Miracle Workers (SCE Books 5-8) - Keith R. A. DeCandido_. [et al.] [15]
“Enough of that,” Gold snapped. “We’ve just been given a deadline for getting out of here, people, and we can’t afford to waste time with defeatist gabbing.” Turning to the science station, he asked, “Soloman, can you calculate the time until the next interphase?”
The Bynar spent several moments peering into the console’s viewfinder before turning back to the group with a troubled expression on his face.
“According to the data I have . . . at my disposal, the next interphase should occur in . . . three hours and twelve minutes.”
Gold absorbed the report. It was simple to understand, really. The power supplies of the generators would be exhausted more than an hour before the next interphase.
“Why didn’t we register the power drain before?” he asked.
It was Gomez who replied. “Up until the attack, the Defiant was always on the threshold of the rift. Now that we’re completely enveloped in interspace, the negative effects associated with it must be intensified.”
“What about the power cells in our suits?” Pattie asked. “They should be affected as well.”
Gomez activated her tricorder and quickly scanned her suit’s control panel, located on her left sleeve. “There is a minor power drain, but it’s not alarming.” She frowned at the tricorder readings. “They should be fine at least until the next interphase, but I’m not sure I’d bet on them.”
“Well, it’s all we have for now,” Gold said. “So rather than worry about it, I think we’d be better served by finding a way out of here.” Looking over at Soloman, he said, “Give me a scan of the rift opening, or at least the area where it used to be.”
Soloman turned to the sensor displays once more, his small hands playing over the controls of the science station. Gold noted with satisfaction that the Bynar had become so fluent with the antiquated control panels that one would think he had been born to serve on this ship. Soloman seemed quite at home there, the da Vinci captain thought, toiling away at the science station with the viewfinder’s telltale blue glow washing over his face. It was in stark contrast to the rest of the bridge illumination that reflected off the back of his pale, bald head.
The Bynar’s head . . . so small and fragile. Gold imagined he could feel the smooth texture of Soloman’s skin beneath his fingers, could almost feel the curve of his skull as he at first caressed, then pressed harder, yearning to hear the final satisfying crack of the slim neck supporting—
What?
Gold wasn’t aware that he’d fallen until his tailbone struck the deck and the back of his head smacked against the side of the captain’s chair. The dull ache from the dual impacts had barely begun to assert itself before he felt a hand on his arm.
“Captain, are you all right?” Lense asked, already waving her tricorder near the area of his head that had struck the chair.
Reaching up to wipe his brow, Gold blinked several times in an attempt to reorient himself. He looked up to see the entire away team staring down at him, nearly identical expressions of concern etched on their faces.
“Am I? I . . . I don’t know,” he said, his voice unsteady. “One minute I was watching Soloman working, and the next I was . . . I was imagining . . .” The murderous anxiety he had felt only seconds before threatened to wash over him again, and he bit down on the rest of the sentence, leaving the remaining words unspoken.
Lense lowered her tricorder. “The theragen in your system has begun to lose its effectiveness.” She retrieved a hypospray from her medical kit and checked its setting. “It’s as if we’re all building up a tolerance for the drug.” Shaking her head, she added, “I’m going to increase the dosage for all of us, but at this rate, my supply won’t last more than a few hours.”
Gold cast a final, guilty look at Soloman as he drew a deep breath to calm himself. The horrid vision that had filled his mind only moments before continued to burn in