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 rightthing 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 Enterprisezoomed 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. “ Whereverthis 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 finishit.”
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. Andthat 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?