Star Trek: TNG Indstinguishable From Magic (54 page)

Tomalak’s Fist
hurtled around the planet like a mad bull in a china shop, Qat’qa sending it weaving and spinning, ducking between the antibody craft, while Nog and Tornan competed to let fly the flashiest shots.

Plasma bolts and disruptor shots sliced through the atmosphere to catch low-flying antibodies unawares, and stabbed into the darkness to trigger the most beautiful and briefest blooms of energy.

It was magnificent. Qat’qa was a joy to watch as she swayed at the helm as if she was lost in playing a concerto, but it was becoming clear to everyone that it couldn’t last forever.

S
cotty stood alone on the step up to the Romulan transporter pad when La Forge ran into the room. “Scotty, what the hell are you doing? Alyssa was almost—” He skidded to a halt when he saw the silver tear-streak that scarred the old miracle-worker’s mask of Celtic grimness. “No,” he said bluntly, and hollowly.

“The fold has to be collapsed, Geordi.” They both knew what that meant.

“I know but—”

“And it has to be collapsed after this ship has gone back through.”

“Vol and I have been talking about this. We’ll program the
Challenger
’s computer to—”

Scotty shook his head of tousled white hair. “No point, laddie. The failsafes for what we’re going to do are hardwired into the ODN circuitry, and then the dilithium cradle will have to come out. It’ll take a strong pair of hands to physically pull the circuits out in order to disable the safeties and trigger the collapse.”

“You’ve got a hologrid in engineering in place of the master systems display. We could activate an EMH—”

“No.” Scotty was calm, smiling. “This is my ship, and my responsibility.”

“Actually, Scotty, it’s
my
ship,” La Forge pointed out.

“And you are a serving Starfleet officer, of great value to the service. I, on the other hand, am a dying old man, and, what’s more, a civilian. That means I’m not in the chain of command, and ye canna give me orders.”

“That means I have an extra responsibility to evacuate you from danger—”

“To a Romulan ship?” He stood, and stepped up on to the platform. “I’d say I’d rather die, but . . .”

“Don’t joke about this! Just . . . don’t!”

“Och, don’t worry. There’s definitely a very slim chance I’ll survive.” Scotty’s tears suggested otherwise. “You need a miracle, and where can ye find a miracle worker out here?”

“If you think I’m going to beam you over there, you’re going to be severely disappointed.”

“That’s what I thought you’d say. That’s why I set a timer-delay before you came in. Goodbye, Geordi.” La Forge dived behind the transporter console, only to find he was locked out. “Make an honest woman of Leah. You’re made for each other.”

And then Montgomery Scott was gone.

Qat’qa grinned, lips peeling back from her teeth, as she sent
Tomalak’s Fist
hurtling into a corkscrew course between two of the antibody vessels. The ship was big and heavy, and slow to get going, but the Romulans had fitted her with huge and powerful engines that made her surprisingly fast once she was actually moving. Now, she decided, it was time to see if the
Fist
could deliver a punch worthy of the name.

“Divert as much power as we can to shield the nacelles,”
she shouted into the general hubbub of the bridge. Qat’qa didn’t bother listening for an acknowledgment or a query, but lined up the ship the way she wanted it as it approached the pair of antibody vessels.

“Nacelle shielding increased by—” the amount was drowned out by alarms and yells, and a tremendous crashing that filled the bridge as one nacelle slammed down onto one antibody, and the other nacelle smashed upward into the second antibody. Both antibody vessels crumpled and flew apart, pieces of them skipping along the shields, and being flung off into space.

Qat’qa laughed. “This is a powerful ship, Commander. I like it.”

“Don’t get too attached to it,” Varaan said drily. “And, perhaps you’d find using the weapons more to your . . . satisfaction next time.”

Varaan stepped closer to Sela, and they exchanged a look that Barclay would have loved for Worf to have been able to see. “Klingons,” Varaan sighed.

“Believe me, Varaan, I know.”

La Forge ran onto the bridge, quivering. He had tried to use the transporter to bring Scotty back, but the sly old devil had rigged it so that nothing he could do would make it work.

“Kat!” Everyone turned, shocked at the quaver in his voice. “Set course for the
Challenger
, and through the static warp shell, right now!” Nobody questioned him, and Qat’qa heeled the ship around.

In
Challenger
’s main engineering, Scotty was a busy man, pulling out the failsafe chips from the consoles. He could barely see the bloody things for the tears in his eyes.

With each Isolinear chip he pulled out, he could feel the static warp shell weaken around the ship. Space was starting to slip and slide around it, and it wouldn’t be long before the breach that the
Challenger
had opened squeezed shut on its own.

Scotty couldn’t let that happen, in case the fold remained. It had to be snapped with power.

Ahead, the
Challenger
appeared to be receding, even though every instrument on the Romulan helm and tactical consoles said it was still in exactly the same place. Space around it was changing in a way none of them had ever seen before. It seemed to be a different shade of black, somehow, and the stars were smeared and blurry.

La Forge’s cybernetic eyes couldn’t make much more sense of it than anyone else’s. There was a buzz to space around the
Challenger,
or an energetic potential of gray static, as if the universe was preparing to overlay a new picture on to that part of reality.

Challenger
herself was also beginning to distort, narrowing here and bulging there, as if the dimensions of the areas that different parts of it occupied were shifting and changing.

Nog and Tornan kept shooting, picking off the antibody drones that tried to pursue them, while Qat’qa dodged the ones that came at the ship, without losing her line on
Challenger.

Tomalak’s Fist
was beginning to shake.

There was only the dilithium articulation frame to go. It was a metal cradle roughly the size of a crock pot, and normally it could only be removed when the power was off.

The power in the warp reactor was still being funneled
through the runabout
Thames
’s reactor, and there was no real intermixing going on in the
Challenger
’s main core, but there was enough energy in it to collapse the fold.

Scott had accepted his own death, and yet his brain was still racing. It was a blessing and a curse. Unexpectedly, that racing mind slammed headlong into something Geordi had said.

“Computer,” he said hurriedly, “activate EMH.” What was the point, he asked himself, of having a hologrid in engineering and only using it for bloody diagrams?

The EMH was a Mark I, and Scotty suspected that Reg Barclay had installed it. Reg had a fondness for that model because of his dealings with
Voyager
’s EMH, Scotty knew.

The EMH raised a hand, looking as if he’d never seen one before, and said, “Please state the nature of the—” He broke off and grabbed Scotty’s jaw, bobbing his head to peer into both of Scotty’s eyes. “Oh, I see. That’s, well, very very not good . . .”

Scotty pulled the EMH’s hand off his face in annoyance. “The emergency isn’t with me, laddie. I know I’m as good as dead.”

“I see . . . Then is there anything I can do for you while we wait? A quick hand of bridge perhaps? No, we need two more people for that—how many holograms does the engineering grid support?”

Scotty grabbed the EMH by the collar, dragged him over to the articulation cradle, and put both his hands on it. “I’m going to the transporter room. When I call you and shout ‘EMH, now!’ you just yank that cradle right out of there. That’s all there is to it.”

“You want me to yank your crank?”

Scotty was already gone.

By now everyone knew where Scotty was. The mood in the Romulan command deck was somber, the conversation muted. Sela pointed to the approaching and lopsided-looking
Challenger.
“There’s not going to be enough room to pass by
Challenger.”

Qat’qa didn’t take her eyes off the screen. “I didn’t expect there to be.”

“Then what . . . You can’t ram the
Challenger!”

“No need.”

Tomalak’s Fist
swooped toward the venerable
Galaxy
-class ship, gaining velocity as she went. Like many Romulan ships, she was designed to resemble a predatory bird, and today she dove headlong at her natural prey.

From the bridge,
Challenger
appeared to be listing to one side, though this was just an effect of Qat’qa’s delicate touch on the Romulan pitch controls.

La Forge found himself gripping the arms of his seat so hard that he thought his fingernails would buckle and crack. Glancing around the bridge, he saw that everyone was reacting the same way; temperatures raised, skin damp.

Scotty frantically switched circuits in and out of the console in transporter room three, hoping that he was right. The problem was going to be range. Where could he transport to from halfway to Andromeda?

The answer had struck him as he felt space distort around the ship. When the fold closed, space would return to where it should be. It would move, and maybe, just maybe, it could take him with it.

If not, he didn’t mind. He had accepted his death, and this wasn’t, to his mind, so much an escape attempt, since
he was dying anyway, but a bit of tinkering to fill his last minutes while he waited for the Romulan ship to get to safety.

Challenger
grew larger and larger, filling the viewscreen, and spreading beyond it. Gasps, curses, and maybe a few prayers were bitten off around the bridge, as people’s hearts pulsed with what they felt surely had to be their final beats.

Exhausted, whether from the hurried work, or from Doctor Ogawa’s treatment wearing off, Scotty slumped in the center seat on the bridge and watched the Romulan ship fill
Challenger
’s main screen. The sight of such a leviathan hurtling toward him on a collision course gave him goose bumps, but he reminded himself that Qat’qa was at the helm, and trusted her to know what she was doing.

The Romulan ship’s raptor-like head flashed past just under
Challenger
’s saucer section, and the vast wings momentarily embraced
Challenger,
with only a few meters to spare on either side.

Then those wings had sped past, and now the
Tomalak’s Fist
was rushing away from
Challenger.
As the Romulan ship receded into the distance, she clearly waggled her wings, first one way then the other.

“Aye,” Scotty said, not sure if Kat could hear him. “Goodbye to you too, lass.”

Qat’qa felt her spirits sink as she settled the ship back into stable flight. Scotty had deserved the salute she was able to give him.

Scotty had already given EMH its order, and preprogrammed the transporter. He stood, watching the rapidly receding ship.

“Computer,” he said. “Energize transporter in three seconds from my mark. Mark. EMH. Now!”

In engineering, the EMH obediently pulled out the articulation cradle with a single heave, and disappeared, along with the warp core and the rest of engineering.

On the bridge, Scotty raised an imaginary glass. “Yours, aye,” he said, wondering whether the bright light and tingling buzz that was unraveling through him was the modified transporter beam, or a transition of a different, and inevitable sort.

Space around the
Challenger
blurred and twisted as the Romulan ship sped away from it, and the alien vessels scattered. Then, in a nanosecond, the
Challenger
crumpled up into a tiny speck.

T
he stars on the main viewer of
Tomalak’s Fist
were a welcome dusting of life-giving jewels. The spaceborne alien with whom Guinan had communicated with—this time from the Romulan ship—had promised to be much more careful on this trip into their galaxy and had deposited the ship safely and undamaged back near the Pulsar Alpha Six-Four system.

La Forge’s emotions were mixed, but the stars of home helped. Leah was gazing at them with wonder, since once she thought she would never see them again. “You look pretty happy for someone who’s probably going to be spending the rest of her life in a Romulan prison camp.”

“Believe me, I can’t think of anything that would make me
less
happy than being a Romulan prisoner.” Leah hesitated. “Actually, perhaps I can.”

“Whatever it is, I’ll do my best to make sure it doesn’t happen.”

“Good. I’ll be glad of that.”

“So, what is it that would be worse than being in a Romulan prison?” La Forge asked.

“Being
alone
in a Romulan prison.”

La Forge held her gaze for a moment. “You didn’t ask why I’m happy despite our situation.”

“I don’t think I have to.”

“We have a cadre of Starfleet engineers, Chairman Sela,” Varaan was saying. “All specialists in their fields. Dammit, we have the woman who designs their ships and their warp drives. How much more of a prize could one hope for?”

“We’re representatives of Praetor Kamemor, Varaan, not pirates and freebooters. Prizes aren’t part of the Praetor’s new regime.” Sela didn’t sound particularly convinced. “Today, it seems we must be diplomats.”

“We should turn around and take our prisoners home.”

“Will you mutiny for that?”

“No.”

“Then find me the
Enterprise.”

It took two days before the
Enterprise
was sitting before
Tomalak’s Fist
. There was no sign, as it cruised across the main screen, that it had detected them.

Sela grinned, a thoroughly self-satisfied expression. “I wish I could be a fly on the wall of
Enterprise
’s bridge for this. Just for the sight of Picard’s expression . . .” She nodded to Varaan. “Decloak, and hail them.”