Enigma - Michael Jan Friedman [39]
Rodriguez looked at the padd again. They needed information like this if they were going to beat the invaders the next time—and she couldn’t imagine that there wouldn’t be a next time.
“Place is a mess,” said Baskind, “isn’t it?”
Rodriguez looked up at the bridge again and nodded. Then the lift doors closed and they descended toward engineering.
Ben Zoma was thinking about his cousin Dahlia, whose colony was less than a light-year off the course Admiral McAteer had selected, when Garner got his attention.
“Sir,” said the security officer, from her seat at the control panel beside Paris, “I’m receiving another message. This one is from Starfleet Command.”
Ben Zoma glanced at the admiral, who had mercifully seen fit to doze off in the rear of the craft. Rather than wake him right away, the first officer would see what the message was about.
Moving forward, he took a look at it. It was a compilation of data, everything Starfleet had managed to gather on the enemy—including the whereabouts of his vessels, to the extent that they could be determined.
And it hadn’t just been sent to the Livingston. According to the signature on the message, it had been transmitted to the entire fleet.
“Interesting,” said Ben Zoma.
“What is?” asked McAteer, whose eyes had coincidentally chosen that moment to open.
“The enemy seems to be advancing in units of five vessels apiece. But only four of the vessels in each unit are warships. The fifth is a much larger, ungainly-looking affair, which lags behind and seems to function as a supply drone.”
Ben Zoma turned to look at the others. “No need to carry extra food, spare parts, or reusable energy resources. The supply ship does that for them.”
“So they travel fast and light,” the admiral observed, “rendering them more effective in combat. Makes perfect sense, if your only objective is a military one.”
“But it wouldn’t work for us,” said Horombo, “because we’re explorers as well.”
“Maybe it’s not an ideal situation for them either,” said Ben Zoma, thinking out loud.
McAteer leaned closer. “What do you mean?”
The first officer frowned. They were behind the enemy’s line of attack. From all appearances, they were safe.
But one of the invaders’ five-vessel units was still within a billion kilometers of them. It wouldn’t be difficult to catch up to its supply drone.
With a little care, Ben Zoma and his people might be able to slip aboard the vessel, hide there, and then sneak onto a warship in the midst of a supply transfer. That would give them a chance to reconnoiter, examine their adversaries’ systems up close, and possibly identify a few weaknesses.
Clearly, the enemy knew how to take apart a starship’s defenses. With a bit of luck, they might be able to help Starfleet return the favor.
“What I mean,” the first officer said, in answer to the admiral’s question, “is that the enemy may have given us an opportunity.”
And he described his idea to the others.
“Mind you,” he added, “it’s a dangerous proposition. There’s no guarantee it’ll succeed—or that we’ll still be alive to celebrate if it does. But Captain Picard and our friends on the Stargazer are risking their lives to defend the Federation. I don’t see why we shouldn’t do the same.”
Paris and the security officers seemed willing enough. But Ben Zoma had to consider McAteer, who had already decided that they should proceed to the nearest starbase.
The admiral’s eyes narrowed and remained that way for several seconds. Then he spoke.
“I like it.”
The first officer looked at him, wondering if he had inadvertently stepped into an alternate reality where McAteer was a reasonable man. “You do?”
“Absolutely,” said McAteer. “It’s far from a certain thing, of course. But our duty to the Federation demands that we make the attempt, regardless of the odds.”
Ben Zoma couldn’t believe the admiral had gone along with his plan. However, he wasn’t about to look the proverbial gift horse in the mouth.
“Ensign Paris,” he said, “come about and head for the