Last Full Measure - Michael A. Martin [49]
“That’s enough,” Chang said, cutting off his shaven-headed colleague. Then he looked down at Mayweather. “What is your plan, Mayweather? Turn tail and head for Enterprise?”
“Yeah,” Mayweather said, though he was aware that this single word had come out sounding more like no shit. “We can’t risk breaking comm silence, but we still need to report back so that Enterprise can get here to do something about those Xindi ships and that isotope refinery, or whatever it actually turns out to be. We don’t know how well armed these Xindi vessels are, or how many more of them might be nearby or on their way. In fact, we don’t know much of anything—other than the fact that we’re outnumbered and probably outgunned.”
“You’re exactly right,” Chang said. “That’s why we need to get in closer—so we can eliminate as many of those unknowns as possible before returning to Enterprise to make our report.”
Mayweather shook his head. “If we get too close, we’re liable to be ‘eliminated’—by the Xindi. I don’t care what sort of battle training you’ve had, Chang, all we have to bring to bear against the Xindi is the four of you, me, and the shuttlepod. That’s it.”
Chang grinned a barracuda smile. “Then you’d better use all that space-boomer expertise to keep our profile low.”
“Sub-Commander T’Pol ordered us to do whatever is ‘most appropriate, prudent, and logical,’ ” Mayweather said. “We can’t go in there without backup from Enterprise. It would be suicide. And suicide doesn’t strike me as very prudent.”
Chang placed a surprisingly gentle hand on Mayweather’s shoulder, but the gesture made the helmsman feel more patronized than mollified.
“Ensign, anything we can accomplish out here—up to and including finding a way to blow everything inside this cloud to quarks—could be a huge setback to the Xindi plans to destroy Earth. Even if whatever we do in the next few hours only succeeds in buying Earth a couple of extra days, that’s a couple of days we wouldn’t have had otherwise.”
Mayweather had been tempted to swat the corporal’s hand away from his shoulder, but resisted the impulse—probably because he realized that Chang wasn’t wrong. Every hour they managed to steal from the Xindi could indeed make all the difference in terms of the survival of the human species.
Mayweather offered Chang a small smile. “All right. You’re in command of the tactical phase of the mission, so I know I can’t countermand any order you give your people—even if I think you’re taking unnecessary risks. So please promise me one thing.”
“Name it,” Chang said, releasing Mayweather’s shoulder.
“Just remember what Sub-Commander T’Pol said about doing what’s ‘appropriate, prudent, and logical.’ ”
Chang grinned. “That’s what I’m relying on you for, Starfleet. You can start by finding us a nice rock to hide under until we’re done here.”
Mayweather could feel his anger boiling up inside him again, swirling around his consciousness like the blizzard of particles raining outside the shuttlepod; it seemed that Chang was ordering him around as though he was a MACO private. He clenched and unclenched his fist atop the flight console, and heard his knuckles pop.
A rock to hide under.
An idea revealed itself to him then, and he suddenly knew how he might deliver Shuttlepod Two right to the Xindi’s doorstep without giving the enemy any advance warning.
He knew exactly how.
Nine
Courier Ship Helkez Torvo
THEY HAD BEEN TRAVELING for three hours now in La’an Trahve’s captured vessel, the name of which they had learned was Helkez Torvo. According to the linguistics software running on Reed’s padd, the alien words translated roughly to “Fortunate Waterfowl.”
Now, as they navigated their way through the gravitic particle cloud, Malcolm Reed hoped that their luck would continue. But despite the reluctance of Trahve to help them—and the painful, though thankfully brief, beatings the alien pilot had endured at the hands of the captain and the major—Reed felt increasingly that something