Chapter Ten.

RIKER IGNORED the taste of blood in his mouth and tried to get a handle on what was happening to the Enterprise. It wasn't easy.

Seconds ago, the hatch in the Dyson Sphere had closed behind them, trapping them within. And in that same moment, the stars had disappeared, replaced with a bluish-green sky.

But they still weren't slowing down. He could tell by the readouts on the monitor that projected from his armrest. They were still plunging headlong toward the center of the sphere-and at the center was the hideous, glorious sun.

The impulse engines were struggling mightily against the forces that had pulled them in. The ship trembled with the effort, lights flickering on the bridge as engineering greedily sucked up what little power they had left. But it was all to no avail.

Only moments ago, the first officer had been glad to see the hatch opening in the sphere. It had meant they weren't going to splatter themselves all over the thing's surface.

Now he felt a little differently. At least a collision would have yielded them some hope of survival. h.e.l.l, the Jenolen had crashed and stayed largely intact, hadn't it? But plunging into the heart of a star, captive or otherwise, was a death sentence no one escaped from.

"Auxiliary power failing," said Rager. There were beads of sweat forming on her forehead; she wiped at them with her sleeve.

"Hull temperature approaching maximum tolerance levels," announced Worf. His lips were drawn back over his teeth in an expression of defiance.

"We are pa.s.sing through the sphere's interior atmosphere," said Data. "The resulting friction on the hull is causing the increase."

"Raise shields," commanded Riker, dreading the response.

"Minimal shield power," snarled Worf. "Hull temperature now critical."

Data turned to look at the captain, who was still kneeling beside Moreno, the fallen crew member. "The resonance frequency of the tractor beams is incompatible with our power systems. Warp and impulse engine relays have been overloaded. I am attempting to compensate."

Moreno chose that moment to moan softly and roll over. She tried to get up, but Picard restrained her.

"You've suffered a wound to the head," he told her.

"Lie still until we can get Dr. Crusher to examine you."

The woman looked up at him. "Aye, sir," she said dutifully, wincing at the pain her wound was causing her.

The captain turned to Data again. "How long, Commander?"

"Difficult to say, sir," the android replied. His fingers were flying over his control panel as fast as the computer could respond. "It depends on how extensively the circuits have been damaged."

The captain frowned and looked to his first officer. Riker frowned back. They both knew that Data's efforts would prove futile. Even if he got the connections rerouted, they didn't have the engine power to fight the sphere's tractor beams.

Riker felt a drop of sweat roll down the side of his face. d.a.m.n, he thought. It was getting hot in here, wasn't it? Though it was nothing compared to the temperatures in that furnace of a sun dead ahead.

At the sound of the turbolift doors opening, he turned and saw Beverly Crusher emerge with a couple of nurses and a stretcher. Dropping down to her knees beside Moreno in one fluid motion, the doctor ran her tricorder over the woman's head and neck area.

"Minor concussion," she concluded. "Can you walk?" she asked Moreno.

"I... I think so," her patient said. And to demonstrate, she got to her feet, albeit with Picard's help. Then, turning to the captain, she asked "Sir... if it's all right with you, can I stay on the bridge to help?"

The captain's voice was firm. "I'll find it more helpful knowing that you're receiving the attention you need."

"I agree," said Crusher. "Come on." And putting her arm around Moreno, she ushered her in the direction of the lift.

But before she actually got in, the doctor took a look at the viewscreen, and the ball of fire with which they were due to collide. Then she caught sight of Riker and saw the hard cast of his eyes.

"Good luck," she told him. A moment later, she and her people had entered the lift and the doors were whispering shut behind them.

There had to be something they could do, the first officer told himself. Hadn't they been in impossible positions before? And hadn't they always managed to somehow get out of them? If only ...

Before he could complete the thought, the Enterprise shuddered violently and wrenched them out of their seats again. This time, Riker was better prepared; he was able to grab his monitor, or he would have been flipped halfway across the deck a second time.

The shaking stopped as abruptly as it had begun. The first officer got to his feet and looked around. No one seemed badly injured, though as before, only Data had kept his seat. He turned to the viewscreen, hoping he'd get some clue as to what had happened.

He wasn't disappointed. The bluish sky on the main viewer had faded away and was replaced by a clearer view of the captive star. The interior surface of the sphere could be dimly seen in the far distance.

"We've cleared the atmosphere," reported Lieutenant Worf. "Hull temperature dropping back to safety levels."

"But we're still headed for the sun," the captain reminded them. Pulling down on the front of his tunic, he descended to the command center and came to stand beside Riker. "Suggestions?"

"What the...?" The exclamation came from Rager.

The first officer looked at her. "Something, Ensign?"

Rager shook her head in disbelief. "The tractor beams have released us, sir." She broke out into a grin. "We're free."

Was it possible? Riker checked it out on his monitor. Sure enough, there was no longer any evidence of the sphere's tractor beams. He grunted. A stroke of luck-not that he was complaining.

"Hold position here," he told Rager. "At least until we can get our bearings." They needed time to lick their wounds, to regroup. To figure out what in blazes to do next.

Picard turned to his second officer. "Full sensor sweep, Mr. Data. Where are we?"

"We are approximately ninety million kilometers from the star's photosphere," came the answer. Data paused, making adjustments in his sensor controls. "Sensors record-"

Suddenly, Rager broke in. "Sir ... the inertial motion from the tractor beams is still carrying us forward."

Riker exchanged glances with the captain as he descended to the conn. Rager was shaking her head.

"The impulse engines are off-line," she said, "and the maneuvering system's been shorted out." She looked up at Riker helplessly. "I can't stop our forward momentum, sir."

Figures, the first officer thought. I should have known it was too good to be true. I should have smelled it.

"The inertial motion imparted by the tractor beams is carrying us directly toward the star," Data added-as calmly as if he were reciting poetry.

But those who heard his p.r.o.nouncement weren't nearly so calm about it. Suddenly, they were back on the firing line.

"Come on," said Scott-rather gently, Geordi thought. Maybe too gently. "Ye can do it. I know ye can."

He was talking to an open computer panel in the Ops center of the Jenolen, trying to coax the system into working. La Forge scanned the readout on the diagnostic device he'd brought in his equipment case. Hooked up to the console above the opening, it was blinking and flashing in response to Scott's machinations.

"Dinnae give me a hard time now," the older man scolded. "Or I'll just let ye sit there and gather dust for another seventy-five years."

But despite the banter, Scott didn't seem to have his heart in it. There was something missing ... the fire that had made him such a pain in the neck back in engineering, the brazen self-confidence that had eventually caused Geordi to blow up at him.

It didn't take an empath to see that he'd been demoralized. And though it wasn't all his fault, the younger man had certainly had a hand in that.

La Forge had meant to apologize to Scott as soon as they boarded the Jenolen. He really had. But there was something in the man's demeanor that said he wouldn't want to hear it... that it actually might have made him feel worse.

So Geordi had refrained from mentioning the incident in the engine room. But that didn't mean he wasn't going to try to make amends. He would just bide his time and look for the proper opening.

"Ah," said Scott. He nodded approvingly. "There we go." He turned to his companion. "The primary computer database should be on-line now. Give 'er a try, Commander."

Geordi made some adjustments and took another look at his readout. A couple of lights flashed on the face of the device.

"Okay," he said. "I've got three access lines to the central core now." He frowned, wishing he had better news. "But still no data."

Scott cursed beneath his breath. "I thought I had it that time." Thinking for a moment, he applied himself to the open panel again. "Here, maybe this'll do it. h.e.l.l, it'd better." After a minute of remanipulating the circuitry, he sat back on his haunches. "Let 'er rip."

Geordi did as he was instructed. There was no improvement.

"Nothing?" said the older man.

"Nothing yet," La Forge corrected. But the distinction seemed to have been lost on Scott. He shook his head, too irritated to continue.

Softly, he said "Bunch of old, useless garbage ..."

"What?" asked Geordi.

Scott sighed. "I said it's old, Mr. La Forge. The controller can't handle the interface of your new power converter."

Scott opened another panel and began tinkering with the inner workings. After a moment, however, he gave up.

"This equipment was designed for a different era," Scott went on. "Now it's just a lot of junk." The older man looked depressed.

He was talking about more than just the equipment, Geordi realized. He was talking about himself.

"I don't know," said Geordi. "Looks to me like some of it has held together pretty well."

Scott looked at him disbelievingly. "Come on," he said. "Ye cannae mean that, lad. It's a century out of date. How can ye use something that antiquated? It's just..." He slammed the panel closed in disgust. "Obsolete," he finished.

Geordi wanted to reach out to the man in some way. He considered the console he was working on and ran his hand over it.

"That's interesting, Mr. Scott... because I was just thinking that a lot of these systems haven't changed much in seventy-five years."

Scott was barely paying attention. He was too wrapped up in his own thoughts. Geordi moved over to the transporter console.

"Aside from a few minor improvements," he went on, "this transporter is virtually identical to the ones we use on the Enterprise." He gestured to the other consoles. "The subs.p.a.ce radio and sensors operate on the same basic principles, and impulse engine design hasn't changed much in almost two hundred years. If it weren't for the structural damage, this ship could still be in service today."

Scott considered what Geordi was saying. "Maybe so," he replied. "But when ye can build a ship like her Enterprise, a twenty-fourth century marvel of technology ... who'd want to pilot an old bucket like this one?"

"I don't know;" said Geordi appraisingly. "The Enterprise has her strengths, but she's also got her weaknesses. Fix that engine and I bet this ship would run circles around her at impulse speeds." A beat. "Just because something's old doesn't mean you have to throw it away."

They looked at each other for a moment. Geordi could feel something happening between them. A bond was forming. Maybe even a friendship. Scott was the one who finally dissolved the moment, moving back to the computer console.

"We used to have something called a dynamic mode converter," he mused out loud. Ye would nae have something like that in yer fancy new Enterprise, would ye?"

Geordi thought about it for a second or two. "I haven't seen one of those in a long time. But I might have something similar."

Hitting his communicator emblem, he said "La Forge to Enterprise."

No one answered. Geordi hit the emblem again.

"La Forge to Enterprise, come in please."

Still nothing. How strange ...

Scott darted him a look of concern. Geordi moved to the sensor console.

"Interference?" asked Scott.

Geordi worked the sensor controls. "No. Unfortunately."

A moment later, the sensor monitors showed him the astounding truth. "d.a.m.n," he whispered.

"What is it?" Scott pressed.

Geordi turned to him. "They're gone."

"We will enter the sun's photosphere in three minutes," said Data.

"Helm control still inoperative," Rager reported.

Picard tried his best to stay calm, to keep a clear head. But it was easier said than done. The captive star filled the main viewscreen as the Enterprise rushed toward it-as if eager to feel its nuclear-fusion embrace.

There had to be a way out of this. He wouldn't accept defeat-not while he had a brain and some time to use it.

Suddenly, it came to him. He turned to Riker, who had replaced Moreno at the aft engineering station-where Geordi would have been if he hadn't beamed over to the Jenolen.

"Number One-are the maneuvering thrusters online?" he asked.

Though his expression said he failed to see what the captain was getting at, Riker worked furiously at the controls. After a second or two, he nodded.

"I've got thirty percent power on the starboard thrusters. Fifteen percent on the port thrusters. But it won't be enough to brake our inertia."

"No," agreed Picard. "But it may just be enough to put us in orbit and hold our distance from the star."

For a brief moment, Riker smiled. Then he turned to the monitor again, preparing himself for what was ahead.

Next, the captain addressed his android second officer. "Mr. Data-calculate the minimum change in our trajectory necessary to avoid the star."