Текст книги "The Art of the Impossible "

Автор книги: Keith R. A. DeCandido

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As she did so, Troi said, “Thanks, Sue.”

“Don’t mention it,” Phillips said in her mild drawl. “I’m thinkin’ Zip’s still smartin’ from Velazquez breakin’ up with him.”

Troi blinked. “When did that happen?”

“While you were off gettin’ hitched. She’s too good for him, anyhow.”

Shaking his head as Phillips moved on to environmental control, Troi did a quick run-through of the current sensor readings, thinking, I can’t believe I still haven’t caught up on all the gossip yet. Maybe I’ll give Mike some encouragement later.Grinning, he amended, After calling him ‘Zip’ a few times, anyhow.

The other turbolift opened to the rest of alpha shift entering, including Commander Garrett. She stepped down into the command well and took the center seat. “All stations, report.”

Navigation reported first. “Holding position at one hundred million kilometers from the Betreka Nebula.”

Even as the helm officer continued with his report, Troi noticed something odd on long-range from the direction of the nebula. He did a more active scan of the region to be sure, and called up yesterday’s scan results, as well as the last Federation survey of the nebula six months ago.

After Zipser told Garrett that there was no unauthorized comm traffic to report, Troi said, “All clear for the most part, Commander, but I’m picking up something odd in the nebula.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“Not yet, sir, but I’d like your permission to investigate more thoroughly.”

Garrett frowned. “Just do a more active sensor sweep first and report back. I don’t want to do anything to make our guests frantic.”

“Understood.”

Tactical then reassured Garrett that both the Wo’bortasand the Sontokwere holding station, and that they remained at yellow alert. Troi, meanwhile, continued his scan.

As alpha shift settled into its routine, Zipser suddenly sat upright. “Oy.”

“What is it, Mike?” Troi asked.

“Another call from Betazed. This is, what, the four hundred and third this week?”

Troi was starting to think there was more to Zipser’s ribbing than simple jealousy over Troi’s greater success with the opposite sex. “Lwaxana is a very—talkative woman.”

“Talkative. Right. Half her little ‘notes’ to you crashed the comm buffer. This one isn’t so bad, though. Let me—oh.” Zipser’s face fell.

“What is it?” Troi asked.

“Oh, Mr. Zipser?” Garrett said before Zipser could answer the question. “I’m expecting a communication from my husband on Betazed today. Please keep an ear out.”

“Uh, actually,” Zipser said, “it just came in a minute ago, Commander. I would’ve mentioned it sooner, but I assumed it was for Lieutenant Troi.”

Garrett smiled. “I think you’ll find, Mr. Troi, that the frequency of the comm traffic will die down as time goes by.”

“You’ve never met my wife, have you, Commander?” Troi asked.

With a chuckle, Garrett rose from the command chair. “Pipe it into the captain’s ready room. Commander Li, you have the bridge.”

As the tactical officer moved to the command chair, Troi turned back to his sensors. Yeah, this is definitely odd.

By the time Garrett emerged from the ready room, Captain Haden had reported to the bridge and relieved Lt. Commander Wai-Lin Li, and Troi was starting to think that something was rotten in the Betreka Nebula. When Garrett came over asking for a report, he said, “I’m picking up an increase in charged particles. Normally, that wouldn’t be unusual—that sort of thing will fluctuate in a nebula—but it’s not very even, and the higher percentages are concentrated in a ridiculously small area. None of it’s outside the normal range of activity, but I’d like to send a probe in just to be sure.”

Garrett said nothing, but stared at the readings for a few moments, bent over the back of Troi’s chair. He looked up at her face, which was completely unreadable, but he had the feeling that it wasn’t the sensor readings she was thinking about. “You’re right, that doesn’t look good.” She stood upright and looked down at the command chair. “Captain, request permission to have Lieutenant Troi send a class-one probe into the nebula.”

Haden turned and fixed Garrett with that intimidating gaze of his. “What for?”

“Some odd readings that may be nothing.”

“I’m amazed you’re getting anything at all. It’s not like sensors are any kind of reliable in that soup.”

Troi chose that moment to speak up. “The probe’s readings will be more reliable, sir, and give us a better idea if we’re chasing sensor shadows or not.”

“Besides,” Garrett added, pointing at the viewscreen, presently showing the Klingon and Cardassian ships, “all things considered…”

“All things considered, Number One, I don’t want to piss off our friends out there any more than they’re already pissed.” He let out a long breath. “All right, fine. Li, prepare a probe. Zipser, inform the Wo’bortasand the Sontokthat we’re taking advantage of this opportunity to do a scientific survey of the Betreka Nebula. If they bitch and moan, tell them we’ll share any scientific data we obtain as a show of good faith.”

“Thank you, sir,” Garrett said. “We may want to inform Ambassador Dax as well, in case either of the delegations decides to get their nose out of joint.”

“I’d say their noses started out in that position the minute the Sontokfound Raknal V, Number One.” Haden shook his head, then looked at Zipser. “Do it.”

Li launched the probe. Haden asked how long the scan would take. “At least a few hours,” Troi said.

“Fine.” Haden got up and headed to his right. “I’ll be in my ready room. Zipser, have Lieutenant Vaughn meet me there. You’ve got the bridge, Number One.”

I wonder why he wants to talk to Vaughn,Troi thought as he followed the probe on sensors. The telemetry was coming through clearly for the time being, but that would change once it got to the nebula. Hope this doesn’t scotch our dinner plans.Vaughn had agreed to share the evening meal with Troi, duties permitting. Troi had enjoyed chatting with the older man quite a bit—even though, looking back on it, Vaughn hadn’t revealed anything personal about himself, nor talked much about his career, while Troi had done a great deal of both. Well, fine,he thought. After all that time on Betazed, it’ll be nice to talk to someone I have to actuallytalk to.

“Ch’gran is notjust an archaeological curiosity,” General Worf said, pounding his fist on the table. Clad in a red Defense Force uniform and a floor-length beige cassock that had fewer medals than Dax would have thought from someone as old as the general, the white-haired Klingon sat at one end of the Carthagebriefing room table, staring angrily at Legate Zarin. “It is a holy relic of the Klingon Empire. You cannotsimply trample on our sacred ground and not expect a response.”

Zarin, whose hair was equally white but considerably shorter, looked like he’d just eaten a lemon, his face was so sour. “If we had any indication that it was sacred ground, ourresponse might be somewhat different, General, but I’m afraid that rules of salvage seemed more applicable than any attempt to placate the arcane sensibilities of alien species.”

“The legate has a point, General,” Dax said quickly before this escalated yet again. He was starting to get a headache. Usually, this kind of negotiating session invigorated him, but this was simply wearing him down. Worf and Zarin were going around in the same circle, and doing it so often, they were digging a rut into the ground. “The Sontok’s response to the remains was completely acceptable under salvage laws.”

“And whose laws would those be, Ambassador?” Worf asked. “The Betreka Sector is unclaimed space. It is covered by no treaty that exists between Cardassia and the Empire.”

“There areno treaties between Cardassia and your ridiculous little empire, fool,” Zarin said.

Worf looked at Zarin and smiled. “That is precisely my point, Legate. Only a petaQwould hide behind protestations of ‘proper’ behavior when the parameters for such behavior do not even exist.”

First rule of mediation,Dax thought, when the parties start calling each other names, it’s time for a recess.“We’ve been at this for hours, gentlemen.” And I use that word loosely.“Why don’t we take a short break and reconvene at fifteen hundred hours?”

Zarin stood up quickly. His aides did likewise half a second later. One of them, the youngest, stumbled as he got out of his chair. “To that, I have no objection, Ambassador Dax.” With a look at Worf he added, “The air in here has gotten foul.”

As Zarin and his staff exited through the far door, Dax thought, Please don’t let the Klingons do anything stupid.Hoping to head off any attempts to reclaim honor at the pass, Dax started, “General, I urge you, don’t—”

But Worf had already risen from his chair and gone out the near door, his own aides trailing behind him.

Dax closed his eyes and counted to ten. Then he contacted the bridge, and instructed the communications officer to put a private communication through to Ambassador Sarek on Vulcan.

It took about twenty minutes—during which time Dax had ordered a grakizhsalad from the food dispenser—for the call to go through. When it did, just as Dax popped the last of the yellow leaves from the salad into his mouth, the old-fashioned triangular viewscreen in the center of the briefing room table lit up with the somber image of Sarek of Vulcan, the garden of his house at ShiKahr visible through the picture window behind him. Dax hadn’t been to the house since shortly before his mentor’s marriage a year ago to a human woman—his third, and second to a human—and he noted that the plants seemed livelier and larger than they had in the past. Perchance his new wife has a green thumb.Dax hadn’t yet met Perrin, but as long as she made Sarek as happy as the late Amanda Grayson—whose company Dax had always enjoyed in his younger days as Sarek’s aide—then he knew he would like her.

“How go the negotiations, Curzon?”As usual, Sarek didn’t bother with unnecessary pleasantries.

“Not as well as I’d like, I’m afraid. Both sides are being predictably stubborn. I understand the Klingons’ position, but the Cardassians are genuinely baffled by it. I’m trying to be fair to them—after all, they think they have every right to Raknal V.”

“Perhaps. But you must be wary of being too accommodating to the Cardassians.”

Dax smiled. “Actually, I’m more worried about the opposite. My affinity for the Klingons is hardly a secret.”

“If there are any who are unaware of it, it is only because you have not had the opportunity to provide that information to them,”Sarek said dryly. “That sort of emotional attachment can be a detriment.”

“It’s served me well with the Klingons,” Dax said almost defensively. Damn you, Sarek, how is it you manage to make me feel like a twenty-year-old naïf even now?“In fact, I’d venture to say that our continued good relations with the Empire are due in no small part to that public affinity.”

“Which is why I have not discouraged the affinity in the past. However, in this instance, it may do you more harm than good.”

Smiling ruefully, Dax said, “Actually, I think my problem is the other way around—I’m overcompensating by being toonice to the Cardassians.”

“That would be a mistake. I have seen firsthand what Cardassians are capable of if they are given too much—niceness.”

Dax grinned. “I’ll just have to be more like you, then.”

“I have always felt that you could afford to incorporate more discipline into your personality. It is good to see that you are at last taking my advice.”

The grin widening, Dax said, “First time for everything.” He let out a breath. Just talking to the ambassador made him feel better. “Thank you, Sarek—I needed this.”

“I have done nothing.”

Dax shook his head. Only a Vulcan could go from arrogant to modest within two sentences—and make them both sound like simple statements of fact.“Well, thanks for nothing, then. Give my regards to Perrin.”

“I will do so.”

“When this mess is over, I’ll try to drop by and finally meet her. Looks like she’s done wonders with the garden.”

Sarek came infinitesmally close to a smile. “My wife has a great affinity for bringing out the best in living things.”

“That’s good to hear, old friend. Take care.”

As Sarek’s face faded from the screen, Dax thought back to the glow that surrounded Ian Troi at the reception last night. At the mention of Perrin and the garden, the same glow seemed to suffuse Sarek. Something about finding your life-mate that improves the disposition, obviously,Dax thought. Maybe I should try it again.

Of course, Curzon had never settled down with any single person, but many of the previous hosts of the Dax symbiont had done so, and found it most satisfying. But then there was Torias…

Dax banished the thought from his head. More than one fellow joined Trill had accused him of letting the memories of his last host have undue influence on the current one. Torias Dax had been married to Nilani Kahn for less than a year when a shuttle accident claimed the former’s life. Curzon still felt the pain of Torias’s death keenly, and some had said that Dax’s present inability to commit to any kind of long-term relationship was a psychological attempt to never again repeat what happened to Torias. Dax himself had always thought such accusations to be ridiculous. Curzon’s roving eye predated his joining—indeed, was the cause of more than one near-scandal during his time as an initiate. Bonding with the Dax symbiont simply did nothing to discourage that tendency.

Still, sometimes he thought he would like to have had that glow.

Shaking his head, he left the briefing room, determined to be more even-handed in his mediating. I will work out an agreement that won’t thrust this sector into a bloody war that neither side can win.

“So you’re telling me that the probe mayhave given you readings that mightbe indicative of something in the nebula and you want to test these possibilities by going in with a shuttle?”

Ian Troi tried to keep the look of disappointment off his face at Captain Haden’s words. Somehow, it sounded more promising the way he’d phrased it to Commander Garrett. He sat next to her in one of the two guest chairs in the tiny office off the bridge that was referred to as the “ready room,” an appellation that Troi had never understood. Well, that wasn’t fair—he’d never given it a second thought until he mentioned it to Lwaxana, who asked, “Ready for what?” Troi’s lack of an answer for that question prompted his then-fiancée to declare the term ridiculous, and she promised to use all her influence as a Daughter of the Fifth House to get it changed.

Of course, based on the evidence to date, all that being a Daughter of the Fifth House meant, really, was that they had been obligated to invite half of Betazed to their wedding…

Forcing his thoughts back to the present, he glanced up at Vaughn, who was standing against one of the walls, and who had asked to tag along to this meeting. “For what it’s worth, Captain, I think it warrants further investigation. Yes, it may be nothing, but I’d rather play it safe.”

Haden didn’t sound convinced. “There’s no such thing as playing it safe when we’ve got trigger-happy Cardassians and Klingons hanging off our bow. Li gave me the report from security on the meetings so far—most of it has involved shouting. Gul Monor and Captain Qaolin already objected to the probe, and now, with all this, you think I should risk pissing them off again for what may be a wild goose chase?”

Troi found his mouth moving before his brain had a chance to stop it. “Sir, have you ever encountered a wild goose?”

“I beg your pardon, Lieutenant?” Haden said, his wide brown eyes now boring a hole in Troi’s forehead.

Troi glanced quickly at Vaughn, whose expression was unreadable, and Garrett, who looked vaguely amused, then back at Haden. “A wild goose, sir,” Troi repeated. “Have you ever encountered one?”

“I have seen many things in all my years in Starfleet, Mr. Troi, but I must admit to never having come across a goose of any kind, wild or otherwise, that wasn’t part of a meal. I take it you have?”

“Yes, sir, once, in England as a boy. Geese can get very ill-tempered—even ones raised in captivity. This one wasn’t, and it was brutal. Wild geese are surly, quick to anger, quicker to violence, and can do an amazing amount of damage with their beaks. The one I, uh, dealt with took a good-sized chunk out of my thigh.”

“Lieutenant, I hope to hell you’re going somewhere with this.”

Me, too.“Yes, sir, I am.” He stole a glance at Garrett, who looked half a step away from an out-and-out giggle, which wasn’t making Troi feel any better. “My point is, it’s better that we chase a wild goose than find ourselves attacked by one. It may go after more than our thigh, sir.”

Haden continued to stare. Garrett continued to struggle mightily to keep a straight face. Vaughn had no trouble keeping his. Troi fidgeted.

Vaughn then spoke up. “Sir, I’ve had some suspicions from the beginning of this mission, and Lieutenant Troi’s readings are in line with those suspicions.”

“All right, fine,” Haden said, leaning back in his chair. “I’ll figure out what to tell Qaolin and Monor. I’ll wait until I have an hour blocked out, so I can let Monor carry on.” Looking at Garrett, he said, “Take the Hoplite,but maintain radio discretion.”

“Sir?” Troi said.

“Radio silence would draw attention, Lieutenant,” Garrett said as she got up. “Radio discretion means we’re just on a scientific survey of the nebula, and all our comm traffic should reflect that.”

“You’re going too, Mr. Vaughn,” Haden added. “I know better than to think that you’re going to actually tell me your suspicions until they become something stronger, but I want you on-site in case they’re confirmed.”

“Understood, Captain,” Vaughn said with a nod.

As Troi got up, Haden said, “And Mr. Troi?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Good catch. Even if it turns out to be nothing—you showed initiative. I appreciate that.”

Troi smiled. “Thank you, sir.”

“Besides,” and here Haden actually smiled, a facial expression Troi had heretofore never seen on his captain’s face, “I liked the goose story.”

Chapter 10

Shuttlecraft Hoplite

“Approaching Betreka Nebula,” Ian Troi said as he piloted the shuttlecraft Hoplitetoward the phenomenon in question. With each kilometer closer they came to the nebula’s perimeter, the image on the viewscreen started to get fuzzier, as the image translator found itself incapable of processing the data, scrambled as it was by the nebula’s particulate matter: gases, dust, metals, silicates, carbon monoxide and carbon dioxide “ice,” and so much more. As they grew nearer, Troi muttered, “‘We are star stuff.’”

“I beg your pardon?” Garrett asked from the copilot’s seat.

“Uh, sorry, sir. Just quoting a human scientist from a few hundred years back.”

“‘We are star stuff,’” Garrett repeated. “I’m familiar with Carl Sagan’s work.” She grinned. “Hard to do this for a living and not be, what with him being required reading at the Academy and all.”

“Yes, sir,” Troi said ruefully. “Sorry. Lwaxana doesn’t know much about Earth history and culture, so I keep having to explain my likes and hobbies and things.” He grinned, remembering his numerous failed attempts to convey his love for Western stories from Earth’s nineteenth century. “I guess I’ve grown accustomed to getting all pedantic.”

“Like your colloquy on geese?”

Troi closed his eyes and let out a long breath. “I suppose so, yes.”

From one of the passenger seats behind Troi, Vaughn said, “It’s an odd thing, Ian. I recall, when I read over your service record, there was a mention of a leg injury in your medical file. But, if I’m remembering the record properly, you listed it as a boating accident when you provided your medical history upon enrolling at the Academy.”

“Yes,” Garrett said, her grin growing ever wider. “Come to think of it, I recall that as well, Lieutenant. You have a fine memory. I have to question yours, though, Mr. Troi.”

Troi sighed. “I was young, and I didn’t think it was very—I didn’t—oh, hell.” He sighed again. “I didn’t want to put ‘menaced by a goose’ in my medical history.”

Vaughn smirked. “I can’t believe that—Starfleet cadets are, after all, the epitome of tact and good manners. For the upper classes to ridicule a plebe just because he has an amusing anecdote from his past—why, that would be unheard of.”

Laughing, Troi said, “Of course, what wasI thinking?”

“Sarcasm aside,” Garrett said, “you probably made the right choice. I know I would’ve done the same in your place. Same with the lieutenant here, I’ll wager.”

“I’d rather not say,” Vaughn said with mock gravity.

An alarm went off on the console. “We’ve lost long-range sensors and about ninety percent of visual. Short-range sensors are—dodgy,” Troi said, not finding a better word for it.

“Shields inoperative,” Garrett added, looking at her own console.

Then the shuttle shook rather violently. Troi instinctively glanced down to make sure he was securely strapped into his seat, a precaution he had suggested when they first disembarked from the Carthage,and which Garrett had wholeheartedly endorsed.

“That shouldn’t have happened so fast.” Troi started scanning the region. “Damn—the concentration of charged particles is through the roof.”

“More than expected?”

“Much more.” Troi examined the scan results. “Based on all the previous scans of the nebula, the concentration should be about a quarter of—”

He was cut off by the Hopliteshaking once again.

“The hull can’t take too much of this,” Garrett said. “We may have to abort.”

“No,” Vaughn said sharply. “We need to investigate this further.”

Garrett turned to look sharply at the lieutenant. “Ifwe do abort this mission, it will be on my order, Lieutenant, is that clear?”

With a conciliatory nod, Vaughn said, “Of course, Commander, but there’s only one reason why there’d be a concentration of charged particles of this magnitude. If there—”

“—are ships in the nebula, yes, I’m aware of that, Mr. Vaughn,” Garrett finished.

“Well, actually,” Troi said, “it only really indicates the presence of large electrically conductive objects—a ship, or several ships, is simply the most likely such object to move into the nebula.”

“You’re being pedantic again, Mr. Troi.” Garrett looked back at Vaughn. “Besides, there was a fleet of nine ships in this very nebula three weeks ago. It’s possible that that’s what stirred up this hornet’s nest of electrons.”

The Hopliteshook again. “Structural integrity field holding at ninety percent,” Troi said, then turned to his first officer. “The concentration wouldn’t still be this high after three weeks, Commander. I think we need to investigate further.”

Garrett thought for several seconds. Please trust my judgment,Troi found himself thinking, wishing he were telepathic like Lwaxana so he could convey with his mind what words were obviously failing to do: that he knewthere were ships in the nebula, knew it from the moment he saw the odd reading. From the sounds of it, Vaughn felt the same—or, perhaps more accurately, Vaughn was worriedthat it was true. Either way, they needed to verify it.

Finally, Garrett came to a decision, just as more particles slammed into the shuttle. “All right. But I’m going to keep a close eye on the rate at which the SIF is deteriorating, how far we go into the nebula, what our maximum safe speed is, and how they all compare to each other. The minute those numbers add up to something approaching our inability to make it out in one piece, I’m turning this thing around and heading home no matter what we’ve found, understood?”

“Aye, sir,” Troi said.

“Yes, Commander,” Vaughn added.

Garrett’s proviso made perfect sense to Troi. After all, it didn’t do any good to find something and not be able to report it. “Proceeding forward.”

The ship shook again, and this time a console exploded.

“Damn,” Troi said. “Damage control response systems are offline.” That meant that, if there was a hull breach, force fields would not engage to seal the breach until it could be physically repaired. “And we’ve got a plasma leak back there.”

“I’ve got it,” Vaughn said, unstrapping himself from his seat and moving for the emergency toolkit.

“Be careful back there, Lieutenant,” Garrett said, still looking down at her console. “I don’t want– braking thrusters, now! All stop!”

Troi’s hands moved to stop the Hoplite’s forward motion before his brain registered Garrett’s sudden order. Even as he fired the braking thrusters, he discovered the reason for the order: the proximity detector had picked up a huge mass only a few kilometers away. Had Troi not applied the thrusters when he did, there was a very good chance that the Hoplitewould by now be flattened across the surface of that mass.

“Can you get a decent scan of that, Mr. Troi?”

“Working on it, sir,” Troi said as he tried to coax some kind of reading out of the sensors and the proximity detector. He managed to get an image of at least part of the shape—the mass extended beyond the range of either scanning device—and ran it through the computer for analysis. When it gave him an answer, he swallowed. I was sure I was right, but I don’t think I really wanted to be,he thought. “According to what we can detect, there’s a sixty-five percent chance that we almost crashed into a Cardassian Akril-class vessel.”

From the aft, even as he operated the tools necessary to seal the plasma leak, Vaughn said, “Dammit. Commander, this is exactly what I thought we’d find in here, and fulfills the very fears that led Starfleet to send me along. The Cardassians have no more interest in negotiating in good faith here than they did on Vulcan last year—they’re just trying to find ways to improve their own position, in this case probably by gathering additional intelligence on us and the Klingons before they strike.”

“Unless, of course, there’s only the one ship,” Garrett said.

Vaughn continued to focus on the leak. “Unlikely. Cardassians are like wolves, Commander—they often travel in packs.”

“Either way, I don’t want to be anywhere near them.” Garrett gazed down at her console. “SIF is down to forty percent. Bring us about, Mr. Troi, and set course back for the Carthage.”

“Yes, sir.”

Even as Troi entered the course change into the Hoplite’s navigation computer, the shuttle shook again. “You okay back there, Elias?” he asked as he turned the Hoplitearound and engaged the new course.

“Just fine, thanks, Ian,” came Vaughn’s steady voice from the aft compartment. “Leak is sealed and I’ve bypassed the fried circuitry on the damage control systems. You should be able to reactivate them.”

Troi checked his status board, and saw that the power flow was uninterrupted. He moved to activate the system—

–just as the hull-breach alarm rang out. The noise of the alarm was loud enough that Troi could feel it in his rib cage, but that wasn’t the worst sensation. His ears popped from the sudden change in pressure even as his chair lurched backward, the explosive decompression trying to pull Troi and his chair toward the hole that had opened in the aft section of the Hoplite.

Garrett grabbed his wrist before he could activate the damage-control system. Troi turned around. Vaughn had apparently been standing very close to where the charged particles had torn through the Hoplitehull and was now literally hanging on for life. Each of his hands gripped the ragged edges of the breach, and that tenuous hold was all that kept Elias Vaughn from a rather unpleasant death. Unfortunately, most of his body was outside the perimeter of the hull, so if Troi did activate the damage control systems, the force field would slice through Vaughn’s arms at the wrists and consign his handless body to a quick grave.

Of course, if Troi didn’t seal the breach, they’d all die in about a minute when the air was gone.

The shuttle carried very little excess material, and it was all secure, so there was, at least, little danger of something hitting Vaughn on its way to being blown into space. That still left them with minimal options.

Either him or Garrett unstrapping themselves to try to physically retrieve the lieutenant wasn’t possible, since that would most likely result in Vaughn’s would-be rescuer suffering the same fate.

Then he remembered the recent upgrades Starfleet had made to their shuttlecraft—including emergency transporters. Unfortunately, the controls were on one of the side consoles, a meter away.

However, the armbands that activated the transporters were in a cabinet just to the left of Troi’s feet. He reached down, the straps from his restraints biting into his ribs, and opened the cabinet. The armbands were programmed to transport whoever wore them to the center of the shuttle upon activation. They had a total of ten armbands, so if Vaughn wasn’t able to catch one, they had nine more chances. I just hope he figures out what I’m doing,he thought as he tossed one armband toward Vaughn.

“Toss” turned out to be an inaccurate verb, as all Troi had to do was let go of the armband after he took it out of the cabinet and it, like Vaughn and the air in the shuttle, followed the scientific law that molecules will tend toward an area of lesser pressure from an area of greater pressure.

Turning in his chair, his hand hovering over the control that would activate the force field, Troi watched as Vaughn abandoned fifty percent of his lifeline by releasing his right hand’s grip on the edge of the breach. He figured it out,Troi thought with relief. Vaughn’s bloody fingers managed to catch the strap of the armband. Using his fingers in manner impressively nimble given the copious amount of blood covering them, not to mention the intense rush of air plowing into his body, Vaughn managed to shift his grip to the metal circle in the center of the armband that contained the activation control.

He then dematerialized. As soon as the transporter effect took him away, Troi activated the damage control systems.

Four things happened in rapid succession. Troi’s chair rocked forward as the pull of the decompression ceased with the activation of the force field. The hull breach alarm also ceased, though the vibrating in Troi’s teeth did not. He heard the sound of a transporter in the shuttle, which placed Vaughn’s form upright in the center of the Hoplite,the armband still in the grip of his blood-covered fingers. And he heard the sounds of the environmental system laboring to restore the cabin’s lost atmosphere.