Gauntlet - Michael Jan Friedman [10]
Come on, she thought, watching the debonded matter migrate to the system’s pattern buffer. Get in there, and I mean now.
Up on the platform, the subject would be vanishing in a sparkling column of light—containment suit and all. But the transporter operator didn’t have the luxury of watching the spectacle. She was too intent on her instruments, too busy with the minutiae of the matter storage process to allow herself even the slightest distraction.
Almost done, she thought. Almost there. Seventy-five percent, to be more precise. Eighty. Eighty-five . . .
A bead of perspiration trickled down her forehead, but she ignored it and continued to monitor the matter stream, hands on her controls in case she had to abort the process or take some other emergency measure.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Katz saw the blinking green stud that verified the subject’s safe arrival in the system’s pattern buffer. Taking a deep breath, she let it out and gave herself permission to relax for a moment.
But only for a moment.
Then she bent to her task again and projected the annular confinement beam from the starbase’s emitter array to the target coordinates. It was within the dimensions of this beam that the subject’s debonded matter would travel.
Next, the operator transmitted the matter from the buffer to the emitter. Once there, it was ready to make the journey across the void of empty space.
Here goes, she thought.
And she sent the accumulated matter streaming along the confinement beam to its destination.
Katz was certain that she had done everything right. Still, she found herself staring at her instrument panel, willing it to tell her that the process would end as it was supposed to—with the subject’s safe arrival and rematerialization.
Because under the most perfect conditions, one never knew—and these conditions were far from perfect.
The seconds ticked by, more of them than Katz had expected. Her teeth had begun to grind together by the time she saw the words she was hoping for: transport successful.
In the privacy of her mind, the operator patted herself on the back. That hadn’t been easy. In fact, she wouldn’t complain if that was the last such transport she was called on to make.
At last, she wiped the perspiration from her brow with the back of her hand and reset her instruments to more conventional levels. Then, turning to the trio standing next to her, she said, “Next.”
As they stepped up onto the platform, Katz wished the being in the containment suit good luck. She would need it.
* * *
It wasn’t until after McAteer had turned up the lights and adjourned the meeting that Picard had a chance to buttonhole him. It wasn’t difficult to do so. In fact, the admiral seemed to have been expecting the captain’s approach.
“You’re wondering why I asked you to go after our friend the White Wolf,” McAteer concluded.
“I am,” Picard confirmed.
“I don’t blame you,” the admiral said. “In your position, I’d be wondering the same thing.”
He took the captain’s arm and guided him to an observation port at the far end of the room. Apparently, he wanted to conduct their conversation where others wouldn’t overhear it.
“I picked you for the mission,” McAteer told him, “because conventional methods haven’t worked with the White Wolf. Your predecessor, Captain Ruhalter, was known for his resourcefulness, his ability to think on his feet. I’m betting that those qualities rubbed off on you.”
In fact, Picard didn’t think of himself as particularly resourceful. However, he refrained from saying so.
“I’ll try not to let you down,” he said.
The admiral chuckled. “Modesty. I like that. Then it’ll look even better when you nail the bastard.”
It wasn’t modesty that had compelled the captain to frame his response that way. It was a sense of proportion. But he didn’t tell McAteer that either.
“If you say so,” he told the admiral.
Chapter Four
AS PICARD MATERIALIZED on the Stargazer’s transporter platform alongside his first officer, he noted