by Generations
Over the screaming of the red-alert klaxons, Worf called, "They have found a way to penetrate our shields!" "Lock phasers and return fire!" Riker ordered.
On the screen, the Bird-of-Prey's shields flashed as they absorbed the impact of the starship's phaser blasts.
A no-win situation, Riker realized, even before he saw the next photon torpedo blazing toward them on the viewscreen. Without shields, the Enterprise would be torn apart.
The ship lurched again beneath his feet; the conn console erupted in a hail of sparks, hurling the conn officer to the deck.
"Deanna!" Riker shouted. "Take the helm. Get us out of orbit!" Troi propelled herself from her chair and raced un- steadily across the rocking deck to the helm. Within seconds, Veridian III disappeared from the viewscreen --but the Klingon vessel was in full pursuit. Not enough, Riker knew, as he squinted his eyes at the dazzling glow of another approaching torpedo. Lursa and B'Etor had found a way to outwit the Enterprise's superior firepower; it was time for Riker to return the favor.
As the ship was jolted again, Data called, his voice bright with panic, "Hull breach on decks thirty-one through thirty-five!" "Worfl" Riker paused and braced himself as yet another hit rocked the bridge; overhead, the lights flickered. "That's an old Klingon ship. What do we know about it? Are there any weaknesses?" Worf clutched his console and held on as the ship rolled. "It is a Class D-twelve Bird-of-Prey. They were retired from service because of defective plasma coils." "Plasma coils? Is there any way we can use that to our advantage?"
"I do not see how," Worf replied. "The plasma coil is part of their cloaking device." "Data." Riker wheeled toward him with sudden inspi- ration. "Wouldn't a defective plasma coil be susceptible to some kind of ionic pulse?" "Perhaps..." Data frowned, considering it, then brightened with enthusiasm. "Yes! If we sent a low-level ionic pulse, it might reset the coil and trigger their cloaking device. Excellent idea, sir." Worf nodded, on to the idea. "As their cloak begins to engage, their shields will drop." "Right," Riker said. "And they'll be vulnerable for at least two seconds." He glanced at the android. "Data, lock on to that plasma coil." "No problem," Data answered, confident. He hurried over to a bulkhead, removed a panel, and began rerout- ing circuitry at inhuman speed.
"Worf." Riker turned to the Klingon. "Prepare a spread of photon torpedoes. We'll have to hit them the instant they begin to cloak." "Aye, sir." Worf began to work his console.
"We're only going to get one shot at this," Riker continued. "Target their primary reactor. With any luck, their warp core should explode." "I have accessed their coil frequency," Data called, from his supine position on the deck. "Initiating ionic pulse..." The bridge reeled once more. Riker held on, bowing his head as the aft console exploded, raining smoke and debris. "Make it quick... !"
A moment earlier on the Bird-of-Prey's bridge, B'Etor smiled, intoxicated with triumph, at her older sister.
Soran had proved himself a worthy ally; not only had he given them a weapon of incredible power, he had also come up with the plan which would now provide them with the added pleasure of destroying the Enterprise.
Who would dare stand up to them now? B'Etor allowed herself a fleeting daydream: Herself, white-haired and wrinkled, telling again to her kinsmen and followers the story of how she and her late sister had, with nothing more than an ancient Bird-of-Prey, destroyed the great Galaxy-class starship.
The deck rocked slightly beneath her feet. She glanced over at the helmsman, who quickly reported, "Minor damage to the port nacelle. Our shields are holding." Her smile widened. "Fire at will.... " She watched with unutterable delight as the torpedoes found their target, scarring the gleaming metal of the Enterprise's hull. You were wise to tell your captain not to trust us, Commander Riker. Are you contemplating your own words now?
Beside her, Lursa laughed softly in pure enjoyment.
"Target their bridge." "Full disruptors," B'Etor added. They had savored their advantage long enough; time now to make a clean, swift kill.
The navigator released a soft yelp, one full of such mortal surprise that B'Etor whirled swiftly in her chair, her euphoria turned abruptly to unease.
The navigator looked up at her, his eyes wide with panic. "We are cloaking!" "What?" B'Etor gasped.
"Mistress!" the helmsman cried. "Our shields are down!"
There was no time for her to issue an order; merely to stare, stunned, at the viewscreen, which showed a pack of torpedoes streaking toward themmthen to share a final gaze of stunned defeat with her sister.
The bridge shuddered beneath the blows, which came so fast and hard that B'Etor could not keep her balance, could not remain in her chair, but fell, clawing for purchase, to the deck. Around her, consoles exploded into flame, bodies flew, men screamed; and then a rumble began, deep in the ship's belly, one that grew until the deck beneath her trembled, until the very teeth in her skull chattered. She knew by instinct that the warp core had begun to implode, that there was no chance of survival. She and the ship and everyone on it would be reduced to dust.
Even so, she felt no sorrow--it would be a good death, a warrior's death--only deep frustration at having come so close to victory, and a good amount of irritation at a human called William Riker.
Riker shielded his eyes against the blinding flash on the viewscreen as the Bird-of-Prey dissolved into spin- ning debris.
"Yes!" Data croweds exultant.
Riker wasted no time celebrating, but pressed his signaling comm badge.
"La Forge to bridge. Commander, I've got a problem down here. The magnetic interlocks have been ruptured.
I need to get the--" There came a hissing sound, as if the link had dis- solved into faint static. Riker frowned. "Mr. La Forge... ?"
In the background, he heard Geordi shout, "Coolant leak! Everybody out!" There followed the sounds of people scrambling, shouting.
"Bridge!" Geordi called in a voice sharply urgent and breathless from running. "We've got a new problem.
We're about five minutes from a warp-core breach.
There's nothing I can do." "Understood," Riker said. He hesitated--an instant, no more--then turned toward the helm. "Deanna, evacuate everyone into the saucer section. Mr. Data, prepare to separate the ship." He moved to the captain's chair with a sense of cold unreality, and grimly pressed the control that sounded the alarm he had hoped never to hear except in drills.
Beneath the shelter of a tree, Picard paused to make sure Soran was absorbed in his work, then tossed another pebble at the stone arch. The small stone missed its mark and bounced with a glimmer off the forcefield.
Soran glanced up; Picard sat nonchalantly on a nearby rock, and waited until the scientist's attention was once again diverted--then tossed a second pebble with the determination of a child skipping stones. This one, too, was repelled by the forcefield.
He looked up to see Soran staring at him with irrita- tion. "Don't you have anything better to do?" He said nothing; merely waited once more until Soran returned his gaze to the launcher control panel, then threw another pebble toward the arch.
This one did not miss. The stone struck the sand, then gave a little bounce forward and rolled beneath the arch ú.. inside the forcefield.
Picard did not permit his expression to shift, but looked up casually as the scientist finished his work at the launcher controls.
Soran stepped down from the control panel and gazed smugly at Picard. "Sure you won't come with me?" "Quite sure." Soran shrugged, but there was a faint wistful look in his eye. "Your choice. Now, if you'll excuse me, Captain, I have an appointment with eternity and I don't want to be late." He turned and began to climb up the scaffolding toward the top of the rock face.
There was no time for further appeals, no time for subterfuge. Picard dropped to the ground, rolled onto his back, and wriggled headfirst beneath the arch. He expelled all the air from his lungs, used his feet and legs to press his body as hard into the sand as he could.
There was little room. He got his
head through to the forcefield's other side and slipped his shoulders beneath the arch when the field flashed blindingly in front of his chin. The jolt this time was agonizingly intense; as the field crackled, he thrashed involuntarily, then stilled himself, panting, and directed his clearing gaze upward, toward the scaffolding.
A blur of black and white, Soran paused in his climbing.
Picard pushed hard with his feet and slid forward through the sand, but it was too late. Atop the scaffold- ing, Soran wheeled, then pulled an object from his hip.
A disruptor, Picard realized with a rush of adrenaline.
He tried to roll, tried to wriggle free. But the rock trapped his feet, and held him fast as the world around him once more faded into brilliant, deadly white.
Geordi ran through the corridors of engineering on pure adrenaline. Yet despite the chaos before him-- the blur of fleeing bodies, the shouts, the screaming klaxonmhe heard nothing but his own ragged breath and the pounding of his heart. His mind seemed de- tached from his body, which operated on pure instinct; the faster he moved, the more time seemed to slow, the more he became overwhelmed by the sense of unreal- ity.
In his time aboard the Enterprise, he had lived through experiences he could not have anticipated in his wildest flights of fantasy. But in spite of all the drills, of all his preparation for this terrible moment, he had never believed it could happen: never believed that he would ever see the deadly plume of white-hot gas spewing from the warp core, that he would be the last to duck beneath the emergency isolation door as it descended.
His body was cold with fear, but his mind was utterly calm, perceiving each instant with almost unbearable clarity. He saw each millimeter of bulkhead, of deck, each console as he passed with the acute awareness that he would never see it again. He had confronted his own impermanence against a backdrop of darkness, broken only by Soran's soft voice and the ticking of a watch; and he thought himself prepared now for death~~but he was not prepared for the thought that the Enterprise herself was mortal, that engineering, the part of the ship in which he had spent the best years of his life, was about to be destroyed in a blinding millisecond. He remembered suddenly Montgomery Scott, and how the old engineer had once spoken of the grief he'd experienced a~~er losing the original Enterprise.
Beyond the stream of moving uniforms in front of him, a buzzer sounded as a second isolation door began slowly to descend. Geordi forced his legs impossibly faster, knowing from years of drills that he would have seconds, nineteen seconds, to make it past to the civilian corridors beyond; in his mind, he heard the ticking of Soran's watch, and the scientist's soft voice. Time is running out, Mr. La Forge.
The burst of speed caused him to step on the heel of a dark-haired fleeing lieutenant--Farrell, with whom he'd served for years, with whom he'd joked the past fifty drills or so because somehow, they'd always managed to wind up the last two to make it out of engineering. Plus there was the fact that splay-footed Farrell ran like a duck. A running joke, Farrell had called herself last time, and Geordi had grimaced at the pun.
Farrell stumbled, half turned; there was no humor in her wide, stark eyes now. At the sight of La Forge behind her, she proffered a hand, tried to pull Geordi along with her.
"No!" Geordi shouted, waving her off. "Keep mov- ing!" The longer they took to evacuate, the more danger the saucer would be in--if it could afford to wait.
But Farrell remained until La Forge was alongside, and they ran together at full tilt, knees and elbows pumping.
The isolation door was halfway to the deck by the time they arrived. A small group of engineers crouched there, struggling through. Geordi ducked and let himself run into them, pushing them through the vanishing door- way.
They spilled out onto the civilian corridor, where a group of five-year-olds, some of them clutching hand- made brightly colored paper mobiles, were emerging from a classroom. Some of the children were saucer- eyed, somber; others wept openly as their teachers, one male and one female, tried to comfort them. Still others cried out to their parents, who scooped up their children and dashed down the corridor. The teachers, too, picked up their charges and began running; Geordi slowed long enough to grab a round-faced, almond-eyed girl clutch- ing a stuffed bear.
She hugged him tightly as he ran. He felt something soft brush against his back, and realized, when the girl began to wail, that she had dropped the bear.
There was no time to retrieve it, no time even to gasp words of comfort. The bear was already a part of the past, of memory, like engineering; in time, the child stopped her crying and buried her wet face in his neck.
Farrell ran alongside, a stunned, silent boy in her arms; behind them, a scattered trail of colored paper fluttered to the deck.
In front, one of the teachers slowed to adjust her grip on the child in her arm and half stumbled. Geordi hurried beside her, offered his free arm. "Come on! Let's go!" The woman began again to run, making her way with the group until they came upon a small group waiting behind others to enter an open Jeffries tube. Adults were pushing children in first; one near-hysterical father called to his uncertain child, who balked at entering the tube: "Go on, Jeffie! Crawl! I'm right behind you... !" In frustration, the man finally pushed his son inside, then crawled in himself. Geordi and Farrell stepped
forward and put the last two children inside the tube, then helped the rest of the adults.
And then it was down to himself and Farrell, who hesitated and motioned for Geordi to go first. Aggra- vated, Geordi pushed her inside, then climbed in him- self. He paused to manually pull shut the hatch behind him, with the acute awareness that he was closing off what would soon become the past.
As it shut with a solid, final-sounding clank, he hit his comm badge. "That's it, bridgerowe're all out!" And he cut off the communication abruptly, before Riker could hear his shaky sigh.
On the bridge, Riker released his own small sigh of relief after hearing Geordi's message. He turned, inad- vertently meeting Troi's gaze; she was watching him tensely, waiting for the next command. Beside her, Data seemed to be in control of himself--but looked like he'd be sweating if he could. He glanced up solemnly from his console.
"One minute to warp-core breach." "Begin separation sequence," Riker told him, then turned to Troi. "Full impulse power once we're clear." The android began to work. Riker watched the viewscreen, which revealed an aft view of the Enterprise as the saucer section slowly disengaged. He began silent- ly counting the seconds, realizing with each passing instant that they were cutting it dangerously close.
"Separation complete," Data said at last. "Ten sec- Onds to warp-core breach." Troi fingered her controls. "Engaging impulse engines..." On the viewscreen, the image of the battle section began slowly to recede. Riker continued his silent count- down, bracing in his chair for the explosion he knew was coming.
Despite his anticipation, he flinched at the bright blaze of light as the battle section erupted. The ship shuddered; but they were all right, Riker realized with a surge of relief. The shields had held.
And then the deck lurched forward, throwing Riker from his chair. He fiailed, striking the back of Troi's chair with his shoulder, and wound up on all fours. He tried to push himself up to a standing positionmand was immediately thrown to his knees again. With diffi- culty, he crawled back to his chair, trying to interpret the strange sensation. The ship felt wrong. She was shudder- ing, rolling--not the way she did under fire. It almost felt like... free fall.
He caught the arm of his chair and hoisted himself up.
"Report!" He turned in time to see Troi grasp the console and pull herself back into her chair. She stared down at the helm, and a look of utter alarm spread over her features.
"Helm controls are off-line!" A sudden terrible certainty seized him, made him glance up at the viewscreen. Riker was a man well suited to command, a man who had never buckled under pressure, never allowed himself an instant's hesitation in the deadliest of situations. Yet the sight on the screen left
him speechless with horror.
Troi followed his stricken gaze and saw it, too' the surface of Veridian III, hurtling toward them with impossible swiftness.
No one on the bridge uttered a sound at the sight; no one except Data, whose spontaneous, heartfelt utterance spoke for them all.
"Oh, shit..."
As he crawled through the Jeffries tube with Farrell's shadowy form in front of him, Geordi began to feel his heartbeat and breathing return to a normal rhythm.
They'd made it to the saucer; it was beginning to look like they might live after all. But he did not slow.
Evacuation procedures required that they head for the most protected area of the ship and prepare for the shock wave from the warp-core explosion.
It all depended on how much distance they managed to put between themselves and the battle section. Geordi tried to remember how long it had been since they had evacuated engineering. Three minutes? Four?
He had his answer as the tube vibrated beneath him and pitched to the right, causing him and everyone inside it to fall onto their sides and slide. It lasted a split second, no more.