Progenitor - Michael Jan Friedman [71]
And the Nizhrak had no illusions about the deadly seriousness of her predicament. If the tractor beam lost its grip on her, if she tore loose from her tether, it wouldn’t matter that she could survive the radiation and magnetic forces that seemed to permeate this environment, or that the ebb and flow of the graviton storm couldn’t pulp her the way it would pulp a being of greater density.
All that would matter was that she possessed mass, however widely distributed, and that she would be inexorably drawn into the sinkhole like the Stargazer’s probe and the Belladonna before her. And if the research ship wasn’t likely to remain intact through such a passage, there was even less of a chance that she would do so.
Jiterica didn’t want to die. But more than that, she didn’t want to die for nothing.
She had barely completed the thought when she noticed something—that the intensity with which she was being cast about was diminishing. The tractor beam seemed steadier, more resistant to the graviton eddies that assaulted her. A brief respite, she wondered, or the first sign of an actual improvement in her situation?
In the seconds that followed, the beam seemed to assert itself even more. And though the ensign’s progress in the direction of the Belladonna was a little slower than before, a little more deliberate, it was also markedly less erratic.
Once again, she had reason for hope.
Simenon was losing his battle.
Despite the terrible urgency that coiled in his belly, despite the dark, looming knowledge of what would happen if he failed, he was slowing down kilometer by kilometer. He couldn’t help it. His strides were getting shorter, his legs heavier, his bruised ribs more excrutiatingly painful with each ragged, throat-searing inhalation.
Nor was the Gnalish the only one nearing the limits of his endurance. Greyhorse, who hadn’t kept up right from the beginning, had managed to slow down even more. And for that matter, so had Ben Zoma, Vigo, and Joseph.
Of them all, only Picard seemed to have the stamina to maintain their original, ground-eating pace. But it wouldn’t do Simenon any good if the captain reached the end ahead of everyone else. After all, it wasn’t really a question of who got to the clearing first.
It was a question of who got there last—because none of the teams would be considered to have finished until its last member arrived at the cache of unfertilized eggs.
So if Picard got there in record time and Greyhorse reached the end behind the last Aklaash or Fejjimaera, Simenon would lose. That was why he had gotten so irritated with the doctor in the beginning—because no matter what any of the others did, it was Greyhorse who would most likely determine their fate.
And that of Simenon’s bloodline.
As the Gnalish considered that, he stumbled on an exposed root. Damn, he thought, sure that he would go sprawling on his face. But almost instantly, a hand reached out and righted him. Glancing at its owner, Simenon saw that it was Picard.
The Gnalish cursed himself out loud and roused a flock of colunnu in the process. Keep your mind on what you’re doing, he thought. Concentrate on that or nothing else will matter.
Suddenly, Joseph cried out, “I see a star!”
Simenon cast a glance back over his shoulder at the security chief. What in blazes was the man babbling about?
He was still trying to figure it out when Ben Zoma called out a moment later, “I see it as well!”
It was then that the engineer realized what they were up to—a song sung by cadets back at Starfleet Academy, usually accompanied by copious quantities of alcoholic beverages until it became slurred entirely beyond recognition.
“To reach that star!” Vigo trumpeted.
“I’ll go through hell!” Picard barked between breaths.
The second verse was considerably less tasteful than the first, but Simenon’s comrades didn’t let that stop them. They made the forest ring with that one as well. And then the third verse, which was even bawdier than the second.
Before the Gnalish knew it, he was singing as breathlessly as the rest of them. It wasn’t