Last Full Measure - Michael A. Martin [63]
Mayweather saw that Chang was also looking over the other MACOs, and noted that the MACO squad leader didn’t seem quite so steady on his feet as he had before. It’s awfully hard to look like you’re in charge when you still don’t quite have your space legs yet, he thought, trying his best not to grin.
Aloud, he said, “Chang, you should know by now that I was raised a boomer. I’ve spent probably half my life in freefall. I’m not just some glorified pilot. If I come along on this mission, I can help get the job done in half the time. And that time saved will go a long way toward our getting away from the Xindi with our asses attached—and with theirs blown to kingdom come.”
Mayweather saw a panoply of emotions roll across Chang’s face as the corporal considered what he’d just heard.
Finally, Chang turned and barked a terse order toward the rear of the shuttle. “Private Eby. Help Mayweather prep his environmental suit. He’s coming with us.”
Even as he grinned in triumph at having broken through at least some of the barriers that lay between him and Chang, shadowy thoughts began creeping into the back of Mayweather’s mind. Once again, he couldn’t help but wonder whether Sub-Commander T’Pol would really consider the coming mission to be “appropriate, prudent, and logical.”
We still might get blasted by some hidden Xindi ship out there, even after these ones leave. Wouldn’t it be smarter to stay aboard the shuttlepod with my hand on the rudder, just in case?
He did his best to push this last-minute negativity aside. After all, how could he live with himself if he didn’t share the extreme risk the MACOs were all taking?
Besides, he knew he was far better suited for this particular job than any of them. And if it’s my time to go, he thought, at least I’ll die where I did most of my living—in space.
Eleven
Courier Ship Helkez Torvo
ARCHER STARED OUT THE transparent aluminum windows of La’an Trahve’s cockpit, focusing on a pinpoint of light ahead that their captured pilot had assured them was the manufacturing facility where the Xindi were assembling the large-scale particle-beam weapon they intended to deploy against Earth.
“Take us in, but slowly,” Archer said, looking down at Trahve from the prisoner’s side. “I don’t want to announce our presence here.” Grudgingly, the smuggler adjusted some of the controls on the console in front of him.
Malcolm Reed sat in the copilot’s chair, his brows furrowing in concentration as he studied the controls. “I’ll run a battery of passive scans as best I can, Captain, but I can’t vouch for the results. We’re not on Enterprise, and I’m still trying to get a handle on this ship’s systems.”
Patting his munitions officer on the shoulder, Archer offered him a gentle smile. “I’m sure your best will be more than good enough, Malcolm.”
Archer was still feeling embarrassed about his recent confrontation with Reed, and wanted to avoid getting into another for as long as possible—mostly because he knew that, fundamentally, Malcolm was right. The use of torture to gain information or a tactical advantage was anathema to every principle he held dear…except for one. And that one—the preservation of all life on Earth—was what was driving him now. It was the principal force that had driven him mercilessly for months now, ever since Admiral Forrest and General Casey had informed him that Enterprise was to be the spear’s point in Earth’s struggle against the Xindi.
“My initial scans are showing what appears to be a large-scale construction project of some sort, Captain,” Reed said. “It’s about the same mass as Enterprise, though I’m reading it as nowhere near as dense.”
Hayes stepped in close behind Archer. “How many crew are on board? How many ships are protecting it?”
“There’s no way to answer either question definitively using only passive scans,” Reed said. “If I start bouncing sensor signals off of that facility, then whoever might be inside will know we’re coming. And I’m sure we’d also attract