Relics - Michael Jan Friedman [8]
Sachs’s mind raced, making up for the time during which he was distracted. After a second or two, he saw what Scott was getting at.
There were turbulence-berths in the passenger section. Strapped into them, a body would have at least a shot at survival. But here in the Ops center, where there was nothing to cushion them against the impact … the odds of living through the crash were a lot longer.
And yet, someone had to remain here. To use what impulse thrust was left in an attempt to slow them down. To boost the shields at just the right moment. And to maintain the ship’s attitude lest it fall on its side, where structural support was the weakest.
Sachs nodded. “I get it,” he said.
“Now ye’re payin’ attention, lad.” The older man’s shaggy brows knit. “The only question is who’s goin’ to stay and who’s goin’ to go.”
Glances were exchanged. Feet were shuffled. Breaths were expelled.
“Well,” Scott announced, “I guess I’m the most expendable one here. It makes sense for me to stick around.” He looked to Sachs.
“Me too,” said the engineer, drawing stares of admiration from the others. No doubt, they thought he was being brave.
They were wrong, of course. He was just caught up in his romantic madness. But he wasn’t going to tell them that. If they wanted to remember him as a hero…what the hell, why not let them?
Captain Armstrong cleared his throat. “I’m staying as well. I’m no engineer, but I’ve worked closely enough with them over the years. And I can follow orders as well as anyone.”
Scott smiled. “Glad to have ye aboard,” he told Armstrong.
The captain smiled back, though without quite so much gusto. “Thank you, Captain Scott.”
They looked around. “Any other takers?” called Sachs.
No one answered. He didn’t blame them. And then, after what seemed like a long time, one hand went up.
It was Franklin’s.
“I’d like to remain also,” he told the chief engineer. He looked to Armstrong. “If it’s all right with you, sir.”
The captain regarded him for a moment, no doubt thinking of the ensign’s youth. But then, most every crewman on the Jenolen was young. And they needed every hand they could get.
“It’s all right with me,” agreed Armstrong. “And thank you, Mr. Franklin.”
Turning to the others, the captain looked benevolent-understanding. When he spoke, there wasn’t even a hint of recrimination in his voice.
“The rest of you should make your way to the passenger deck as quickly as possible. You don’t have much time to secure yourselves.”
Looking grateful, they departed into the turbolift. Sachs watched them go, envying them just a little. But there was no turning back now. He’d thrown his lot in with Captain Scott; he’d see this through to its conclusion.
“Time to impact?” asked Armstrong.
Sachs consulted his monitor again. “Twelve minutes and fifty-two seconds,” he replied. “We’d better get started.”
“Aye,” said Scott. He addressed the chief engineer. “I hope ye dinnae mind if I direct things from here on in. After all, I’ve had a wee bit more experience at crash landings.”
“Not at all,” Sachs told him honestly. “She’s all yours, sir.”
Scott looked a couple of inches taller as he took charge. “Very well then. Mr. Franklin, ye’ve got the helm. Bring us down straight and true.”
“You can count on me, sir” said the ensign.
“I’m glad to hear that,” Scott remarked. He turned to Sachs. “Plot a curve with exponentially increasing thrust. But dinnae use everything we’ve got; we’ll need some power for life support if… I mean when we make it.”
“Aye,” answered Sachs, never one to mince words.
Finally, Scott regarded the captain, who had come down from his command chair to stand behind one of the engineering consoles. “There will nae be a whole lot for ye to do right now,” said the older man. “But when I give ye the signal, ye’re to reconfigure the deflector shields-to give us maximum protection at the