Pantheon - Michael Jan Friedman [160]
The Kelvan got up stiffly and left the room. As the doors slid closed behind him, Leach felt a wave of relief. Grinning, he glanced at his colleagues. “Now, that was interesting.”
Werber grunted disparagingly. “I’ll say.”
“Give him credit,” Simenon rasped. “He’s got the courage of his convictions. We should be glad he’s on our side.”
The first officer knew that the Gnalish loved sarcasm. For a moment, he thought Simenon was demonstrating that love. Then he realized that his friend was serious.
“You really think so?” asked Werber.
“I do,” the engineer told him.
“Maybe Phigus is right,” Leach conceded, though in the privacy of his mind he sincerely doubted it.
“Maybe,” said Werber. “And maybe not.”
“Time will tell,” the first officer noted diplomatically. “Come on. Let’s get some lunch.”
Six
The galactic barrier was like a gaping wound in the fabric of space…a raw, red chasm seething with waves of violent energy. At least, that was the way it appeared to Picard, as he stood beside Captain Ruhalter’s chair and gazed at the forward viewscreen.
As far as the Stargazer’s instruments were concerned, it was a different story entirely.
“The barrier registers on optical scanners,” said Gerda Asmund from her navigation console, “but that’s it. I can’t get anything from any other sensor modality. Wideband electromagnetic, quark resonance, thermal imaging, neutrino spectrometry…not so much as a blip on any of them.”
“No gravimetric distortions either,” Idun observed. “Subspace field stress is zero.”
Ruhalter got up from his center seat and approached the viewscreen. “So as far as most of our expensive, state-of-the-art instruments are concerned, this thing doesn’t exist.”
Gerda glanced at him. “That would be one way of putting it, sir.”
It was a remarkable state of affairs indeed—and it came as no surprise to any of them.
In the sixty-eight years since Captain Kirk’s vessel plunged through the barrier, the Federation had sent out numerous expeditions to study the phenomenon. They all came back with the same results. In other words, none at all.
The barrier defied conventional analysis. It could be seen, certainly. It could be felt, once one got close enough. But for all other intents and purposes, it was a phantom.
“Helm, take us down to warp one,” said Ruhalter. “Navigation, divert all available power to the shields.”
“Done, sir,” the Asmunds replied at virtually the same time.
Despite the reduction in speed, the barrier loomed closer. Patterns of light began to emerge in it, taking the shape of globules and then flares. Picard felt his jaw clench.
He knew, of course, that there wasn’t really any cause for concern. Deflector shield technology had come a long way since Captain Kirk braved the barrier in the original Starship Enterprise. The chances of any ESPers being exposed to the phenomenon and metamorphosing into modern-day Gary Mitchells were ridiculously remote.
Nonetheless, the sight of the phenomenon strained the second officer’s nerves. If the shields dropped at the wrong moment, or if some part of the barrier proved much fiercer than the others…
“Status?” Ruhalter demanded.
“There’s some turbulence up ahead,” Idun reported evenly, “but nothing we can’t handle.”
Just then, the turbolift doors opened and Leach emerged. He had been overseeing a last-minute diagnostic on Jomar’s shield alterations.
The captain glanced at him. “Any problems, Commander?”
Leach frowned as he took in the spectacle on the viewscreen. “None, sir. Everything’s functioning perfectly.”
The first officer was still perturbed about the idea of taking Santana back to her side of the barrier. He hadn’t made any secret of that. And the bizarre spectacle on the screen couldn’t have made it any easier for him.
The captain turned back to Idun. “Steady as she goes,” he said.
“Aye, sir,” his helm officer responded.
“Five million kilometers and closing,” Gerda Asmund announced. “Four million. Three million…”
Picard felt a shudder run through the deck beneath his feet.