Relics - Michael Jan Friedman [63]
“Aye, lad. That’s certainly somethin’ to consider.” And consider it he did.
Suddenly, it came to him. He snapped his fingers. “On the other hand … maybe all we need to do is get our foot in the door!”
Geordi was obviously puzzled. “Our … foot in the door?” he echoed. “I don’t get it.”
Suddenly feeling full of energy, Scott explained. “All right then, here it is. Y’see, we trigger the remote terminal with a subspace transmission …”
“Trigger it? But then, won’t we be pulled in by whatever got the Enterprise?”
Scott shook his hea d. “Nae if we’re far enough away-say a half million kilometers.” He scratched at his jawline, playing out the scenario in his head. “Then, when the hatch starts to close again-wham! We rush in and use the Jenolen to jam the thing open until the Enterprise can escape.”
Geordi looked at him as if the man had gone completely crackers. But Scott didn’t mind. He was already moving toward his engineering consoles. After all, the sooner he got started, the sooner they could put their plan into action.
“You can’t be serious,” said the younger man, following him to the console. “That hatch … it could crush this ship like an egg-and a pretty fragile egg at that.”
“Leave it to me,” said Scott. “I can increase the shield strength by running warp power through the relay grid.”
Geordi shook his head. “No way. These engines are barely holding together as it is. You push them too hard and they’ll explode.”
Scott shrugged off the possibility. “They’ll hold, lad, don’t ye worry about that. I know how to get a few extra gigawatts out o’ these wee bairns.”
Geordi sighed. “Scotty, this is suicide. I am not going to let you get us killed. There’s got to be something else we can try. Something less … well, less crazy.”
But Scott would not be so easily denied. When he looked up at Geordi, his voice was a mixture of conviction and entreaty.
“Geordi, m’lad, I’ve spent my whole life figurin’ out how to make crazy things work.” His eyes fixed on the younger man’s VISOR. “I’m telling ye-one engineer to another-I can do this.”
For a moment, they looked at one another. Scott could almost see Geordi searching his heart and his instincts for a course of action. Finally, he made his decision.
“All right,” he said. “Let’s do it.”
Grinning from one side of his face to the other, Scotty clapped him on the shoulder. “Attaboy, Mr. La Forge,” he said with true affection. “Welcome to the club!”
And together, united in purpose, they turned their attention to what had to be done.
On the bridge of the Enterprise, Picard steeled himself against the impact of the onrushing solar flare. All around him, his officers did the same.
“Impact in twenty-two seconds,” Worf announced.
The captain frowned. They had survived almost every manner of assault imaginable. They had weathered the most hideous of cosmic phenomena.
And here they were, virtually helpless in the face of a simple solar flare. It would be the ultimate irony if something so utterly commonplace accomplished what the Ferengi, the Romulans and the Borg had failed at the destruction of Starfleet’s premier vessel.
“Ten seconds,” counted the Klingon.
Picard’s teeth grated together. He refused to believe it would end this way. The Enterprise would survive, if by no other means than the force of her captain’s will.
“Five,” said Worf. “Four. Three. Two. One.”
As the blossom of flaming plasma exploded against the cobbled-together shields of the Enterprise, the ship was shaken like a leaf in a windstorm. Picard held onto the edge of Data’s console, barely keeping his feet.
But before that first split instant of impact had passed, he knew his ship had survived. And as he listened for Worf’s voice, his conclusion was confirmed.
“Shields holding,” the Klingon rumbled. “But down another fifteen percent, sir.”
Damn. Another couple of flares like that one, thought Picard, and they’d be down to no shields at ail. It was starting to look as if Data’s prognosis-grim as it had sounded-was actually too optimistic.
Abruptly, the android turned to him.