Hard Crash - Christie Golden [3]
"Duly noted, Commander," said Gold, his voice slightly harder than before. "But let's do a little investigating before we declare this planet a war zone, okay?"
Her eyes flashed, but Corsi settled back in her chair. She pressed her lips together tightly. Faulwell suspected that Gold was going to pay for that one next time he veered from the regs one iota. Gomez gave the security chief a reassuring smile, but Corsi would not relax.
"Lieutenant Commander Corsi does have a point." It was Dr. Elizabeth Lense speaking. "The vessel could be automated. It could have been programmed to crash, especially if it's as tough as Pattie's theorizing. Is there any indication that there was a crew aboard?"
"No way to tell without investigating it with our own eyes," said Geordi. "But that impact was pretty rough. Despite its thick hide, that ship's banged up quite a bit. Unless they were secured and protected somehow, humanoid bodies probably couldn't have survived that kind of crash even if the vessel itself did."
"Non-humanoid bodies could," said Faulwell, speaking up. His mind was already racing with the possibilities. He needed to narrow it down as much as he could in order to determine which branch of linguistics would be most effective to research. Armed with at least a rough idea of what to look for, he'd have a better chance translating the data they would retrieve from the ship's computer banks. As far as he was concerned, other than the concern a caring person must always feel at loss of life, he was relieved that there were no living beings aboard that ship to try to talk to.
He noticed that Carol, however, looked keenly disappointed. They'd called her in for her knowledge about the Intarians, not to speculate about the crew of the ship. There would be no First Contact this time.
"Early indications are that the environment inside the ship is a nitrogen-oxygen mix, similar to Earth's. But that's no guarantee that the crew was humanoid," said Geordi. He smiled a little. "We'll find out soon enough."
"So, here's the situation." Gold leaned forward and laced his fingers together on the table. "The ship has deliberately plowed into the heart of downtown. It's far less damaged than it ought to be for the impact it took. It is inactive at the moment, but we're still getting signals. No signs of life, but as Corsi astutely pointed out, that doesn't mean that something's not still alive in there. Now, sensors indicate there's only one central command area in the thing. Pattie, you get to examine the outside."
"Certainly, Captain." She wriggled several of her legs. "I could use a little exercise."
Gold continued. "If we can get a transporter lock inside, You five--Commander La Forge, Gomez, Duffy, Faulwell, and 110--will be transporting into a ship about which we know absolutely nothing. Anything can happen, or nothing."
"In short," said Duffy, grinning, "an assignment much like any other."
But Faulwell wasn't laughing. Out of the corner of his eye, Bart hand noticed that the Bynar had physically shuddered at the news that he--it?--was being assigned to the team. It was, as a Vulcan would say, the only logical choice. 110 was their computer specialist, until Starfleet sent them another one. 110 had been very brave up until now, expressing a willingness to continue with his work despite what had to be--had to be--extreme personal grief. But it was clearly taking a toll on the little fellow. He'd already delayed going home once. Now this had come up.
Even as Bart regarded the Bynar with sympathy, 110 straightened, pulled his tiny shoulders back, and resolutely lifted his large, hairless head. Faulwell was filled with admiration.
Jaldark? If you are conducting a test of some sort, you may cease. I am starting to worry. Please, please come in.
The worried face of the Intari Makestru, the leader of his people, appeared on the viewscreen. "Captain Gold," he said anxiously.