The Good That Men Do - Andy Mangels [125]
It’s time to push this baby a little bit past spec, Trip thought as he carefully began entering a new command string into his console.
“Tell me, Cunaehr: Are there no other suits aboard this ship?” Ehrehin asked.
He knows, Trip thought. He is a genius, after all.
Aloud, he said. “There are, Doctor.”
“Suits of Romulan manufacture, rather than these… alien garments?”
Trip was becoming increasingly certain that it wasn’t going to matter much longer how he answered the old man’s questions. “I think so.”
“Yet you chose these suits instead. And you seem quite expert in their operation, I might add.”
“The environmental packs on these suits were more fully charged than any of the others were,” Trip said. Whether his answers continued to matter or not, he found he couldn’t resist offering plausible-sounding explanations whenever possible. “And you know what a quick study I am.” He punctuated his words with what he hoped was a disarming smile.
The scientist did not return it, however, either because he couldn’t see it through both of their faceplates, or because he simply was no longer quite so easy to amuse.
“I had no idea you were so fluent in reading the gauges and instrumentation on non-Romulan pressure suits.”
You have no idea, Trip thought as he examined his pilot’s console, confirming that the other ship was still inexorably creeping up on them. Would it be able to open fire on them in two minutes? Three?
“I’m going to have to coax a bit more power out of her,” Trip said just before entering yet another command into his board.
The cabin lights instantly shut off, and the resulting total darkness was replaced a beat later by dim, green emergency lighting. Trip could hear the sudden, conspicuous absence of activity in the air-circulating system as the ventilator fans abruptly died. He imagined he could feel the icy vacuum beyond the hull caressing his spine with delicate, chill fingers, although he knew it was far too soon for either of them to start feeling the cold of space through their heavily insulated suits.
Even as the life-support system gasped and died, Trip could feel a qualitative change in the vibration rising from the deck plating beneath him into his thick-soled boots.
The scout ship’s warp drive was now receiving considerably more power, and the weakly glowing console display confirmed it. Warp five point three, and still not quite redlining, Trip thought, barely succeeding in restraining himself from letting out a jubilant warwhoop- at least until after he learned a little bit more about their pursuer’s maximum speed.
To his pleasant surprise, Valdore’s ship was no longer gaining on them. It wasn’t falling behind either, but the purloined scout ship didn’t appear to be in any danger of being overtaken now, at least not during the next few minutes.
We’re still well out of weapons range. And we’ll stay that way as long as the ship tailing us doesn’t suddenly sprout an extra nacelle.
Of course, Trip knew that there was no way he could be certain that their pursuer wouldn’t find some method of sharply increasing its own power output, and thus its speed. But he was reasonably sure that her commander wouldn’t shut down her life-support system to accomplish it.
Just as he was absolutely certain that Valdore wouldn’t give up the chase while any breath remained in his body, or ships in his command.
But a respite was a respite. Trip knew he now had the luxury of thinking about the future, such as it was, at least for a brief while. In addition to having Doctor Ehrehin in his custody, he also possessed information that was absolutely crucial to the defense