Double Helix 03_ Red Sector - Diane Carey [11]
“The Pojjans aren’t firing on us yet, but they’re trying to slip by us. Don’t they know what our weapons can do ?” “Maybe not,” Stiles said. “They don’t have a space fleet.”
“I don’t know-it’s like they’re touring or something here. Should we open fire?”
Determined not to ignite a situation the ambassador already described as volatile, Stiles tried to use reserved judgment. He’d looked idiotic enough already. He had to make Spock proud of him.
“As long as they’re not shooting,” he said, “just stay between me and them. They can’t catch me now.” “Understood.” “Ensign?”
Stiles glanced over his shoulder at the chilling sound of that voice. Ambassador Spock stood at the hatchway, gripping the rims and peering through to the wide forward screen.
“Yes, sir?” Stiles responded. “Is there a problem? We’re almost to flank speed. The mountains are coming up under us. We’ll be in space in about ninety seconds. I’ve positioned ‘all my fighters in a rearguard, between us and the pursuit fleet, just in case the bad guys have more speed than they seem to. Nobody can catch us now, sir.”
“Unlikely,” Spock accepted, deliberately not stepping into the cockpit. “Ensign, may I make an observation?”
Stiles almost fainted with the depth of that question. An “observation” from Science Officer/Captain/Ambassador Spock? A Starfleet superior for as long as Stiles and his whole team had collectively been alive? That was virtually a direct order!
Stiles steered the coach through the first mountain peaks that reached toward them from a skirt of low snowclouds. “Of course you can, sir!”
Spock now stepped through the hatch way and knelt beside Stiles to get a better view of the mountains. Why was he looking at the mountains?
“As I am sure you know,” Spock began, “it is unlikely those planes pose any danger to us.” “Yes, sir. I mean, no, sin”
“And it is likely that the Pojjana know their planes cannot overtake us.” “Well… they might know it, sir….”
“Then perhaps you should consider,” the ambassador quietly advised, “that while the Pojjana do not possess strong spacefaring, their atmospheric capabilities are formidable. Those planes behind us could be diversionary.”
Stiles heard the words, but for a moment they made no sense. Then, gradually, the picture of reality crystallized in his mind and he abruptly understood the ugly mistake he was making.
“Oh… oh!” Stiles’s mouth suddenly went completely dry, and he gripped his controls. “Oh, God!”
Suddenly Travis Perraton tensed at his own console. “Tactical display shows something in front of us! Coming up through the clouds! It’s an A/I! They’ve got an A/I blocking our way! There are mountains on both sides! Eric, can we climb?”
By not taking any chances, by pretending to be a topnotch who knew how to do his job and going for finesse instead of humility, Stiles had left everything wide open. Eric Stiles, man about town, citizen of the galaxy, had left the ship without forward protection. No vanguard!
Now he was coming into the targeting sights of whatever the Poijans wanted to throw in his way-he’d let those planes steer him into its firing range, and all his defensive fighters were five miles behind him, guarding him from planes that couldn’t catch up. The Po’jjan planes didn’t have a chance of catching him, but they sure had a chance of steering the coach toward an assault net hidden in the mountains!
Stiles felt his throat close up around the realization that he’d been completely duped. Spock hadn’t interfered until it became obvious that Stiles was being suckered into a vulnerable position. And no, he couldn’t climb yet. Not that high-not yet.
He stared at the forward screen as a huge, nasty-looking assault/interceptor moved merrily through the mountain pass, essentially a giant gun platform, on an intercept course with the coach. And