Crossover - Michael Jan Friedman [95]
“Ye’re welcome,” Scotty remarked.
Then without another word, he negotiated a path around the captain’s chair and took up a position at the aft engineering console.
“Eight-point-one-five it is,” Geordi conceded. After all, Scotty had had a bit more experience with the Yorktown than the rest of them.
Pushing the warp drive just a little harder, the younger man scanned his monitors. The engines seemed to be handling the additional load—just as his colleague had predicted.
“Told ye so,” called Scotty, unable to conceal an impish grin.
Geordi cast a look back at him and chuckled. “So you did.”
He eased himself back into his seat. With luck, the hardest part was behind them. All they had to do now was keep the Yorktown in working order until—
Geordi’s thoughts were interrupted by an explosive curse from Captain Scott. “We’ve got company, lads!”
Checking the tactical monitors on the navigation side of the console, Geordi saw what he was talking about. A moment later, Scotty made it easier for him by placing the image on the forward viewscreen.
“Three Romulan warbirds,” the older man said out loud, describing the threat that they could all assess for themselves now. “They must be trackin’ us by our ion emissions.”
“But there was only one warbird in orbit around Constanthus,” Geordi complained. Then he amended his own statement. “That we could see.”
It seemed they weren’t the only vessels circling Constanthus under cloak. They should have thought of that, the engineer lamented. But it was no good second-guessing themselves—not when every moment was crucial now.
“We’re not going to outrun them,” Riker concluded.
“Maybe not,” Scott agreed. “But they’re nae going to take us without a struggle, either.” He turned to Geordi. “I trust ye’ve got some evasive maneuvers up yer sleeve, laddie?”
“A few,” Geordi responded.
But even as he worked the helm controls to execute the first of them, he knew it wouldn’t make any difference in the long run. He didn’t have enough tricks up his sleeve to keep them in one piece all the way to the Neutral Zone.
“Perhaps I may be of assistance.”
Geordi looked back over his shoulder to see who’d spoken. From the outset, he knew it couldn’t have been Commander Riker or Data. Neither of them had a voice so deep, and yet so devoid of inflection.
When he saw who it was, he almost smiled. “If you’ve got any ideas,” Riker told the Vulcan, “I’m sure we’d all be glad to listen to them.”
“In that case,” said Spock, advancing to a point midway between the captain’s chair and the forward stations, “I recommend that we stop all engines immediately.”
Geordi was about to balk at the idea—until he saw the sense in it. Apparently Riker saw it, too.
“All stop,” bellowed the first officer.
The Yorktown shuddered as it dropped abruptly out of warp, taxing the century-old inertial dampeners to their limit. Hanging onto his console, Geordi resisted the feeling of being thrown forward.
But the maneuver had the desired effect. Unable to anticipate the Yorktown’s move, the warbirds were hard-pressed to keep themselves from smashing into her as they shot past at several hundred times the speed of light. As it was, they only missed by a couple of dozen meters.
Geordi could only tell that from his instrument panel. On the viewscreen, even at top magnification, they were nothing more than elongated streaks of light.
“Target photon torpedoes,” Riker commanded. “Let’s go for the one in the middle, Captain Scott.”
“Targeted,” said Scotty.
“Fire!” barked the first officer.
A moment later, twin packets of photon fury erupted in the direction of the Romulan vessels. While Geordi couldn’t actually see any more than that, his instruments told him that both of them struck their mark.
And at this all too intimate range, the enemy’s shields didn’t stand a chance.
“Report!” cried Riker.
“Direct hits on their starboard weapons bank,” Data announced. “Damage is isolated, but considerable.”
“They’ll nae be firing at us with those wee bairns,” Scott elaborated with a smile on his