Requiem - Michael Jan Friedman [82]
Following his superior’s gesture, Barclay saw the mouth of an access tunnel, just like the one that led to the control room they’d left behind. He nodded. “Let’s give it a try, sir.”
The chief engineer hunched over first and led the way. As Barclay followed, he couldn’t help but hurry through the little entranceway, reminded again of what had happened to Varley. He felt a lot better once he was actually inside the tunnel—despite the shadows that danced insanely all about them, projected on the walls by their light sources.
Even before Barclay reached the far end, where Commander La Forge was waiting for him, he could see that the equipment up ahead was pretty identical to that which they had been working on. It was a good sign—a good sign indeed.
“Come on,” said the commander, helping Barclay to his feet as he emerged. He kept his light trained on the opposite wall. “Unless I miss my guess, that console over there is the one we’re after.”
Barclay turned to look in the same direction. “Aye, sir,” he decided, approaching the control bank in question with a critical eye. “That should be it, all right.”
He touched one of the pads, expecting the thing to remain dormant—as lifeless as its counterpart back in the other control room, the first time he had checked it out. To his surprise, it came to life right away, its monitor displaying a quick scroll of alien characters.
Then it died.
Then it started up again.
“Something’s loose,” judged La Forge. “But the connection is there.”
“Seems that way,” agreed the thin man, starting to shimmy the cover off the console. If there was one thing he had learned in this place, it was that such casings came off rather easily. Nor was this one an exception.
The insides of the console looked familiar, too. And Barclay could see where the loose connection was. It would be a little tricky to secure it without exposing himself to an open circuit, but far from impossible.
“What a stroke of luck,” observed the chief engineer, obviously assessing the situation the same way Barclay had. He looked up. “I’ve got to admit, I was a little pessimistic about this, but—”
Suddenly, the lights in the room went on, so brilliantly that the thin man was almost blinded by them. And then, just as he started to get used to the idea, they began to flicker erratically—complemented by a new deep-throated quality in the accompanying hum.
“Damn,” said La Forge. “I should have known it was too good to be true.”
Barclay could feel his heart beating faster. Oh, no, he told himself. Not yet, please not yet. We still have work to do.
But even as he thought it, he placed his light on the top of the open console, where it could play on the guts of the machine, and got to work stabilizing the loose circuit. Being afraid was something he couldn’t help. But there was no way he was going to let his fear get in his way again.
The commander came around to the side, where he could see what was going on, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t offer to help, either, fully aware of the fact that this was a one-man job. He just watched, to make sure it went right.
Abruptly, the lights went off—only to give way to a spitfire sizzle of energy that ran all around them, from floor to wall to ceiling and back down again. The hum grew louder, grating on their ears.
Barclay could feel beads of ice water collecting in the small of his back. This was just the way it had happened that other time, when the captain disappeared. And if he didn’t work quickly, something bad was going to happen again.
“Careful, Reg,” said La Forge. “Don’t worry about anything else. Just get it right.”
Barclay nodded, recognizing the wisdom in his superior’s advice. But the hum was getting increasingly difficult to ignore. And the flash of power that surrounded them seemed to be cycling faster and faster.
At last, he did what he had set out to do—the circuit was secure. Without waiting to double-check his work, he replaced the metal console sheath and began tapping the pads that would bring the thing on-line.