Foundations Book Three
Page 5
On the screen, Nrech’lah’s expression revealed nothing. “Interesting. You shirk the opportunity to engage us in combat. Are you unwilling or unable? I suspect the latter.”
Listening to the Lutralian captain, Scott thought his demeanor to be similar to that of Romulan ship commanders he had encountered over the years. Calm and composed, Nrech’lah affected an air of being in complete control, which of course was not far from the truth. Even without sophisticated sensor technology, it would not take long for him to figure out that the Chandley was incapable of mounting any kind of defense. The only decision Nrech’lah would have at that point would be whether or not to exploit his advantage. That he had not done so by now gave Scott a glimmer of hope that this situation could still be resolved peacefully.
“You are correct, Captain,” he said. “Our ship possesses no weapons. To be truthful, we were testing a new engine design when we lost control. It brought us here, quite unintentionally, I assure you.”
Nrech’lah appeared to consider this for several seconds before he nodded slowly. The smile on his face was anything but warm and welcoming, though.
“Your candor is most reassuring, alien. As a gesture of goodwill, I will allow you a small amount of time to effect your repairs.”
Smiling himself, first at his companions and then at Nrech’lah, Scott nodded enthusiastically. “That is most kind, Captain. Of course, we are in somewhat of a bind due to a shortage of personnel. We would certainly welcome any assistance you might lend to—”
A low menacing laugh echoed from the bridge’s intercom as the Lutralian captain slowly shook his head. “Are you attempting to insult us again?”
Careful, Scotty, don’t blow it.
“Not at all, sir,” he replied, talking quickly to recover from his apparent misstep. “I merely thought you would like to help in the spirit of respect and friendship.”
Again came the sinister laugh. “We do not respect that which we can so easily brush aside, alien. This is not an issue of respect, at least, not yet. Attend to your repairs, but if you do not complete them in a timely manner, it will no longer be an issue. I trust you understand our position.”
With that Nrech’lah terminated the transmission, leaving only the image of the dark, silent Lutralian ship on the main viewer once more.
“I think I could have handled that a wee bit better,” Scott said as he turned to his companions. These Lutralians, he decided, appeared to be even more hung up on protocol and the trappings of authority than Romulans or even Tholians, another race with which he had had some experience. He would have liked to spend more time figuring out why Nrech’lah appeared to view the Chandley and her crew with such disdain, but he had to remember that at present there were more critical priorities to worry about.
“The first order of business is repairin’ that ruptured manifold,” Scott said as he regarded the bridge personnel.
“Already on it,” al-Khaled said from the engineering station. “I’ve got people assembling the gear we’ll need. You and I are the best qualified to go outside, but one of us should stay here to coordinate the repair efforts if we’re going to finish in anything resembling a short time. I have more hours in zero-g repair work than you do, so I should be the one to go.”
Scott hated for al-Khaled to be right about this, but the fact was that with his years of service with the Lovell and the S.C.E., his friend had logged many more hours wearing an environmental suit. That decision, at least, was simple to make.
“Aye, when you’re right, you’re right. You need to take someone along with you as a backup, though.”
“Don’t worry, I have just the perfect volunteer for this job,” al-Khaled replied, and Scott followed his gaze to the science station where Talev sat. So engrossed was the young Andorian in studying the rapid fire of information constantly being updated on the monitors that it took several seconds for her to realize that eyes were on her.
And why.
“Sir?” she asked, her expression one of shock and her tone possessing none of its former confidence.
Well, Scott thought, at least I lived long enough to see that.
* * *
Left foot down. Right foot up. Right foot down. Left foot up…
Talev kept pace silently as she made her way along the exterior of the Chandley’s port warp nacelle, peeling and lifting her magnetic-soled boots from the hull as she and Commander al-Khaled maneuvered toward the ship’s leaking nacelle. Between them they carried a section of plating that, once secured over the hull rupture, would be large enough to contain the plasma leak.
She listened to the echoes of her own breathing in the bulbous helmet of her environmental suit. That she and al-Khaled were wearing an older model of suit, which had been retired from active service several years ago and apparently after the Chandley’s decommissioning, only added to her dismay at coming outside in the first place. The suits did not possess maneuvering thrusters, forcing the two engineers to be dependent on magnetic boots to grip the hull and safety tethers feeding out from the open hatchway at the base of the nacelle’s support strut.
Though she did not suffer from claustrophobia or vertigo, as was the case with some people when they donned an environmental suit, Talev had never relished the idea of working outside a starship. She had dreaded the training classes at the Academy, always wishing for them to end as quickly as possible. Her assignments post-graduation had never called for her to work in such conditions, and she had gotten used to the idea that the chances of her being called to do so were minimal at best.
And yet, here I am. Wonderful.
They walked in silence for the most part, crossing the distance to the hull rupture where she could see the swirling cloud of gas leaking from the breach. It would be dangerous working near the released plasma, even with the low-level welding torch that al-Khaled had brought along for the task. She had disagreed with his and Scott’s decision not to stop the plasma flow while they worked on the damaged nacelle, but she understood the reasoning: doing so would have resulted in the shutdown of the warp drive, which would then require a cold restart. That would take at least another thirty minutes to accomplish, time they could not be sure the Lutralians would grant them. With that in mind, she and al-Khaled were faced with working in close proximity to the dangerous plasma as it vented freely from the damaged hull.
“How are you doing, Lieutenant?” al-Khaled asked through their commlink.
She nodded in reply before remembering that the commander could not see that. “I have been better, if you must know.”
Al-Khaled laughed. “A sense of humor. I love it. This really isn’t that hard once you get a rhythm down, Lieutenant. Just shuffle along and don’t hurry. You’re doing fine.” Another few moments passed as they came upon the repair site, with al-Khaled directing where to step and how to angle the hull plate.
As they maneuvered the plate into the proper position, al-Khaled said, “You know, this reminds me of why I got into the S.C.E. in the first place.”
Talev tried to take her mind off her apprehension as she stutter-stepped past al-Khaled and moved to where he wanted her to stand. Kneeling down and placing her hands on the hull plate, she asked, “The Corps of Engineers was not your first assignment?”
“Not on your life,” he replied. Between the two of them, it was simple work to move the replacement plate over the plasma leak. Taking a moment to judge their progress he said, “This may look quick and dirty on the outside, but it’ll do the job well enough.”
She watched as al-Khaled drew the welding laser he had brought with him and adjusted the tool’s power setting before aiming it at one edge of the plate. An intense orange beam of energy lanced from the welder, beginning the process of joining the two hull sections. He had obviously done this many times before, she decided, as he made quick work, and Talev found herself caught up in watching wisps of plasma escape through the crack between the plate and the hull just before the phaser welded the seam closed.
He talked as if the two of them were lounging in the mess hall rather than kneeling exposed on the surface of a starship hull. How did he do that? The answer was obvious, of course: because his experience gave him confidence. Talev had to admit that listening to his voice eased her own tension somewhat and she suspected that it was deliberate on al-Khaled’s part. At any other time she might find such an attempt offensive and condescending, but not now. If it helped them to complete their task and get back inside the ship, then she welcomed the effort with open arms.
She shifted her position as al-Khaled moved in her direction with the welder. As she did so, she felt a vibration beneath her feet. Al-Khaled must have noticed it, too, because he deactivated the welder and turned to look at her.
“Did you feel that?”
Nodding, she looked down at the hull and saw tendrils of plasma seep from the weld line that al-Khaled had just created. How was that possible?
“Mahmud,” Scott’s voice suddenly called out over the open communicator channel, “we’re registering spikes in the plasma flow. I’m shutting it down, but there’s still a lot of released plasma. Be careful out—”
The hull plate bucked upward sharply as vents of ignited plasma erupted from beneath it. Only partially secured to the nacelle’s metallic exterior, the plate was wrenched away from the hull by the force of the explosion. Talev had but a heartbeat to throw her arms up in defense as the plate struck her. Then she was tumbling head over heels, and she realized she had been knocked free of the ship!
“Talev!” al-Khaled’s voice rang in her helmet as she instinctively grabbed for her tether. Using both hands to pull on it as she twisted about in open space, Talev yanked but felt none of the resistance she had expected.
Her eyes followed the length of the tether to its abrupt end, where scorched metallic fibers bore mute testimony to where the intensely hot plasma had sliced through the line.
“Commander!”
Chapter
5
As Talev zh’Thren fell away, al-Khaled exercised the only option open to him.
He jumped.
Arms stretched outward, al-Khaled kicked off from the Chandley’s hull, arcing away from the ship and into free space.
“Commander!” Talev called out again, her arms and legs thrashing about as she drifted farther from the ship. She was reaching out for anything that might arrest her motion, but of course there was nothing.
“Hang on, Talev,” al-Khaled said, speaking in as calm a voice as he could muster, all the while cursing whoever had dismantled the Chandley’s transporter. “I’m coming.”
Drifting after her in the void, al-Khaled was helpless to do anything but listen to the echoes of his own breathing. His pulse raced and pounded in his ears as the distance between them shrank too damned slowly.
“Mahmud,” Scott’s voice sounded in his helmet, “what’s wrong?”
Not answering, al-Khaled’s attention was instead focused on Talev, who was now close, so very close. Reaching out, al-Khaled’s gloved fingers brushed against the side of the Andorian’s boot. He missed the grab, the action serving to twist her body away from his hand, her body turning cartwheels in the vacuum. Her arm was swinging around, though, and al-Khaled angled to reach for it.
And then his tether line went taut.
“No!” he cried as his hand closed around nothing and he felt his body pulled back toward the ship. The gap between him and Talev, which had been mere millimeters an instant ago, started to widen again.
As her body turned about and the visor of her helmet became visible, Talev’s expression was one of panic. “Commander!” She reached vainly in the direction of al-Khaled even as she continued to drift farther away from the Chandley. Al-Khaled flailed his arms in a desperate attempt to grab on to her, knowing even as he did so that the attempt was fruitless.
Then he saw movement in the corner of his eye.
Drifting past him was the remainder of Talev’s tether, still attached to her environmental suit. The severed safety line was arcing and twisting in response to the lieutenant’s frantic motions, and now it was almost within al-Khaled’s reach. But could he grab on to it?
“Mahmud,” Scott’s voice repeated in his helmet, “what the devil is goin’ on out there?”
“I’m a little busy at the moment, Scotty,” al-Khaled replied through clenched teeth. “Stand by.”
He grabbed on to his own tether and, using it for the tenuous amount of leverage it possessed, al-Khaled twisted his body around and reached out one last time with his free hand. The material of Talev’s safety line slid across his gloved fingers and he tightened his grip. His body curled around as the Andorian’s momentum was transferred to him, and then he felt his own movement arrest as his own tether went taut once more. When he was jerked in the direction of the Chandley this time, however, it was with Talev’s line still in his grip and the lieutenant now drifting along with him back toward the ship.
“Gotcha,” he called out in triumph. Easy there, he cautioned himself. You’re not home free yet.
As they drew nearer to the hull, he used his hold on his tether to bring himself around and plant his feet on the metal plating, letting the magnetic sensors in his boots secure him to the ship once again. Seconds later Talev was beside him, anchoring herself to the hull as well.
“I can’t take you anywhere, can I?” al-Khaled asked, breathing hard from the brief but intense exertion.
Shaking her head, Talev frowned behind her face- plate. “I guess not. Thanks for coming after me.”
“Save it until you get my bill,” al-Khaled responded as he rechecked his boots’ grip on the hull. He was sure he had detected a note of humility in the young Andorian’s voice, a quality that had been notably absent in his previous dealings with her. Interesting, he thought.
Then Scott’s exasperated voice was sounding in his helmet once more. “Mahmud, so help me, if ye dinna answer I’m comin’ out there and throttlin’ the both of ye.”
As they began to make their way across the hull back to where the damaged manifold awaited the rest of their repairs, al-Khaled replied, “Oh, now you offer to come outside and help. Your timing is impeccable as always, Commander.” Surveying the new damage to the ship’s exterior from the plasma eruption he added, “Bring me another hull plate while you’re at it.”
“He will probably want to kill you once we get back inside,” Talev said.
Al-Khaled nodded. “Probably. In that case, let’s finish our work here. I do not want to die in vain, after all.”
* * *
Though the idea of killing al-Khaled did cross his mind, Scott decided that it would be best if he waited until they got home first.
“Repairs are spot on, Mahmud,” he said as he studied a status display at the engineering station on the Chandley’s bridge. The decision not to shut down the plasma flow had been dangerous, even given their current situation, and they had nearly lost Talev because of it. For that he was furious with himself. Sloppy engineers make dead engineers, he reminded himself.
“Plasma levels are lower than I’d like, but they’re holding steady. All we have to do now is bring those engines back online and let the computer run its start-up diagnostics. Once that’s done, if we dinna give her too many bumps along the way, the old girl should get us home without too much trouble.”
At the science station, Tomar turned in his seat, a frown creasing his features. “We may have another problem, Mr. Scott.” As the trio of Starfleet engineers moved to join him, the Kelvan motioned for them to observe one of the monitors on the bulkhead above him. “The computer’s diagnostics are reportin
g that the warp drive cannot be brought back online.”
“What?” al-Khaled asked as he studied the display. “Is there something else wrong? Some other damage that we missed?”
Shaking his head, Tomar indicated a graphic in the computer screen’s lower left corner. “We installed computer software that is dedicated to monitoring the warp drive systems. It uses a series of overlapping protocols that continuously recalibrate engine performance. Some of the adjustments it makes are so minute that most living beings can’t even detect the change. The recalibrations are made much faster than flesh-and-blood engineers could accomplish them, as well.”
Scott held up a hand. “Ye covered all of this at the briefing, Tomar, but what does that have to do with anything right now?”
From behind him, Talev replied, “Commander, what I believe Tomar is trying to say is that the computer will not allow the warp drive to be enabled because it views doing so with our drastically reduced plasma levels to be an inefficient if not outright unsafe operating condition.”
Rolling his eyes, Scott forced himself to maintain his composure. Why was this so difficult? “So bypass the bloody thing.”
“I wish it were that simple, my friend,” Tomar replied, his expression almost one of embarrassment. “We designed the computer software to regulate the engines as close to standard technical specifications as possible, in order to ensure the best possible performance with the least required amount of interaction with our engineering staff. It was hoped that being able to rely on computers for such tasks would allow us to set out into space with smaller crews. We would then be able to distribute the limited number of experienced space travelers of our people more efficiently among our ships.”
It was a laudable goal, Scott agreed. The Kelvans had always shown themselves to be self-reliant almost to a fault, dating back to the first time the Enterprise crew had encountered them. Naturally they would want to launch their new program of exploration with as little outside help as possible. Talev and the other Starfleet engineers temporarily assigned to New Kelva had been tolerated, to be sure, but only because of the opportunity to learn about Kelvan engineering techniques that had been part of the deal struck by Starfleet for the use of their ships.