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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 ma
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.
“Very well done, Mr. Troi,” Garrett said, unstrapping herself, then reaching down and grabbing the shuttle’s medikit. “Get us out of here before we have to do it again.” To Vaughn, she said, “Let me take a look at those hands, Lieutenant.”
They managed to get the rest of the way out of the nebula without incident, though the SIF was down to fifteen percent by the time they made it past the nebula’s edge. Vaughn’s hands were deemed adequately cared for until he could go to the Carthagesickbay, but that trip wasn’t immediately called for, at least.
“Set course back to the Carthage?”Troi asked, preparing to do that very thing.
“No.”
Troi shot his commanding officer—now back in the copilot’s seat—a look. “Sir?”
“I want to test a theory first.”
Vaughn, who now had Starfleet-issue bandages around his hands, and whose brown-and-gray hair was now flying in several directions, lending a comic air belied by the serious tone of voice he always had, leaned forward. “Commander, with all due respect, we need to return to the Carthageimmediately. Captain Haden—and Ambassador Dax—need to be informed. So does Starfleet. We’re going to need reinforcements, and also—”
“Lieutenant, kindly sit back and shut up. You’re right, the Cardassians have decided to put a backup plan in place, hiding a fleet in the nebula. But think about it for a second. The Klingons may have a backup plan of their own, and they don’t needa nebula to hide in, they have cloaking technology.”
“So why’d they hide in the nebula before?” Troi asked.
Garrett shrugged. “Power consumption, maybe. Or they wanted to take advantage of their superior sensors in the vicinity of the nebula. Ultimately, it doesn’t matter. Mr. Troi, is there any way to scan for cloaked ships?”
Troi blew out a breath. “Not easily. Every time we come up with a way to penetrate a cloak, the Klingons or the Romulans come up with a better cloak.”
“Yes or no, Mr. Troi.”
“I’m sorry, Commander,” Troi said after a moment, hating himself for doing it, “but I can’t be that definitive.”
Garrett actually smiled at that. “Good man. I prefer an honest answer. Do an intensive scan of the vicinity, long-and short-range, tell me if anything screams ‘cloak’ at you.”
“I’ll do my best, sir.”
Troi spent the better part of an hour sca
The only interruption came when Vaughn walked over with a mug of tea. “Thanks,” Troi said as he took the steaming mug from Vaughn’s hands. He took a quick whiff, and identified it as the generic tea included in the packs. Pity, I could go for some raspberry herb tea right now.Still, Troi appreciated the gesture.
“I should be thanking you. You saved my life, Ian. It’s greatly appreciated.”
Troi smiled. “You’d have done the same for me.”
“Possibly, but I didn’t have to. You thought very quickly on your feet, and acted without hesitation. Pretty impressive. I just hope that Haden and Garrett appreciate what they’ve got.”
Troi gri
Then the sensor alarm sounded—a much milder sound than the hull breach alarm from earlier, indicating that the scan was complete.
Garrett apparently heard it from the aft section, as she came forward seconds later. “Report.”
Looking over the results of the scan, Troi shook his head. The final results told the same story that the preliminary findings had been telling him for the past hour. “Best I can give you is a definite maybe, Commander. We’re picking up subspace variances that couldindicate a fleet of cloaked ships. But it could also be simple background radiation.”
“I’m willing to bet it’s the former,” Vaughn said. He looked at Garrett. “Neither the Empire nor the Cardassians have shown themselves to be adept at negotiation where force or guile will do the job nicely.”
“I tend to agree.” Garrett bit her lip. “All right, enough sightseeing. Mr. Troi, set a course for the Carthage.Tell them that we had to cut short our exploration of the nebula, and point to the hole in our rear if they ask why. We’ll give the captain and ambassador a full report on board.”
Troi nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Damn, but I wish I wasn’t right. This can’t possibly bode well.
Chapter 11
U.S.S. Carthage
In the quarters on the Carthageassigned to Talen Kallar, an alarm went off. The alarm emanated from a small device implanted in the ear of the cabin’s occupant, so only he heard it. He barely hesitated in his assigned task of organizing files from the notes that had been taken during the most recent negotiating session. Kallar had a reputation as a physical bumbler, and was more likely to trip over his own feet than walk a straight line, but he was good at the dreary paperwork tasks that always fell upon interns. As a youth, and the lowest-ranking person in Legate Zarin’s delegation, Talen Kallar was assigned those duties.