Broken Bow - Diane Carey [62]
“We have four more coming up off starboard!” he called.
T’Pol paused. “Can we dock, Ensign?”
Mayweather blinked. “These aren’t ideal conditions—”
“Mr. Tucker, we’re going to plan B.”
Tucker swung around. What had changed her mind? Why would a person who claimed to be ruled by logic suddenly whip around to a completely crazy plan of action?
Who cared!
“I’m on my way!” he declared, and rushed off the bridge.
It was crazy, and he embraced it with everything he had. In less than two minutes he was in the newly installed transport-materializing chamber, summoning power from deep in the bowels of the ship’s impulse drive system. Yes, crazy—he might find himself standing over the shredded, gurgling remains—
No, don’t think that way. The control station fell under his trembling hands. Just work the controls ... make the numbers line up ... focus the beams ...
“I’ll do it,” he murmured. “I’ll do it, I can do it—”
He only had seconds. He felt the presence of T’Pol and Reed and all the others, even though they were decks away from him. This was it. T’Pol would never give him another chance. There was no plan C.
The chamber began to whine a god-awful noise. He focused and focused, adjusted and hoped. If only Porthos were here, he could cross his paws.
A column of light appeared inside the chamber, between the two pie plates on floor and ceiling that would act as a receiver. Human readings ... he was sure those were human readings. There was only one human on that big Suliban knot out there!
A humanoid shape appeared, forming between the lights. But the Suliban were humanoid. Tucker held his breath.
There was nothing more he could do with the controls. They would either do what they were designed to do, or there would be a disaster here.
The captain’s build—the captain’s hair and hands—a crouched position. Running?
Long seconds finally pulled Jonathan Archer together out of a puzzle of lights and whines. He stumbled forward on sheer momentum, then skidded and stopped himself, and looked around in shock at his new surroundings. He wavered, disoriented, then patted himself to see if he was all there.
“Bridge!” Trip called. “We’ve got him!” He rushed to the pad platform and reached for Archer. “Sorry, Captain! We had no other choice!”
Well, that was a silly thing to say, because there were always other choices, but at least it sounded better than anything else he could think of.
Archer stumbled down with Tucker’s help.
“Are you hurt? Are you all here?”
“Well, I think so, most of me, anyway.” Archer offered him a tremulous smile and a grip on the arm to prove to them both that they were together again.
“T’Pol wanted to leave you behind!”
Archer steadied himself with a hand on Tucker’s shoulder. “She wanted to. Notice she didn’t act on what she wanted. She acted on what she could do.” He drew a breath of life and actually laughed. “Trip, old man, I believe I can work with that!”
CHAPTER 17
The Planet Qo’noS
THE GNARLED TOWERS of the Klingon High Council chamber rose above a smoggy yellow haze in the capital city. Inside the chambers, an ancient room of stone and wooden beams was hung with ceremonial banners and echoes of conquests stemming back through the pages of alien time. Guards stood everywhere, more for show than function, dressed in regalia and armed with archaic weapons. The Council members, seated at a serpentine table, pounded and shouted in their idea of debate.
There was great strife here today.
Jonathan Archer presented a calm demeanor, hoping his colleagues would take his cue in this shockingly alien environment. Alien, yes, but there was something hauntingly medieval about this place and these people, not really so far out of the human realm of imagination. Perhaps that was the disturbing part—the