Broken Bow - Diane Carey [9]
CHAPTER 3
“MR. MAYWEATHER, don’t stand too close to that contraption, please, lest we lose a bit of you.”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Reed. I’ll be tending all the bits of me.”
“Mmm ... to be sure. New technology is always perfect from the start.”
Malcolm Reed held his concern in check, but was quite prepared to drop his Lord Nelson persona and knock Travis Mayweather right off that platform if any bit began to sparkle. Such a nightmarish miracle, this. “All right, now you really must stand clear. We’re receiving a clearance to—what’s the word they decided upon? Ream?”
“Beam.” Mayweather’s cocoa complexion glowed a little in the overhead prism lights that would soon show themselves as more than conveniences.
“Amazing, the group dynamics assessments they undertake to select descriptive terms for the unimaginable.”
“I heard they went through ‘scramble,’ ‘heat,’ ‘dissemble’ and ‘spear,’ before they found one that wouldn’t scare people. ‘Beam’ sounds so peaceful and sunny—”
“Not quite what’s going on here, is it?” Reed sighed at the awesome complexity of this contraption.
Travis Mayweather, though, was giddy with pleasure at the new might of their science. He had just come aboard, and the glaze of awe had yet to take a scuff. It would be his privilege to be the first command watch helmsman of this ship, and he knew his name would probably go down in a few history books. Reed contained his approval with proper British reins, but was secretly pleased at a shipmate’s delight and fulfillment.
Mayweather looked particularly stylish in the Starfleet dark-blue jumpsuit, with its geometrically drawn shoulder piping. Reed liked the uniform design. Simple, comfortable, easy on the eye, yet just military enough to make everyone stand properly. He wished they would bring back hats.
In any case, soon they would all be fulfilled, for they were all privileged. As armory officer, Reed’s duties would be rather less glamorous than Mayweather’s, but had the potential to be more satisfying in the large picture. Ah, well, time would tell whose stories might live on. Until then, it was their charge to make this interesting gadget functional to their purposes.
He stepped to the control island and flipped a toggle.
“Very well, dockmaster, we’re ready for you to engage the transporter.”
“Roger, shipboard. Are you standing clear of the platform?”
Reed glanced at Mayweather, who backed up two more steps and shrugged. “That’s affirmative.” He, too, stepped back, but commented, “Either this gentleman is paranoid or psychic. Both useful traits, I should imagine.”
The hairs on his skin began to shiver even before the lights on the platform changed. The transporter chamber quickly became a receptacle of patterns and flashes that made Reed wish there were some kind of partition to protect them. This thing must be giving off some kind of ray or contaminants. How else could it work? So much scrambling energy simply had to radiate.
But they said it didn’t. The royal “They.”
He and Mayweather watched, each guarding his expression, as containers of various sizes formed inside the chamber, bathed in glitter and fanfared by an earsplitting whine.
“Let’s hope something’s done about that squawk,” Mayweather commented over the noise,
“I shall send a memo.” Reed glanced about and scanned the control island after the whine had stopped and the lights had faded. He didn’t really believe it was completely safe to stand up there. What if someone hit the wrong button on the other end?
He controlled his apprehensions and led the way onto the platform, which now contained a clutter of cargo kegs that moments ago had been miles away. Despite the skittishness of the contraption and the doubtful nature of its methods, the transporter was indeed a magical gift from humanity to itself, a fulfillment of dreams from travelers from ages untold. To wish to be there ... then to be there ...
“I heard this platform’s been approved for biotransport,” Mayweather said as he pushed the receiving authorizations on the side of each container.
“I presume you mean fruits and vegetables,