Broken Bow - Diane Carey [45]
“The captain is injured,” she said. “I’m taking command of the Enterprise.”
Dad didn’t seem surprised. Why not?
CHAPTER 11
“YOU’RE NOT IN COMMAND YET. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
“The captain is incapacitated. My action is logical.”
“That’s what you think.”
Trip Tucker shed his wet field jacket and dumped it on the hangar deck beside the scarred and steaming shuttlepod, leaving him in a clammy, snowcaked uniform. He watched with dismay as the medics disappeared into the turbolift with the captain on an antigrav gurney. Things weren’t supposed to be this way. Who would design a scenario like this? The captain incapacitated two days into the mission?
What kind of bolt had struck him? The wound had been chewing away at itself all the way back here, as if burning from the inside out. Tucker’s innards twisted at the memory of it, of Archer’s face as consciousness faded, giving the only relief from what must’ve been torture.
He wracked his mind for signs that the whole episode had been a trap engineered from inside this ship. Had T’Pol given Archer false information about the Klingon’s activities? Everything stemmed from her. Now she was an inch from making the next command decisions.
“He saved your life,” he told her. “You owe him a buffer zone. Give him time to come out of the sedatives they just gave him.”
“Dr. Phlox is working on the wound,” T’Pol said. “The captain will see to himself, as we all must. Command responsibility is now mine. Even you cannot dispute it.”
“Watch me. I’m going to check on the captain.”
He started toward the exit.
“You haven’t been scanned for contaminants,” T’Pol called. “Tucker! The safety of the rest of the crew!”
That stopped him. Damn, it did. He couldn’t much comment on her responsibilities if he didn’t oblige his own.
“Hell, all right ...”
“Is this really necessary?”
Tucker shifted his feet uneasily as he and T’Pol stood side by side in the decon chamber, still in their wet uniforms, now bathed in ultraviolet light.
Dr. Phlox was here instead of sickbay—probably a good sign for the captain.
“The other scans were negative,” he said. “You two, unfortunately, were exposed to a protocystian spore. I’ve loaded the appropriate decon-gel into compartment B.”
Tucker groaned and began to strip out of his uniform. Beside him, T’Pol did the same.
“Tell Mr. Mayweather to prepare to leave orbit,” T’Pol said to the doctor.
“How’s the captain?” Tucker bluntly reminded, insisting that she not forget the weight of what she was about to do.
“I’m treating his wound,” Phlox said.
“Will he be all right?”
“Eventually.”
A metal slat slid shut, cutting off Tucker and T’Pol from the rest of the ship. They each turned to a locker, opened it, and deposited their contaminated uniforms inside. Tucker tossed his in. T’Pol used the hook.
Tucker stripped down to his shorts. T’Pol had some sort of a cropped T-shirt top on as well as her underwear. She opened compartment B and pulled out two beakers of gelatin, deep blue and gooey.
Without comment she turned to him, handed him a beaker, and they began spreading the goop on each other. The phosphorescent gel glowed in the ultraviolet light, turning them both into Halloween characters.
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Tucker began, “but aren’t you just kind of an ‘observer’ on this mission? I don’t remember anyone telling me you were a member of Starfleet.”
“My Vulcan rank supersedes yours,” she said.
He bristled. “Apples and oranges. This is an Earth vessel. You’re in no position to take command.”
“As soon as we’re through here, I’ll contact Ambassador Soval. He’ll speak to your superiors, and I’m certain they’ll support my authority in this situation.”
Tucker clamped his lips. If she made the call, this mission was over.
“You must really be proud of yourself. You can put an end to this mission while the captain’s still unconscious in sickbay. You won’t even have to look him in the eye.”
“Your precious ‘cargo’ was stolen,” she said irritably. “Three Suliban, perhaps more, were killed, and Captain Archer has been seriously wounded.