The Red King - Michael A. Martin [91]
K’chak’!’op’s attention was drawn to a cheer she heard coming over the comm system. This wasn’t coming from inside the asteroid habitat, but rather from another source: it appeared that the shuttlecraft Holliday, the shuttlecraft Marcellis, and three Romulan craft had just arrived from the surface, carrying between them scores of Neyel and other natives who hadn’t been reached by the last round of mass beam-ups. The exact information was too garbled for her translator/voder to accurately parse, but she gleaned enough good news from the transmission to buoy her spirits considerably.
She felt a tug against her mid-leg, and turned her head around to view whomever had interrupted her. She was surprised to see the multipartite member of the Seekers of Penance—Lofi, if she recalled the sentient’s name correctly—and the almost bovine-looking companion of the independently-segmented creature.
“We wish to aid you,” Lofi said. “However we can. I have some experience with Neyel computers, and Fasaryl was a cro’loog’fin’shal for his people before his apprin-dining.”
K’chak’!’op wasn’t quite sure what Lofi had just said, but she assumed she should be grateful for the offer. “Whatever help you can offer will be received gladly,” she said, her undulating tentacles signing her words, which her translator/voder dutifully rendered into what she hoped was passable Neyel.
And though the space around her had become slightly more cramped with the arrival of the two Seekers, K’chak’!’op felt comforted to be working alongside two others whose hearts and minds were sure to be as focused as hers was on the task at hand.
SHUTTLECRAFT BEIDERBECKE
To his credit, Hachesa had managed to activate the navigational deflector and raise the shields just prior to the shuttle’s inundation and submersion. The cockpit bulkhead had automatically sealed as well, protecting the forward cabin both from the elements and the frantic refugees.
Fortunately, the Beiderbecke’s shields had held, keeping the deluge outside at bay; the fact that everyone on the shuttle other than the pilots was also being kept out of the cockpit was a side benefit that gave desYog and Hachesa a few valuable moments to collect themselves.
DesYog scanned the instrument panels, ignoring the murk-filled forward windows in favor of the images on the monitor screens set into the panel below them. What the screens showed was hazy at best, however; all desYog could tell was that multiple indistinct objects were tumbling through the brine toward the shuttlecraft.
“We’re definite upside-down,” Hachesa said, running his hands over the companels again. “That way is up,” he added, pointing toward the deck.
The artificial gravity, which had kicked on automatically when the shuttle had rolled onto its back, was so comforting it almost disoriented him. But desYog knew that the feeling was illusory. He entered some commands into the computer, and felt the ship begin to move around him.
Suddenly, something large and dark smashed into the forward window. It appeared to be a piece of a building, but it was difficult to tell given the dim illumination in the water. Sparks shot out of one of the upper panels, alighting on desYog’s wings, which were folded neatly behind him.
I can’t worry about a few singed feathers, he thought, glad that his outer flocking lacked neural sensation. A quick glance at the console displays confirmed what the sparks had announced: The shields were failing.
“Shields are down to thirty-seven percent,” Hachesa said. “We’ve got to get out of here. I think we can survive long enough to reach the habitat, but we can’t take this water pressure much longer.”
The companel crackled to life. “DesYog, Hachesa, are you there?” Sortollo’s voice was nervous, rattled.