Archer watched the battle on the viewer unfold. The sleek, mantalike shape of Intrepid unleashed salvo after salvo from her forward phase cannons, stitching the Romulan’s unprotected port side as the bulbous, clumsier-looking Republic mounted a similar effort on the Romulan’s starboard side.
“Her main power is failing, and she’s taking heavy damage,” Malcolm said.
Archer returned to his chair, though he merely perched on its edge. Despite the battle tension he felt, with each passing moment the captain was more confident that the
Intrepid-class and Daedalus-class vessels were up to the task of taking down this lone Romulan warbird.
“Hail the Romulan, Hoshi,” he said. “Tell them we’ll do what we can to assist their survivors if they’ll stand down.”
Hoshi looked at him askance for a moment before she carried out his orders.
I know, he thought. In all the years since this damned war started, I’ve never seen a Romulan commander let an enemy take any of his people alive.
But he also knew that if he failed to extend the offer, he’d be no better than the worst Romulan he’d ever encountered.
Warbird Aoi’fvienn
“Principal power circuits are down!” Rhadak cried. “Shields are nonfunctional.”
Lovely, Khazara thought. Speaking loudly enough to drown out the alarm klaxon, he said, “Switch to backups!”
“I think I can have the shields powered up on the secondary circuits soon,” T’Linaek said, the dull green emergency lighting giving the planes and angles of her lean, long face a decidedly eerie cast. She rubbed her cheek to disperse the soot that had landed there after an adjacent console had exploded in a shower of fire and sparks.
“Do it!” Khazara barked as more incoming fire rocked the command deck. He grabbed at the sides of his chair to prevent his being knocked to the deck again.
T’Linaek nodded as she commenced tapping commands into the nearest undamaged console. “It is done.”
“What’s our shield strength?” Khazara asked.
“About sixty percent, sir.”
Khazara nodded. “Engine status?”
“Impulse only. We just lost whatever minimal warp capability we retained following the Andorsu attack.”
“Kllhe’mnhe,” he muttered. “I suppose what little we have will have to do.”
Erebus’s balls, he thought. A new plan had just taken shape in his mind, but he had no idea whether the Aoi’fvienn could still generate sufficient power to enable him to carry it out.
Khazara decided it didn’t matter. “‘Complete victory or utter destruction,’” he said, repeating one of his favorite quotes from the Axioms of the great Commander Amarcan. “‘For a warrior, there can be no middle path.’”
Every eye on the command deck was upon him. He saw faith in those eyes, but also fear and even puzzlement. They needed him now more than ever before.
Leaning forward in his command chair, he said, “Listen carefully. You especially, Decurion T’Linaek…”
Enterprise NX-01
“The Romulan’s internal power readings are changing, Captain,” Malcolm said. “As though he’s tapping into resources we didn’t know he had.”
Archer turned away from tactical, facing the main science station. “T’Pol?”
“Confirmed, Captain. The Romulan vessel has raised its shields, though only to about half strength.”
Malcolm spoke up, sounding puzzled. “He’s doing more than just raising his shields, Captain. He’s extending their boundaries. Expanding the reach of his shields by a factor of two. No, four, or perhaps higher.”
“Why would the Romulans do that?” Hoshi said. “Won’t they end up attenuating the strength of their shields until they’re so porous they become useless?”
“Correct, Lieutenant,” T’Pol said. “All deflector shield systems with which I am familiar are subject to the inverse square law.”
Which meant that shield intensity diminished geometrically rather than in a linear manner, just like luminosity, gravimetric forces, and tidal effects. If a shield generator extended a shield’s radius by a factor of two, its intensity would fall off by a factor of four; a fourfold increase in shield radius would dilute shield strength sixteenfold. Obviously, a ship’s deflector shields didn’t have to extend very far to make them all but useless for defensive purposes.
So defense must not be what the Romulan has in mind, Archer thought.
“The Romulan vessel seems to be venting something,” T’Pol said, concern evident in her voice.
“Malcolm, put a tactical plot up on the screen,” Archer said, chilled by a dawning realization. “I need to see the Romulan ship and its shield boundary in relation to the Republic and the Intrepid.”
“Aye, sir.” Malcolm hastened to enter several commands into his console.
A scant couple of heartbeats later, a stylized wireframe representation of the Romulan vessel appeared on the main viewer. Surrounding it was a slowly expanding ellipse whose limits were portrayed as a dotted line.
One Intrepid-class-shaped blip approached the Romulan from its port side, while an icon that resembled a Daedalus-class vessel approached from starboard.
Both Starfleet vessels had just crossed into the faint yet expanding boundaries of the Romulan vessel’s deflector shields.
“Hoshi, warn Ramirez and Jennings,” Archer said. “They have to withdraw, now!”
But Archer could see that there was nothing he could do; it was already too late.
Imperial Warbird Aoi’fvienn
“Ignite the warp plasma,” Khazara said. “Then activate the impulse engines.”
“But the detonation will have already occurred within our shield boundaries by the time the engines engage,” T’Linaek said. “We’ll all be killed.”
“Unless you carry out my orders, Decurion,” Khazara said, “that fate awaits us all. After, of course, you lead the way to cold Erebus for the rest of us.” He placed his hand on the pommel of his Honor Blade for emphasis.
Spurred by the gesture, T’Linaek immediately busied herself at her console.
Enterprise NX-01
“The Republic and the Intrepid have both taken heavy damage, Captain,” Malcolm said. “They’re adrift near the fifth planet now.”
Archer turned toward Hoshi. “Can you raise either ship?”
Hoshi shook her head, clearly frustrated. “Negative, Captain. Their comm systems must both be down.”
“Keep trying.” Archer approached the tactical station. “Malcolm, what exactly did the Romulan ship do to them?”
Archer heard both anger and grudging admiration in the armory officer’s voice. “He evidently crippled them both by using his shield generators and some vented warp plasma to create an improvised photonic shock wave. As weak as the deflector shield was extended like that, it retained enough strength to focus the photons being given off by the burning warp plasma into a coherent weapon.”
“Is there any chance that this little trick blew up the Romulans?” Archer asked.
Malcolm shook his head. “I’m afraid not, sir. The Romulan vessel fell off my screen the moment the warp plasma detonated. But it reappeared moments ago, on the long-range scanners.”
“Confirmed,” T’Pol said from the science station. “The vessel appears to be withdrawing, on a heading for Romulan space at high impulse.”
“Any sign of Romulan reinforcements?” Archer asked, addressing no one in particular.
“Not so far, sir,” said Malcolm. “But that could change in the proverbial shake of a jackal mastiff’s tail.”
“Are we going to pursue the Romulan, Captain?” said Ensign Leydon. “His warp drive has taken damage from the shock wave. There’s no way he can outrun us.”
At that moment, what Archer wanted more than anything else in all the universe was to order her to do just that. But the fate of one damaged Romulan ship was inconsequential; he had more immediate responsibilities.
Shaking his head,
he said, “We still have a convoy to babysit, Ensign. There could be wounded aboard the Republic and the Intrepid, and there’s the damage to both ships to consider.”
“I recommend sending shuttlepods to both vessels to assess the situation,” T’Pol said.
“See to it, T’Pol,” the captain said as he made his way to the hatchway leading to his ready room. “I want a complete status report as soon as possible.”
Malcolm Reed activated the door chime. When the ready room hatchway failed to open after a slow, silent count to five, he raised his hand to touch the button again.
“Perhaps the captain is in his quarters,” Commander T’Pol said.
Reed shook his head. “Hoshi says he hasn’t left his ready room for nearly four hours. Ever since we took the shuttlepods out to Intrepid and Republic.”
“Perhaps he didn’t hear the chime,” T’Pol said, despite the implausibility of the idea.
Something’s wrong, Reed thought as he brought his hand back into contact with the button.
The hatchway slid open. “Come in,” Archer called from within, sounding none too pleased. The ready room’s interior illumination was turned down.
Reed made an after you gesture to T’Pol, who preceded him through the hatchway.
A supremely weary-looking Jonathan Archer sat at his desk. The cabin’s dim light emphasized the hollows of the captain’s craggy face, as well as the brilliance of the starscape visible through his port.
“Report,” he said, his voice sounding like a gravel-strewn rural road.
T’Pol extended a padd. When the captain made no move to take it, she set it on his desk, whose surface was already cluttered with numerous padds and printed dataflimsies.
“Casualties aboard Intrepid and Republic were relatively light,” she said. “Six fatalities and fourteen injuries, only four of which were serious.”
“I see. Ship status?”
“Comm systems and propulsion are expected to be back online aboard both Intrepid and Republic within the hour,” T’Pol said. “The convoy is ready and waiting to get back under way. As is Enterprise.”
Archer nodded. With a haggard, downcast expression that belied his words, he said, “Good. Very good.”
Though he hated the idea of adding to his captain’s obvious misery, Reed forced himself to say what was on his mind. “Travis Mayweather is among the injured aboard Republic.”
“Travis.” Archer looked up for the first time since Reed and T’Pol had entered the room. Pouches of dark, orange-peel flesh ringed his eyes. “How seriously was he hurt?”
Reed swallowed hard. “Quite seriously, sir. But the surgeon aboard Republic has high hopes for him. And Travis has always been a fighter.”
Archer sat in silence, apparently digesting the news. Reed wondered if he was kicking himself for not having tried harder to talk Travis out of transferring off Enterprise.
“Yes,” the captain said at length, “Travis is a fighter. But then, so is Carlos—so was Carlos…”
Reed nodded bleakly. “I know that you and Captain Ramirez were friends, sir. I’m sorry.”
Archer rose from his chair, as though he’d suddenly become aware of how glum he appeared. A smile spread across his face, but to Reed’s eye it appeared forced.
The captain placed a hand on Reed’s shoulder. “Don’t apologize, Malcolm. It’s not your fault. It’s the damned Romulans.”
“Aye, sir,” Reed said with a nod. Sparing a glance at T’Pol, he said, “And speaking of the Romulans, I would like to point out that we can still catch up to the warbird that caused the current situation.”
T’Pol shook her head. “The warbird is no longer moving at impulse.”
“She’s moving at very low warp,” said Reed. “Under warp two, and she’s leaving a trail of hard radiation that’s pretty hard to miss. That tells me she’s made some ad hoc repairs on the fly and probably can’t go any faster. If we go after her now at warp five, we can intercept her in a matter of hours, before she can make it back to the Romulan lines.”
Archer walked toward the port. He leaned forward, as though trying to catch a better glimpse of the infinite. It was obvious to Reed that the captain was considering the matter carefully, and in the most classical sense of the word; thanks to the Latin component of Reed’s British boarding school trivium, he recalled that “to consider” meant “to be with the stars.”
After an uncomfortable and lengthy silence, Archer turned back to face Reed and T’Pol. The captain looked pale and drawn.
“No,” he said.
Reed struggled to maintain his British equanimity but failed to prevent a look of confusion from striating his brow.
“We’re not going after that ship,” Archer said, frowning.
“I don’t understand, sir,” Reed said. A surge of anger at the havoc the Romulans had wrought strained against his control.
“We still have a convoy to protect, Commander,” T’Pol said, her tone faintly chiding.
“I should think Republic and Intrepid can manage until we’re finished with the Romulan,” Reed said. “Surely, after what they did to Captain Ramirez—”
“Enough,” Archer snapped. “This is no time for pursuing vendettas.”
“I agree, sir. It’s time to pursue this war.” Reed noticed belatedly that he had raised his voice.
“Commander,” T’Pol said, her eyebrows sloping into a steep attitude of warning.
Archer held up a hand. Speaking softly, he said, “I just spoke with Admiral Gardner. It seems that the Romulans have finally dropped the proverbial other shoe.”
Reed’s anger and frustration receded, displaced by puzzlement. “Other shoe, sir?”
“You must have heard the stories about the Romulans’ other war, Malcolm—a war they’re said to have recently won.”
“Of course, sir,” Reed said.
“Gardner has received word that the Romulans have retaken the Altair VI colony,” Archer said. “Using the resources they no longer have to commit to a second front.”
For a moment Reed feared that the gravity plating had malfunctioned. He reached for the bulkhead to support himself. The prospect of abruptly losing all the progress they had ever made in this war was intensely demoralizing.
“Starfleet chased the bastards out of that system four years ago,” Reed said at length.
Archer shook his head. With a wry but humorless expression, he said, “No, Malcolm. The Coalition chased the bastards out of that system four years ago.”
Reed finally understood the captain’s attitude toward the fleeing Romulan vessel. Compared to the loss of Altair, the fate of a single enemy ship now seemed a vanishingly small thing.
Forcing himself into a posture of attention, Reed asked, “May I assume that we’ll be heading straight for Altair?”
Archer nodded, and T’Pol responded by excusing herself from the ready room, presumably to relay the captain’s intentions to Ensign Leydon at the helm. Reed turned to follow her.
“Wait, Malcolm.”
“Sir?”
“It’s possible we won’t go straight to Altair.”
Malcolm suspected he wasn’t going to like what the captain was about to tell him. “Are you planning a detour?”
“That depends on where our task force assembles,” Archer said. “And that will depend, at least partly, on what the Romulans do next. They have a large contingent of ships en route to Deneva right now.”
“Deneva again. Damn.”
Deneva. Another colony that the Romulans had taken from humanity, which later rallied and won its freedom back—only to face losing it again.
How much more of this can we take? Reed wondered, not daring to voice his cascade of questions. Now that we have the bastards’ full attention, how much longer will it be before they have Earth surrounded? How long will we have to wait for the end, then? A year perhaps? A few months?
Only one thing was certain: The coming year would be a red one.
PART III
<
br /> 2160
TWENTY
Wednesday, February 18, 2160
Enterprise NX-01
Earth Station McKinley
SURROUNDED BY AN APPARENTLY limitless universe of pure white light, T’Pol sat cross-legged on the floor, both sets of eyelids open to the all-encompassing ambient illumination. For the first time since she had begun coming to this neutral interior space—a realm unencumbered by anything that might divert her from the disciplined suppression of conscious thought that was the hallmark of Vulcan meditation—she found herself wondering idly why an infinite realm should have a floor upon which it was possible to sit.
Or concepts such as “up” or “down,” for that matter.
The persistent trickle of thought suddenly made her aware that she was thinking, and therefore no longer meditating. Something was distracting her, though she couldn’t yet identify the cause. She closed her eyes in an effort to regain her focus.
It was only then that she sensed a presence, both familiar and welcome.
She opened her eyes and noted with a barely restrained start that a figure stood over her, still as a statue. Though his eyes were directed down toward her, his gaze appeared unfocused, as though he was looking through her rather than at her.
“Trip?”
This wasn’t the first time he had appeared to her during a meditation session via the mind-link they evidently still shared even now. Far from it. But it was the first time she had seen him in his present state. He replied to her query with an unnaturally deep sound that seemed to issue from far inside his strangely motionless form. The low growl reminded her of the ancient 2-D Terran horror films with which he had always been so inexplicably enamored—particularly those in which slow-moving, cannibalistic, reanimated corpses had driven the story.
Discomfited as though exposed to the horrifying imagery associated with the Vulcan tarul-etek ritual, T’Pol wasted no time executing the defensive Suus Mahna martial arts maneuver known as the Navorkot, and rolled swiftly to her feet. She came up in a crouch slightly behind Trip and to his right.
Her first impression was that he had remained utterly motionless, although he continued to make the guttural, growllike moaning sound. But after several seconds had passed, his body slowly turned in her direction, as though he were struggling to move through a viscous medium that for some unknown reason affected only him.
Star Trek: Enterprise: The Romulan War Page 18
