The Devil's Heart - Carmen Carter [82]
All the better; we are more than a match for the Enterprise.”
Vedoc nodded obsequiously, too distracted to contrive a suitably inane response for his idiot persona. If the commander’s custom modifications to the operating systems of the Haakona were any indication, her boast was founded on fact rather than vanity. This knowledge sharpened the young man’s sense of urgency, but over the past few days he had found no way to change the course of the events surrounding him.
Would Surak have waited passively for opportunity, or would the ancient Vulcan have made his own opportunities? Vedoc longed to ask his teacher this question, but the catacombs of Romulus were light-years away.
“Commander Taris.” He assumed the manner of an eager pup desperate to please its master.
“Give me more to do than stand by your side. Let me take even a small part in this kill.”
She snorted under her breath, but managed to contain any more blatant expression of her amusement at this offer.
With fear lodged at the base of his throat, he pushed harder. “I’m newly posted to this warbird, but I have served with distinction on other ships. If nothing else, let me assist at the auxiliary weapons station.”
“Oh, very well,” said Taris. “But if Etrajan has any cause for complaint, you will return to the bridge.”
“It shall be as you order, Commander!” he proclaimed with a flourishing salute. This archaic and melodramatic response wrung an explosion of laughter from the normally impassive crew. As if mortally embarrassed by their disdain, Vedoc fled the bridge.
His boots rang loudly on the metal decks as he raced through the main corridor of the ship’s spine. The auxiliary bay next to engineering remained unmanned until battle was imminent; if he stayed far enough ahead of Etrajan, Vedoc would have a few minutes of unsupervised time in which to act. Despite lungs that were still sore from the launch, Vedoc pushed himself to keep running. He swallowed the bitter taste of blood, yet still he did not slow his pace. An extra second could mean the difference between success and failure.
By the time the subcommander skidded into the empty alcove, he had selected his target. With a quick look to make sure he was not observed and that no stray engineering operative was in the vicinity, Vedoc grabbed a sonic wrench from a recessed shelf, then fell to his knees by the side of a forward shield generator.
A quick inspection confirmed his suspicion that Taris had implemented a number of unorthodox modifications to the deflector system as well; but for every gain there was an equivalent loss, so some other aspect of the ship’s performance must have been sacrificed for this advantage. What basic crew comfort had she deemed an expendable luxury?
Disabling the diagnostic sensors in the unit was a straightforward exercise in sabotage. As an easily bored ensign, he had repeatedly assembled and disassembled similar components while his ship patrolled the borders of the Neutral Zone. Perhaps it was those same long duty shifts that had given him time to reflect on history and philosophy.
The next step was even less complicated, but far more decisive. The power coupling leading to any shield generator was a weak link that was rarely broken; it lay too far inside the warbird’s hull to be vulnerable to enemy attack. Setting the proper frequency on the wrench, he loosened the electron-bonded connections on the cable’s casing.
All he had to do now was pull.
Is this the right path?
He had not followed the teachings of Spock long enough to know if this scheme was true to the philosophy of Surak, but Vedoc did not have years in which to master the dictates of logic. He had only a matter of minutes in which to act.
His hand hovered over the conduit.
Assuming that he had the courage