Reunion - Michael Jan Friedman [71]
“Excuse me,” said Data, “but we are in the slipstream comn on it.” Simenon snorted. “Commander, you would never make it as an engineer-or a Gnalish, for that matter. There are very few precise analogies in this life-particularly when we’re talking about something as esoteric as a warpspace phenomenon.”
Geordi nodded, placing a reassuring hand on Data’s shoulder. “It’s all right, Professor. We’ll bear with you.”
“My gratitude,” the Gnalish muttered, “is boundless.
In any case, the Enterprise is hurtling along, basically parallel to the surface-perhaps skipping every now and then without knowing it, because so little energy is lost in each collision. However, the collisions are what serve to keep us on the right path. Now, if we could somehow change the angle at which we strike the surface, we might go shooting off in a different direction entirely. If we approach it edge-down, for instance, we might go under the surface-comwh would put us in a completely different medium. A slower medium just as regular space is a slower medium than subspace. Still with me?”
“”Still with you,” Geordi replied. “Of course—” “Of course,” the Gnalish interrupted, “we can’t change our position. The slipstream won’t let us—combecause we’re dealing with not one surface, but many. In fact, they’re all about us, surrounding us-bouncing us back on course with every little collision, channeling us forward. A good assumption?” “It would appear so,” Data replied.
“Fine. That leaves us only one other option— to change the shape of the rock. Or, rather, in this case, the Enterprise. was The android looked more puzzled than ever. “Professor, are you suggesting we separate the saucer from the battle section—as was suggested earlier?”
Simenon shook his head. “Not at all. Because it’s not really the ship that presents a surface to the slipstream.” Geordi snapped his fingers. “That’s right. It’s the shields!” “Exactly.” The Gnalish punched some additional information into the situation monitor, and the schematic began to move. “All we need to do is change the shape of our force shields-was
Finally, Wesley couldn’t stand it any longer. “And in effect,” he continued, “we’ll be changing the shape of the rock. Instead of a streamlined object designed for maximum efficiency in flight, the slipstream will be confronted with an angled surface front and back.”
“Which,” Simenon resumed, seemingly without breaking stride, “should skim us out of the slipstream. No muss, no fuss. All we have to do is present opposition to the flow-at precisely the right angle. One that’s obtuse enough to substantially change the force vector situation, but not so obtuse as to place intolerable stresses on the Enterprise. was He looked around, with particular attention to Geordi. “So? What do you think?” The engineering chief frowned as he considered the idea. “It might work,” he said, “and it might not. Even if the theory is sound, we’re going to have to find the correct angle at which to pitch the shields-or we could be so much subspace debris.”
“Isn’t the what computer models are for?” Wesley asked. For a moment Geordi thought about it some more. Then his frown dissipated. “All right,” he decided, starting to input instructions to the situation monitor. “Let’s see what we can come up with.” Picard frowned as he stood in Beverly Crusher’s office, staring at the opaque barrier that separated critical care from the rest of the medical facility. The doctor sat across her desk from him, holding a cup of coffee in both hands. She looked terrible-worn out.
“Jean-Luc?”
He turned to face her.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
He nodded. “I am fine.” Then: “What are his chances?” Crusher took a deep breath, let it out. “Hard to say.