Ship of the Line - Diane Carey [101]
“It must have been a positronic neutralizer of some kind,” Riker said, as if every hardware store sold one of those. “That tells me they knew the personnel roster of this ship. They knew an android would be aboard and that they’d have to take him out first.
“Kozara’s really indulging himself,” Bateson said. “He called me some names that even I don’t know.”
“That’s saying something …” Stumbling to his feet, Riker wobbled and almost fell. Bracing against the wall on one side and Bateson on the other, he drew five or six long breaths before staggering to the airlock hatch. His shoulders and thighs pulsed with aches left over from the stun grenade. Even before reaching the hatch control panel, he could see through the dimness that the panel was shattered.
“They took a disruptor to it,” Bateson said. “Guess they’re not planning to visit us anytime soon.”
“And there’s no access conduit in or out of here. Too bad we don’t have an air duct.” Since the panel was toast, Riker took a second to squeeze his head between both hands.
Didn’t help. Only made his hands throb.
“We’ll have to notify Starfleet somehow that the ship’s been taken and inform them of Kozara’s intent to attack Cardassian holdings.”
“Maybe they can notify Captain Picard,” Bateson suggested. “He’s in Cardassian space.”
Riker looked up. “How do you know that?”
“Admiral Farrow assured me when he gave me command of this ship that Captain Picard had his own concerns and was going on a mission to Cardassia Prime on behalf of Federation nationals being held there.”
“Begging your pardon, sir, but why would Admiral Farrow inform you of Captain Picard’s mission?”
“Well, for one thing, the mission’s not classified. For the other thing, I was reluctant to take command unless Captain Picard had other choices.”
“You were?”
“Of course … what?—did you think I pulled strings to usurp you and him?” Sourly Bateson coiled his arms around his chest and sighed. “Well, the general opinion of Morgan Bateson around here certainly seems to be dragging in the muck … and unless you know Morse code and can knock real loud, there’s no way to contact anybody from in this box. Kozara shut down the emergency evac system. Everything’s cold.”
Before Riker had a chance to do much more than react with his expression, another groan heaved across the deck and Captain Scott rolled over.
Riker knelt at his side. “Wake up, Scotty. We need you.”
“Agh … stun bombs … I hate those … thought they were illegal …”
“The Klingons haven’t read Starfleet Rules of Engagement,” Bateson gnashed.
“Bet they have,” Riker tossed the comment out as he helped Scott to his feet.
The senior engineer glanced around and fought for focus. “Where the devil are we?”
“ASRV. The hatch controls are blown. Airlock’s jammed.”
“Are we in the main section?”
“We don’t know.”
“Well, let’s get out.”
“Get out?” Riker repeated. “I just told you. They blew the hatch control panel.”
“Panel, pfft.” Scott pressed past him and crossed the small space, completely ignoring the hatch controls and stepping instead past the lockers where the foldout seats were stored. There, a small door was imprinted with the words AUTONOMOUS SURVIVAL AND RECOVERY VEHICLE EXTRAVEHICULAR GARMENTS (LOW PRESSURE) THREE (3).
Scott tapped in a code, and beside him an environmental locker popped open. He pulled out a survival suit. The thing fell out on him like laundry falling off a line. He instantly shuffled for the breastplate gas exchange and humidity/thermal controls. He did something to the panel which Riker couldn’t see in the dimness, then turned back to the hatch, slammed the breastplate up against the airlock hatch, and punched in a few more bleeps and a buzz.
The airlock rolled open. Just like that. It almost sat up and begged.
“Out,” Scott invited.
“How’d you do that?” Riker gasped as he followed Scott out into the dim corridor.
“Oh, you’d have to take my course in alternative signals at the academy. New term starts in September.”
“Scotty, you’re a miracle worker.”
“No, lad, I’m an engineer.”
“Then you can tell me this—is