So all we have to do is get her ready to move out of here, and all inside of a day or so,Riker thought, glancing at the image of the ancient, pockmarked asteroid colony that was displayed on the main viewscreen. Before the interspatial energy flare-ups become too numerous and widespread to let us even try it.
He briefly considered having Christine engrave the motto, “How hard can it be?”on Titan’s dedication plaque, as a monument to his foolish optimism. Or maybe I ought to have somebody etch it onto my tombstone,he told himself. Assuming any of us ever sees home again.
Please try to think happier thoughts, Will,Deanna said without speaking aloud.
How can I, Deanna?came his wordless reply. This is the biggest challenge I’ve ever faced. Suppose I’m not up to it? What if I’m not strong enough?
He turned back toward where she sat, and she stared into his soul with eyes that radiated pure confidence and love. Then she stood, grabbing the padd that contained the Vanguard colony’s internal schematics. You have no idea just how strong you really are,Imzadi, she told him, her thoughts as smooth as Tholian silk as they traveled along the mental-emotional link they shared. This is going to work. We will save hundreds of thousands of lives. Maybe millions.
Yes,he thought back to her. But how many millions more will we be forced to leave behind?
She leaned up and kissed him, taking him somewhat by surprise. They had agreed that they would try not to show overt signs of affection on the bridge. Still, the kiss was far from unwelcome, and a quick glance around the room showed that everyone else was intent on their various tasks of the moment.
I’ll see you soon,Imzadi ,Deanna sent to him. He liked that she never told him good-bye anymore; it was yet another sign of her faith in him.
As he turned to watch her go, he saw Admiral Akaar in the back of the bridge near the turbolift, from which he had evidently just emerged. His expression told Riker that he hadseen the kiss, but revealed nothing about whether he considered it appropriate or not. Riker suspected that the answer was “not.”
But at the moment, he didn’t particularly care.
SHUTTLECRAFT BEIDERBECKE,STARDATE 57037.7
Lieutenant Commander desYog banked the shuttlecraft Beiderbeckethrough great, columnar roils of smoke and the increasingly frequent bright energy discharges. Pitching the craft sharply upward, desYog narrowly avoided a spectacular airborne conflagration, then angled back downward toward one of the more populated areas of the coastal city.
“Scans show a relative safe landing area to the north side, four point two kilometers away,” Lieutenant Commander Fo Hachesa said, mangling his gerunds and suffixes, as always.
“Got it,” desYog said, his talons clicking on the interface controls of the shuttlecraft. “We’ll be there in two minutes,” he said loudly.
Behind him, he heard Lieutenant Gian Sortollo prepping the other members of the team. DesYog tried to tune him out as he used the ship’s sensors to navigate through the ash-filled afternoon skies. It was hard enough keeping the ship on track without worrying about how the others were going to accomplish their mission.
They neared an open area, which was very near the waterfront. Huge waves of purple-gray seawater crashed against the docks, splintering them. Several Neyel space vessels were docked on top of buildings, while sailing vessels bucked and listed in the suddenly turbulent waters of the harbor. Through the forward window, desYog could see hundreds of beings scurrying to get to the spaceships, even though none of them had begun to take off as yet.
“Scans show those ships are dead in the water, so to speaking,” Hachesa said, looking at the screens on the side of the cabin. “Whoever’s on them isn’t get off the planet.”
“Can we tow them?” Sortollo asked, peering over Hachesa’s shoulder.
“We can’t spare the power,” desYog said glumly.
“Then we stick with our plan and get as many of them out as possible.”
As desYog brought the shuttle in for a landing, the Neyel and others among them on the surface spread out just enough to allow the craft ingress.
“I don’t think we’ll having any trouble get them to board, Lieutenant,” Hachesa said.
Sortollo and the others prepared to open the hatch. The terrified babble of the crowd was audible even through the shuttle’s duranium hull.
The moment the hatch began to open, hands and other appendages began to claw at it. Even before it was a third of the way open, a Neyel had scrambled aboard, his eyes wide and his tail switching like a serpent about to strike.
Should have just used the transporter,desYog thought. Even if we do need to save all the power we can for the hazard-avoidance system.On the other hand, he knew he didn’t want to end up tearing the shuttle to pieces just because he’d shortchanged the Beiderbecke’s ability to swerve clear of interspatial disturbances.
As others quickly followed the Neyel onboard, the Starfleet personnel tried to maintain some semblance of order. DesYog tried to ignore the terrified faces that were pressed against the forward window; he saw Neyel children struggling to stay upright among the larger adults, as well as representatives from at least four other races.
“Oh, shit,”Hachesa said next to him, staring at a screen. The word meant “bride” in desYog’s native Skorrian, but he knew that Fo had picked it up from humans, for whom the term had a far less pleasant definition.
Hachesa turned toward him, his olive-colored nose turning a vivid purple. “There’s a tidal wave about to hitting.”
Over the din of the crowd, Hachesa tried to get Sortollo’s attention to warn him, even as desYog readied the shuttle to take off. Readings showed the swiftly gathering wall of ocean water to be two kilometers away, but closing fast. Too fast.
We have to leavenow, he thought, but a quick glance aft told him that the ship was still not full to capacity. Still, they couldn’t wait any longer.
DesYog punched the red alert button, and a warning klaxon went off, adding to the already cacophonous din inside the shuttle. “Lieutenant, we have to get up now,”he yelled back toward Sortollo, though he couldn’t even see the sallow-skinned Martian in the crowd.
The wave was getting close. DesYog sent a prayer to his goddess, teneYa-choFe; he was thankful, at least, that none of the Starfleet personnel had been pulled outside. Then he tapped the control for the shuttle’s hatch, pulling it closed.
Behind him, he heard screaming, but he couldn’t tell if it was from those in the shuttle, someone caught in the hatch, or those outside.
As he pushed the shuttle upward, a tremendous clamor filled the air. He saw several Neyel and others clawing at the front of the shuttle as it rose, their fingers and tails catching at any crevice they could find, terror etched deeply onto their hard gray faces.
And then the wall of water struck the shuttle with immense force, and desYog felt himself—and the craft—tumbling over and over again, the lowering sun blocked out by brackish purple-gray seawater, all other sound crushed beneath a deafening roar.
Clutching the crash-straps that bound him tightly to his seat, desYog prayed to teneYa-choFe again, that the shields would hold, and that they would be able to save the scant handful of Oghen’s populace they had brought aboard.