Last Full Measure - Michael A. Martin [66]
Trahve spoke up then, pointing toward the Xindi platform, whose surface details were clearly discernible through the forward windows, even though the facility still had to be several kilometers away. “They’re still building the weapons facility,” he said, his voice pitched higher and faster than it had been before. “I heard them talking about it.”
“Right in front of you?” Archer said, scowling at the smuggler, whose credibility was dwindling at least as rapidly as his ship was approaching the weapons platform.
Trahve nodded. “They must have thought I wouldn’t understand the insectoid language. They’ve just got a small crew on site now.”
As sure as a klaxon and red lights flashing, alarms went off inside Archer’s mind. That’s the first reliable information Trahve has volunteered, he thought. He’s lying. He wants us to get closer. The weapons platform really is only a decoy, meant to lure us in.
“Get him off the controls,” he yelled to Reed, even as he reached across the console in an attempt to stop the vessel’s forward acceleration himself. “We really do have to get the hell out of Dodge. Now!”
But even as Reed and Kemper hastened to snatch Trahve out of his chair, Archer saw the alien pilot slam his palm down on what appeared to be some sort of panic button. He could have hit that switch any time, Archer realized, feeling a sick, tumbling sensation deep in his belly. He really was just playing us.
Perhaps half a second later, the Helkez Torvo shuddered, her hull groaning as though in the grip of some angry deep-space deity. Reed and the MACOs struggled to maintain their footing as the deck plating beneath their feet tilted and rocked violently for several moments, while the artificial gravity system struggled to deal with the sudden additional inertial load.
Archer concentrated on the controls before him, and he knew in his gut what one of the sensor monitors was displaying, without being able to read the accompanying alien text and pictograms.
Trahve’s ship had just been caught in a tractor beam that originated aboard the decoy Xindi weapons platform. And everyone aboard the little courier vessel, except perhaps for Trahve himself, was being pulled inexorably toward a most unpleasant death.
Twelve
“YOU BASTARD!” growled Kemper, ramming the barrel of his phase rifle hard against the back of the alien courier’s neck. “You set us up!”
So much for that unflappable MACO discipline, Archer thought as the deck shifted slightly from starboard to port and back again while the gravity plating struggled against the relentless grip of the Xindi tractor web. Aloud, he said, “Stand down, Sergeant,” backing his words with as much calm authority as he could muster.
The sergeant shot a hard glare at Archer, then looked toward his MACO commanding officer for guidance. Hayes, his face a study in businesslike calm, nodded quietly. Kemper immediately took two paces backward until he stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Private Money, whose eyes were wide with apparent shock. Though he had backed away, the sergeant’s weapon remained at the ready.
The captain was relieved to note that the MACOs hadn’t forgotten that General Casey had placed them under Archer’s authority—and that they and Enterprise’s Starfleet crew were still fighting on the same side, no matter how badly they might tend to aggravate one another personally.
At least, they haven’t quite forgotten yet, Archer thought.
Glancing out the forward window, Archer saw that the false Xindi weapon platform continued to grow larger as the facility’s tractors reeled Trahve’s small vessel inexorably closer.
The jaws of the trap would soon spring shut, unless Archer could devise some way out, and quickly. Still seated beside Trahve in the primary pilot’s seat, Archer set out immediately to do just that.
Preoccupied as he was studying the ranks of toggles and indicators arrayed on the console before him, Archer couldn’t see Trahve’s triumphant grin, though