Part 3 (1/2)
But it wasn't the first time he'd wanted to do that. Like all the other times, he bit his lip and went on.
There was another survivor, he reminded himself, forcing his eyes to focus on the monitor again. Somewhere in all this charred ruin, there was a life that could still be preserved. And the man was lying somewhere nearby-not more than a few meters away, he judged from the floorplan.
Then, as if to confirm that the internal sensors knew what they were talking about, there was movement amid the drifts of smoke. A shape, dark and stumbling. A familiar profile, glistening wet with blood in the spark-shot chaos.
”Franklin!” called Scott. His voice was a harsh rasp-but it did the trick. It got the ensign's attention. ”Over here, lad!”
The younger man's head turned. His eyes glittered wildly, reflecting the fireworks spewing out of a caved-in console. And he said something, though Scott couldn't quite make it out.
”I cannae hear ye!” he croaked.
Franklin lurched forward until he could grab the older man's shoulder. His head bleeding from a gash in his forehead, he leaned close and said ”They're dead, sir. They're all dead.”
Scott gripped the hand that held his shoulder and met the ensign's horror-stricken gaze. ”I know, lad, I know. But we're still alive. And if we want to stay that way, we've got to make some sense out o' this mess.”
Franklin nodded. Taking a deep breath, he regained control of himself. ”All right,” he said at last, his voice still trembling a bit, but stronger than before. ”I'm with you, sir.”
”Good lad. Now then ...” Punching up the s.h.i.+p's diagnostic systems, Scott considered the damage. No welcome news here either. The crash had disabled everything except auxiliary life support and communications-and those systems might go down before long as well. Just as bad, the s.h.i.+p's supplies of food and drink had been contaminated by radiation leaking from the now-irreparable impulse engines.
”It doesn't look promising,” observed the ensign, ”does it?”
Scott shook his head. ”No, laddie, it does nae. Even if the auxiliary power batteries keep it livable in here, we've got nothing to eat or drink. We can still call for help, but it may be a long time in coming.”
He could see Franklin's Adam's apple crawl the length of his throat. Nor could he blame the man. They were doomed-just as surely as if they'd perished in the collision with the sphere along with the others.
Unless ...
Scott peered through the smoke in the direction of the transporter platform. ”On the other hand,” he told Franklin, ”we may still have a card or two to play before we're done.”
”Captain Scott... ?” said the ensign.
”Send a distress signal,” the older man instructed. ”Code one alpha zero.”
Before Franklin could reply, Scott was on his way to the transporter station, feeling his way through the smoke from console to console. With each halting step, he worked out another detail of what had started out as only a kernel of an idea.
”Let's see,” he muttered. ”I'll need a way to keep the signal from degrading. And a power source...”
A moment later, he found the transporter station. Fortunately, it hadn't suffered so much as a scratch. It was as if someone was looking out for them, seeing to it that they had at least a fighting chance to buck the odds.
After all, neither he nor Franklin should have been in the Ops center when the Dyson Sphere was discovered. They should have been in the pa.s.senger section, Scott perusing The Laws of Physics for the umpteenth time, Franklin doing whatever it was he did when he was off-duty.
But Scott hadn't been able to resist looking at the problem with the warp drive. And when it became apparent that the Jenolen was going to crash, he'd stubbornly decided to stick it out in the Ops center. If he hadn't been first curious and then foolish, he and his young friend would have perished by now-suffocating along with the others when the air rushed out of the pa.s.senger deck.
Luck? Kismet? Blind Fortune? Scott cursed softly. Men make their own luck, his grandfather Clifford had once told him. And his grandfather was right, he mused, as he set to work prying the circuit panel off the back of the transporter station with his good arm.
”I've sent the signal,” the ensign announced from the other end of the Ops center. ”Maximum range, continuous loop.”
”Good man,” answered Scott. ”Now get yourself over to the transporter controls. I can use some help.”
He'd no sooner said that than the panel came free of its berth, exposing the innards of the console. Though the only light he had available was that of a flaming control panel somewhere behind him, Scott popped out the tiny tool on the inside of the panel and set to work on the diagnostic circuitry.
Fortunately, things hadn't changed much. In fact, in some ways, the Jenolen's transporter technology was inferior to that of the Enterprise. But then the Jenolen was only a transport vessel and the Enterprise had been the flags.h.i.+p of the fleet.
”Captain Scott?” said a voice.
He jumped at the nearness of it, then realized it was only Franklin. ”Dinnae sneak up on me that way, lad. There's enough here to make me jumpy without you spookin' me into the bargain!”
The ensign looked contrite. ”Sorry, sir.” He held up what looked like a long piece of velour. A somehow familiar-looking piece of velour. ”Judging from the way you're holding your arm, I thought you might be more comfortable in this.”
Abruptly, Scott understood. ”A sling,” he said out loud. Not a bad idea, either. If his arm was hurt half as badly as it felt, it would be good to keep it immobile. ”Where did ye get it?” he asked.
Franklin held up his right forearm, showing the older man a ragged sleeve that now ended at the elbow. ”I figured you needed it more than I did,” he said, draping the strip of material around Scott's neck and tying the ends together underneath his injured limb.
Scott tested it. Not bad, not bad at all. He could move around now a good deal more easily. He looked at the ensign, intending to express his thanks.
But before he could get a word out, Franklin tilted his head toward the open transporter unit. ”You said you needed help, sir?”
”Aye,” Scott acknowledged. There would be time enough for thanks later. ”Here's what I'd like ye to do. Y'see these circuits? They enable the transporter's diagnostic function.” He used the tool to point to a spot where they nearly converged, then handed the tool to Franklin. ”Take this and meld the circuits .”
The ensign's soot-blackened forehead furrowed right down the middle. ”But won't that lock the pattern buffer into a diagnostic cycle?”
Scott smiled approvingly. ”Aye, lad. It'll keep the signal cycling in a perpetual diagnostic mode.”
Franklin looked at him. ”But why?”
”Ye'll see,” the older man told him, ”as soon as I've made a few adjustments of my own.” And with that, Scott got to his feet.
The smoke was starting to clear a bit-a good sign that life support was working as well as the monitors said. But with any luck, Scott thought, they wouldn't have to worry about that too much longer.
Concentrating on the control panel, he called up a diagram of its link to the auxiliary power batteries. Unfortunately, it wouldn't supply enough juice for what he had in mind.
Frowning, Scott brought up a second diagram-that of the emitter array. As he'd hoped, it was as intact as the rest of the transporter a.s.sembly.
One more diagram-a cross section of the phase inducers. He nodded, satisfied. No damage there either. So far so good.
Now came the iffy part, the part he wasn't entirely confident about. After all, the phase inducers weren't meant to work with the emitter array. That's not what their designers had in mind.
Of course, their designers had never been in a wrecked transport with starvation and slow death looking them in the eye. Holding his breath, Scott asked the computer to cross-connect the inducers to the array.
If it worked, they'd have a regenerating power source-one that could keep the transporter running until help arrived. If it didn't, they'd be back to square one.
It worked.
”d.a.m.n,” Scott breathed, consumed by a wave of relief.
”Everything all right up there?” asked Franklin.