The Sky's the Limit - Marco Palmieri [45]
“But they were still fighting their fate,” said Worf with a warrior’s glint in his eye. “Even if driven to ask for help.”
La Forge nodded his head. “That’s right, and I’m not ready to give up hope. As far as the Prime Directive goes, simple baristatic filters might be closer to their tech level and—”
“Relax, Geordi,” Picard said, holding up a hand in surrender. “No one has given up. Mister Crusher, set a course for Narsosia, best possible speed.”
“Aye, sir.” He looked over his shoulder with a grin. “It’s been plotted and laid in since Data located the system.”
“Then, by all means, engage.”
La Forge had been falling for just over thirty kilometers. It’s only taken four minutes, he thought. Since I’m moving at a body-bruising average speed of 475 kilometers per hour, I’m actually decelerating as I fall. Increasing atmospheric pressure is decreasing terminal velocity. The heads-up display in his helmet indicated he was now at one and a half Earth atmospheres, the equivalent of about fifteen meters underwater. The HUD also showed that the temperature had risen to fifty below Celsius. The clouds had changed to ammonium hydrosulfide, the colors subdued tans. Lightning frequently lit up the sky, forking through the clouds around him. He contemplated just putting his legs together, his arms forward, and diving to his death below. No, I won’t give up. There could be a shuttle heading for him right now, almost close enough for its transporter to cut through the ionized atmosphere. He had been determined to help any survivors on Askaria, and now he had to hope he would be a survivor himself.
La Forge entered the bridge and came to a halt as he looked at the viewscreen. Enterprise was still one day out from Narsosia, but he’d been summoned from engineering to see the ship they were approaching—the source of the distress call. Comparable to human technology of the late twenty-first century, it was definitely built for atmospheric flight: about one hundred meters long, thin from top to bottom, and its V-shaped body tapering out gracefully into wings. As the silver craft tumbled slowly along, he saw booster engines in its tail and, on either side of the main engine intake, what appeared to be chemical rocket engines on the underside of the wings, which seemed out of place on the sleek craft.
“Mister Worf,” Picard said, “why don’t you bring Commander La Forge up to speed.”
La Forge stood beside Worf to look at the sensor readouts as Worf filled him in.
“Aye, sir.” Worf glanced down at La Forge. “There are no life signs. The interior is at ambient temperature and at low pressure.” He looked back at his readings. “The main engines have few moving parts, relying on supersonic atmospheric speeds to compress the intake air for combustion with fuel—”
“It’s a scramjet,” La Forge interrupted. “They’ve jury-rigged a suborbital craft with chemical rockets to take it into space as a last-chance lifeboat. But they’re out of the ecliptic plane. They must have gone off course. And to be this far out of the system…” He trailed off as he realized the implication.
Data turned to face him. “At this ship’s maximum speed, it would have taken approximately six hundred years to reach this distance.”
“So we are too late,” said La Forge, his shoulders slumping.
Data tilted his head. “There is still the chance that other ships made it to the moons of Askaria according to their plans.”
“Perhaps we can get some answers on that ship,” Picard said. “Worf, stabilize it with a tractor beam.” He turned toward Riker. “Take an away team over there and see what you can find.”
“Aye, sir.” Riker stood up and headed toward the lift. “Data and Worf, you’re with me.” He paused by La Forge. “Want to tag along?”
La Forge nodded. If it turned out the entire population of Narsosia had perished, the least they could do would be to save this ship and whatever records might be aboard her. It could be all that remained of Narsosian civilization. “Yes, I do. Thanks.”
“See if you want to thank me after you