Requiem - Michael Jan Friedman [17]
Pulling him to his feet, the captain addressed the engineer directly. “Are you all right, Lieutenant?”
Picard noted that the question registered immediately. Barclay nodded, and then said, “Yes, sir.”
With that, the captain slapped his communicator. “Number One, emergency transport now.”
The response was not encouraging. “Captain, we’re still getting interference … almost continuous, low-level power readings from the station that are creating a corresponding low-level subspace field. We can’t risk transport.”
Picard realized that the room’s illumination had come on. The light was low, but fairly steady.
“Captain,” Riker continued, “I can have a shuttle there in four minutes. Sensors indicate a large chamber that looks like an airlock one thousand meters from your position.”
Geordi already had his tricorder out. “I know where it is, sir.”
“We’ll meet your shuttle, Number One. Picard out.”
The captain turned to the others. “Mr. Barclay, can you travel?”
The engineer was obviously still shaken, but mustered a nod. “Yes, sir. I’m fine, sir.”
“Mr. La Forge,” Picard said, “we’ll follow you.”
Geordi led them down the hallway at a trot. Picard had time to wonder how they would get into the airlock, open it to the outside, and get into the shuttle. Then they reached the entrance to the airlock. The archway was open, and the captain could see that the outer door on the other side of the chamber was closed.
The interior lights were getting stronger. With luck, they would be able to work the airlock. The captain hoped it was still operating, and that it had the kind of forcefield that would allow the shuttle to enter and exit—but not void the atmosphere and the away team into space. Of course, at the moment, they had no choice but to try.
“Let’s get inside,” he barked. “Commander La Forge, give yourself a crash course in the alien airlock system.” The engineer nodded and entered the airlock. O’Connor followed, and Barclay brought up the rear. Picard made his move just as another surge coursed through the station. This time, the captain could actually feel the walls shake. Suddenly, the floor moved out from under him and he was thrown backward.
Picard landed on his back—hard—and realized that the fall had probably saved his life. He saw the heavy door to the airlock slam shut with a resounding clang, right in the spot he’d occupied only a moment ago.
He was on his feet quickly. From the window in the door to the airlock, the captain could instantly see why the door had closed so suddenly. The semitransparent barrier that separated the interior of the airlock from open space had raised perhaps a foot from the deck.
Geordi and the others were on the ground struggling for handholds on the almost perfectly smooth surface of the airlock floor. Based on their slow movement toward the barrier, Picard was certain that there was no forcefield holding in the atmosphere.
And judging by the size of the opening, Picard knew the away team had less than ninety seconds to live.
“Picard to shuttlecraft, where are you?”
“Worf here, sir. We are less than two minutes from your position, Captain.”
“We have an emergency, Mr. Worf. You’ll have to do better than that.”
Picard could hear Worf issue the order for full acceleration. He imagined the rescue crew being shaken as the inertial dampeners were pressed just past their limits.
“Lieutenant,” he went on, “most of the away team is in an airlock which is now partially open to space. They do not have long.”
“I’ve got a sensor lock, Captain,” Worf announced—just as the shuttle swept into sight less than a hundred meters from the station.
Picard felt his teeth grating together. “Get as close as you can and lock on the shuttle’s emergency transporters. You may be able to punch through the station’s interference by lining up the transporter beam with the open door.”
“Locking on transporters now,” came the Klingon’s clipped reply. “Where are you, sir?”
“I’m in a protected area,