Crossover - Michael Jan Friedman [97]
It wasn’t going to help, thought Geordi, peering at his monitors. At least, not enough to make a difference.
“We’re still losing speed,” he said. “Warp seven. Warp six. Warp five-point-five.” He shook his head. “Warp five.”
“The Romulans are decreasing the distance between us,” Data told them. “Estimate that at the rate we are slowing down, they will be in torpedo range in fifty-four seconds.”
“Mister La Forge,” the first officer intoned, “give me a rear view. And take the shields off-line—everything except deflectors, fore and aft.”
Geordi nodded. “Aye, sir.” He did as he was told.
A moment later, the image on the viewscreen changed. Instead of open space, they were looking at the approach of the still distant warbirds.
“We continue to decelerate,” Spock announced. “The Yorktown is now traveling at warp four-point-four.”
“Forty seconds,” the android reminded them.
There was a pause, during which Geordi couldn’t hear anything but the subtle hum of the failing generator coils and the urgent tapping of control padds. Then he heard another, even more desperate sound—from Commander Riker.
“Cut power to life-support,” the first officer said.
Geordi shook his head. That would only save them an infinitesimal portion of what they were losing. It was like trying to put out a sun with a mouthful of water.
But it might buy them another second or two. And to Riker, that was obviously worth it. Besides, they could live without life-support for a while—and it wouldn’t be needed if the Romulans caught up to them.
Geordi made the necessary power-net adjustments. “Eliminating life-support,” he advised.
“Warp three-point-eight,” the Vulcan reported. “Warp three-point-three. Warp two-point-nine.”
“Thirty seconds,” Data warned them.
Geordi looked to Scotty. There was nothing more they could do, and both of them knew it. Silently they acknowledged the value of each other’s efforts. And each other’s courage. And each other’s company, at what might well be the end.
“Twenty seconds,” said Data. “Fifteen. Ten.”
“Brace yourselves,” Riker told them.
Geordi held on to the console in front of him. He had no doubt that the Romulans would fire as soon as they were in range.
“This exhibit is now closed,” commented the ship’s computer, in a strangely strained and polyphonic voice. “Please watch your step on the way out.”
“Five,” said the android. “Four. Three. Two.
“One.”
Abruptly, Geordi felt something slam into them from behind, rattling his teeth. His control panel showed that they’d sustained a torpedo hit.
It happened again, except the impact was even greater. And again.
Behind Geordi, the communications panel exploded into flame, sending up twisting ropes of black fumes. He heard someone cry out, but he couldn’t make out the words with the deck plates groaning in his ears.
The air filled with smoke. Geordi fought to breathe, to stay conscious, but it was an uphill battle. As the ship jerked again, sparks erupted from the science station, driving Data backward against the rail.
The Yorktown was dying, the engineer realized. Really dying. And they were going to die along with her.
CHAPTER 24
My God, thought McCoy. We’re too late.
On the battle bridge’s small, cramped-looking viewscreen, the Yorktown staggered under the weight of a dozen fiery photon torpedoes. He could almost feel each impact as the barrage tore its way through what was left of the Federation vessel’s shields.
Standing beside Worf at the battle section’s abbreviated tactical station, in the lurid light of a red alert, the admiral wanted to do something—anything. But he was out of his element.
Picard leaned forward in his seat. “Report!” he cried.
“The Yorktown has sustained significant damage to several sections of her hull,” the lieutenant replied. “Sensors show no casualties as yet, but all systems are off-line.” He looked up from his instruments. “And another such attack will threaten the vessel’s structural integrity.”
In other words, the admiral remarked inwardly, there’s nothing but spit and bailing wire keeping her together. He muttered