Boogeymen - Mel Gilden [5]
A spot on the center Romulan ship flashed and a photon torpedo whirled toward them.
“Shields,” Crusher said.
Enterprise rocked with the impact of the torpedo. The bridge lights dimmed momentarily.
“Minor damage on deck six,” Worf said. “Shields still intact.”
Data said, “Romulans now at sublight. Speed falling. Stabilizing at one-half impulse. Ten thousand klicks and closing.”
“Tactical,” Crusher demanded. The blips representing the two flank vessels peeled off to either side while the center one came ahead under a barrage of phaser fire. Crusher knew what the Romulans had in mind. It was an old trick. While one ship kept him busy at his bow, the other two would close in on both sides, concentrating their fire on his warp nacelles, hoping to destroy the propulsion coils.
“We must do something, Captain,” Riker said. He sounded desperate.
“Wait, wait,” Crusher said. He never took his eyes off the tactical display. He said, “Mr. Winston-Smyth, on my command, full impulse power heading zero one five mark four.”
Winston-Smyth glanced worriedly at Crusher but said, “Aye, sir,” and laid in the velocity.
“Wait. Wait. Wait.” He cried, “Now, Mr. Winston-Smyth.”
The tactical display showed Enterprise rising straight up. The Romulan ships were left scrambling among themselves. “Warp eight back to Federation space,” Crusher said steadily.
Riker shook his head and said, “You’re a man of iron nerves, sir.”
Crusher nodded and smiled sardonically. Though he had failed as a diplomat, he’d managed to escape from the Romulans without inflicting or sustaining damage. Considering the Romulans, that was a victory of sorts. Yet something was missing. The element of surprise, perhaps. It was always so predictable. Not like in the real universe. He shook his head and said, “Number One, you have the bridge.” He strode to the door and into his ready room, where he sat down at his desk and rested his chin on his fists.
It wasn’t Guinan’s fault he wasn’t satisfied, or his mom’s either. Mom was swell, and Wesley liked her a lot. Still, she was a Starfleet officer mostly because she was a doctor, when it came to actually being a command officer—well, she’d never been to command school, and she did not have the experience Wesley felt he needed to call upon. He’d been a little nervous about going to Will Riker or anybody else on the bridge. They’d help him, of course, but he asked them enough questions. And they might think his request was out of line or, worse yet, silly.
So he’d gone to Guinan.
It was ship’s day, so Ten Forward was nearly empty. An off-duty couple spoke low in a corner. Guinan was behind the bar wiping it down with a purple rag the same color as her dress and hat. She smiled warmly when she saw him—she did everything warmly—and said, “Taking a study break?”
“Sort of,” Wesley said. He sat down and did not meet her eyes.
“What’ll you have?” Guinan said.
“A clear ether, please.”
While Guinan spritzed soda into a tall glass, she said, “What’s wrong?”
“What makes you think something is wrong?” Sometimes Guinan was so intuitive it was almost scary. He watched her build the drink. The food slot could have delivered it ready-made, but there was a need in the human soul to watch a recreational drink being prepared. Besides, the preparation gave both bartender and customer more time to talk, a friendly tradition that had survived for centuries on many planets.
She set the tall glass before him. Red tendrils leaked into the clear liquid from a cherry speared with a green plastic spaceship in the shape of a dart. While Wesley chewed on the cherry, Guinan said, “You never take study breaks, Wesley. You’re more likely to study all night.”
“Yeah, well,” he said and played with the little plastic spaceship.
She continued wiping the bar.
Wesley took a deep breath and said, “I don’t know if I’ll make a good officer.”
“Is it important that you know right now? Seems to me you have your hands full going to