The Devil's Heart - Carmen Carter [87]
During the day, Riker would have sprawled in the captain’s chair and called out for any information he wanted, and he would have conducted discussions across the length of the bridge. During the night, however, he felt constrained by the lull around him and chose to walk from station to station to gather reports.
The first officer even shortened his stride as he walked up a side ramp to the tactical station on the aft deck, but his boots still thumped too heavily.
“Status, Lieutenant?” Riker asked in a voice that was too loud.
“Shields raised; energy reserves holding steady at ninety-five percent,” said Worf.
His voice was deeper than Riker’s, yet it seemed to travel less far. “Sensor scans do not reveal pursuit by any kind of vessel.”
“So the captain’s decoy plan doesn’t appear to be working. That’s assuming someone really did attack Starbase 193.”
To Riker’s consternation, Worf’s eyes narrowed to baleful slits. By nature, Klingons were fiercely loyal to their commanding officer, but Worf was especially sensitive to any implied criticism of Captain Picard. “Do not forget the report of Romulan incursion into Federation space.”
“An unconfirmed sighting of a warbird, with no indication of where it might be headed …” The first officer shrugged. “Well, I suppose it’s possible.”
“We must remain vigilant.”
“Absolutely,” said Riker. Fortunately, this display of enthusiasm seemed to appease Worf sufficiently to ease the belligerent expression off his face. “Carry on, Lieutenant.”
Riker had just turned away to continue his tour around the bridge when he heard the telltale trill of an incoming message registering on the communications console. He waited for the security chief’s explanation before taking another step.
“Commander, we are receiving a scrambled transmission …” Worf scanned the signal packet information, “… from Commander Miyakawa, currently aboard the Portsmouth.”
“Well it’s about time!” All across the bridge, heads snapped around at the sound of Riker’s cry, but he no longer cared whether he was conspicuous or not.
“Unscrambling in progress.”
Moving to Worf’s side, Riker eagerly read the text as it scrolled across a small window.
Even before he had finished reading all of Miyakawa’s account, the first officer reached for his comm link. “Captain Picard to the bridge.”
Then Riker turned to the security chief and, taking a deep breath, said, “Raise shields … and go to yellow alert.”
The tranquillity of the night shift was shattered as amber panels of light throbbed on and off and sirens whooped to life. Complacent crewmembers jumped to attention or scurried to secure their stations, and Riker knew that a thousand sleeping people throughout the decks of the starship had just been rudely awakened.
We have become a magnet for trouble.
The captain’s ominous words echoed in Riker’s mind. With hands gripping the aft deck rail, he leaned forward to stare at the main viewscreen.
One cubic meter of space looked very much like another, but somewhere in that tenuous soup of interstellar gases was a cloaked Romulan warbird, an invisible raptor in search of an all too visible prey.
Deanna Troi struggled to stifle a yawn, but fortunately the ensign sitting across from her was too absorbed in his own misery to notice her momentary lapse of attention. He was hunched forward on the edge of the sofa, staring down at the carpet as he spilled out the details of a failed romance.
“How can I continue living when I’ve lost the one person that gave my existence meaning?”
His roommate had been sufficiently alarmed by this sentiment to roust the empath out of her bed in the middle of the night for a counseling session. However, Troi had quickly sensed that Asadourian was not truly suicidal, merely histrionic. Perhaps she would pass his name on to Beverly Crusher so he could indulge