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 thischamber apparently wasn’t equipped with the high‑gauss magnetic bottle that was alwaysused 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 hadto 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 willhave 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 Enterpriseflew 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 Enterpriselooped 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 ourweapons again, but don’t fire just yet,” Archer said. “If we can get out of here with the Aenar withoutdestroying 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 ourengines.”
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.
Archer turned toward his armory officer. “Malcolm, can we target their weapons systems? Keep them from firing on us for a while to buy us a little more time?”
Reed frowned, studying a newly mounted tactical viewer that now stood above his other control console screens. “I don’t believe so, Captain. Any serious attempt to disable their weapons tubes will more than likely destroy the ship outright.”
“ Doit, pinkskin,” Shran shouted from his seat at the back of the bridge. “They’re trying to destroy us!”