Crossover - Michael Jan Friedman [94]
“And what if they depart before then?” asked the proconsul.
Hajak shrugged. “Then we will have to rely on our ability to identify and track their ion trail.”
He glanced at the forward viewscreen, which showed him only a rounded section of Constanthus. There was no interloper to be seen.
“If it is a more sophisticated vessel,” he went on, “that will be difficult. If it is somewhat primitive—at least by our standards—we will have an easier time of it.”
Eragian cursed again. “Should we not contact the others?”
The commander thought a moment, then shook his head from side to side. “No. We do not want to alert the intruder by allowing him to intercept intership communications. The longer the enemy remains in the dark, the better it will be for us.”
The proconsul eyed him. “Make sure this mystery vessel does not get away, Hajak. Because if it does, I will have little to lose by stripping you of your command— and a good deal more.”
The commander nodded soberly. “I understand, Your Eminence.”
As Geordi sat at the Yorktown’s helm, he could feel the perspiration making hot, wet trails along the skin by his hairline. He had finished charting a course back to the Neutral Zone several minutes ago. Now he was just waiting for the go-ahead from the transporter room.
Looking back over his shoulder, Geordi saw that Commander Riker was perspiring, too, in the captain’s chair. Maybe the Yorktown’s life-support systems were starting to break down. It wouldn’t have come as any surprise, he mused. With all the old girl had been through, it was a wonder they hadn’t broken down long ago.
Beyond Riker, Data was sitting at the bridge’s science station, observing the workings of the Yorktown’s cloaking device. Needless to say, the android was not sweating—not in any sense of the word.
Riker cast a glance at Data. “How’s our cloak?” he asked.
The android turned to face his commanding officer. “Still functioning,” he reported. “Though it appears to be flickering each time Captain Scott attempts a transport.”
Riker frowned. “That’s to be expected, I just hope the Romulans don’t notice. It’d be inconvenient to have to—”
His remark was cut short by a now familiar bellow, barely diminished by the vagaries of the ship’s intercom system.
“We’ve got the last of ‘em,” Scotty cried. “I’m on my way up to the bridge.”
In a release of pent-up energy, Riker brought his fist down on the armrest of his chair. Geordi saw the man’s eyes glitter purposefully.
“Engage, Mister La Forge. Get us the hell out of here.”
“You’ve got it,” the man in the VISOR replied.
Fortunately he’d piloted all sorts of ships in his day, from the quirky little Mars shuttle to the mammoth and powerful Enterprise. And even if he wasn’t quite used to the Yorktown’s antiquated control panel, he’d already logged a few hours on it.
Deftly he brought the ship about. Then, engaging the impulse engines, he took them out of the planet’s gravity well at the speed of light. Any faster, he knew, and he would have been inviting structural damage.
Before long they’d escaped orbit. Geordi alerted the others to the fact.
“Engage warp drive,” Riker responded. “I’ll take the best speed you can wring out of these old engines.”
“Looks to me like warp eight,” said the chief engineer.
“Make that eight-point-one-five, laddie.”
Geordi turned and saw Captain Scott emerging from the open turbolift. Coming up alongside the captain’s chair, the older man eyed Riker.
Out of deference, the first officer began to stand—until Scotty stopped him with a hand on his forearm. “Stay where ye are,” he told Riker. “This time, the bridge is yers. After all, ye’re the one with all the combat experience.”
Clearly Scotty had had some combat experience of his own. But it seemed to Geordi, the man felt he was needed more elsewhere.
“Aye, sir,” the first officer returned, sitting back