Reunion - Michael Jan Friedman [84]
Asmund had been sitting on her bunk. She looked up-and saw immediately that he had nothing in the way of good news for her. “I am sorry,” he said. “I spoke with the captain on your behalf-was The woman finished the sentence for him: “But he won’t take the chance.”
He eyed her. “That is correct.”
She nodded. “I suppose I’m not surprised. As one who was raised a Klingon, I hate the idea of sitting here, caged, while the one who arranged it runs loose.” Her eyes blazed with dark fire. “The very idea,” she began, her voice trembling, “the very idea consumes me.” It took her a few moments to achieve control again. “But as a Starfleet officer,” she said, “I can’t blame the
captain. I would probably have made the same decision myf[*thorn] “If you are innocent, it will come out in a court-martial.” He did not expect that to be of much comfort to her now—but what else could he say?
Asmund grunted. “Tuv nagh?” Wait for weeks, months, while someone else decides my fate? And I remain an object of scorn and loathing? I am not that patient, Lieutenant. But then, that is not your concern. You have done all you could; I am grateful.”
Ihrning away from him then, she went hick to her bunk and sat down. He stood there for a moment, watching her. Wondering what he would do, how he would feel, if he were in her place. Then he turned and, with a brief acknowledgment of the officers on guard, made his way back to the bridge.
Standing at his engineering console, Geordi scanned the bridge. Every one of his fellow officers was in his or her place-not to mention Morgen and Simenon, who had gotten the captain’s permission to witness the maneuver from a position near the aft stations. Getting up from his command chair, Picard turned to look at the chief engineer. “You may proceed, Commander.”
“Aye, sir,” Geordi answered. Focusing his attention on his monitor, where the shields were depicted as a series of blue lines surrounding the ship, he took a last took at such items as environmental resistance, energy consumption, and field integrity. Satisfied, he tapped in the first set of alterations. Immediately, the blue-line configuration began to writhe and change. “Forward shields flattening,” Data reported. “Form-+ a surface perpendicular to the axis of our passage.” For Geordi, the information was redundant. His monitor showed him the effect in some detail.
“Obverse stress increasing,” Wesley announced.
The ship quivered momentarily—just as it had when they’d tried reversing engines. It was a good sign, La Forge told himself. Unable to keep the excitement out of his voice, Wesley said: “We’re slowing down, Captain. Warp nine point nine four five … warp nine point nine four zero.” He leaned back. “Stabilizing at nine point nine four zero.” “Hull integrity?” Picard snapped. “Stresses are well within acceptable limits,” Worf replied from Tactical.
A very good sign, Geordi noted.
Simenon had been right-shield structure had an effect on their progress through the slipstream. But would it have enough of an effect to dump them out of it?
There was only one way to find out. A second time, his fingers skipped nimbly over the console.
“Rear shields flattening,” Data informed them. A shiver ran through the deck, through the bulkheads. It was more strident, more noticeable than the one before it. “Obverse stress decreasing,” Wesley declared. “Accelerating …” He shook his head. “Back up to warp nine point nine five now.” Worf raised his gaze from his monitor board. “Stress has intensified considerably, sir. It is as if we were being sandwiched between two forces.”
Picard looked over his shoulder at his security chief. “Any danger, Lieutenant?”
“No immediate danger,” the Iflingon advised him. In his seat at the captain’s side, Riker consulted the readouts built into his armrest and frowned. “So far, so good.”
Yes, Geordi mused. So far, so good. But the easy part
was over. From here on in, the going would get a lot rougher. With careful precision, he instructed the computer