Crossover - Michael Jan Friedman [61]
“True,” Riker conceded. After all, the android was never wrong when it came to things like that. “At least, that was the plan. But I’m exercising my right to change the plan.”
“In other words,” muttered Geordi, from a reclining position further back in the shuttle, “Commander Riker wants to be the one at the helm when we go in for the rescue attempt.”
“Ah,” said Data. “In that case, the helm is all yours, sir.” Making sure the shuttle was on course, he abdicated the seat he’d been occupying and moved into the one next to it.
“You were supposed to be sleeping,” the first officer reminded Geordi as he swung into the pilot’s position.
The engineer grunted. “You were supposed to wake me when we came within a million kilometers of the outpost.”
“Which we have yet to do for another several seconds,” Riker countered. “Now, if you’re done being insubordinate, Mister La Forge, I think you should take this opportunity to wake up. Our objective is almost in sight.”
The first officer took a breath and concentrated, focusing all his attention on his controls. So far, everything looked pretty much as he’d expected—at least to the long-range sensors.
Riker glanced at the android beside him. Data could easily have handled this fly-by, of course. After all, he had the top pilot’s rating in Starfleet. So did Geordi, for that matter.
But the first officer was better than both of them. And if anything unexpected reared its ugly head, Riker wanted to have his most skilled personnel on the job. Namely, himself.
“I’m taking her down to three-quarters impulse speed,” he announced. “Mister La Forge, if you’ll be so kind as to man the transporter …”
“I’d be glad to,” came the reply.
Glancing over his shoulder for just a moment, the first officer watched Geordi move to the shuttle’s compact, two-person transporter unit. Then he turned back to his own controls.
Riker listened for the engineer’s report. It wasn’t long in coming.
“Ready, sir,” Geordi told him.
“Acknowledged,” said the first officer.
Their strategy was a simple one. They would pass by the outpost where Captain Scott was imprisoned—for it couldn’t be anything more than an outpost out here, so far from the Romulan homeworld—and beam him up.
Then they would take off again. If all went well, they would be heading for the Neutral Zone before Scott’s captors had any notion he was gone.
“Approaching the outpost,” Data remarked. “Sensors show an orbiting vessel that could be the Yorktown. This would seem to confirm our conclusion that Captain Scott is being held by the outpost’s—”
He stopped in midsentence. Riker knew from experience that that was not a good sign.
Turning to the android, he asked, “What is it, Data?”
Still intent on his monitor panel, the android frowned ever so slightly. “Commander, there is also a Romulan warbird in orbit around the planetoid on which the outpost is situated.’*
The first officer cursed beneath his breath. A warbird. No doubt the homeworld’s response to the incursion of a Starfleet vessel into Romulan space.
Its presence would complicate matters somewhat. Still there was a chance.
“Have they spotted us yet?” he asked Data.
The android checked his instruments. “I do not believe so, sir. “
“Must be operating on passive sensors only,” Geordi contributed.
“However,” Data went on, “even if that is the case, they will detect us in no more than four and a half minutes. I base that estimate on Starfleet assessments of Romulan sensor capacities.”
Riker nodded. “I see.” He bit his lip. “Data, can you tell me where the warbird’s positioned with regard to the outpost?”
“Yes,” the android informed him.
Again it took him a second or two to assimilate the information on his monitors. That wasn’t nearly as long as it would have taken a human to do the same job.
“The warbird appears to be on the opposite side of the planetoid from the ground installation,” Data reported. “From our angle of approach, it is located just over the northern horizon.”
“Good,” said the first officer.