Double Helix 03_ Red Sector - Diane Carey [80]
Such a simple step took a very long time, as choices go. Finally, seeming to make a decision or part of one, Iavo turned his back to the guards as if deeply troubled by their presence. “What do you need from us?”
Crasher watched the guards for a moment. Were they averting their eyes on purpose? “First of all, I want these women out of here. Data and Mr. Hashley can be my assistants. And I’d like you to cool it off by fifteen degrees in here. Clear that incense or whatever’s burning out of the chamber and circulate some fresh air” “But this is how we always-“
“If ‘always’ was working, you wouldn’t need me here, would you? Coot, and air, please.”
Iavo paused, seemed to be deciding between being insulted and some other reaction Crusher couldn’t make out.
Once again the Sentinel met the eyes of the guard nearest to him.
“We’ll do as you instruct, Doctor,” he agreed, speaking slowly. Hypnotically he robbed a single fingernail. “Do you think you can save her?”
Chapter Seventeen
STILES’ HANDS SHOOK as he stood beside the Saskatoon’s command chair. On the other side of the chair, Ambassador Spock placidly standing, the elderly Leonard McCoy sitting in a console chair-both men watched the approach of a forbidden planet in a forbidden sector. Stiles had offered the doctor the command chair, but McCoy had demurred, saying that only the “golden boy” should sit there. Stiles hadn’t been able to sit in their presence, so the chair went empty through the entire voyage. Even when Alan brought tea.
Every regulation in several civilizations prevented their coming here, yet here they flew. The hoops of outposts, stations, guard ships, patrols, and bureaucratic drumbeating they’d had to jump through had left Stiles with a headache that was still here days and days later. The tension of moving into Romulan space to drop off Dr. Crusher and Data had been enough to peel fruit, and now Saskatoon was deep inside Red Sector, trailing deals and bribes and threats and name-dropping that had gotten them all the way here.
For Stiles, though, this was the door of purgatory. He couldn’t keep his hands warm any more. The self-examination was no fun either. Why was he so nervous? He had these heavy hitters with him, didn’t he?
Why was his stomach twisted up into a spiral? The absence of foolish cockiness should’ve been reassuring and mature, but the fact was he wished he still had it. That zing of thinking he knew everything had protected him from a whole lot of scared. Wishing he could feel his fingers, he wondered if those two men over there had ever preferred to pull their own teeth out than go in someplace they had to go. Duty, cause, purpose, rank, ability-all those things fell short of the driving force he needed to overcome what he felt. There was only one thing drawing him forward, against all the forces pushing him back.
Gripping one hand with the other to hide the trembling, he looked briefly to portside, to Travis and Alan. Alan winked reassuringly, and Travis gave him a thumbs-up. They were willing to go.
Embarrassed, he puckered his shoulders. His friends were reassuring him, supporting him into the unknown. It should be the other way around. “Hero,” he muttered. No one heard. He barely heard himself. Spock glanced at him.
The planet of his dread swelled on the main screen and six of the ancillary monitors. “Approach, Eric?” Travis prodded from the port side.
“Him? Oh… sorry. Helm-let’s see… come to point nine, equatorial approach vector, angle four one. No-four two. There’s a constant thermal over that big canyon”’
“May I ask what you’re reading on the planer’s surface?” Ambassador Spock asked. “Anything unfamiliar? Any sign of destruction by the Constrictor?”
“I’m picking up airstrips;’ Jeremy reported, a couple of things that might be missile deployment facilities… heliports… some satellites… pretty typical. Maybe mid-or late-twenty-first-century