Pantheon - Michael Jan Friedman [66]
The back of the ensign’s neck turned red. “Acknowledged, sir.”
“All right,” said Geordi. “We’ve bought ourselves that time we wanted. Let’s do something with it. Data, Crusher, Professor Simenon—you’re with me.”
The Gnalish gave the captain one last look as he swept past—a look that said his contribution was all in a day’s work. Then he was on his way to the turbolift along with Wesley and the android, his tail switching back and forth over the carpeted deck.
Geordi was leaning on a bulkhead, his arms locked across his chest. He looked at Simenon, Data, and Wesley in turn.
Not the most upbeat bunch, he remarked to himself. But then, he wasn’t feeling too upbeat himself just then. Of them all, only Data was still holding his head erect—and that was only because he wasn’t human enough to know when he was licked.
“We’ve been at this for hours, and we’ve got nothing to show for it,” Geordi said. “I’m opening the floor to any idea, no matter how wild. Hell, it doesn’t even have to be an idea—just a half-baked notion.”
The others looked at him. Simenon grunted.
“I mean it,” Geordi said. “Anything.”
Wesley straightened a little. “Okay. What if we separated the saucer section from the battle bridge?”
Simenon shook his head. “It wouldn’t help. If we were moving strictly under engine power and you disconnected the saucer, it would drop out of warp. But since the warp field is being imposed on us externally, the saucer would continue to be dragged along with the battle bridge.”
The android nodded. “That would be the most likely result.”
“I agree,” said Geordi. “All right—forget separation. How about the shuttles?”
“Same thing,” responded the Gnalish. “They’d be stuck here just as we are.”
“They might proceed more slowly,” offered Data, “because of their lesser mass. Remember, we are not in normal space; Newtonian principles may not hold here.”
“And what if they did proceed more slowly?” asked Simenon. “It would only be a stop-gap maneuver.”
“Besides,” said Wes, “none of them can travel faster than warp one—so whatever advantage we enjoyed on the way out we’d lose in spades on the way back.”
Geordi nodded. “Even assuming there were enough of them to evacuate the ship—which there aren’t, even including the lifeboat pods. Next.”
“We launch a probe,” said the Gnalish. “And then we blast it with photon torpedoes. Our shields should protect us from any damage, but the backlash—” Abruptly, he waved the idea away. “No. If we wanted to go backward more forcefully, all we’d have to do is go to warp five.”
“That’s right,” said Geordi. “And we’ve already scotched that idea because of the safety factor.”
Data’s brow creased. “It may be that we are approaching the problem the wrong way.”
“What do you mean?” asked Wes.
The android looked at him. “We seem to be focusing on finding a way to slow down. Perhaps it would help us more to speed up.”
That was a fresh slant. “Go on,” said Geordi.
“The slipstream is carrying us forward at warp nine point nine five. If we can exceed that speed, we might be able to outrun the phenomenon’s frontal horizon—assuming it has one—and thereby free ourselves.”
It was almost childlike in its conception. And yet, in a common-sense kind of way, it seemed as if it could work.
Of course, there was a rather large practical problem.
“You’re talking about the ship traveling in excess of warp nine point nine five,” Geordi pointed out. “We’ve never done that before.”
“We’ve never tried,” said Wes.
“And if Mr. Data is right about there being a frontal horizon,” added Simenon, “it might take only a fraction of a second to pierce it.”
“Or it could take millennia,” the chief engineer reminded him.
“Yes,” the Gnalish conceded. “Or that. It depends on the magnitude of the phenomenon. And where we are in relation to its boundaries.”
Geordi mulled it over. “I usually like to give the captain more than one option.”
Silence from Data and Wesley. Simenon rolled his fiery red eyeballs at the notion. After all, it had taken so long to come up with this