by Star Trek
Ten minutes earlier they had finally almost caught up with the transport ship—thanks to Shran’s continued use of the telepresence unit—only to discover that what they were chasing was not an Orion ship, as they had assumed, but rather a completely unfamiliar class of transport vessel, presumably one of Romulan design. The prevailing theory among the bridge crew was that the Romulans had picked up their Aenar cargo from the Orions somewhere outside of Romulan territory, and had then headed back toward their homeworld.
“Cocky bastards,” Archer said. “They think that because they’re in their own space, they won’t have to worry about being brought to book for their crimes.”
“They may well be correct,” T’Pol said. “While we appear to be the only other vessel in the vicinity, we should remain alert for other countermeasures the Romulans may have deployed nearby.”
“We’re already scanning for cloaked mines,” Reed said. Archer saw him shudder, and knew he must have been recalling the time he’d been impaled by a Romulan mine attached to Enterprise’s hull, just months into the lieutenant’s tenure aboard the ship. Reed very likely would have lost his life in that incident, had Archer not rescued him.
“There could be other Romulan weapons of which we are unaware,” T’Pol said.
“Are we sure that the Aenar are aboard that ship?” Archer asked.
T’Pol studied her scanner’s readings, the bluish light from its hooded display brightening the area around her eyes. “We are still too far away for our sensors to identify individuals, but I can confirm the presence of several dozen humanoid life signs, some of them Aenar and some unidentified.”
Archer sighed heavily, considering whether to tell Shran the news. Better to keep him in plain sight so he doesn’t try to use his own ship to ram the Romulans, or do something else equally stupid, he thought. He looked to Hoshi. “Call Shran up here to the bridge, Hoshi. Make sure he’s escorted. Unobtrusively.”
He turned back to face the forward viewscreen. “All right, people, we’ve planned this out, now let’s make sure we pull it off perfectly. Travis, make certain that we’re on top of them before they know it. Malcolm, transfer as much energy as you need to our ventral hull plating. And ready all weapons.”
He turned his chair toward the other side of the bridge. “Hoshi, be sure to keep that translation program running, just in case we need to use it. But we are not going to announce ourselves or give them time to find a way to hang onto the Aenar.”
He raised his voice so that everyone on the bridge could hear it clearly. “Everyone, stay on your toes. We get in, we get dirty, we get the Aenar out, and we head back home. No mistakes.”
He tapped the intercom button on his chair arm. “Ensign Moulton, are you ready with the transporter?”
“Yes, sir,” the young officer said crisply. “We’ve calibrated the transporter to retrieve only live Aenar. Anything else will be left behind.” He could hear the excitement in her voice; a transporter specialist, she was one of the new crew members who had come aboard after the conclusion of the Xindi crisis.
“Excellent,” Archer said. He kept the com channel open, and leaned forward again.
In his peripheral vision, he saw the others looking at him expectantly, as if they all stood poised at the starting blocks of a foot race, and he was the odds-on favorite.
“Take us in, Travis,” he said. “Full impulse.”
The ship trembled slightly beneath his boots. Archer stared at the viewscreen. He knew that this maneuver was physically dangerous for both the ship and the Aenar, and also represented a serious political risk for Earth’s Starfleet, which he represented. But he also knew that it was the right thing to do.
“Twenty-five seconds to our mark,” Mayweather said, the tension in his voice almost palpable.
“Readying weapons,” Malcolm said.
“Scanners are resolving addition life-sign data,” T’Pol said. “Thirty-seven Aenar, and twenty-two others.”
As if on cue, Archer heard the turbolift doors open behind him. He turned and saw Shran walking somewhat unsteadily onto the bridge, escorted by Corporal David McCammon, one of the MACOs. Theras accompanied Shran on his other side, a hand placed supportively on Shran’s shoulder.
“Five seconds,” Mayweather said. “Four, three, two—”
“Fire!” Archer said. An instant later, two reddish directed energy blasts lanced out in unison from the forward ventral phase cannons. The image on the viewscreen showed the beams striking the aft end of the Romulan transport vessel, causing a pair of silent explosions.
“Targeting again,” Reed said, then depressed a button.
The viewscreen image changed to a reverse angle as a quartet of phase cannon blasts ripped into the Romulan ship even as Enterprise zoomed past the other vessel.
“Their engines have been crippled,” Reed said, his tone exultant. “Their defensive hull plating is down to twenty percent of capacity and is failing quickly.”
Archer flashed a grin at Malcolm, then shot a quick glance in Shran’s direction. Despite his apparently depleted condition because of his repeated use of the telepresence apparatus, the Andorian was smiling broadly as well. Theras wore a stricken expression, no doubt unused to being in the presence of such violence.
“Bring us about, Travis,” Archer said, then looked down at the intercom on the arm of his chair. “Ensign Moulton, prepare to beam out the Aenar.”
“Aye, sir,” Moulton said.
“Captain, I’m showing two other ships coming into range, closing fast.” T’Pol’s voice rose. “They’re Romulan war vessels.”
Damn, Archer thought. That’s what I get for letting myself get cocky.
“On-screen,” he said.
Even as the image on the viewscreen showed two sleek, greenish craft arcing quickly toward Enterprise, Hoshi called out.
“Receiving a transmission, Captain.”
“You have made an illegal incursion into territory controlled by the Romulan Star Empire,” a woman’s voice said menacingly, her words rendered into precise English by Hoshi’s translation matrix. “And you have fired upon a Romulan vessel. That was your final mistake.”
“They’re charging their weapons, Captain,” Reed said. He hit the tactical alert alarm with his left hand, and klaxons began to blare throughout the ship.
Simultaneously, a pair of energy bolts lanced out of the forward sections of both of the Romulan vessels.
“Reinforce dorsal hull plating!” Archer yelled, bracing himself for an impact he could only hope wouldn’t vaporize them outright.
Thirty-Two
Friday, February 21, 2155
Rator II
AFTER EHREHIN HAD laboriously completed his fourteenth diagram, Ch’uihv—whom Trip thought had been listening and watching both patiently and attentively until now—began to look distinctly restless.
“Is this presentation of yours really going anywhere, Doctor?” the man Trip had once known as Sopek asked Ehrehin flatly, the outer edges of his slanted eyebrows rising steeply in clearly evident anger. Trip still found it odd to see emotions displayed on such an apparently Vulcan face.
Despite the danger he was in, Ehrehin displayed an exasperated expression, looking like a college lecturer being asked yet another in an endless series of stupid questions by a none-too-bright undergraduate. “Wherever this presentation is going,” the old man said in a waspish tone, “it would get there a good deal faster were you to refrain from interrupting again until I finish it.”
Ch’uihv scowled deeply. “I know something about engineering, Doctor. And if I didn’t know better, I might think you were merely stalling for time.”
The hard-faced guards posted around the prisoners looked skeptical as well, making Trip—still seated beside Dr. Ehrehin with his hands bound behind his back—decidedly more nervous than he already was.
“Ridiculous,” Ehrehin said with the sneer of an eminent academic who was growing weary of casting pearls before swine. “Now, if I
may resume?”
Ch’uihv gestured toward the computer terminals on the tabletop. “By all means, Doctor.”
Of course, Trip knew very well that Ehrehin was indeed stalling for time, though precisely what the old man hoped to accomplish by continuing to do so eluded him. Whether it happened in the next ten minutes or was delayed for another two hours, the scientist was marked for death.
Just like me, Trip thought, eyeing the disruptor pistol that Ch’uihv had left lying on the tabletop beside his computer terminal, still well out of Trip’s reach. Though the weapon might as well have been a parsec away, Trip couldn’t help but wish for telekinesis, imagining the gun making a swift leap into one of his manacled hands.
After deleting his current technical diagram—which had no doubt been captured along with all the previous ones by Ch’uihv’s information network—Doctor Ehrehin quickly began constructing another, which made Trip grateful for the interruption to his fruitless reveries. He wondered how much longer the old man could keep Ch’uihv at bay by essentially restating information that any competent novice engineer would already have known.
Then he noticed that this latest diagram was entering what appeared to be entirely new territory—at least to Trip, who was well aware that his own knowledge of the intricacies and nuances of Romulan technology was far less voluminous than Ehrehin’s.
The diagram at first appeared to be a flow-chart description of a fairly standard method of continuum distortion propulsion, which was catch-all engineer-speak for every variation of warp drive known to Earth’s science and engineering experts. But the drawing had taken an abrupt left turn, forcing Trip to work hard to find any familiar reference points.
Okay, that’s the space energy/matter sink, Trip thought, his mind reeling in a way it hadn’t since his first grueling year of Starfleet training. And that dingus has to take care of the warp drive’s magnatomic flux constriction functions, and maybe most of the other asymmetrical peristaltic field manipulations.
But he knew that this explanation didn’t take into account the large numbers of warp-field layers Ehrehin’s rapidly growing string of marginal equations were postulating. Trip found it next to impossible to visualize that many cochranes of raw power coursing through the system without violently shattering every piece of dilithium hooked into it.
Continuing to watch in silence from his chair, Trip ignored the escalating discomfort of his manacled hands, mentally returning to the beginning of the flow chart as Ehrehin continued his deliberately vague and circuitous lecture. As before, the old man wasn’t showing enough to give away his secrets entirely. But he was handing over some tantalizing hints, assuming that either Ch’uihv or any of his people were bright enough to pick up on them.
There’s the deuterium supply. Standard stuff. It goes into the matter reactant injector, then into the magnetic constriction segment. Easy-peasy. But the dilithium crystal articulation frame ought to come next, and it’s missing. What the hell?
To Trip’s surprise, the next destination for the drive’s deuterium fuel and its reaction products was a black box that would have corresponded to a standard matter/antimatter reaction chamber were it aboard Enterprise—except that this chamber apparently wasn’t equipped with the high-gauss magnetic bottle that was always used to prevent stored antimatter from experiencing a catastrophic, mutually annihilative reaction with the positive matter out of which the entire ship was composed. Instead, the reaction chamber contained something that yielded a mysteriously powerful stream of tightly focused particles that Trip figured for either high-energy gravitons or chronitons, or maybe even both, which was apparently being deposited into yet another intermix chamber.
From the look of this thing, it ought to go “boom” big-time right after the “on” button gets pushed.
But there had to be more to it than that; after all, Trip was well aware that his knowledge of Romulan technology was far from complete. And Ehrehin’s presentation would have to ring true enough to prevent Ch’uihv from picking up his disruptor pistol, which he would do if the old man were just weaving a tapestry out of pure, extemporaneous gibberish.
He’s not Scheherazade, for Christ’s sake, just making all this stuff up as he goes, Trip thought.
Making an intuitive leap based on Ehrehin’s deliberately incomplete presentation, Trip could see that such immense energy flows—assuming they were possible—might indeed accelerate a starship to warp six or seven. But how that could be done with neither a textbook matter/antimatter reaction nor a dilithium crystal array through which to channel it lay beyond his grasp.
Until the epiphany hit him with the intensity of an old-fashioned Louisville Slugger swung straight at his forehead. All at once, he understood what had to be in the black box that was spilling forth so many gravitons and chronitons. As weird as the notion was, there was no way it could have been anything else.
Oh, God. It doesn’t even use dilithium, Trip thought, fighting down his incipient panic but failing utterly. He suddenly felt light-headed, and hoped nobody in the room had noticed, especially the guards. The Coalition worlds will have to change their entire approach to defending themselves against this thing now. If they have the time, that is.
Though he was securely planted in his chair as Ehrehin droned on before the increasingly fidgety Ch’uihv, Trip felt as though he was about to pitch forward, rolling right over a precipice of utter despair.
Because once he was dead, there would be no one left alive to warn Coridan Prime’s billions of inhabitants of the horrors that awaited them.
Thirty-Three
Friday, February 21, 2155
Enterprise NX-01
THE BRIDGE ROCKED VIOLENTLY, and Archer clutched the arms of his chair to avoid sprawling onto the deck. Shran, Theras, and McCammon, standing beside a science station console, were all thrown into the railings, as was Reed at his tactical station. Fortunately, no one appeared seriously hurt.
“Hull plating at eighty-three percent,” Mayweather said, urgency in his voice. “We managed to reinforce hull plate power by the time they hit us.”
“They’re charging weapons for a second salvo,” T’Pol said.
“Head right for them, full speed, and reinforce all forward hull plating,” Archer ordered, then turned toward the tactical station. “Malcolm, target their engines.”
Back on his feet, Reed studied his console, his hands trembling slightly from battle-generated adrenaline. Archer studied the viewscreen and watched the image of the two ships grow ever larger as the enemy vessels continued their approach. He could see that the ventral hulls of the warships were adorned with a garish design that resembled a predatory bird.
“Targets locked and…firing at full power!” Reed exclaimed.
The viewscreen image tracked their progress as Enterprise flew past the two ships, her phase cannons blasting away in rapid bursts. Archer was happy to see that several of the blasts were having demonstrable effects on the nacelles supported by struts on either side of the Romulan ships’ horseshoe crab-shaped central hulls.
“Bring us back about,” Archer said. “Divert power to our aft starboard plating.”
Even as Enterprise looped back toward the crippled transport ship, Mayweather yelled “Incoming fire!”
This time the volley of shots rocked the ship harder, but a quick look around the bridge showed Archer that nearly everyone had secured themselves into chairs this time, including Shran and Theras. Only Reed remained untethered, standing at the firing controls, his knuckles white as he gripped his console for support.
“Plating at sixty-two percent,” Mayweather said.
“We’ve partially crippled their propulsion,” Reed said, a touch of triumph in his voice. “They can’t go to warp, but they still have impulse capability. And weapons.”
“Charge our weapons again, but don’t fire just yet,” Archer said. “If we can get out of here with the Aenar without destroying any of the Romulans’ vessels, maybe we can keep the political
fallout down to a minimum. And if they can’t follow us once we’re at warp, all the better.”
He spoke into the intercom unit on his chair. “Ensign Moulton, have you been able to beam over any Aenar?”
“I got five of them,” Moulton said. “All males, apparently, and they all seem to have been sedated. But I can’t seem to get a lock on any of the others.”
Archer scowled and looked toward T’Pol. “What’s the problem?”
“It would appear that the Romulans have employed some kind of sensor shroud aboard their vessel,” T’Pol said, frowning slightly at her scanner. “It is preventing our maintaining a transporter lock. We cannot beam anyone else out unless they’re carrying a signal enhancer of some kind.”
“Can we take out the shroud?” Archer asked.
“The transport has deployed almost all of its remaining power to the device, including life support,” T’Pol said. “If we attempt to break the shroud, we could easily overload their warp core and kill everyone aboard.”
“Incoming!” Reed shouted.
The ship rocked again. One of the consoles at the back of the bridge whined, then shot out a volley of sparks. A nearby ensign quickly began spraying flameretardant foam on the console.
“Plating at fifty-three percent and falling,” Mayweather said.
“We have a hull breach on D deck,” Hoshi said. “Guest quarters.”
“That’s also engineering,” Reed said. “They’re trying to cripple our engines.”
Archer wasn’t at all pleased with the turn this mission was taking. “Travis, continue performing evasive maneuvers, but keep us as close to the transport ship as possible. We need to stay within transporter range.”
He tapped another button on his chair’s com unit. “Engineering, sorry about all the rough stuff. See if you can divert any extra power to the transporter.”
“Yes, sir, Captain,” said Burch. The young officer was Tucker’s obvious replacement, but Archer had yet to make the assignment official. He knew he would have to do so soon, or else find another permanent chief engineer, should Trip’s sojourn in the land of the dead continue much longer.