The Escape (14 page)

Carey stood at the security console. "I was running standard scans for movement in the area around the away team," he said as soon as he saw Chakotay and Janeway, "when it occurred to me that there may be 147 movement in the old tunnels belground. So I expanded my scans to search below the surface." Janeway and Chakotay crowded in beside Carey.

He brought up a screen that showed a tunnel, fairly large and running-in two directions. "This tunnel is a quarter of a kilometer below the surface," Carey said, "and fairly close to the area below Tuvok and Paris. I followed it and expanded my search to cover the entire base. Here's what I found." He tapped the console, changing the screen picture. First he showed the huge base; then he overlaid a very clear pattern of black lines and spots over it. He placed a large spot in the middle of the screen. The picture looked like a spider with a huge number of legs. The body of the spider was a large cavern. Janeway glanced at the readout. The main cavem was a kilometer below the surface.

"I found most of this in the initial searches," Chakotay said. "I know, sir," Carey said.

"These caverns, like everything else down there, are all long abandoned. Almost all, that is." Janeway glanced at Carey. He was bouncing on his toes, ever so lightly, but enough to ma " ke himself bob. This discovery had him excited for the first time since the original away team disappeared. He had found something important.

"On a hunch," he said, "I scanned the underground chamber for the chroniton particles similar to the ones the shuttle emits." He paused for a moment, then pulled up a new overlay. "I found this." Janeway leaned forward so she could see the screen better. Near one side of the main underground chamber, in a much smaller room, was a strong source of chroniton particles, continuous and flowing. "After I called for you," he said, "I scanned the entire base for traces of those particles." Five more green dots appeared on the map.

Janeway's heart started to pound hard. Finally, something that-tbey might be able to use. She wasn't sure how yet, but she knew they had made a breakthrough. "Captain," Carey said, "the shuttle that took the first away team is still omitting a weak stream of chroniton particles. It's as if the engine is on standby." Janeway studied the screen. The strongest source of particles was in the underground chamber. But scattered near tunnels throughout the base were five live ships, including the one that took the away team. Janeway patted Carey on the shoulder.

"Nice work. It looks as if this dead base isn't quite as dead as we thought it was." "This might be part of that solution you were, looking for, Captain," Chakotay said.

"Exactly." Janeway turned to Carey.

"Lieutenant, form two engineering parties of no more than four each. I want you to take apart two of the dead shuttles and discover how they work. More importantly, I want to know how we can track one through time." Carey grinned. "I was hoping you'd want me to do that, Captain. My teams and equipment will be ready in fifteen minutes." Janeway smiled as well. It felt good to have something to took for, a few possibilities, some real hope. Now it felt as if they were really doing something.

Paris was convinced his face was going to be bleeding by the time they got back. The wind had come up even stronger, blowing the tiny grains of sand like comsmall flying razor blades, cutting and chipping away at any exposed skin. Even Tuvok walked with his head down and his eyes protected over his tricorder. They would check out this hunch, and then get the hell back to Voyager.

It took longer than they expected to reach the fifth ship. The wind was cold and sliced through Paris's thick regulation jacket. He stopped below the ship and scanned for movement. The reading he got disappointed him. Nothing moved except a metal plate inside, rocking as the ship swayed in the wind. Paris had an odd feeling about this ship, but he couldn't tell if the feeling was a warning or a push to go ahead. "It appears to be empty," Tuvok said, studying his tricorder. "Yep," Paris said. "So did the pavement when that ship started flying at us." The shuttle leaned to one side slightly, but the landing gear seemed to be solid enough, and the ramp led up into a dark opening in the center. Paris walked to the bottom of the ramp.

"Let me give it a quick. check," Paris said, not really wanting to climb that dark ramp. "Then we can head back." Tlivok nodded.

Paris took a step. His breath was coming hard. That ghostly visitation on the last trip had spooked him more than he wanted to admit. "Tuvok-Paris." The captain's voice shattered his resolve.

Paris sighed with relief at the sudden reprieve.

"Are you having any luck tracking our mysterious ghost?" "No, Captain," Tuvok said.

"I'm planning on beaming down two engineering teams to work over the abandoned ships beside the live one.

What size security force would you suggest to accompany them?" "Five for each team," Tuvok said without hesitation. "Four stationed around the shuttle and one inside with the engineers." "Fine," Janeway said. "I want you both to beam back aboard. I have another mission I need you for immediately. I'll meet you in the transporter room." "Yes, Captain," Tlivok said.

Apparently Tuvok was anxious to be off the surface too. Paris glared at the ship. Next time. He would get to whatever bothered him next time.

Tuvok tapped his comm badge. "Two to beam up." Paris glanced up at the ship. That was one hunch he wasn't going to get to prove. At least not at the moment. i i i 15 DRICKEL HELD HIS BREATH AND LISTENED TO THE VOICES OF THE PlanetHoppers outside the ship. He tried to make out the words, but he could barely hear their voices. The wind muffled the sound and broke it apart. The thick.hull of the shuttle didn't help either. He kept his finger on his personal transporter in case the Planet-. Hoppers came in the door. Before they had arrived he had managed to push the heavy metal ceiling plate off his shoulders, but the weight of it still pinned his hips and legs to the floor. With his arms free he had done a quick check of his injuries. Beside some bruises, he had a badly sprained right shoulder and a possible concussion.

All in all, he had been very lucky. When he got back he would consider requesting a regulation requiring two Watchmen to respond to alarms.

Of course, if he got back, he would prove again to himself that he really didn't need an assistant.

The wind died for a moment and the voices suddenly sounded louder. The loneliness he had felt in the caverns returned, along with a sense of helplessness.

He was getting old. That was the only explanation.

Early in the Watchman's job he would have welcomed a challenge like this. If the PlanetHoppers made it to the top of the ramp, they would see the light from his lamp. They wouldn't be able to see the lamp itself, because it and his bag were shielded, but they'd see the light. And from there it wouldn't take them long to find him under the metal plate. He pulled his scanner off his belt and checked to see if it was broken.

Luckily it wasn't. But s " hould he use it and risk the chance that they might be able to trace the scan? Or should he simply wait?

He waited, and kept his finger on the transporter button. If they came up the ramp, he would transport out. They'd find the lamp and maybe the bag, but not much else.

He strained to listen for more voices, but only the wind and the sound of his heart filled the silence.

Maybe they had gone.

Could he be that lucky9 He doubted it. This group of PlanetHoppers didn't seem like the kind who gave up easily. And they were very sharp. He had a good fight ahead of him. He actually relished that.

It had been a long time since he had had a real challenge.

So he waited, the heavy metal plate holding him pinned firmly to the deck. He could feel his legs, but not move them. He just hoped that when he got the plate off they would move.

The silence was more unnerving than the-Noices. When the wind jarred the shuttle, he winced, expecting the PlanetHoppers. But they didn't come.

After ten Real Time minutes he decided to risk a quick scan. A second-long scan told him that the two PlanetHoppers who had been outside the ship were gone. A three-second scan told him that no PlanetHoppers were on the surface at all. For some reason they had all gone back to their ship.

He took a few deep breaths of the dry, dusty air. He'd been lucky that time. He hooked the scanner back to his belt, then went back to working the heavy plate. It moved a fraction of a millimeter and a sharp pain shot through his hip.

"Dammit," he said, relaxing on the floor as much as he could. Moving this off by hand was going to do nothing but hurt him more. He was going to be forced to take-a chance with dropping the invisibility shields and beaming out.

He studied just exactly where he wanted to beam out to. Twenty meters out and ten down would put him on the surface outside the ship. That would be a safe enough distance.

But it would be cold.

And he would be in the wind again.

He promised himself that if the damage was worse than he thought, he would transport to the caverns for protection and warmth. He knew that he probably wouldn't need to do that, but the promise provided incentive.

Badly needed incentive.

He would almost rather lie under the plate than face that deep cold."...He was getting old.

He doublechecked his equipment as best he could.

Then he flicked off his invisibility screen and almost with the same movement hit the transport code.

The weight of the heavy metal plate suddenly disappeared from his legs, and he found himself lying in the same position on concrete surface. The wind seemed even colder than he expected. Hard blasts of sand hit his face and got in his mouth before he could close it. The sand tasted gritty and instantly made him thirsty.

He quickly flicked his invisibility screen back on and then made sure it was functioning properly. It was.

Now for the hard part.

He tried to stand.

He used his elbows to raise himself to a sitting position. Pain shot through his shoulder and hips. He waited until it subsided before pushing himself all the way to his feet.

The strong gusts of wind seemed to make him even more wobbly than he would have been, but both legs seemed to be working. His hip was stiff and he knew it was going to be very sore. He took a few shaking steps and was relieved to discover that he could walk.

"Good," he said. The cold wind took the word and sucked it away before it got to his ears. Other than his shoulder, the soreness in his hip, and the bump on his head, he was fine. Definitely not injured enough to abandon the mission yet. Fifteen Real Time years ago he'd finished a three-day mission with a broken wrist and two cracked ribs from a fall down a hole. He could keep going this time.

He moved back to the wrecked shuttle and up the ramp into the cloud of dust still billowing inside. When he beamed out, the plate must have fallen to the floor, kicking up an incredible ardount of dust. Even with the glowing light he could barely find the lantern and his bag. After a moment he found himself coughing and each cough jarred his sore shoulder. He couldn't stay here.

The ceiling wasn't secure, and it would take forever for the dust to settle. He needed another place to warm up, clean up, and rest until the PlanetHoppers came back.

He had only one real option.

With his good hand he put the lantern back in his bag and picked up the bag.

Then, taking his time, he fought his way against the wind to the working ship the PlanetHoppers had been so interested in. If he was going to guard it, he might as well use it.

The inside of the working ship was almost clean and warm compared to the one he'd just come from. He knew which ten seats of the hundred triggered the automatic time jump, so he stayed away from them. He glanced around and sighed. This shuttle would be home for a while, at least until the PlanetHoppers came back.

He set his bag on the seat closest to him. In here, at least, he knew the ship wouldn't come down on him. He could guard it at the same time as chase the PlanetHoppers back into deep space. A good choice. Too bad he hadn't thought of it in the first place.

He took a cloth out of his bag and dampened it from his drinking supply, then wiped his face. It came away covered with dirt and he repeated the process three more times until he felt halfway clean.

"Now let's see if I can brace the shoulder a little." He went to work, pleased that he had been clearheaded enough to make a strong decision. When, five minutes later, eighteen PlanetHoppers appeared on the pavement outside the ship, he wondered just how smart his choice had been.

I i! i Is Pmus's HAND'S wERE jusThat s-rAR'-R+ TO GET WARM AGMN.

An ache, bone deep, had developed in his fingers.

The ache would turn to a sharp stinging pain before all the chill had left his hands. He and Tuvok had been exposed to the wind too long. The extreme-weather regulation clothing protected, but nothing except shelter could protect forever. Even though he hadn't had the chance to investigate that ship, he was glad he had come back to Voyager. They were standing in the transporter room, waiting for Janeway. She had said she would be arriving shortly with their orders. Paris would have loved enough time for a quick shower and a chance to get the sand out of his ears. Some of it had worked its way into his nostrils and mouth. Every time he bit down, grains of sand ground between his teeth. lao At least Janeway had provided for their nourishment. When Paris and Tuvok arrived, Ensign Hoffman had given them each covered tureens of soup. Paris's was plain tomato-after his temper tantrum the day he arrived on Voyager, the crew had not let him forget that he liked his tomato soup plain and hot, thank you, no mushrooms, no rice, and no Bolianstyle cheese towers.

"I believe I got yours," Tavok said, extending his soup tureen. "Tomato?" "Very funny," Paris said.

"I am not attempting humor," Tuvok said.

"Right," Paris said. "You're trying to be polite. I know." But he didn't believe it.

Some of that, he knew, was because he was still smarting from the hunch comment-and. from the possibility that the comment might have been right.