Taking Wing - Michael A. Martin [122]
A second attack had prompted Ledrah to dispatch the none-too-bright Rossini twins to the bridge to fix the main viewscreen there. Ra-Havreii suspected that the pair had barely passed their engineering classes at the Academy, and would have thrown them off the crew, along with Crandall, at the first available opportunity, had this been his crew. But, as he kept reminding himself, this was not his team. He felt fortunate that he got any play at all in Starfleet these days, given that the bastards at the Starfleet Skunkworks were less forgiving than a menopausal Betazoid. And he assumed that if he wanted to maintain his welcome aboard Titan for any appreciable length of time, then he’d best keep his intimate past relationship with one particular menopausal Betazoid discreetly concealed from Captain Riker’s wife.
While Ledrah had worked feverishly at one engineering station, trying to bring the shields and structural integrity fields back up to full power, Ra-Havreii had worked at another console, located near the warp core. Then, the comm units had chimed.
“All decks, brace for impact!” Captain Riker had shouted.
Ra-Havreii couldn’t remember what had happened next, until the moment when Crandall had shaken him awake.
“What happened? How long have I been out?”
“Something crashed into the ship,” Crandall said. “Most of our systems are down.”
An atonal voice called from the other side of the room, past the warp core. Ra-Havreii recognized it immediately as that of the partially cybernetic Choblik trainee, Torvig Bu-Kar-Nguv. “We need help over here. Commander Ledrah is hurt!”
Crandall helped Ra-Havreii to his feet, and the pair of them limped around the room. The other dozen or so engineers converged on the spot as well. By the time Ra-Havreii approached, one of them was already by Ledrah’s side, scanning her with a tricorder.
The Efrosian shipbuilder didn’t need scans to tell him what his keen olfactory senses already had. Ledrah had been cooked by the explosion of one of the plasma relays. The relay’s suddenly unchecked energies had ripped through her console and literally roasted her where she stood.
Two Luna-class ships. Two engineering disasters.
He was suddenly back aboard Luna, where it sometimes seemed his career had both begun and ended.
“Sir?” Crandall was saying, probably not for the first time. “We really could use your help.”
This child seems to be in even worse shape than I am, Ra-Havreii thought, suddenly ashamed of his despair and emotional paralysis.
Then he decided that there was only one thing he could do to keep himself from taking a dive straight into the warp core.
He stepped to the bulkhead and tapped a console there. “Captain, this is Dr. Ra-Havreii. Lieutenant Commander Ledrah is dead. Unless you have any objections, I will take over the engineering section for the duration.” Or until I blow it up, just like the Luna.
Long ago, Ra-Havreii had heard an Earth phrase: “That which doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.”
Right now he wanted to kill whoever had said that.
“You ought to have stayed clear of the combat zone, Captain. You have my word, Captain, that your ship will not be deliberately attacked. At least not so long as you continue to refrain from firing on our vessels,” Colonel Xiomek said from the main bridge viewscreen, his long fangs bared.
“I’ve already instructed my officers to cease fire,” Riker said, sparing a glance at Tuvok, who had agreed to take over Keru’s tactical station for the time being. “But you realize that we were only targeting your weapons, not actively seeking to destroy your ships.”
“Truly, it matters not,” Xiomek said in supercilious tones. “Were you not allied with the Klingons, and were you not holding Ambassador Spock hostage, your ship would have been destroyed for attacking us after you allowed your ship to wander too close to our battle against the Romulan oppressors. You should consider yourself fortunate.”
Riker didn’t rise to the bait. He could feel Deanna, Vale, Akaar, and Spock