seemed to have lost their footing in that last violent moment. Geordi was one of them.

“Mr. Crusher,” said Picard, rising and approaching the Conn station. En route, he gave his tunic a short, effective tug. “What is our situation?”

When Wesley turned around, he looked disappointed. “The warp engines are down, sir. And we’re still moving at warp nine point nine five.”

A bitter thing to swallow. But the captain accepted it with equanimity. “I see” was all he said.

“Life-support nodes have switched to impulse power,” Data reported. “However, lighting and ventilation systems are experiencing widespread failures, though none that suggests imminent danger to the crew.”

Picard nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Data.” It occurred to him to pose another question. Turning to Geordi, he asked: “Did we achieve warp nine point nine six, Commander?”

La Forge shook his head. “I’m not sure, sir. We had some instrument malfunctions.”

Picard accepted that too. “See what data you can collect,” he advised. “Perhaps we can learn something from this.”

“Aye, sir,” said the chief engineer. “Just as soon as I get the engines up and running again.”

The captain turned back to the viewscreen. Despite its emptiness, he could see imagined stars streaming by all too quickly.

Picard sighed. They had given it their best shot—and failed.

In the lounge on Deck Seventeen, the only illumination was supplied by the starlight that came through the observation port—and that wasn’t much at all. However, Crusher’s eyes were adjusting to the darkness. She could now discern her companions from the shadowy silhouettes of the furniture.

“Whatever our captain did,” said Cadwallader, “it destroyed more than a few circuits. Even the emergency lighting’s not working.”

“Other parts of the ship may be in better shape,” Morgen offered. “We should try to reach them.”