Immortal Coil - Jeffrey Lang [66]
Barclay, despite the pale green cast to his complexion, saw Riker’s expression and, over the whine of the engines, shouted, “What’s so funny, sir?”
“I was just thinking about what Worf would say in this situation.”
Barclay winced, knowing exactly what the commander was referring to. “Please, Commander. Don’t say it …”
Riker found his thoughts shifting to Deanna. “Maybe you’re right,” he decided. “Just be ready when I give the word.”
Riker focused on what the sensors were telling him. The enemy had decided that he was worthy of some attention. Small blisters had opened in the “ice” and disruptor fire lashed out. Riker doubted if the pod would survive more than one direct hit.
He sent the pod weaving back and forth along the enemy ship’s underside, steering from side to side randomly, moving too quickly for its targeting sensors to lock on. Reg made an unhappy noise.
Riker ignored it all. He was focused on their proximity to the enemy’s bow. “Ten seconds,” he shouted. “On my mark.”
Skimming close to the hull, Riker hit the thrusters and the pod shot out past the enemy’s bow, twisting back and forth between the disruptor banks. “Mark,” he said, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Reg punch the correct sequence of controls.
The pod’s computer intoned, “Warp core ejection sequence commencing in five, four, three, two, one. Ejection.”
Somewhere behind them, Riker knew, a small, hourglass-shaped assembly fired out the emergency ejection port. Riker rolled hard to starboard as the tiny warp core cleared the pod and breached as it slammed against the bow of the iceship.
Light filled the cabin as the blast buffeted the pod. It tumbled out of control and started to shake apart. And in that moment, Riker spoke through teeth that were clenched against the shock wave, deciding Barclay could stand to hear what Worf would say at a time like this, after all.
“Today is a good day to die.”
On the bridge of the Enterprise, Picard shouted, “Get them out of there!” as Troi’s hands moved deftly over the transporter override. But she already knew something was wrong. The interference from the subspace weapon was more disruptive than sensors had indicated. On the viewscreen, the bow of the iceship disintegrated in a single, catastrophic flash, a blast that tore across the length of the craft and ripped it apart into a cloud of dust.
She checked the transporter sensors, then rechecked them, then a third time, scanning, coaxing, silently begging them to lock onto something, anything. But there was only a void.
“I’ve lost him,” she whispered, then, realizing what she had said, raised her voice and said, “Captain, I’ve lost them. There was nothing for the transporter to lock onto. I … I’m sorry.” She braced herself then, waiting for the moment when it would hit her, for the echo of Will’s death to hit her. Imzadi … I’m so sorry …
No one on the bridge moved and Troi felt her heartbeat slow, minds becoming sluggish, despair becoming a tangible thing. Then, she felt the captain shrug off his despair and bark, “Damage reports. Welles—stabilize our orbit. Ensign Rixa, contact Dr. Crusher and inform her we have casualties.” And on and on—orders, orders, orders: the captain setting the world to order. Lights came back up to full; medics tended the injured. Blowers cleared the air. Troi felt her hands move and heard herself speak. She was doing her job, doing what she had been trained to do, but every moment, every moment, she was waiting, waiting for her heart to be pierced. It’s coming, she thought. It’s coming any second now and then there will be