Last Full Measure - Michael A. Martin [47]
But a part of him knew that that wasn’t the issue at all. He didn’t really care whether she wore the uniform of the MACO company or of Starfleet. And her appeal wasn’t merely her looks or her manner, or the easy way they made conversation. Perhaps instead it was his instinctive recognition that she loved space, and exploring it, as much as he did, spacesickness notwithstanding.
He sipped his coffee, reveling in its slightly scorching sensation against his tongue. Selma Guitierrez certainly didn’t strike Mayweather as a typical MACO. They would definitely have to talk again sometime. Of that, he was certain.
“That’s what the readings show,” Mayweather said, pointing to the screens on the consoles. He reduced the shuttlepod’s speed until the best way to proceed became clearer.
Standing next to Mayweather’s chair, Chang leaned over to look at Mayweather’s readouts, though he didn’t bother to sit in the copilot’s chair as most other crew members would. Mayweather tamped down his mounting annoyance.
“This entire dust cloud is made of the Xindi isotope?” Chang asked, sounding incredulous. He looked out the forward window at the approaching yet still far-off spatial vista. The view of the approaching dust cloud was less than dramatic, however, consisting mainly of a slight but noticeable dimming of most of the background stars.
Mayweather shook his head. “Not entirely, but the stuff forms a large proportion of the debris that makes up the dust cloud. Most of it is infused with at least trace quantities of the same energy signature that led us here.”
“So we’ve been on the trail of a cosmic dust cloud all this time, instead of a Xindi ship?” Eby asked. The other three MACOs had all crowded forward to look.
Mayweather turned, annoyed. “Would one of you just take the damned copilot’s seat? I don’t need all four of you breathing down my neck.”
Displaying a gentle smile that Mayweather supposed was visible only to him, Guitierrez moved forward and took the chair beside him.
“Thank you,” Mayweather said, turning to face Eby. “Now to answer your question, Private, the trail we’ve been following contained a much more refined form of the isotope. And it was clearly left behind by an object moving at warp, which pretty much has to have been a ship. I’m sure you’ve noticed that this dust cloud isn’t moving at warp.”
“So, if there are ships out here using this isotope as a fuel, then this might be where they mine the stuff in the first place,” Guitierrez said, peering at the data scrolling across the shuttlepod’s computer screens.
“I think that’s a pretty good guess,” Mayweather said, impressed. “But we won’t know for sure until we get closer.”
“Then take us on in, Ensign,” Chang said.
Mayweather couldn’t tell whether Chang had spat out the last word as though it were an epithet, or if he was simply projecting his own dislike for Chang back onto the man. As he took the manual controls in hand and guided the little ship forward, Mayweather decided that he wasn’t terribly comfortable with either scenario.
Fifteen minutes later, the shuttlepod was well within the dust cloud’s boundaries, and Mayweather immediately regretted it. The volume of space surrounding the ship seemed to be growing thick with ice particles and rocky debris. The material not only contained substantial quantities of the Xindi isotope, it also played host to hundreds of organic and inorganic compounds. The particles whirled around the shuttle like snow in a blizzard, at times greatly obscuring the forward view of the Delphic starfield.
Thankfully, the shuttlepod’s sensors still seemed to be working perfectly, so although Mayweather was flying essentially blind from the front, the sensors were keeping them from pancaking into some of the larger pieces of debris that tumbled at irregular intervals across the ship’s path.
“Where could this dust cloud have come from?” McCammon asked, addressing no one in particular.