Pantheon - Michael Jan Friedman [68]
Picard nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Crusher. Go to warp nine point six.”
“Aye, sir.” Wesley touched the necessary controls.
It had absolutely no effect on their velocity. The captain knew that even before Data announced it.
“Warp nine point nine,” Picard instructed.
Still no change—other than the fact that their warp drive was laboring as hard as it ever had before. At this speed, the engines would hold out for only a few minutes—then they’d simply turn themselves off.
And as they accelerated beyond warp nine point nine, their ability to maintain speed would no doubt diminish accordingly—perhaps to no more than a matter of seconds. Nonetheless, the captain was inclined to approach his goal by degrees. He refused to play Russian roulette with in excess of a thousand lives.
“Nine point nine three, Mr. Crusher.”
“Nine point nine three, sir.”
Geordi spoke up: “Estimate one minute and forty-five seconds until engine auto-shutdown.”
Picard could feel the thrum of the engines through the deck. “Nine point nine five,” he said.
“Nine point nine five, sir.”
The vibration in the deck grew worse, joined by a high-pitched whine. Picard set his teeth against it.
They were moving as quickly as the slipstream now. Keeping pace with it, as remarkable as that seemed. He thought he could feel the g-force pressing him back into his seat. But of course, that was just his mind playing tricks on him—wasn’t it? Or had the inertial dampers reached their limit?
“Estimate auto-shutdown in nine seconds,” Geordi said over the whine. “It’s now or never, sir!”
With an effort, the captain leaned forward. Come on, Enterprise!
“Nine point nine six, Mr. Crusher.”
“Nine point nine six!” Wesley repeated, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice. Nor did Picard blame him—no Federation vessel had ever traveled even this fast under its own power.
The ensign made the necessary adjustments—and holding his breath, or so it appeared to Picard, pressed the “enter” key.
Suddenly, the bridge was caught in the grip of chaos. The viewscreen seemed to burst with blinding light, while the whine became the worst kind of spine-shivering squeal. Worst of all, the captain felt himself thrust back as if by a giant hand, crushed into his command chair.
Then, as abruptly as it began, it was over. No whine, no vibration, no intrusion of g-forces. The viewscreen was blank, the ship’s visual sensors having apparently overloaded. Picard took a deep breath, let it out.
He looked around. “Is everyone all right?”
Everyone was, though some of the bridge officers seemed to have lost their footing in that last violent moment. Geordi was one of them.
“Mr. Crusher,” said Picard, rising and approaching the Conn station. En route, he gave his tunic a short, effective tug. “What is our situation?”
When Wesley turned around, he looked disappointed. “The warp engines are down, sir. And we’re still moving at warp nine point nine five.”
A bitter thing to swallow. But the captain accepted it with equanimity. “I see” was all he said.
“Life-support nodes have switched to impulse power,” Data reported. “However, lighting and ventilation systems are experiencing widespread failures, though none that suggests imminent danger to the crew.”
Picard nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Data.” It occurred to him to pose another question. Turning to Geordi, he asked: “Did we achieve warp nine point nine six, Commander?”
La Forge shook his head. “I’m not sure, sir. We had some instrument malfunctions.”
Picard accepted that too. “See what data you can collect,” he advised. “Perhaps we can learn something from this.”
“Aye, sir,” said the chief engineer. “Just as soon as I get the engines up and running again.”
The captain turned back to the viewscreen. Despite its emptiness, he could see imagined stars streaming by all too quickly.
Picard sighed. They had given it their best shot—and failed.
In the lounge on Deck Seventeen, the only illumination was supplied by the starlight that came through the observation port—and that wasn’t much at all. However,