Relics - Michael Jan Friedman [73]
“Aye, Captain,” replied O’Brien. “Standing by!”
On the viewscreen, the starfield faded … turned blue, with a hint of green. Abruptly, the Enterprise was plummeting through the atmosphere, heading for the distant escape hatch.
Once again, their diminished shield capacity left them open to rising temperatures from the friction of “reentry”-but not so much as when they had no shields at all. Besides … what other choice did they have?
Picard glanced at Worf. “Load photon torpedoes,” he commanded.
“Photon torpedoes loaded and locked on target,” the Klingon barked.
On the Jenolen, everything was falling apart. The ship was shaking badly. Consoles were sparking and exploding. The lighting was flickering and the engine noise was a shriek of overworked metal.
Scott had been called a miracle worker in his day. But he’d just run out of miracles. Turning to La Forge, he shouted over the din.
“She’s coming apart, lad! I cannae do anything more for her!”
The younger man looked at him, sweat streaming down both sides of his face. He managed a smile, even now. “I know, Scotty. I know.”
What else could he say? They’d fought the good fight. They’d done their best. They’d even come close.
But in the end, Scott reflected bitterly, they’d lost.
Chapter Sixteen
PICARD SAW DATA TURN to glance over his shoulder at him. “We are within transporter range, sir.”
The captain felt as if he had been waiting for that cue forever. Without a moment’s hesitation, he said “Bridge to transporter room! Energize!” And then to Worf, almost in the same breath “Fire torpedoes, Lieutenant!”
“Aye, sir!” called the Klingon, executing as quickly as he possibly could. After all, there was no margin for error. If he got his barrage off even a split second too late, they’d hit the Jenolen and go up in the biggest conflagration this strange world had ever known.
Picard watched the forward viewscreen as the transport ship-still caught in the hatchway of the Dyson Sphere-loomed larger and larger, bathed in bright splashes of phaser fire. But even then, the plucky Jenolen refused to succumb, refused to yield to the atom-shredding blasts.
For a terrible, gut-wrenching instant, the captain was certain they weren’t going to destroy the ship in time. He was certain they were going to plow into her, destroying both vessels and all their occupants.
Fortunately, he was wrong. In a sudden blaze of glory, the Jenolen exploded. But they weren’t out of danger yet-far from it.
Because as soon as the Jenolen was out of the way, the jaws of the hatch had begun to come together again. And though the Enterprise was hurtling toward the opening as fast as its damaged engines could propel it, the aperture was already pitifully small.
Would they make it? Would they get there before the hatch closed, trapping them inside again-perhaps forever?
Picard’s eyes narrowed as he watched their window of opportunity dwindle. By his reckoning, the Enterprise was already too wide to get through.
“Helm,” he cried, “roll to port-ninety degrees!”
The image on the viewscreen rotated ninety degrees in the opposite direction. The captain’s estimate had been a good one; they were now in a position to slip through the ever-narrowing egress.
Holding his breath, Picard concentrated on the sliver of star-strewn space that beckoned from beyond their escape hatch-knowing full well it might be the last thing he ever saw. After all, they had long ago given up the option of turning back. And if they didn’t hit their mark in time, they would dash their lives out on the sphere’s superhard inner skin.
Close they came, closer still…
And then, before he knew it, before he could even begin to believe it, the splinter of an opening was gone. It had been replaced by a familiar sight that of the sprawling galaxy in all its star-pricked splendor.
Exhaling, the captain pulled down on his uniform front and turned to Data “Rear view, Commander.”
As the android complied, the viewscreen showed them the dark, foreboding surface of the Dyson Sphere-once again flawless, once again unperturbed. And best