Last Full Measure - Michael A. Martin [16]
“Hey, Selma,” he said simply to the dark-haired woman standing in the entry. “I’m headed out for my mission.”
Guitierrez nodded and looked down at the floor, but as she did so, he saw that her eyes were puffy and red. Why’s she been crying?
“I know,” she said, her voice plain. “The major just posted a communiqué to the company.”
He put a hand up to her shoulder, but she seemed almost to shrink away from his touch. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” she said, nodding. “Just not feeling well. I’ll get over it.”
“Go see Phlox. He could probably use a break from dealing with the anomaly victims.”
She nodded again several times, rhythmically, and made a noncommittal noise.
What is up with her? Kemper wanted to care—he did care, even though their relationship was supposed to be casual—but he was also aware that he was going to be late if he lingered here.
“Selma, I’ve got to join my team. We’re briefing in just a couple of minutes.”
She looked up at him then, seemingly through him, her dark eyes wide with some emotion he couldn’t quite identify. Then she offered him a wan smile. “It can wait. Go. Be careful.”
After glancing quickly down the corridor in both directions, Kemper leaned in and gave Guitierrez a quick kiss on the lips.
“I’ll be careful. See you soon.”
She retreated behind her door, and he sprinted along a curving corridor, then turned left at one of the several straight, radial passageways that honeycombed E deck. Kemper arrived at the doorway to Launch Bay 1 with mere seconds to spare. He tapped the entrance pad, and the door slid open. The others were already inside, and he saw that they were dressed in drab brownish woolen cloaks that mostly covered their gray camo MACO assault uniforms. Kemper watched as members of the strike team made some final checks on their gear. Private Sascha Money was fidgeting and hopping slightly; her adrenaline was clearly up.
Corporal Meredith Peruzzi brought a cloak over to Kemper. “According to Reed’s intel, the people on Kaletoo tend to bundle up to protect themselves from sandstorms. I suspect we’ll be hotter than hell, though.”
“As long as I can get to my weapons when I need them,” Kemper said, swirling the cloak over his shoulders and fastening it.
As he moved to join the others, he noticed that Lieutenant Reed and another Enterprise crew member were loading a few small canisters onto the shuttlepod. “What are those?” he asked, gesturing.
“After the trading fiasco on Tulaw with the manager of that trellium mine,” Peruzzi said, “Captain Archer thought it might be a good idea to bring some platinum and other trade items with us, to avoid having to run back to the ship.”
So we can buy information about the Xindi instead of negotiating with our phase rifles, Kemper thought, feeling somewhat ambivalent about the idea. Only a squid could have thought of that.
Kemper caught Hayes’s eyes for a moment then, just long enough to see that something about the mission still seemed to be bothering the major.
He didn’t know if the problem was Archer, Reed, the mission, or any of a myriad of other factors. Hayes always seemed to be uptight about something. In the two years he had served under the major, Kemper had learned that the best way to deal with his CO’s sometimes mercurial moods was to be ruthlessly efficient—and to stay out of the man’s way.
As he boarded the shuttlepod, Kemper resolved to do exactly that.
Kaletoo
Lieutenant “D.O.” O’Neill sat at the controls of the shuttlepod, with Lieutenant Reed seated beside her. Archer was on the adjacent com station, giving orders to Sub-Commander T’Pol aboard Enterprise.
This was O’Neill’s first away mission with the captain, and she had privately wondered why he had chosen to place her on the strike team. She suspected that with several of the senior first-watch bridge staff either currently down in sickbay or else busy running the ship, Archer needed someone who