The Good That Men Do - Andy Mangels [142]
T’Pol rose from the science station, where she had been hunched over her hooded scanner a moment earlier. “The object is moving at nearly warp five,” she reported.
Slightly less than Enterprise’s maximum speed. So there was still at least a theoretical possibility of intercepting it.
“Can you identify it?” Archer said.
T’Pol briefly consulted her scanner’s display once again, then said, “Negative, Captain. This ship’s configuration and warp signature match nothing currently in our database, including anything known to be used by the Romulans.”
Damn, Archer thought. This ship must have come from some Romulan client world whose ships we’ve never encountered before. These sneaky sons of bitches really can do a fine job of covering their tracks.
Archer turned back toward the helm. “Travis, how soon can we engage the intruder?”
Mayweather glanced down at his console. “Approximately two minutes and fifteen seconds, sir.”
Glancing back toward the science station, the captain saw T’Pol shaking her head bleakly as she anticipated his next question. He slammed his hand on the intercom button on his chair. “Archer to Burch.”
“Burch here, Captain,” answered the interim chief engineer.
“Lieutenant, I want you to give me all the power you’ve got.”
“Aye, sir.”
But even as he listened to the escalating whine of the engines and felt the increasingly agitated quaking of the deck beneath his boots, he knew he was engaging in a useless exercise. Enterprise simply wasn’t going to reach Coridan Prime in time to stop what was coming.
All he could really do was watch.
He knew that he had tried his best, just as Trip had done. Just as every member of this crew had done, as always.
Only this time, everyone’s best simply wasn’t going to be good enough.
Centurion R’Kal i’Rrhiol ch’Chulla finished locking down the S’Task’s helm controls with shaking, sweaty hands. Then she said a final prayer to all the gods of Erebus.
Now there could be no turning back, no matter how strongly her fear assailed her. Her duty to the Empire discharged, R’Kal quietly committed her daeinos aehallh- her immortal soul- to the sacred destination that awaited it in the next world….
Unencumbered by the ceremonial mask that tradition demanded he wear at all diplomatic functions, Ambassador Lekev sagged wearily against the railing in one of the small, private observation chambers aboard the Coridan Defense Frigate Krekolv. For the duration of the current crisis, Lekev and other key officials in Coridan Prime’s government- including Chancellor Kalev herself- would remain aboard the Krekolv, high above the devastation that could rain down on Coridan Prime at any moment.
Lekev looked out the wide window at the planet far below. For now, Coridan Prime clung to its familiar appearance of serenity. As ever, the cloud-streaked blue world continued turning slowly on its axis, basking in the rays of Coridan’s single red dwarf star. But the planet, neatly bisected by its nightside terminator so that half of the hemisphere facing Lekev was draped in darkness- relieved in tiny bright spangles and glowing gossamer streaks by the lights of distant cities and high-ways- seemed to be holding its collective breath, as though anticipating the unthinkable.
Almost directly between the planet and the Krekolv lay the complicated array of interlocking modules, docks, and mechanical armatures that comprised Coridan Prime’s principal starship construction and repair facility. Several vessels, ranging from small to quite large- all of them evidently not being used in the current planetside evacuation efforts because they were either under repair or still being built- were currently docked at the huge complex, which was slowly drifting across the terminator toward the planet’s night side as Lekev watched.
Lekev had never been so weary before in his life. But he had also never before felt as though his labors had been so thoroughly worthwhile. Ever since Jonathan Archer’s warning of an imminent, massively destructive