Day of Honor - Michael Jan Friedman [18]
Rahmin turned to their pilot, who like everyone else was looking at him. "Set a course to intercept," he commanded.
The pilot smiled and obeyed. And Rahmin hoped to heaven that his choice had been the right one.
B'Elanna was dreaming. In her dream, she was in a lecture hall at Starfleet Academy. But none of her classmates were there-only B'Elanna herself and her warp-physics instructor, Benton Horvath.
Horvath was tops in his field. B'Elanna respected him for that. Time and again, she had done her best to impress the man. But somehow, despite all her preparation, all her love for the subject, she had fallen short.
The professor's back was to her as he made some calculations on a data padd. His bald spot caught the light. Suddenly, he spoke up.
"I asked you a question, cadet."
B'Elanna knew he could only mean her. But she hadn't heard any question. Or, at least, she didn't remember hearing one.
"I'm sorry," she said. "Could you repeat it?"
Horvath cast a glance at her over his shoulder. A withering glance.
"All right, Mr. Torres. Once again, and this time I'll try to make it a bit more memorable." He cleared his throat. "Is that all right?"
B'Elanna nodded. "Yes, fine. I mean, thank you."
Horvath turned back to his padd. "All right. You're proceeding at warp I. No remarkable engine inefficiencies, no unusual subspace hindrances. All is going according to plan. Got it?"
"Yes," said B'Elanna.
"Well, don't pat yourself on the back just yet, Mr. Torres. Back on this ship of ours, a problem arises. Something rips off one of our two nacelles. I don't care what it is, frankly-a subspace anomaly or what
have-you. The point is, the damnable thing is wrenched away. Still with me?"
"So far," she assured him.
"The question," said Horvath, "is what do you do?"
B'Elanna looked at him-or rather, at his back. "Do?" she echoed. "I mean ... what can I possibly do?"
The instructor turned to her. "I asked you first. Come on, Mr. Torres. This isn't so difficult."
She shook her head. "If a nacelle falls off, different parts of the vessel end up travelling at different speeds. The ship is torn apart. There's nothing anyone can do about it."
Horvath smiled a wicked smile. "Isn't there?
Think, Mr. Torres."
B'Elanna found her mouth was dry all of a sudden. She licked her lips. "I ... I don't know," she whispered.
The instructor looked disgusted. "Come on," he said, his voice like a lash. "People are depending on you, Mr. Torres. Your captain is depending on you. If you can't help them, they'll all die."
The cadet grabbed her head with both hands. It was insane. Snippets of warp-field engineering lore flitted crazily through her brain, as elusive as black butterflies on Kessik IV, where she grew up.
Fieldformation is controllable in a fore-to-aft direction. The cumulative field-layer forces reduce the apparent mass of the vehicle and impart the required velocities. During saucer separation ...
"The interactive warp-field controller software," B'Elanna blurted. "It alters the field geometry-"
"No!" Horvath barked. "It doesn't react quickly enough." He shook his head disdainfully. "The deckplates are shivering, Mr. Torres. The stress is unimaginable. Do something! Do it now!"
"It's impossible!" she growled. "There's nothing a person can do!"
His eyes narrowed. "You're telling me it's impossible?"
"Yes," B'Elanna grated between clenched teeth. "Impossible!"
Horvath's mouth twisted. "You'll never be an engineer in this fleet with an attitude like that! You're a quitter, Mr. Torres! A quitter!"
"No!" she screamed. "No! N-"
Suddenly, B'Elanna found herself in her bedroom. She was sitting upright in the darkness, covered in cold sweat, her heart banging against her ribs so hard it hurt.
It was a dream. Only a dream, for godsakes. And, she told herself, you were absolutely right. There's nothing you can do if a nacelle tears off-except try to make your last thought a happy one.
Benton Horvath was a bastard, but he would never have asked her a question