Equinox - Diane Carey [25]
Ransom effectively changed the subject by a unique
trick-finishing his work. His familiarity with the quirkish reroutes and jury-rigging deep in the systems quickly untangled what otherwise would've been days of work for Janeway just to diagnose. As he straightened, he said, "There you are ..."
For an instant she thought he was talking to her, until he stooped and brushed through the rubble, to come up with the ship's commission plaque.
U.S.S. Equinox. Commission date, officer manifest... a ship's ID tag.
Captain Ransom wiped the plaque with his bare hand, despite sharp metal shavings and a crackle of residual magnetic charge.
At the same moment as she was glad he found it, Janeway was crushed by the sadness of seeing that plaque driven to the deck, smeared with leakage and chips, in a situation that kept anyone from picking it up until now. If Voyager hadn't happened to be close enough to hear the distress signal and respond in the nick of time, that plaque would've been lying there as Equinox's crew died around it. There was something pathetic about that. Somehow it bothered her, like a child's grave with no stone.
"It's a good omen," she offered meagerly. "Let's put it back where it belongs."
And let's get the rest of us back where we belong. Why does home seem so much farther away today than it did yesterday?
Two ships, flying together in space, as fleets from Earth had done for centuries, even millennia. Equinox
and Voyager soared at warp speed-high for one ship, moderate for another-shrouded in the amniotic sac of the starship's shields, under assault the whole way.
Things were hectic. There was a time limit. People tried to walk and work quietly and calmly, compromised by an underlying sweat and knowledge that time was running out. Those aliens out there, operating on some other spatial plane, were systematically disrupting the starship's strong shields, shields that were already stretched thin by attempting to protect two ships.
Rudolph Ransom hurried through the guts of the bigger ship with his mind on the smaller one. The contamination in the critical areas of Equinox had staved off analysis of the area efficiently, giving him time to think of what to do. Either he would have a plan ready or time would run out and Voyager would be in the same position he and his crew were when the aliens started breaking through. Then, there wouldn't be any more opportunity for judgment making or room in the arena for challenges between Starfleet personnel. They'd have to work together to survive. He was counting on that.
He'd driven himself since coming aboard Voyager without having a full meal. Now the ship's EMH had ordered him to report to the mess hall or be fed intravenously. After months of surviving on handfuls here and there, the idea of a square meal was foreign. He would have to get reacclimated to some things gradually. Physical and otherwise.
But he still had to report to the mess hall. His com-
badge would log the entry, as keyed to do so by the EMH, and then he would be free to go.
The mess hall was not, and couldn't be expected to be, crowded. Not while the ships were under siege. People came and went, grabbing small meals to sustain them in their work to support the deflector system. Ransom wasn't surprised to see at least one of his crew here-but he was a little surprised that it was Max Burke. Probably under the same orders to eat.
Burke, though, was sitting down in front of a sailor's traditional square meal, though he did seem to be only picking. Ransom strode up behind him and pressed his shoulder. "I thought I'd find you here."
Burke glanced at him. "How could I resist? After two years on emergency rations ..."
"Don't get too comfortable." Ransom didn't sit, leaning instead on the chair behind him. When Max's shoulders slumped in understanding, his hands suddenly clenched, Ransom lowered his voice and said, "If Janeway's any indication, these