Enigma Ship - J. Steven York [4]
Chapter
2
Captain David Gold sat alone at the table in the U.S.S. da Vinci‘s observation lounge. Carefully spaced around the long black table stood a full complement of vacant chairs, all Starfleet standard issue, save for Blue’s at the other end of the table. At his elbow was a rapidly cooling bowl of matzoh ball soup, and the grim visage of Captain Montgomery Scott filled the main viewscreen in the wall to his right.
He glanced briefly into the soup, decided the color of the broth was too pale, the sheen of fat on top somehow wrong. He set it on the table to finish its thermodynamic journey to room temperature. No matter how many times he had the crew tweak the replicators, they could never produce even a faint shadow of his wife’s wonderful homemade soup.
Captain Scott seemed to notice the bowl for the first time. “Sorry about your lunch, David. This is one of those instances where seconds could mean the difference between life and death.”
Under better circumstances, Gold might have grinned. Captain Scott was a man out of time, an officer from the golden days of two-fisted space exploration. He didn’t shy from the dramatic, or even the melodramatic. It was something Gold liked in Scott, even as he found it sorely lacking in himself. “My people are on their way, and we’re already en route at maximum warp. It sounds like we should hit the ground running, so to speak.”
“Aye, that’s the way I see it. Everything we’ve got on the situation has been transferred to your computers under the heading ‘Enigma,’ but I wanted to brief you all personally.”
The door opened and the S.C.E. crew began to file in, led by Gomez and Corsi.
Gold nodded to acknowledge their arrival. “Warm up your padds, there’s work to be done.”
“Always is,” replied Gomez, pulling out her personal access data display.
Corsi’s reaction was different. She stopped and studied the captain, her eyes narrowed. He could see her mind working furiously.
Corsi wasn’t an engineer, far from it. Beyond fieldstripping a hand phaser in the dark, or setting a demolitions charge, she steered clear of technical subjects. If the current mission concerned her, she knew there was a threat involved, either to the ship, or the crew. Playing watchdog to a ship full of egghead engineers, often oblivious to their own safety, was her job. She took it very seriously.
Lense, Soloman, Blue, Abramowitz, and Stevens quickly followed and took their seats, Blue scuttling across the room and crawling onto her special chair at the far end of the table. Gold noticed Duffy bringing up the rear, a distracted frown on his face.
“Computer, display file Enigma on the main viewer.” A screen on the wall lit with the files entry screen, Scott’s image shifting to an inset in the upper-right-hand corner.
Gomez frowned as she looked over the file’s contents. “This is a search-and-rescue operation? I’d think there were better-equipped ships in the sector for that.”
Scott sighed. “Well now, that’s the rub. The U.S.S. Chinook is already on station, but they’re having no luck getting inside the bloody thing, or even figuring out what in blazes it is. Command has a vital relief mission for them across the sector, and they’re going to have to get under way in just a few hours.”
“More vital than a missing starship?” Gold asked.
“According to Starfleet Command, this is classified as a salvage operation where the Lincoln is concerned. We know the Lincoln struck what they’re calling a navigation hazard at sublight speed. The object is about a hundred kilometers in diameter, and the Lincoln didn’t come out the other side. That means it was likely decelerated from two-hundred and fifty thousand KPH to the navigation hazard’s speed, about ten thousand KPH.”
Gold felt his jaw clench involuntarily as he thought about it.
Shaking his head, Stevens said, “Even with inertial dampers, that should have torn the Lincoln to shreds, and turned its crew into paste. Not something I’d wish