Pantheon - Michael Jan Friedman [62]
The intercom system was silent for a moment. “I’d say that’s impossible,” answered the engineering chief.
“And yet,” the captain told him, “our external sensors indicate that we are doing just that. Nor is there any evidence of sensor failure.”
This time, Geordi took even longer to react. “You mean we’re exceeding top speed—and our engines aren’t?”
Picard managed to keep his voice free of the frustration he was feeling. “That is how it appears.”
“I’ll be right there,” Geordi told him.
The captain grunted. “Thank you, Mister La Forge.” He turned back to Data. “For the time being, Commander, I think it would be wise to drop out of warp altogether.”
“Aye, sir,” replied the android. With practiced ease, he went through the necessary routine on his board. However, even after Data was finished, Picard could feel the vibration of warp speed in the hull—could see the streaks of light darting by on the viewscreen.
“What is going on?” he asked.
“I cannot say,” the android responded. “The warp drive has been disengaged. Yet our sensors indicate that we are still proceeding at warp nine point nine five.”
The captain felt a muscle in his jaw start to twitch. With an effort, he controlled it. “Then we cannot slow down,” he concluded.
It was not a question, but Data answered it anyway. “That is correct, sir.”
Picard resolved not to panic—not even on the inside. Geordi would be here in a matter of moments, he told himself. His chief engineer would shed some light on this.
He had damned well better.
Nine
With both warp and impulse engines at rest, it was ominously quiet in engineering. As Geordi entered ahead of Data, two faces turned simultaneously in his direction—those of Phigus Simenon and Wesley Crusher.
“Thanks for being so prompt,” he told them.
“What’s the matter?” asked Wes.
“Must be something serious,” the Gnalish said. “You were up on the bridge for almost an hour.”
Geordi nodded. “It’s serious all right. That’s why I wanted the best help I could get.”
He headed for the master situation monitor and pulled up a schematic of the sector through which they were passing. The Enterprise showed up as a red blip in the middle of the diagram.
They all came closer to take a look.
“You’ll note,” Geordi pointed out, “that we’re moving pretty quickly—especially in light of the fact that our engines have been turned off.”
Data spoke up. “Warp nine point nine five, to be precise.”
Both Wesley and the Gnalish looked at him.
“You’re kidding,” said the ensign.
“I am not capable of humor,” replied the android. “As you know.”
“I assume you’ve checked for quirks in the sensor systems,” remarked Simenon. “After all, we know only what they tell us.”
“Checked and rechecked,” the chief engineer replied. “They’re working just fine.”
“So we’re sailing along at warp nine point nine five, and without even lifting a finger.” Wesley shook his head, disbelieving.
“Curious,” agreed the Gnalish.
“Apparently,” Geordi told them, “we’ve gotten caught in some sort of subspace phenomenon. A slipstream, for lack of a more precise description. And it’s carrying us ahead against our will.” He paused, looking at the others. “I don’t have to tell you what this means.”
“We’ll be at Daa’V in a matter of hours,” said Simenon. “And out into uncharted space in a few days.”
“That’s exactly right,” the chief engineer said. “And from what I understand, there could be problems if Morgen’s late for the coronation ceremony—big problems. After all, not everyone on Daa’V is thrilled to see him succeed to the throne, and they’d love an excuse for denying it to him. Which is why we left ourselves plenty of time to get him there.”
“Or so you thought,” added the Gnalish.
“Or so we thought,” Geordi echoed. “And even at warp factor nine point two—the maximum speed the Enterprise can sustain for any extended period of time—we’re going to be able to return to Federation space only one-fourth as fast as we’re leaving it. In other words, every day out is going to mean four days back. So if we’re going