Pantheon - Michael Jan Friedman [86]
“A couple of moments later, their communicators went dead. Nothing to worry about, necessarily. In fact, I’d predicted it would happen, what with all that energy running out of the assembly. But it was an ominous thing, that silence. Someone began to pace—I forget who. Ben Zoma, maybe.
“It went on like that for quite a while. The waiting, the pacing. The faces that looked like they’d been stretched too tight. Finally, there was no denying it—they’d been out there too long. Something had happened—something bad. Picard said as much. He said that someone had to go out and bring them back.
“As before, there were volunteers. But the captain wouldn’t listen. He was determined to keep the body count down, he said; he was already thinking in those terms. Ben Zoma argued with him, but to no avail. Pulling on a suit, he went after your father and Pug.
“The explosion came sometime later. I don’t remember exactly when. It felt as if we’d been pummeled by a giant fist. And when it was finished, we all stood there, afraid to move—because moving was a step toward facing the reality of what had happened.
“The worst possible event hadn’t occurred—we hadn’t been destroyed, the ship was still intact. The instruments showed us why. It wasn’t the generator that had blown; it was just a pocket of accumulated energy. And the nacelle was floating free, which was what we’d wanted all along.
“But three of our friends were still out there. At last, Ben Zoma got up from his seat and headed for the turbolift. I followed. So did Greyhorse, though he was barking orders to his trauma team the whole time. The others had to stay at their posts.
“We got to the airlock about the same time as Greyhorse’s people. There were also a couple of security guards, handpicked by Pug beforehand. They started to put on containment suits—but before they could get out of the lock, they saw Picard coming in. And he had Pug with him—alive.
“The captain had found him drifting alongside the hull, unconscious. There was no way he could have brought both Pug and your father in at once—he had to make a choice, and Pug was closer. As it was, he barely managed to get them around the curve of the ship before the explosion. If he’d gone after your father instead, all three of them would have died.”
He looked at Wesley. “The captain went back for your father, of course, but we all knew it was too late to help him. Afterward, Pug explained that the energy build-up had been too much for them, that they blacked out—first your father, then Pug himself.”
He grunted. “With the nacelle assembly ripped away, we were able to stagger away on impulse. So in the end, your father and Pug accomplished everything they set out to do. The only problem was one of them didn’t live to see it.”
Wesley found he had an ache in the back of his throat. He tried to swallow it away, found that he couldn’t.
The Gnalish’s eyes narrowed. “Are you all right, Ensign?”
Wes nodded. “Yes,” he said finally, his voice huskier than he would have liked. “I’m fine. Really.” He bent for another rock, trying to take his mind off his feelings. “Let me see if I can repeat that last performance.”
After a moment, he heard Simenon grunt. “Of course.” A pause. “The trick is to be consistent. There, that’s a good one—the one to your—”
Abruptly, a voice came out of nowhere.
“Wesley?”
The ensign looked up at the holodeck’s intercom grid, hidden in the illusion of scarlet treetops. Oh, no. How long had he been here? It seemed like only a few minutes, but Geordi’s tone suggested it had been much longer.
Wesley steeled himself. “Yes, Commander?”
“What the devil is going on up there? When I sent you after Professor Simenon, I didn’t expect the two of you to disappear.”
The Gnalish snorted derisively and shook his head. Wesley tried to ignore him. “Sorry, sir. I guess I, um…just lost track of time.”
“Lost track of—damn it, Wes! Did you forget what kind of mess we’re all in? Maybe Professor Simenon has the option of fiddling while