Текст книги "Well of Souls"

Автор книги: Ilsa J. Bick

Соавторы: Ilsa J. Bick
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Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 30 страниц)

Garrett gave Tyvan a faint smile. “And my ship is me?”

“Why not? So, are you concerned about putting yourself in order? Not wanting to make mistakes again?”

Garrett thought of Nigel, and the choice she’d been forced to make. “You referring to something in particular?”

“Yes.” Tyvan’s brown eyes were steady but compassionate. “And you may believe I’m overstepping my bounds.”

“Then don’t,” said Garrett, a nervous flutter in her throat, though she kept her anxiety out of her face…she hoped.

“But it’s my job,” said Tyvan, gently. “Captain, your sorrow for Nigel Holmes isn’t a secret.”

Damn that Jo.“No?” she said, forcing lightness into her tone she didn’t feel.

“No, and I won’t insult you by pretending I don’t know. But you’ve lost one first officer, and you may very well lose another, and you have lost a great many other,” he paused—for emphasis, it seemed to Garrett, “other things,all in the past year or two.”

A marriage. My son. The man I loved, and may still.“And?” said Garrett. Her chest was tight, and she had to work to breathe.

“Captain, are you quite sure that you’re not obsessing about a dead man and everything you thinkyou did wrong in order to avoid thinking about the guilt and responsibility and sorrow you feel for all these other deaths?”

Garrett had a strange feeling then. She’d been prepared for—no, steeledherself against a wave of anxiety she knew was dammed up behind a fragile mental barrier. But, instead of anxiety or guilt, a wave of relief seemed to wash away the blackness tainting her mind, her perceptions. It was as if a strong wind had blown away a dense bank of clouds from her mind, and the sun begun to shine. Yes, that’s right, that’s exactly it.

But some perverse part of her—the part that didn’t want to let go because old habits die hard—said, “Sometimes all your choices are bad ones. So you choose the lesser of evils.”

“That’s not the same as a mistake. That’s just a choice you didn’t like.”

“Yes,” said Garrett. Uncanny, that’s what Ven said a week ago? Ten days?

“So you’re brooding over your choices—good, bad, indifferent. We’ll never know if they were right or wrong, or if things have worked out for the best because things will just work out, Captain. They always do. So let’s not talk about ghosts. Nigel Holmes is dead, and you’ve lost many things, but Halak is alive. What about him?”

“I don’t know. I trusted Halak…no, that’s not right. Maybe I was trying to get there, but probably I wasn’t being fair to him. And, damn it, my gut says things aren’t the way SI says.”

“But he didlie. Dr. Stern proved that, and Halak admitted to it.”

“Maybe he made a bad choice.” Garrett’s eyes slid sideways. “Tell me something. You think he murdered those men?”

Tyvan didn’t hesitate. “No. Just because he’s lied about one thing doesn’t mean that everything he’s said is a lie. I believe Dr. Stern would say something like true, true, unrelated. True, the men are dead. True, Halak lied. But the events may be unrelated.”

“But how do you know?”

“I don’t knowanything.” Tyvan spread his hands. “Call it intuition.”

“So, you’re saying, go with my gut.”

“Trust your crew, Captain, and trust yourself.” Tyvan held her gaze. “Forgive yourself. And, for God’s sake, get some sleep.”

“Now that’s…”Garrett began, but a hail shrilled. Crossing to her companel, Garrett jabbed it to silence. “Garrett.”

“Glemoor, Captain. I think you should come out here.”

At Glemoor’s tone, Garrett became alert. “What is it?”

“A ghost, Captain. Lots and lots of ghosts.”

“Sensor ghosts.” Garrett was bent over a sensor displaying the probe’s telemetry data. “Of what?”

“Unknown. There are also trace amounts of arkenium duranide,” said Glemoor, “larger amounts of ferrocarbonite. Cohesive globules of ionized plasma.”

“Well, the ionized plasma isn’t a surprise.” Garrett straightened and winced as a muscle in the small of her back complained. She inched her hand around to massage the muscle. “You have a theory about the rest?”

“Yes. This is data from a second probe. The first I set to scan after 600,000 kilometers. If the source was a neutron star, that should have been a good distance. But at 600,000 kilometers, the probe accelerated, and I lost it before I could program in a course change.”

“Gone?” Garrett was startled, her aching back forgotten. “Just like that?”

“In the blink of an eye, Captain. So I sent out another probe, easing it in and having it come to a stop 400,000 kilometers from the ship. From there, measurements of gravitational wavefronts came out with a sphere.”

“A sphere. Glemoor, the only thing that can do that is a black hole.”

“A very big black hole. Not as big as our galactic black hole, of course, otherwise we wouldn’t be standing here discussing it. That sphere measures over 500 kilometers around.”

“That would mean it’s nearly nine times more massive than a standard stellar black hole, and much too massive for a neutron star. But you said gamma rays. Your probe still sees them, and they’re fluctuating. They’re not constant. That would be consistent with a neutron star accreting matter at variable rates. A black hole can’t emit gamma rays.”

“Not in and of itself, Captain, no, especially if it’s static. But I don’t believe this is. I think the central mass is still spinning, very quickly. Anything falling in will release energy before reaching the event horizon. I believe that accounts for those gamma ray bursts we’re reading. Plus, there’s no localized magnetic field. Astronomical black holes have no magnetic fields.”

“But a black hole? Here?”

“It would seem to be the case, Captain. There are precedents, of course. The black hole at the center of the Messier 87 galaxy, and one at the center of ours.”

“But this a nebula cluster, not a galaxy.”

“Technically, this is a hypernova, the end result of a chain reaction of ordinary supernovae. There’s a tremendous lot of matter and gas out there.”

Garrett chewed on her lower lip. “All right. Let’s say that’s true. Would gamma rays account for the sensor ghosts?”

“Possibly. Gamma rays combining with ionized plasma might mimic ionized plasma vented from a ship. But, Captain, nebulae contain helium. They have hydrogen. Nitrogen. Noble gases. Nebulae do not contain arkenium duranide, or ferrocarbonite. Captain, these are materials used in construction.”

She’d known that, but she’d refused to believe it, hoping the readings were wrong. Trust yourself, Captain.“Used for plasma injectors.”

“Yes, Captain, just so,” said Glemoor.

“For a warp core.” There was a pause as Garrett digested what she’d just said. Then she turned to look out at the fierce, stormy beauty of the Draavids.

“Oh, dear God,” she said. “There’s a ship out there.”

Chapter 26

They’d been at yellow alert for fifteen minutes and Garrett was clenching her teeth so hard her jaw hurt. “Anything?”

Darco Bulast looked as tense as his captain. “Negative. If there’s a vessel, it’s not sending out a general distress, and there’s no response to hails.”

“Unless there’s just too much interference,” said Bat-Levi, looking up from her sensor display at her position alongside the science station. She blew an errant strand of her long black hair out of her eyes then hooked a lock behind her right ear. “There could be a signal, but we’d never hear it, not unless we get closer.”

“What’s our status?” asked Garrett. “Can we do that?”

“Right now, our shields are holding just fine, Captain. When we crossed into the nebulae cluster proper, radiation levels outside the ship jumped by a factor of five. Still within tolerance limits, presuming our shields hold. We’re holding position at 35,000 kilometers from the nebulae’s edge. But I’m not sure that another ship—likely disabled and running on battery power—would have the shields to last very long, not in that radioactive soup out there.”

“If there even isa ship,” said Castillo in an undertone.

Garrett’s head swiveled his way. “Care to share, Mr. Castillo?”

Castillo reddened. “No disrespect intended, Captain, but there’s every possibility that there was a ship but isn’t now.”

“Not necessarily, Ensign,” Glemoor interjected from his station next to Castillo. “If we can trust our scans, there’s insufficient debris, and nothing organic. If we presume a ship disintegrated, then there ought to be a debris field equivalent to the mass destroyed and some evidence of organic residua.”

“Then where arethey?” asked Bat-Levi. “For that matter, why duck into a nebula to begin with?”

“Maybe they were running away fromsomeone,” Castillo offered.

Garrett reflected that Castillo might need to learn to hold his tongue, but he clearly knew a good idea when he had one. “An interesting hypothesis, Ensign. But how do you account for the levels of ferrocarbonite and duranide we’ve found?”

“What if the core didn’t breach? What if they ejectedtheir warp core?”

“Why would they do that?” asked Bat-Levi. “Without a core, they don’t have power for very long, and without power, they’ll fry. If the gamma radiation doesn’t get them, those protostars will.”

“Maybe this was the only choice they had,” said Castillo. “You just said it. You don’t go into nebulae like this unless you’re forced to, and if you’re forced to, probably someone’s shooting at you. So, maybe their warp core got damaged. A coolant leak, I don’t know. So they have a choice. Either jettison the core, or blow up.”

“So they jettison the core to buy time.” Propping her right elbow on the arm of her command chair, Garrett ran the side of her right thumb along her lips in thought. “Well, a crummy choice is better than none. It’s a decent hypothesis, Ensign. Very good,” she said, flashing Castillo a quick smile and noting, with satisfaction, his flush of pleasure. Trust your crew.“Glemoor?”

“Those sensor ghosts might be distortions of the signature from a real ship. Except if Ensign Castillo is correct, then either this ship went very far into the nebula before ejecting its core…”

“Or they didn’t, but are being dragged toward that black hole. Any way to tell for certain?”

“If there’s a ship? Not without a signal of some kind. Or,” Glemoor paused then said, “or we go deeper into the field ourselves.”

“But we already know where to start. The first probe was, what? 600,000 kilometers in? So how about following the trail of the sensor ghosts, narrowing down our search pattern?”

Bat-Levi thought a moment. “I could extrapolate backward. Say, factor in the amount of material we’ve already found and then, on that basis, calculate how large the warp core would have to be in order to generate the debris field we’ve got. I’d have to take drift into account from the Herbig-Haro jets, though. They might have blown the debris out, not in. No matter which way you cut it, it’ll take awhile.”

Something about what Bat-Levi had just said niggled at the back of Garrett’s brain. She sensed an idea forming but couldn’t quite put it into words. Something a ship might do if it were in trouble, in a nebula with protostars, and no way to blast free…

“Pardon, Captain,” Ensign Castillo again, “but that’s kind of inefficient. Why not narrow things down by the rate at which those gas globules are collapsing along gravitational fields? We can assume that the components left over from a warp core breach or ejection ought to follow the same path. Save time.”

“Do it,” said Garrett, shoving the nascent thought to the back of her brain. Let it simmer awhile.“Find me a focus. And, Castillo, can you move the probe in further without its being trapped in that gravitational well?”

“To gather more data? Sure, but…”

Garrett waved the rest of his remark away. “No, no, not more data. I want to use the probe as a proximity detector. A kind of advanced scout. With all this interference, we let that probe get out too far ahead of us, and we might as well be trying to listen to something being transmitted between two tin cans on a string.”

Glemoor frowned. “Tin cans?”

“I’ll explain it later. But this way, we move closer without endangering the ship without good cause. Let the probe do the searching for us. Can you do it, Castillo?”

“Sure. But, Captain, the closer the probe gets, the more its signal will be subtended and distorted by gravity. I’m not sure how accurate the signal will be.”

“Understood.” Garrett punched a channel for engineering. “Mr. Kodell.”

“Here, Captain.”

“We’re heading deeper into the nebula. There may be a ship in trouble out there. How long can we stay before we get into trouble ourselves?” “Depends. With shields at maximum, and us doing nothing but looking, probably three hours, maybe four. But if you have to expend more energy in a rescue—using the tractor beams, for example—then it depends on how far for how long. The bigger the ship, the more we’ll cut into our energy reserves. We won’t even talk about the engines.”

“No, let’s not. If we find a ship, can we use transporters instead?”

“If we can get close enough, maybe. There’s a lot of interference. Personally, I wouldn’t want to be the one caught in a transporter beam trying to get from Ato B.”

“Understood.” Garrett toggled off. “Castillo, you ready?”

“Absolutely, Captain. Course?”

“That depends on Commander Bat-Levi.” Garrett turned her chair to face her acting XO. “Anything?”

“Yes, Captain.” Bat-Levi ineffectually brushed at her hair then seemed to give it up. “Routing information to the helm now.”

“All right, Mr. Castillo, take the probe in, match course and speed to maintain a distance of 6,000 kilometers between the probe and us. Take the probe in at 1,000-kilometer increments, nice and slow. Find me a ship, if there is one.”

After thirty minutes, Bulast sang out, “Proximity alarm! I’ve got something, Captain!”

Garrett came out of her slouch. “On speaker.”

A moment later, the bridge was awash with the sizzle of static. No one spoke. Garrett listened intently, closing her eyes to block out extraneous stimulation. “I don’t hear anything.”

Bulast put up a cautionary finger. “Wait. Let me filter the high end.”

He did and, an instant later, Garrett heard it: a steady pip, like the blipping of an ancient oscilloscope.

“Sounds like a distress beacon,” said Castillo.

“But not Starfleet,” said Garrett. “Bulast?”

“Matching beacon now with known Federation registry.” He shook his head. “Not one of ours.”

“But it’s somebody,” said Bat-Levi.

“Or was,” said Garrett. “Anything remotely resembling a ship out there?”

“Scanning, Captain. Negative. Nothing that looks like a ship, or even pieces of one.”

“Too far away,” said Glemoor, more to himself than Garrett. Before she could ask, he said, “It’s too far away, Captain. We found evidence of a warp core much further away. So how did the beacon get here, closerto us?”

“Maybe they launched it before they ejected the core,” said Castillo.

Garrett shook her head. “That’s not what I would do. Glemoor’s right. Too much distance. You don’t send out a distress call beforeyou have an emergency.”

“Unless they were in distress before they had to jettison the core,” said Bat-Levi. “Maybe they were under attack, like Castillo said.”

Garrett drummed the fingers of right hand on the arm of her command chair. “Then why not send out a general distress call beforeyou go into the nebula? With all this interference, it’d be a miracle for anyone to pick up the signal. Wedidn’t, and we were sitting right on the edge. No, we’re missing something. Castillo, where is that beacon? How distant?”

“Six thousand,” said Castillo, and stopped.

“Mr. Castillo?”

“One moment, Captain,” said Castillo. His fingers recalibrated his instruments. “Captain, it was6,000 kilometers distant from the probe.”

“Was? It’s falling toward the black hole?”

“No, ma’am.” A queer half-smile played over Castillo’s lips. “Reading five-nine-eight-nine kilometers. Eight-six. Eight– three.”

“Moving closer,”said Bat-Levi. “But how…?”

“I know,” Castillo blurted out. He colored as all eyes turned toward him.

“What?”said Garrett impatiently.

Castillo jerked his head in a quick nod. “Captain, if you found traces of warp core near the black hole, how did the beacon get way out here? Granted, the beacon probably had enough speed to go some distance, but it’s got limited fuel. So there’s no way a beacon could get far enough away notto end up falling backtoward the event horizon. But this beacon’s not even close,it’s at a right angleto the event horizon, and it’s getting closer.The only way that can happen is if something pushedit here and…”

“And something’s stillpushing it.” Bat-Levi’s eyes went round. “He’s right.”

At the same time, Garrett knew what it was she’d sensed before but not been able to put words to. “Of course! It’s riding on a jet of ionized plasma, on one of those Herbig-Haros! The beacon’s moving awayfrom the black hole because it was launched whilethe ship rode a jet. If I’d lost my engines, or only had impulse power, that’s what I would do. Ride the jet like a hawk on a thermal.”

“That has to be it, Captain,” said Glemoor. “Whoever was here… ishere understood that the only way to avoid being sucked past the event horizon would be if he could ride a jet of ionized plasma, and that’s why the beacon is moving at a right angle to the black hole.”

“But where’s the ship?” asked Bat-Levi.

Glemoor pulled at a frill. “Captain, we extrapolated this course on the basis of following the gravitational collapse of gas globules back into those protostars. Now, those globules are very dense, and that’s why they’re falling back. Well, a shipis much denser than a beacon, so…”

“So they’re falling back in,” said Garrett. “Not toward the black hole but right into a protostar. They won’t be crushed. They’ll burn up.”

“Presuming they haven’t already,” said Glemoor.

“Anything on long-range sensors?”

Glemoor consulted his instruments. “Possibly, Captain. A moment,” Glemoor’s slender fingers moved to coax a better resolution from the ship’s long-range sensors. “I think there’s something, Captain. Deeper in the nebula.”

“Is it a ship?”

Glemoor hesitated then shook his head. “Impossible to say, Captain. There’s too much interference. It is, however, moving away from us.”

“Falling back,” murmured Bat-Levi.

“Not if we can help it,” said Garrett. Her mind darted over the possibilities, though she knew there was, in the end, only one decision she could make.

“Bat-Levi, contact sickbay. Inform Dr. Stern to prepare to receive casualties. Then let Mr. Kodell know we’re likely to need all the power he can spare to the shields. All right, Mr. Castillo, plot a course for those sensor ghosts, best guess.”

“Aye, Captain. I’ll extrapolate back from the distress beacon…course plotted and laid in.”

“Go.” Garrett’s hands clutched the arms of her command chair. “Mr. Bulast, continuous hails.”

“You’ve got them, Captain.”

And now we wait.Garrett tried to think of anything she’d forgotten, and decided that she’d done everything she could. Whatever happened next depended upon time and luck. Mainly luck.

At his station, alongside Castillo, Glemoor drew in a sharp breath of surprise.

Garrett was instantly alert. “Glemoor?”

“I think I’ve got them, Captain.” The Naxeran’s normally calm voice was tight with tension.

Garrett was out of her chair and by Glemoor’s side in an instant. “A ship?” “Yes. She’s in a jet all right. The problem is all that ionized plasma makes sensor readings unreliable. Boosting power to the sensors.”

Garrett held her breath while Glemoor worked. She felt the muscles along her spine jump with anxiety. She didn’t want to prod, then did. “Well?”

Glemoor’s voice had reclaimed its calm, even tone. “In a moment, Captain. Yes, here. From the size and configuration, I would say that this is a small transport vessel, large enough to accommodate forty, or perhaps fifty crew. I detect no activity consistent with engine function, though there isevidence of warp coolant.”

“A coolant leak?”

“Most likely. Assuming that they were unable to stop the leak in time, then they would have had no choice but to jettison the core. Whatever the mechanism, she’s dead in space now, Captain, falling away from us and accelerating. Her captain had the right idea, but without even impulse power to help that ship along, the energy in the jet just isn’t enough to counteract the gravitational pull from that protostar.”

“How far away is she?”

Glemoor checked his sensors again. “Approximately ninety million kilometers from the outer heliosphere of the protostar.”

“A little more than Mercury’s distance from the Sun,” Garrett mused. “Pretty warm.”

“And likely to get much more so. At their current rate of acceleration, the ship will impact in slightly less than six hours.”

Garrett waved the statistic away. “They’ll burn up long before then, if they’re not already dead from radiation. What about shields?”

“None, Captain. If she had them, she doesn’t have them now. In fact, I read minimal energy outputs all across the board.”

“Does she have life support?”

She saw the hesitation in Glemoor’s eyes. Finally, he shook his head in apology. “I can’t tell. The energy outputs I read should be enough for minimal life support, but that’s all. Since we have no idea even of the species we’re dealing with—humanoid or not—I have no ability to forecast their survival capabilities under these conditions.”

“Captain.” It was Bat-Levi. “Captain, no matter who they are, without shields, the amount of time before fatal exposure to gamma radiation…”

“Isn’t long. And we have no idea how long they’ve been out here. I know, Commander,” said Garrett. Well, if she was going to risk her ship on a rescue, there sure as hell better be someone worth risking them for. “Glemoor, can you at least tell me if there are life signs?”

Glemoor’s ebony features screwed into a grimace of concentration before he shook his head. “I can’t tell. What I can say for sure is that this vessel is much too small to have lifeboats.”

“So anyone who was on her when she jettisoned her core is still there—dead or alive.” Garrett scrubbed her lips with her left palm in thought. She paced behind Castillo and then around the helm, staring at the angry, billowing gases and interstellar dust swirling all around them. Had they come all this way in for nothing? She refused to believe it. Come on, come on, Garrett, think,think! The people on the other ship couldn’t leave. If they were alive, they were still on board. Ifthey were alive…leaning back against the helm, she put her hands on her hips, studying the viewscreen. The ship wasn’t visible, of course; it was much too far away. But she projected her mind into the nebulae, stabbing through the jets of ionized plasma and photo-ionized gases, searching. What would she do? Clearly, the captain of that vessel had the right idea. He or she tried to use the plasma jets for propulsion to get her ship clear, hoping against hope to build up enough momentum to carry her ship out of the nebula. Once out of the nebula, she could signal for help because she would know by then that her distress beacon hadn’t made it out….

“Where would I go?” Garrett said, out loud. She stared at the nebula she could see, the crippled ship she couldn’t. “If I knew my life support was failing and I’d lost shields and had no way out, where would I go to stay alive longest?”

It was Bat-Levi who answered, her voice ramping up with excitement. “The engine room, Captain! That’s where you’d go. The engine room would be the most heavily shielded area of the ship. Assuming the warp core’s gone, you could evacuate residual coolant and hole up there. And hope.”

Garrett nodded her agreement. “As long as there’s life, there’s hope. Glemoor, if we get closer, can you tell me if there are life signs?”

Glemoor regarded her carefully. “Captain, to get us that close, we would have to enter into the plasma jet ourselves.”

“Then here’s something for you to add to your collection of idioms, Mr. Glemoor,” said Garrett, though she wasn’t smiling. “Out of the frying pan into the fire. Given our current situation, that’s apt, and it’s the only way. Can you do it?”

“Captain, I have to remind you that long-range sensors aren’t functioning well enough to resolve into individual life-forms. I don’t know if I can tell you how many there are, one or a hundred.”

“One or a hundred, Glemoor. I don’t care. We find even one survivor, we have to go after him.”

“Yes, Captain. I’ll try.”

“Do better than that,” said Garrett. She nodded toward Castillo. “Bring us in closer. One-half impulse power. Bring us in into the plasma jet on a perpendicular and then aft thrusters down, course zero mark zero so we’re heading into it face first. That way we present the least amount of surface area to the plasma jet, make our shields last that much longer. Then I want you to keep us on that heading until Mr. Glemoor picks up something, or I tell you to stop. Understood?”

Castillo’s tongue flipped along his upper lip. “Aye, Captain.”

“Bat-Levi, raise engineering. Have them increase power to the forward shields.”

“Aye.”

Their inertial dampers were working perfectly, and so was their artificial gravity, yet when the ship crossed the boundary of the plasma jet, Garrett felt the shudder that rippled through the floors and bulkheads as concentrated streamers of hot ionized gas and radiation pounded the hull. The bridge lights dimmed momentarily then flared back to full brilliance, and Castillo nudged the aft thrusters in short bursts until the ship was cleaving the jet head-on, like an arrow shot from a bow, slicing the jet in two.

“How are our shields, Bat-Levi?”

“Ninety percent, Captain. The energy from that jet’s like getting pounded with phasers at quarter.”

“Just as long as they don’t buckle. How about radiation outside the hull?”

“Not good, Captain. Radiation levels jumped as soon as we hit the column and they’re increasing.”

“How long can we maintain shields at our current rate of energy consumption?”

“Estimate one hour, twenty minutes, Captain.”

“Plenty of time,” Garrett said, wondering if she believed that herself. “Stay on course, Mr. Castillo.”

To Castillo’s left, Garrett saw Glemoor hunched over his sensor displays. His back was to her, but she could read the intense concentration in the set of his shoulders. “Let me know the minute you’ve got anything, Mr. Glemoor.”

Glemoor may have been tense, but his tone was as genial as if they were discussing something of no greater gravity than the weather. “That wasmy intention, Captain.”

Garrett grinned at the mild jibe, and she felt her stomach unclench a smidgeon. But a few moments later, Stern hailed from sickbay, and Garrett knew it wasn’t a social call. “You want the good news, or the bad news?” said Stern.

“How much better is the good news?”

“Not very. Listen, Captain, I’ll give it to you in a nutshell. In this radiation-dense environment, we’ll last fifty minutes if those shields fail, and not more than two hours if they drop anywhere close to forty, fifty percent. We could probably buy some time by moving vulnerable crew from stations along the hull and concentrate them in engineering or sickbay, but not much.”

“Understood. Jo, I plan to have us out of here before then.”

“Mmm. Well, I converted cargo bay three into a triage and staging area. Assuming there are survivors, they’re going to need to stay somewhere, and that’s as good a place as any. We’ve got full decon standing by for anyone who got a good dose of radiation. I had a couple patients in sickbay. Nothing serious and they’re pretty stable, so they got moved to the mess hall.”

“I’m sure that’s made the chef’s day. Good work, Jo. Let’s hope we don’t have to test your team’s readiness.”

“Amen to that. But those shields go, and I’m going to have more down here than I can handle.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Garrett punched off at the same moment that Glemoor looked up.

“Got it,” he said.

Garrett was aware that all activity had ceased around the bridge; all eyes were on Glemoor. “And?”

“Life signs,” Glemoor said. He broke into a huge grin, and Garrett thought he looked just exactly like the Cheshire Cat. “A lot of them. Humanoid. I estimate forty, perhaps sixty individuals. And they are just where Lieutenant Commander Bat-Levi said they would be: engineering.”

Garrett clenched her fist in savage triumph. “Yes! Mr. Bulast, can you hail them?”

“Trying, Captain. Once we went into the plasma jet, things went downhill in a hurry. I can tell that this is an old ship, though. Their subspace bands are all concentrated on the low end of the spectrum. I’m amazed I can hear anything. Right now, all I’m getting is the automatic beacon from the ship itself. But I do have a place of origin. They identify themselves as Atawhean and…” Bulast tilted his head to one side, trying to filter meaning out of a wash of static. Then his dark eyes went wide. “It’s a colonyship, Captain.”

“Aw, hell,” muttered Castillo.

“Children, Captain,” said Bat-Levi. “Families.”

Garrett punched at her companel. “Transporter room, can you get me a lock?”

“Negative,” said the voice—a woman’s—that issued from the speaker. “There’s too much ionization effect from all that radiation. Even if I could grab a piece of them, the pattern enhancers can’t compensate. I’d end up killing them for sure.”

The whistle of a hail pierced the air, and Garrett jabbed her companel. “Bridge, Garrett.”

“Kodell, Captain. Shields are seventy-two percent. I’ve robbed power from every available place on this ship without touching environmental. The next step is to evacuate crew from nonessential areas and shut down life support to those decks.”

“How much power will that buy us?”

“We’ll maintain status quo, Captain.”

“What about if we engage tractor beams?”

There was a very long pause. Then Kodell said, “If that’s what you order, Captain, I’ll do the best I can.”

“As I just said to Glemoor, do better.I want two tractor beams on that vessel, and get our shields around her. And keep those impulse engines on line. We’ve got to keep this ship moving, even if you have to go out and push.”

“Well, I sincerely hope it doesn’t come to that, Captain,” said Kodell, though Garrett didn’t detect a whiff of sarcasm. “Tractor beams on. Extending shields.”