String Theory_ Cohesion (Book 1) - Jeffrey Lang [111]
Tuvok said, “I agree.”
Kim slid the goggles back over his eyes and began to seal up the torpedo.
Ziv decided that he had died when the transport had disintegrated. Everything that had happened since then—encountering the Voyagers, becoming trapped in a “fold” in space, reencountering Sem—all of these memories were elaborate constructs created by his subconscious in the infinitesimally tiny slices of a second between when his body was destroyed and his mind accepted the idea. His fear—a dread greater than the wish not to die—was that this sensation might go on forever and ever. How long could his mind continue to stretch out the millisecond? Would he continue to torture himself indefinitely if some sick, guilt-stricken portion of his consciousness decided he deserved to have his agony prolonged? Could he find ever newer, ever more horrible scenarios to torment himself?
For example, he was sure the Sem in his sick fantasy was pregnant. He couldn’t be certain how he knew this was true, but there was no doubt in his mind. More, he was certain the child was his. Though their single, forbidden encounter had been many months ago, Sem’s body could have held his seed in reserve.
So, Ziv realized, in this nightmare scenario, he had attempted to kill Sem and the child she carried. He was surprised to discover he had such a flair for the dramatic. What other horrors could his mind visit on him? He settled deeper into his misery, then pulled it over him like a blanket. He had only to wait a little longer and death would catch up with him.
“B’Elanna? Are you ready?”
“We’re ready, Captain.”
“Fire the shield generator.”
“Firing, Captain.”
Kaytok the engineer was very pleased about how well the generator seemed to perform. The monitors showed a regular sawtooth waveform—precisely the configuration B’Elanna had asked to see. Everything seemed perfect until the lights went out.
In the darkness behind him, Kaytok heard the two Voyagers, their voices now sounding eerily similar, speak each other’s thoughts.
“Same old,” said B’Elanna/Seven.
“Same old,” said Seven/B’Elanna.
The shuttle, aerodynamic as a brick, dropped like a brick.
“They’ve fired the shield generator, Captain,” Chakotay announced. “We’re registering a frequency.” Tense seconds ticked past as the first officer studied the display on his chair arm. “Logged and entered.” He looked up at the screen and pointed toward the Blue Eye. “Tom—now!”
Paris touched the sequence of controls on the navigation board, and Voyager, like a thoroughbred racehorse that had been too long reined in, leapt forward. “Hang on, everyone!” Paris shouted. “This is going to be bumpy.”
Down in the torpedo launch bay, Harry waited with his finger on the button.
The open channel from the bridge crackled, “Torpedo away.”
Harry touched the button and he briefly regretted that there was no satisfying “Click!” Switches just weren’t built right anymore. A green light was all the satisfaction he would receive. That, and being permitted to say, “Torpedo away.”
Tom Paris knew that the timing on this run would be tricky. He had to stay far enough behind the torpedo that he didn’t outrun it, but close enough that he could slip through the crack around the Eye when it appeared. None of the theoretical geniuses, not Tuvok or Harry or the captain, had been able to tell him how long the crack would remain available, so there was that problem, too. What to do, then? Go with your gut, Paris thought. Feel where B’Elanna is and head in that direction. The method hadn’t failed him yet.
“Anything?” Kaytok asked. “Please.”
“Not yet,” B’Elanna/Seven replied. “Working.”
Without power, there was no way to know what their airspeed was, but a quick mental calculation proved they had reached terminal velocity.
Whiner, B’Elanna/Seven thought.
He is frightened, Seven/B’Elanna thought. He does not wish to die.