Reunion - Michael Jan Friedman [65]
“They set out from the airlock nearest their destination —a tiny one, used only in drydock to check the torpedo-launch mechanism. For us, it served a different purpose. The worst part was our inability to track your father and Pug on our sensors: We could talk to them through their helmet communicators, but that was about it. And once they got going, there wasn’t a great deal of conversation-as little as possible, in fact. Just a remark now and then to let us know everything was all right.”
The Gnalish snorted. “Anyway, they reached the nacelle assembly pretty quickly. But it took forever to cut through it. The Stargazer’s transfer tunnels weren’t as wide as what you’ve got here on the Enterprise-but they weren’t pipe cleaners either. And as you know, phaser rifles can’t sustain a beam indefinitely. They’ve got to be given time to cool down. So while we waited on the bridge, strung tight as Vulcan harpstrings, your father and Pug hacked away until their limbs were trembling with the strain.
“The tricky part was when they got into the transfer tunnel. With all the energy in there already, the phaser beam could have stirred it up even more—or had no effect at all. Most likely, we knew, it was going to be something in between—which is why Pug and your father had been cautioned to approach that juncture carefully. “For a long time after they began that stage of the work, we heard nothing from them. The captain was as worried as the rest of us. He was about to call for a progress report, when your father’s voice was heard over the intercom: “We’re in,” he said. “And no problems to speak of. Just a lot of fireworks.” We thought the worst was all behind us.
“A couple of moments later, their communicators went dead. Nothing to worry about, necessarily. In fact, I’d predicted it would happen, what with all that energy running out of the assembly. But it was an ominous thing, that silence. Someone began to pace-I forget who. Ben Zoma, maybe.
“It went on like that for quite a while. The waiting, the pacing. The faces that looked like they’d been stretched too tight. Finally, there was no denying it-they’d been out there too long. Something had happened-something bad. Picard said as much. He said that someone had to go out and bring them back. “As before, there were volunteers. But the captain wouldn’t listen. He was determined to keep the body count down, he said; he was already thinking in those terms. Ben Zoma argued with him, but to no avail. Pulling on a suit, he went after your father and Pug. “The explosion came sometime later. I don’t remember exactly when. It felt as if we’d been pummeled by a
giant fist. And when it was finished, we all stood there, afraid to move-because moving was a step toward facing the reality of what had happened:
“The worst possible event hadn’t occurred-we hadn’t been destroyed, the ship was still intact. The instruments showed us why. It wasn’t the generator that had blown; it was just a pocket of accumulated energy. And the nacelle was floating free, which was what we’d wanted all along.
“But three of our friends were still out there. At last, Ben Zoma got up from his seat and headed for the turbolift. I followed. So did Greyhorse, though he was barking orders to his trauma team the whole time. The others had to stay at their posts. “We got to the airlock about the same time as Greyhorse’s people. There were also a couple of security guards, handpicked by Pug beforehand. They started to put on containment suits-but before they could get out of the lock, they saw Picard coming in. And he had Pug with him-alive.
“The captain had found him drifting alongside the hull, unconscious. There was no way he could have brought bath Pug and your father in at once-he had to make a choice, and Pug was closer. As it was, he barely managed to get them around the curve of the ship before the explosion. If he’d gone after your father instead, all three of them would have died.”
He looked at Wesley. “The captain went back for your father,