Miracle Workers Page 2

  They entered the briefing room and Duffy took note of who was at the table, while at the same time trying not to think about who was noticeably absent. Scattered about in their usual seats were other members of the team: Carol Abramowitz, their chief liaison with the Tholian Assembly; Fabian Stevens, the ship’s expert on tactical systems; and Bartholomew Faulwell, the team’s cryptography and language specialist, who had stepped in to help brainstorm options for salvaging their mission, given the current void of command officers. Duffy mulled taking the head seat at the table, the one typically occupied by Captain Gold, but settled instead for the comfort of his usual chair next to Abramowitz.

  “Okay,” Duffy began, placing his elbows on the table before him and lacing his fingers. “Warp drive is almost operational again. Everything else is good to go, right?”

  Stevens was quick to answer. “We didn’t take it on the chin too hard, Duff. Weapons are fine. Communications, shields, the deflector array, life support, everything checks right on down the line. I’d bet the warp drive would have been fine, too, if it wasn’t for this space we’re in.”

  Duffy wondered whether that was the rule and not the exception here. Tholian ships’ disruptors could wreak havoc on unshielded vessels, he was certain, but it seemed that Federation starships with fully charged deflector shields usually could shrug off the initial volleys of such an attack.

  “Maybe so, Fabian,” Duffy replied, “but here, all bets are off. Right now I want to dig into the deflector modifications and see whether we can open the rift again without waiting for it.” He knew that time was a precious commodity right now. The Tholians had to know how much damage they had inflicted on the da Vinci, and they most likely also knew that the starship wouldn’t leave the area unless forced to, so long as there was a chance to recover the Defiant and the away team. The chronometer was ticking for those aboard both ships, however, so he wasn’t willing to be patient.

  Corsi leaned forward in her seat. “Shield harmonics need to be monitored closely as well, Mr. Stevens, in case that rift has the same degenerative effect on them as it does on our warp capability. We need to be prepared for an all-out attack once that Tholian ship returns with reinforcements.”

  Duffy was ready to answer, but instead was cut off by Carol Abramowitz.

  “Prepare all you want,” she said, “but we’re not going into battle.” The cultural specialist was met with Corsi’s perturbed expression but continued unheeded. “You can bet that our next orders will be to head home without the Defiant. No one is going to throw away the trust that diplomats and ambassadors have earned with the Tholians during the Dominion War. Unfortunately, an antique ship and a few engineers will be considered expendable.”

  Abramowitz’s assessment matched his own, Duffy realized as he hung his head a bit. Captain Gold had told them all up front that the mission would be scuttled should any signs of eroding relations with the Tholians appear, and an exchange of fire definitely seemed to qualify as erosion to him. Diplomats were sure to exercise their influence to pull the da Vinci from the mission, whether or not her crew was intact.

  He had to be ready to say good-bye to his captain, his friends, and his . . . his . . .

  Oh, Sonnie.

  But Corsi did not appear content to keep her views to herself. “What, we’re going to abandon the away team? The Tholians fired first! We didn’t start this fight, but we damn well better finish it.” Duffy watched as Corsi narrowed her eyes and scanned the others seated at the table for a sign of support before adding, “Let them say what they want back on Earth. Regardless of whether we bring the Defiant home, we’re getting our away team back.”

  “It is a bold stand you hope to take,” Abramowitz replied, “but I don’t think you’re being realistic.” Her tone was clipped and polite, and Duffy knew it was a signal that she was already beginning to lose patience with the security chief. The women’s dueling edginess would quickly become as volatile as a mix of matter and antimatter.

  “Realistic is a quantum torpedo,” Corsi snapped. “You think sweet-talking a Tholian at this point is—”

  “ People!”

  Duffy was as surprised as everyone else when the word exploded from his mouth with such force and volume. All eyes turned to him, and no one said anything for several seconds, the only sounds audible in the room being that of the ventilation system and the omnipresent hum of the ship’s engines.

  Taking a moment to clear his throat, he began again in a more reserved tone. “People, don’t think for a minute that Captain Scott isn’t doing everything he can on his end to keep us here. Don’t stop believing that Captain Gold isn’t working to get the Defiant to our side of the rift.”

  He paused, focusing on Corsi as she sat cross-armed in her chair. “But we’re not disobeying any order that comes from Starfleet. For now, though, we’ll focus on doing everything we can until that order comes down.”

  Silence hung in the briefing room as Duffy asserted his command over his fellow officers and friends. He racked his mind for some words of support and confidence, the kind of statements that seemed to roll off Captain Gold’s tongue in tough situations. Now was the time to be a captain, but all he felt like was a babysitter trying to quell a squabble between sisters while Mom and Dad were at the holotheater.

  I can’t very well send them to their rooms.

  A flash of amber light caught Duffy’s eye as it glowed on the tabletop near Faulwell’s hand. The linguist tapped a control on the keypad near his arm, then looked up at Duffy with sympathetic eyes.

  “It’s an incoming message from Starfleet Command. Do you want to take it in private?”

  Duffy shook his head. “No. Put it on the viewer.”

  As Captain Scott’s wizened face filled the screen on the briefing room’s wall, Duffy felt some of the group’s tension seep away. The engineer’s creased visage, his friendly eyes, and the hint of a smile were just what everyone needed at that very moment.

  “It’s not the worst news I’ll be bringin’ ye, Mr. Duffy,” the face on the viewer began, “but the situation isn’t good.”

  Steeling himself for the report, Duffy nodded. “We’re ready.”

  Scott drew a breath before continuing. “Our ambassador to the Tholians is recommending that we scrap the mission. He wants the Federation to formally apologize to the commander of the ship ye fired on, and to the Magistrates of the Assembly. He says we’re on the brink of losin’ it all as far as relations are concerned, and that the Defiant isn’t worth it.”

  Duffy’s mind was numbed by Scott’s words, which echoed those of Abramowitz moments before. Rather than lose his focus, though, Duffy fell back on his ready wit. “And exactly how is this not the worst news, Captain?”

  Scott allowed a small smile before replying. “We’ve got the support of Admiral Ross, and that carries a lot of weight with the Federation Council. The admiral is arguing for the da Vinci to hold its position, saying that it was poor frame of mind and the effects of interspace, not a botched cooperative effort, that led us to this point. He says that it just might be the Tholians who do the apologizin’ once this is all over.”

  Releasing a breath, Duffy relaxed a bit. “So what do we do in the meantime?”

  “Tell me how your repairs are farin’.”

  It was a question Duffy hadn’t expected, as he had explained to the S.C.E. leader in detail during their earlier conversation just what damage the starship had suffered. “All systems are operational except for the warp drive, just like—”

  “Ah,” Scott said with a sigh that was almost too dramatic. “And that’s givin’ ye lots of trouble to fix so close to the point of interphase, ye say.”

  “No, sir,” Duffy replied, his puzzlement growing by the second. “We’re almost—”

  “It may take hours to repair before ye can even head back to Federation space.”

  Realization finally dawned, and a smile spread across Duffy’s face as he began to pick up on Captain Scott’s lead. It
was a look that was shared by everyone else at the table.

  “Oh, yes, sir. I’d say at least three—”

  “Twelve hours to repair, ye say? I’ll let Admiral Ross know right away.” Scott nodded grimly and twitched a cheek. Duffy almost laughed aloud.

  Did he just wink at me?

  “Set your team to work, Mr. Duffy,” Scott said, then adjusted his tone to a more serious timbre. “But I’ll be needin’ a word alone with ye now.”

  Here it comes, Duffy thought as everyone else rose from their seats, moving with only slightly less speed than they might exhibit during an emergency evacuation of the ship. Only Stevens paused just long enough to offer a “thumbs-up” gesture and to mouth the words “Good luck” before he, too, was gone. In seconds Duffy was alone in the room, leaving him to look squarely at the viewer and ready to get called down by the chief of the S.C.E. himself.

  Well, it was fun while it lasted. So long, and thanks for all the . . .

  “Mr. Duffy,” the seasoned engineer said, “did I ever tell ye what the most frightenin’ words I ever heard spoken on the bridge of a starship were?” Duffy shook his head as the veteran engineer continued. “Well, here they are: ‘Mr. Scott, you have the conn.’”

  Duffy laughed in spite of himself, realizing now that the captain understood his plight all too well. He didn’t know many engineers who had risen through the ranks of command, at least not the engineers he perceived as being cut from the same cloth as he was. After all, why would an engineer want to command a starship rather than spend that time tearing it apart and putting it back together?

  “An engineer’s job isn’t just to keep a starship runnin’. It’s to keep her crew safe,” said Scott. “Some of the best years I had in Starfleet were when I was third in command of the Enterprise. Keepin’ the crew safe; that’s what I kept in mind every time I had to sit in the center seat.

  “Mr. Duffy, I’m gonna level with ye. That diplomat Marshall wants to hang this whole mess on you. He thinks that an immature officer, a mere engineer unfit for command caused the whole thing.” Scott leaned forward, his eyes fixing on the younger man. “I know he’s wrong. We’ll show him he’s wrong, Mr. Duffy.”

  Pride. That’s what shone in Captain Scott’s eyes as he spoke. Pride in the Starfleet Corps of Engineers, pride in the crew of the da Vinci, pride in the engineer who stepped from third in command to leading a ship in a mission that now was so much more than salvaging a relic from a bygone era.

  I can do this.

  “Yes, we will, Captain,” said Duffy, now rising from his chair. “Just buy me the time.”

  Scott nodded a few times, forcing his lips together tightly in a small frown. To Kieran Duffy, the old engineer appeared lost in his thoughts.

  “Laddie, once I thought I was leavin’ my captain in that same damnable place. I’ll push like hell to keep ye from thinkin’ the same. Scott out.”

  CHAPTER

  3

  With only the light from her helmet lamps to guide the way and the sound of her own breathing to keep her company, Gomez pulled herself through the Jefferies tube and deeper into the bowels of the Defiant. Despite there being no gravity to impede her progress or to grab her and send her plunging headlong down a maintenance shaft, it was still difficult going. Her environment suit, designed for use in open space or on the exposed surface of an otherwise inhospitable planet, only seemed to hamper her movements here. Junctions and intersections were particularly challenging, as she had to be aware of snagging her suit on exposed controls or anything else sticking out from the sides of the crawlway.

  And on top of it all, the walls were closing in on her. She was sure of it.

  The thought came unbidden, surging to the front of her consciousness. She knew it was an odd notion and completely baseless, but she couldn’t shake it. The Jefferies tube was contracting around her. The walls threatened to crush the life out of her, chased back only when she shone her light at them.

  “The tube is not getting smaller,” Gomez scolded herself. “It’s your imagination, so get over it and keep moving.” And so she did, pulling her weightless body through the crawlspace as quickly as she could, and doing her best to ignore the oppressive advance of the walls around her.

  Movement ahead caught her attention, along with a swath of color contrasting with the dull gray dominating the rest of the tunnel. Gomez paused in her crawling, orienting herself so that her helmet lamps could illuminate the section of tube ahead of her. Her eyes focused on the source of the movement, and she felt a shiver travel the entire length of her body.

  It was the skeleton of yet another Defiant crewmember, dressed in a red jumpsuit and floating freely in the confines of the Jefferies tube. The bones of the feet were bare, and there was no sign of the boots the man had once worn.

  Man? Woman? Gomez had no idea what gender the crewmember might have been. She was only reasonably sure that the skeleton was even human. Had this person been an engineer, toiling away in the depths of the starship, only to be overcome by the effects of interspace? He or she had been isolated here, cut off from the rest of the ship’s crew. A maintenance crawlway seemed to Gomez to be a particularly lonely place to die.

  However, that thought didn’t bother her nearly as much as the realization that the skeleton of the hapless victim was blocking her path through the Jefferies tube. She would have to maneuver past the dead crewman in order to continue forward.

  “Dear God . . . ” she whispered, noticing the shake in her voice as the words escaped her lips. There was no way she could allow herself to touch the skeleton. The very idea of coming into contact with the crewman’s remains revolted her.

  What the hell’s the matter with me? Her mind screamed the question at her. She had to press forward, of course. It was the only way to get to Lense and Blue. That’s what she needed to focus on, not the tightness of the crawlspace or the lifeless body floating before her or . . .

  “Stop it!” she shouted, her voice echoing in the confines of her helmet. Then she remained in place for the additional couple of minutes it took to bring her rapid breathing down to something approaching normal. “You can do this,” she told herself. “You have to. Pattie and Elizabeth need you.”

  Yes, that was it. She needed to concentrate on Pattie and Elizabeth and the fact that they were trapped outside the ship and needed her help to get back inside.

  “Gomez to Lense,” she called out as she activated her communicator, painfully aware of the detectable nervousness in her voice. “How are you making out? How’s Pattie?”

  “I’m at the airlock, Sonya,” the doctor replied. “Pattie is still unconscious, but her readings are stable.” She, too, had apparently noticed Gomez’s anxiety. “Are you okay? Is something wrong?”

  Gomez forced herself to take several deep breaths before replying. It would do no good to display any false bravado, she knew, as Lense would see through the façade with little effort. Better to be open about what was troubling her.

  “I’m feeling a bit claustrophobic, Elizabeth,” she admitted. “I’ve spent my fair share of time crawling around Jefferies tubes, but I’ve never felt like this before. And there’s something else.” In halting, hushed tones, Gomez described the body blocking her path in the crawlway.

  Enough of this! It was time to move, she decided. Lense and Blue didn’t have all day to wait for her to get her act together. With a final, cleansing breath, she reached for a handhold and began to pull herself forward once more.

  “I’m moving again, Elizabeth,” she said, hoping her voice sounded more confident to the doctor than it did to her.

  “Good,” Lense replied. “Sonya, just talk to me if you start to feel nervous or uneasy again.”

  “Okay,” Gomez said, nodding though there was no one around to see the action. She didn’t care, her attention instead riveted on the task at hand. She closed her eyes and focused on the technical schematic Soloman had shown her, displaying the memorized route to the airlock in her mind’
s eye.

  Her concentration faltered, though, when she felt her hand brush across something that was most definitely not part of the Jefferies tube. It was soft, yielding to her touch, and it moved slightly at her approach.

  The crewman.

  Almost immediately Gomez felt her pulse begin to quicken and her breathing accelerate. Still, she kept pushing forward, gritting her teeth and clenching her eyes closed even tighter as she felt the skeleton of the dead crewmember begin to pass down the length of her environment suit. Her mind tortured her with images of bones shifting beneath the material of the crewman’s jumpsuit. Could she actually hear the sound of those bones rubbing against one another?

  And then, the one thing she feared most happened.

  She stopped moving.

  Still gripping a handhold, Gomez tried to pull herself forward again but failed. She was stuck. Without thinking, she opened her eyes, only to see the skull of the doomed crewman plastered against the faceplate of her helmet.

  The scream that tore itself from her throat echoed in the narrow width of the crawlway.

  “Sonya!” Lense’s voice called out over her communicator. “What is it?”

  Gomez didn’t respond. She tuned out her stranded teammate as she thrashed about, flailing her arms and kicking her legs against the sides of the tunnel in a frantic effort to free herself. One hand swiped at the skull still leering at her, forcing it away and up toward the ceiling of the tube. She felt something snap like brittle wood splintering and then she was free, pulling herself once more through the tunnel with no thought as to getting snagged on some projection or slamming headfirst into a wall or maintenance hatch.

  Suddenly the cramped walls of the Jefferies tube fell away, and Gomez spilled into one of the Defiant’s corridors. She barely managed to throw her arms out ahead of her, preventing herself from careening into the passageway’s far bulkhead. As her hands touched the wall, instinct and training took over, orienting her body so that her magnetized boots could rest once again on the cold, dusty deck.