The Red King - Michael A. Martin [82]
“Assuming that Dr. Ra-Havreii can give us enough power to keep the transporters and tractor beams going at full bore for a couple of days straight,” Vale said, looking at Riker. “So the plan must be to fill that rock up with warm bodies, and then tow it as fast as possible toward the spatial rift.”
Riker allowed a wry smile to turn his lips upward. Once again, there was no time for rehearsal; improvisation would have to suffice, and his crew knew their licks. “Looks to me like the best plan available under the circumstances.”
Vale shrugged. “I have to admit I don’t have any better ideas right now. I say let’s try it.”
“I must agree,” Tuvok said, then resumed concentrating on his console.
Vale pointed toward the ancient husk of the still-approaching Vanguard colony. “I suppose it would be way, way too optimistic of me to hope that Vanguard can move under its own power.”
“Vanguard had no functional motive propulsion of its own when we first encountered it eight decades ago,” said Tuvok, stone-faced as he continued studying his sensor readouts. At the secondary science console beside him, Eviku was doing likewise. “Its drive units had evidently been cannibalized more than a century earlier,” Tuvok continued, rising from his chair. “As yet I have found no reason to believe that the situation has changed.”
“Of course. That figures. So we either tow it, or somebody’s got to get out and push.” Vale turned in Riker’s direction. “I see another potential problem with this, Captain.”
“Explain,” Riker said.
“I’ve got to wonder: If converting that Neyel sacred relic into a rescue ark is really such a great idea, then why aren’t the Neyel themselves trying to do it right now?”
Riker had to admit that his exec had raised an excellent question. He had no definitive answer, of course—a quick glance at the ashen-faced Frane made it doubtful that one was forthcoming anytime soon—but he still had the capacity for, and the prerogative of, choosing optimism.
Gesturing toward the expanding assemblage of conflagrations raging across Oghen’s land, sea, and sky, Riker said, “Look at the chaos down there. They’re losing ships as fast as they can launch them, and they probably don’t even know why yet. The crisis down there may have hit them so quickly that it just overwhelmed them.”
They just got caught with their proverbial pants down, Riker thought. Maybe in part because a Federation representative convinced them to stand down on their military readiness. Our fault, once again. Our responsibility.
“Captain, I must point out that several other inhabited worlds also lay in the path of the spreading pattern of spatial disturbances,” said Tuvok, who was walking back toward the turbolift to stand beside Vale. “With the Red King effect propagating superluminally through subspace, those systems will also be destroyed in a matter of weeks, if not days.”
Deanna looked pale and mournful. “Then we can only help Oghen, because it’s directly in harm’s way now. We won’t have time to do anything for the people on those outlying planets.”
“Vanguard has only a finite amount of internal space,” Tuvok pointed out. “Even if we had the time to mount other planetary evacuations.”
“Perhaps we cannot aid other endangered worlds directly,” Cethente said with a rhythmic jingling that reminded Riker of Christmas sleigh rides in Valdez. “Unless we succeed in…lulling Mr. Frane’s Sleeper back into a state of slumber.”
“How is that possible?” Vale asked. “We can’t be talking about reading it a bedtime story.”
Norellis grinned at Vale. “Actually, Commander, it’s more like a sedative, for lack of a better term. We’ve got most of the theoretical work done already.”
Riker decided he had nothing to lose by allowing himself to choose hope over reticence. If nothing else, it