Gauntlet - Michael Jan Friedman [54]
“Ensign,” she said in a warm, welcoming voice. “I was just informed that you’d be joining us.”
Jiterica didn’t know what to say to that. In the end, her response was simply, “Yes.”
“We can use all the help we can get,” Valderrama told her. She gestured for the ensign to follow her. “Come on. We’ll find you a workstation and get you started.”
“All right,” said Jiterica in her tinny, artificial voice.
But she was far from optimistic that she would be of any use to Valderrama or anyone else on the ship. She also doubted that this latest assignment would change anything.
She simply didn’t fit in here. Clearly, she would have to remain onboard for the duration of this mission. But the sooner she left, the better it would be for everyone concerned.
Nikolas looked around the hexagon-shaped space in which he found himself. It had pretty much the same dimensions as the main security facility through which he had passed a moment earlier, though it was equipped completely differently.
Wherever bulkhead met deck there was a sleek, dark computer terminal, its monitor alive with one graphic or another. The ensign counted twenty-four of the terminals in all, though none of them was anywhere near as elaborate as the multiscreen console in the other room.
“As you know,” said Lieutenant Joseph, drawing the attention of Nikolas and the other dozen crewmen collected there, “we’re hunting someone called the White Wolf. Unfortunately, we need meaningful sensor information to do that, and it’s getting tougher for us to get that information the closer we get to Beta Barritus. Both the science and engineering sections are working on the problem now. But in the meantime, the captain wants more eyeballs on our incoming sensor data—so we don’t miss any leads that do materialize.”
“Which is where we come in,” speculated Joe Caber, who was standing beside Nikolas.
“Exactly,” Joseph confirmed. “You’re our eyeballs. You’ll be scanning from the time you get here to the time you leave—or the time you drop, whichever comes first.”
It’s a tedious job, Nikolas reflected archly, but someone’s got to do it.
“Any questions at this point?” asked the security chief.
Naturally, Caber had one. “Exactly what kind of data are we looking for, sir?”
“I’d say an ion trail,” Joseph told him, “but the odds of finding something like that are decreasing as we speak. Check for thermal hot spots, EM surges, unusual particle concentrations . . . anything that looks the least bit suspicious. And don’t be afraid to waste the time of whoever’s in charge of your shift. You never know what kind of reading might prove useful to us.”
Caber nodded. “Thank you, sir.”
“Find that pirate,” said Joseph, “and I’ll be thanking you, Ensign. In fact, we’ll all be thanking you.”
That inspired a chuckle from the assembled crewmen.
“To whom will we be reporting?” asked a woman with curly, dark hair. The markings on her uniform identified her as a med tech.
The security chief seemed to hesitate, as if the question involved something more than a simple answer. Then he said, “He’ll be arriving at any moment. His name—”
As if on cue, someone made his way into the hexagonal enclosure. Someone short and awkward looking in his crimson tunic, whose walk strongly reminded Nikolas of a duck’s waddle.
The ensign bit his lip to keep from uttering an expletive. The crewman in charge of this shift—
“—is Obal,” Joseph finished.
Nikolas saw a grin spread over his friend Caber’s face. Perfect, he thought. Just perfect.
Chapter Sixteen
NIKOLAS TAPPED OUT A COMMAND on his keyboard and called up another graphic. This one was supposed to show him neutrino concentrations at a distance of a thousand kilometers or less, each concentration represented in red on a black background.
As it was, all the ensign saw was the black background. No red, no neutrinos. Or rather, they were there, but the sensors weren’t strong enough to identify them that deep into the system.
And it was getting worse, Nikolas told himself.
Every few minutes, sensor range dropped