Part 14 (2/2)
After all, if-no, when they ever got a fix on the captain, they didn't want to have to have to transport him with foreign material on the transporter pad.
The stuff burned off in a matter of seconds. When he was finished, La Forge put the phaser away. ”Come on,” he said, gesturing for Barclay to follow. ”Let's-”
Suddenly, the energy coils lit up. Only for a second, but enough to make them wary. And before they could comment on it, it happened a second time. Out in the corridor, the light levels dipped-then, just like that, gave way to a darkness punctuated only by the lights they'd brought with them.
”Uh-oh,” said the chief engineer. ”I hope that's not what I think it is.” But even as he uttered the words, he knew his hope wouldn't amount to a hill of beans.
More than likely, there was a fair-sized power surge coming. And if that was the case, this room full of energy-transport coils was the last place he wanted to be.
”Come on,” he urged Barclay, grabbing him by the sleeve. ”We've got to get out of here.”
The other man didn't have to be told twice. As Geordi lunged through the doorway, Barclay was right on his heels. No doubt, he remembered what happened when Varley was caught half in and half out of a chamber.
They had barely made the turn toward the control room when they saw a series of light pulses run the length of the bulkheads and back again. If there had been any doubt of what was going on before, there wasn't any now.
Geordi's teeth ground together as he ran down the hallway. Not now, he told himself. We were just starting to get to the point where we could bring the captain back. We can't have come this far only to have to close up shop ahead of time.
The chief engineer beat his companion back to the control room. Fortunately, the lights were still on in there. Planting his hand against the far side of the entrance to stop his forward progress, he wrestled himself inside. O'Connor was busy monitoring his tricorder while Data worked furiously at one of the consoles. The android barely looked up to acknowledge his friend's entrance.
”How bad is it?” Geordi asked.
O'Connor shook her head. ”It's hard to tell, but it seems to be escalating. And if the trend continues, it could be as bad as the surge that transported Captain Picard.”
The chief engineer bit his lip. They would never make enough progress in the next few minutes to bring the captain back from wherever he'd gone. As much as he hated the idea, what choice did he have ... but to evacuate?
”Commander,” said Data, as calmly as if all of eternity were at his beck and call, ”I am pursuing an idea that just occurred to me. Though there seems to be no way to prevent the energy surges, perhaps I can coax the station into releasing some of the pent-up energy.”
Geordi thought about it for a moment. Release the energy? Sure ... but how? He asked the question out loud. Nor was the android slow in giving him an answer.
”I am attempting,” he said, ”to boost the input levels on the aliens' confinement beam by recycling power through the emitter array.”
Barclay, who had been standing off to the side, shook his head. ”But we're not transporting anything else aboard right now. What's the point of sending out a beam if-”
And then he stopped himself, no doubt realizing what Data had in mind. By then, Geordi had seen the android's strategy as well. The confinement beam expended energy-a fair amount of it, too, considering it had to travel through time as well as s.p.a.ce. And if they could get energy to leave the station almost as quickly as it was building up, the confinement beam might turn out to be a pretty good safety valve.
At least, that was the theory. In practice, there was no guarantee at all that it would work-other than the knowledge that Data had some confidence in it.
”Reg,” said the chief engineer, ”make sure all our forcefields are still in operation. If Commander Data's plan doesn't work, I want to know that we've still got an escape route.”
”Aye, sir,” replied Barclay, heading out into the corridor to carry out his orders. His voice trembled just a little, Geordi noted. But after that, his attention was fixed on the android, whose fingers were flying over his console so quickly now that no biological imaging system could have kept up with them.
”Power surges still mounting in intensity,” reported O'Connor. ”Also, they're coming no more than fifteen seconds apart. Estimate systems overload in four and a half minutes.”
It would take at least a minute to leave the control room, return to the hatch, and get back into their shuttle. And another thirty seconds or so to remove themselves from the vicinity of the station, so that if something exploded, they would be well out of range.
So Data really had three minutes, maximum. And he must have known it, because his synthetic fingers seemed to weave and st.i.tch their way over the controls even a little faster than before.
There was a sound of footfalls clattering along the corridor, and Barclay popped back into the control room. ”All's clear,” he informed them. ”Everything's working the ... um, the way it's supposed to.” Before he finished, he was staring at the android, too.
”Data?” prompted Geordi. ”How are we doing?”
His friend answered without taking his eyes off his work. ”The beam is operating at maximum output. I cannot increase it any further; I can only make certain that the output does not tend to diminish.”
”Three and a half minutes,” noted O'Connor. Which really meant two.
The chief engineer had never felt so helpless in his entire life. The captain's life was hanging in the balance, and all he could do was watch. Each second seemed to drag on forever.
”Three minutes,” announced O'Connor. And then: ”Two and a half.” Which meant one and a half, and finally one. One minute before they had to abandon the place-and Captain Picard along with it.
”Hang on,” said O'Connor. Her brow creased as she stared at her tricorder. ”The surges have stopped accelerating.”
Geordi realized that his hands had curled into fists. He forced them to relax. ”Stopped?” he repeated.
”Aye, sir,” replied O'Connor. ”We're still experiencing the surges, but they're not getting any worse. In fact,” she went on, her eyes reflecting her readout, ”they're starting to cycle down.”
The chief engineer let out a sigh. They weren't out of the woods yet, of course. But he would embrace any excuse for optimism he could find.
And he found another excuse in the corridor outside, as the corridor lighting dimmed and went out. The station was returning to normal, or at least as normal as it got here. Data's idea seemed to be working just fine. It had just taken a while, is all.
”The surges are all but gone now,” the android told them. For the first time since the crisis had begun, he looked up at Geordi. ”Power levels are stabilizing. Now would be a good time to resume our work, I think.”
La Forge nodded. But first, he'd have to call Commander Riker and tell him that the situation was getting worse. If they were going to retrieve the captain, it would have to be soon.
Chapter Seven.
THE COLONY'S BRIG had an inhospitable feeling about it-as if it hadn't been used for ... what? Months? Years? Or, for that matter, ever?
As Picard paced the narrow limits of his cell, with its three solid walls and a transparent energy barrier across its front, he mused that ever was probably the correct answer. The plastic containers piled immediately outside the brig's entrance were a clue, telling him that his place of confinement had been used as a storage area until shortly before his arrival.
The captain eyed the tall, dark-haired security officer who stood guard in the larger room outside. He doubted that the man would fall for a feigned attack of food poisoning or the like. Even in the twenty-third century, the Academy had warned their security cadets about such ploys.
Leaning against one of the walls of his cell, Picard sighed. He would not have thought it possible for his situation to get any more complicated. And yet, as if some fiendishly s.a.d.i.s.tic deity were looking after him, it had.
If time unraveled the way history had taught him it would, Lieutenant Harold was slated to survive the ma.s.sacre by the Gorn. That was just about the only fact he could cling to with any certainty.
However, a matter-antimatter explosion would leave no survivors. That was an irrefutable scientific fact. Therefore, if time was to follow the course he knew, there would be-could be-no explosion.
And yet, he had seen evidence of the power source's instability. It was real, not imagined. If left alone, it would have devastating consequences.
The captain scowled. So there were two possibilities. Either history would be changed-or someone would prevent the explosion. And if someone did prevent it, who would that someone be?
Try as he might, he could come up with only one answer.
It was an almost poetic notion, wasn't it? To be thrown back in time by an apparent accident-only to find oneself the instrument by which history maintains its course. Poetic indeed.
<script>