Immortal Coil - Jeffrey Lang [111]
There came a white flash. No sound, of course, but the light was so bright that Data’s visual receptors briefly overloaded. There was a shock wave and then he felt himself lose his grip on the android ship, but not on Rhea’s hand. He flexed his arms, legs and fingers reflexively, tried to stay limber. His internal gyroscope attempted to find an orientation point, but without visual cues there was no up, down or side by side. Something struck his ankle—a piece of wreckage?—then another touch on his waist. Rhea, he decided. It must be Rhea. She squeezed his hand. Data made an attempt at a reassuring smile, but he wasn’t sure if she was looking at him, or, if she was facing the right way, or even whether she could see.
His visual receptors blinked, went gray, then came back online. Before him, he saw a slowly diminishing fireball—the station reactor circled ‘round by a half-dozen clouds of vapor and debris—that must have been the attacking ship. Below him—or above, since such terms had little meaning at the moment—was the only remaining attacking vessel, the one he and Rhea had clung to, now badly damaged, but still functional. It was turning, Data saw, and he followed the line of its prow to see it was heading toward the Enterprise, whose shields glowed a dull blue because of the radioactive discharge, but otherwise looked intact.
He turned his head to look back over his shoulder and was not surprised to find the great rim of Odin filled half the sky. They were caught in her gravity well now; he could feel the pull on his back, even sensed their mounting acceleration. It would be a quick death, Data decided, if nothing else. The pressure from the atmosphere would mount quickly, then their bodies would be crushed into a pair of irregular spheres, and they would become permanent members of the collection of junk that orbited the great gas giant. Perhaps as they fell, Data would even have a moment or two to analyze the puzzling silver cloud …
Turning back to the Enterprise, Data was surprised to find that he had never looked at his ship—his home—in this way before, hanging in space against a backdrop of stars. He had studied it in spacedock, surrounded by artificial light, yes, but never like this, in its “natural” environment. It was, he decided, lovely in a way he had never anticipated, almost organic in its silent, graceful beauty.
Rhea tightened her grip on his hand, then pointed. Data had been so absorbed in his aesthetic appreciation, he hadn’t noticed the shuttlebay doors opening. Seconds later, a shuttlecraft exited the bay, then climbed up over the main hull in a tight turn. Apparently, someone had noticed them. The Enterprise’s rear shield irised open and the shuttlecraft slipped through before the Exo III ship could fire. The shuttle turned wide, apparently wanting to stay as far away from the attacker as possible, then headed back toward Odin. Rhea squeezed his hand again.
The white point of light that was the shuttle grew quickly as it headed toward them and Data was slightly surprised to see it was a light civilian shuttle, not one of the well-shielded fighter craft. Perhaps the captain planned to deploy the others? Rhea pointed again and Data nodded, signaling he had already seen, but then she pushed his head farther to the right so he was staring at the Exo III ship. It was, he saw, turning.
Toward them. Very quickly. Apparently, someone else had noticed them.
But the shuttle would be there in a moment and as soon as they were beamed aboard, they could go to warp and get Rhea far away. The Enterprise would be able to handle one injured ship. Probably.
And then the shuttle flew past them, its impulse engines blazing at full power, heading directly into Odin’s atmosphere.
Data blinked, puzzled.
What was the captain doing?
“How long until Sam hits the atmosphere?” Picard asked.