The Devil's Heart - Carmen Carter [80]
“Deliberately make ourselves a target?”
“Exactly.”
Picard rose to his feet, moving to the center of the bridge. As he turned toward the aft deck, Worf could see that the captain gripped the Pagrashtak in both hands, just as a warrior might hold fast to the pommel of his sword.
“Lieutenant Worf, transmit a message to the Portsmouth on an uncoded channel “Enterprise has urgent business elsewhere, request you proceed immediately to Starbase 193 to aid survivors.” And for good measure, send the same message to whatever may be left of Starbase 193. Be sure to include our current coordinates.”
Next, Picard turned to face the helm.
“Mr. Data, set course for … one twenty-three mark twelve. Reduce speed to warp six.”
Their path was obviously picked at random, and this arbitrary choice seemed to disturb the first officer; his face creased with worry. Unlike Riker, however, Lieutenant Worf knew their final destination, and he faced it with courage and eager anticipation.
Since the days of Emperor Kessec, no other Klingon had been honored with the opportunity to serve a commander who wielded the powers of the Pagrashtak. This journey would soon become legend, and all Klingon legends ended in death.
CHAPTER 22
“Here it comes—brace yourself!” cried Miyakawa as she pressed herself deeper into the cushions of the acceleration seat.
The cubical lifeboat bucked wildly, buffeted by the explosive force of expanding vapors and a deadly hail of disintegrating fragments, all that remained of Starbase 193. Force fields protected the pod’s hull, but she knew that each muffled impact sapped just a little more energy from a finite supply.
Seconds later, the wave of flying debris had passed and the jarring collisions stopped just as abruptly as they had begun. The lifeboat’s reaction control system hissed on and off in short bursts until the craft slowed its tumbling motion, then stabilized with a constant horizon line.
“Down to sixty-five percent of power reserves,” she said after scanning the control panel.
“Is that good or bad?”
Miyakawa turned to her companion; the commander could just make out Camenae’s broad face in the faint glow of light from the illuminated console.
“It means we have about fifty-six person-days of life support left, which means the two of us can survive in here for twenty-eight days.”
The dark wing of a Romulan warbird swooped across the view screen, blocking out the vista of stars.
Miyakawa quickly reached for the pod’s manual override switch; even the smallest puff of the accelerators could give away their existence. She held her breath until the uncloaked ship had receded into the distance.
“Of course, power reserves are immaterial if the Romulans detect us first,” said Miyakawa in a low whisper. According to the pod’s rudimentary sensors, the warbird was traveling through space in a wide arc, tracing a lazy circle around the guttering fires of her dead starbase.
They would be back.
“But we’ll have to risk using impulse engines soon,” said Camenae. “If we’re still in this area when the Enterprise arrives, this lifeboat could get caught in some very nasty cross fire.”
“The Enterprise won’t be coming back to this sector,” said Miyakawa. “In fact, there may not be a rescue effort for quite some time.”
“What!”
“I didn’t notify Starfleet about the evacuation; instead, I restricted the broadcast to this sector’s traffic channels. The Romulans are using my starbase as bait, and I wasn’t about to help them set the trap.”
“I see,” said Camenae. She shifted uncomfortably in the narrow confines of her chair.
“This isn’t going to be pleasant. I’ve seen packing crates with more room to move.”
Miyakawa couldn’t argue the point. The escape pod’s truncated cube shape provided storage compartments for generous quantities of survival supplies, but the four crew seats took up most of the remaining space of the interior.
“I’m sorry, Camenae, but I assumed you would leave the station on a freighter