Flashback - Diane Carey [54]
"I don't 'care,' mister. I'm going to stuff it into the coolant leak. Hand it over."
He smiled, but kicked off one boot and reached down to pull off his sock.
When he handed it to her, she sneered. "It's wet! Are you sweating that much?"
"I'd rather be," he told her. "That's the blood running down my arm. Sorry."
Torres peered through the salmon glow and felt terrible about what she'd said. "Sorry ... I forgot. I'll get the first-aid kit and patch your shoulder before we do this."
"Why don't we do it and get it over with?"
"No. I want to patch you up. Nobody should have to die bleeding."
Paris chuckled. "That makes no sense!"
"Maybe not, but it's probably in a Klingon proverb book somewhere. I'll be right back."
In the aft section, just forward of the cargo bay, the coolant rupture fizzed fitfully, burping pink
spray so thick that she had to hold her breath as she stuffed the sock into the crack. The fizzing slowed, but didn't stop.
After only a few seconds, she had to hurry back to the cockpit to get another breath.
"Too porous. It did some good, but it won't hold." She panted, feeling her lungs beginning to constrict with lack of oxygen.
Paris didn't say anything, but only nodded resignedly.
Dropping to one knee, Torres pulled the first-aid kit out from under the nav seat and opened it, then rummaged for one of the five-by-five gauze patches with the flexible aluminum coating on one side. "Here, turn your arm this way."
The gash in the outer side of his upper arm was gory and looked very painful. Until she got a good look at it, she hadn't been giving him enough credit for working through the pain and numbness. His fingers on that hand were trembling visibly, and his face was a knot of discomfort. He clamped his lips as she tore the sleeve open a few more inches and sprayed a clotting agent on the wound.
As she raised the five-by-five, she suddenly paused. "This . . . this has adhesive edges . . ."
Paris blinked . "So?"
"So . . . just a minute?"
She pushed off the deck, and accidentally off his sore arm, but ignored his quick intake of breath and rushed to the coolant rupture. This just might work-shoving the sock as far into the crack as she could without pushing it all the way through, she
laid the patch over the top of the sock and pressed her fingers around the adhesive ridges, one side at a time, very carefully, so there were no air bubbles.
The leak sputtered, lifted the last corner of the five-by-five, then went quiet.
She glanced forward. "I think this can work!"
"What?" Paris rasped back.
"I patched the leak with the bandage. Between this and the sock, we might buy ourselves a few more minutes."
She dashed back to the nav seat and sat down, then reached over and strapped Tom tightly into his seat with the safety harness that so rarely, if ever, had been used.
"I'm beginning to think we could just survive this," she said with renewed vigor. "We just might."
"I will if you will," he grunted. Then the pain of broken ribs cut through him, and he pressed his head back against the seat and crammed his eyes closed.
Torres gave him a few seconds to regain control. When he opened his eyes and managed a nod, she reached forward to the control panel. "Ready."
Paris drew a series of short breaths to steady himself, then put his good hand on his own panel. "Ready."
"Go ahead."
Knowing what he had to do, Paris tapped the controls and caused a hissing sound along the sides of the shuttlecraft, on the outer hull. Sssssst. . . ssssst . . .
Meter by meter the shuttle wobbled in space,
bobbing on an imaginary surface until the nose began to draw an arch toward a specific point.
"Almost have it. . ." Paris was drenched in sweat now. "Voyager thirty degrees off the starboard bow .. . twenty degrees ..."
"Opening the aft hatch-"
"Ten degrees . . ."
"Blowing the tanks," Torres said tightly. "Hold that heading!"
"Five degrees . . . dead ahead!"
"Ignition!"
PART THREE
"KHAQQ calling Itasca.