Enigma Ship - J. Steven York [2]
That explained the smell. The stims were burning the alcohol out of her system. Pappy tapped at the command console, transferring information to the secondary station.
“The point at which the Lincoln disappeared is on your sensor display. Run a detailed scan on the area in front of it. Look for anything unusual.” Pappy ordered all stop, and kept his distance. If something had pulled the Lincoln in, it wouldn’t do to be pulled in as well.
The secondary consoles chirped and beeped as the captain entered commands. Finally she looked up at him, her dark eyes red and tired, but sobering by the minute. “There’s something out there, a discontinuity, like somebody blew an invisible bubble and the Lincoln just ran into it.”
Pappy frowned, his sharp eyebrows drawing together into a vee. “How big a bubble?”
The Captain consulted her displays, rubbed her eyes, then checked them again. “I’m reading a sphere a hundred kilometers across. We just missed running into it ourselves.” She sighed. “This is trouble.”
“Our convoy partner is disabled, we’re facing off with an invisible threat the size of a moon, one that just took out an Intrepid-class starship without firing a shot. Yeah, that would be one definition of ‘trouble.’” He tapped the thruster controls.
It was the Captain’s turn to frown. “What are you doing?”
“Getting in closer,” he replied. “Somebody may need rescuing.”
* * *
The U.S.S. da Vinci was a small ship. Even with a limited crew of about forty, its interior was crowded and cluttered by Starfleet standards, a situation not improved by the preponderance of engineers in its crew. In general, they were pragmatic about their use of ship’s spaces. It wasn’t unusual to see someone overhauling environmental suits on a briefing room table, storing salvaged alien propulsion components in a corner of the transporter room, or playing Andorian Juggle-ball in the shuttlebay.
Lt. Commander Kieran Duffy could even remember a time when all the corridors of deck six had been briefly converted into a miniature golf course, complete with holographic windmill. The exception to all this madness, by unspoken consent, was the mess hall. Not that it was reserved for eating, not at all, but it was reserved for quiet conversation, reading, social gatherings, and the occasional spontaneous musical interlude. No plasma torches, no alien artifacts, and no extreme sports allowed.
That was why Duffy liked it there, why it was the place he retreated when he needed to work or think, when his quarters became too cramped or lonely. The lights were kept low, the dark maroon chairs were inviting, and the clusters of small tables fostered quiet conversation. It was the da Vinci‘s living room, the place he came to bask in the feeling of family, and be reminded why he really liked having one of the few private cabins on the ship.
He’d picked a choice seat for himself near one of the scattered windows, where he could watch the stars, and ordered a quinine water from the replicator. Leaning back in the lightly padded chair, he put his feet on the table and sat back with an oversized design padd propped up in his lap.
He’d just gotten comfortable, opened his work space, and managed to move exactly one line in the display when he sensed someone standing behind him, and a very familiar scent of herbal shampoo. Commander Sonya Gomez leaned into his field of view, looking at the padd.
“What’re you doing?”
He pulled the padd protectively to his stomach. “Nothing. Just doodling.”
Gomez glanced at the table, and Duffy hastily put his feet on the floor. “That was a starship. You’re doodling a starship?”
“So?”
“Pretty elaborate doodle. How long you been doodling?”
He sighed and lowered the padd back to working position. “Six months.”
“That’s some doodle.” She leaned closer, her body nearly touching his shoulder, and this time he didn’t try to hide his work. “I didn’t know you were interested in ship design.”
“Isn’t every engineer on some level?”
“So you’re designing