String Theory_ Fusion (Book 2) - Kirsten Beyer [42]
“Our shields and the size of our ship will make it much easier for us to compensate for the gravitational density than Tuvok’s shuttle,” Harry advised. “It might be a rough ride, but we should be fine.”
Chakotay stared for a moment into the tumultuous swirling mass of matter and energy that was the singularity. Somehow, “should be fine” wasn’t as comforting as he would have liked when he considered the sheer and overwhelming force they were approaching.
Harry adjusted the display on the main viewscreen so that a small section of the upper ring was visible in greater detail. “These are the docking bays, Commander.”
“Will our present course take us into one of those bays?” Chakotay asked.
“Yes, sir,” Harry answered.
“Are we within transporter range yet?” Chakotay asked hopefully.
“Yes, sir,” Harry replied, “but…”
“I would not advise using the transporters, Commander,” Seven interrupted him evenly.
“Why not?”
“At this distance, the gravimetric interference could easily destabilize the annular confinement beams. We could compensate by moving into position closer to the structure, but at that distance it would no longer be advisable to drop our shields.”
Chakotay was accustomed to making quick decisions. His consideration of the available options was brief. “Mr. Paris, adjust course to two five seven mark four, and take us in.”
Paris’s hands flew gracefully over his controls as he made the course adjustment. “Course laid in,” he said.
“Nice and easy, Mr. Paris,” Chakotay added.
Paris nodded in acknowledgment, falling into seamless, almost symbiotic harmony with the helm. Chakotay was comforted in the knowledge that their odds of safely reaching their destination were increased exponentially with Paris at the helm. Chakotay had piloted his fair share of vessels. Technique could be mastered. Skills could be practiced. But the delicate touch, the subtle, sometimes prescient adjustments that could mean the difference between successfully navigating such a precarious patch of space and oblivion, were beyond the ken of any manual or simulation. The minuscule movements Paris made as Voyager approached the structure came from a subconscious place inside him, a place where he and his ship became one. Chakotay knew that the helm of a ship was the one place where Tom Paris knew certainty. And no pilot had ever known a ship as well as Tom knew Voyager.
“Commander,” Harry called from ops, “incoming transmission, audio only.”
“Incoming from where?” Chakotay asked.
“It’s coming from the array.”
“I guess somebody’s home after all. Let’s hear it, Mr. Kim,” Chakotay ordered.
Harry muted the initial burst of static that spiked his readings into the red and compensated for all interference until his display showed the clean, narrow band of a clear comm signal.
“… Assylia, rih-hara-tan… Monorhan… Betasis.”
“Is that all of it?” Chakotay demanded.
“The signal has degraded, Commander. I’ll see if I can reconstruct any more of it,” Harry replied.
In the tense seconds that followed, Chakotay noted with approval that though Seven seemed inclined to assist Ensign Kim, she remained rooted to her station, allowing him to complete the task rather than doing a quicker and more efficient job of it herself. Chakotay couldn’t help but marvel at the vast positive changes he had observed in the newest addition to their crew over the past eleven months. In the early days, Seven wouldn’t have thought twice about bucking Kim out of the way and finishing the job herself.
“There isn’t much more, Commander,” Harry finally sighed, resigned. “The signal has been transmitting continuously for fifty years, and its proximity to the singularity…”
“Just give me what you have, Ensign,” Chakotay interrupted.
“I am Assylia, rih-hara-tan of the… Monorhan… vessel… Betasis… array… in search of Gremadia… turn back.”
Chakotay leaned back in his chair, gently massaging his tattooed brow. The fragmentary transmission could easily be read in two ways: either as a routine message to other Monorhan vessels who might pass this way or as a warning.
Chakotay knew