Ghost of a Chance - Mark Garland [76]
"Open a channel, Mr. Stephens. I am good and ready for this."
***
"Gantel," Triness said, obviously a bit unnerved, "First Director Shaale's adjunct is signaling. They require a report."
No one among the crew had ever served directly under the first director--even Gantel had only met her once--and her imminent arrival did no one's nerves a service.
"Tell them we are honored, of course," Gantel said. "And a report will be forthcoming."
"When? They will ask."
Gantel glared at Triness. He needed an answer. The trouble was, he didn't have one. "Soon."
"Very well," Triness said, clearly forlorn.
The first director's timing was a perfect disaster. Everything was going wrong at once, and nothing very right was happening to balance out the negatives. Gantel felt a slight panic welling up inside him, felt despair clawing at his throat untilNo! he told himself, getting a grip.
He immediately turned the panic into brutal rage, a talent that had stood him in good stead over the years, especially in times like these.
If you went after everyone else, and did it loudly enough and fiercely enough, sometimes you could soar above the very worse crisis. Often you could lay enough blame to avoid personal injury. At the very least, you could gain a degree of satisfaction.
There was nothing left for it.
"What's the problem with Daket?" he bellowed at the bridge crew.
"We have him on the comm now, Director," Triness answered, obviously pleased with her sudden good fortune of timing.
"Put him through!"
"Director," Daket said, his face filling the screen, his expression one of practiced but shallow confidence. "My team surprised the intruders when they returned to their shuttle.
They chased the aliens relentlessly through the woods, wounding several of them on the run, even as yet another life-threatening round of quakes--" "Yes, and what became of the visitors?" Gantel demanded, not interested in the details at the moment.
Daket looked pallid now, deathly so. "They... they vanished."
Gantel shook his head. "I know what you mean. I've just seen it for myself. Jonal and the others..."
"Then they are all dead?" Daket said.
"Perhaps, though I don't know for certain. What is your status?"
"Ah, of course. My status. In fact, throughout the painstaking process of--" "Daket, Shaale will be here soon. Give me the bottom line. You don't have a thing, do you?"
"Correct," Daket admitted after a pause.
"Very well. Prepare to leave the surface, but wait until you get my order. We are going to deliver a worthy gift to the first director when she arrives, you and I, one that might make up for some of our... setbacks. If we cannot immediately meet our first goal, we must concentrate on our second, the starship itself."
With Daket's nod Gantel touched a pad on his own small instrument panel, canceling the signal. He only hoped Daket would be of some use if the need arose. Daket was the sort who wouldn't take a chance if his life depended on it. Gantel could hardly blame him at the moment.
"Prepare for battle," he commanded the bridge crew. "Shields at maximum. Helm, steady ahead. Prepare to fire on my command."
Gantel waited as the two ships drew slightly nearer each other.
The way he saw it, he had only one chance: attempt to disable Voyager without completely destroying her, then board her and take over the controls. At that point he could simply eliminate whatever crew had survived the attack.
He would then present whatever was left of the craft to Shaale.
With luck, those wonderfully powerful phaser systems would survive the action, along with the remarkable vanishing device, and he could still salvage this whole operation, right under the first director's nose.
Too good to be true, no doubt, but it sounded infinitely better than the alternatives.
Gantel straightened himself in his chair and took a breath.