Last Full Measure - Michael A. Martin [89]
She made a show of preparing to fire her weapon. “Go back to the shuttlepod, Colin. We both don’t have to die out here.”
Despite the glare of the helmet lamps, Eby’s faceplate revealed an uncharacteristically thoughtful expression, though his weapon remained trained on her, and at the ready.
“Maybe you’re right about that, too,” he said.
Chang’s excited voice suddenly issued from the team channel, interrupting the private standoff. “Target Baker Squad, we have another huge problem. Incoming Xindi vessel, closing fast.”
A beat of stunned silence passed between Guitierrez and Eby. Then, on the private channel, Selma Guitierrez said, “You almost had me convinced, Colin. But it still looks like it’s going to be either you or me.”
She raised her weapon.
Shuttlepod Two
What the hell is going on down there? Mayweather thought as he tried to bring the shuttlepod’s impulse drive up to full power, only to discover that his earlier efforts to disengage the depot’s electromagnetic booby traps had left the engine’s fuel supply greatly depleted. Whether Guitierrez and Eby would make it back to the shuttlepod in time remained to be seen.
Through the cockpit’s forward window, only the star-bejeweled blackness of space was visible, since the shuttlepod was oriented so that its dorsal surface—and therefore its airlock—faced the Xindi fuel depot, from which Corporal Guitierrez and Private Eby were already supposed to be departing.
But Mayweather could see already that the black depths of space contained more than just stars and swirls of dust and debris. One of the distant, brilliant pinpoints was moving noticeably, in spite of the light-obscuring effects of the surrounding dust cloud. The vessel had displayed a typically Xindi fuel-exhaust profile once it had come out of warp, and passive scans had indicated that it was a large vessel, perhaps some sort of warship. Mayweather had no desire to stay around long enough to learn the hard way about whatever armaments it carried.
Whether or not the Xindi ship had already detected the relatively tiny, still camouflaged shuttlepod was still anybody’s guess.
Chang stood in the cockpit, directly behind the pilot’s and copilot’s seats. “Can we build up enough speed to stay ahead of the shock wave after those tanks blow?” he asked, after Mayweather had finished explaining about the shuttlepod’s depleted power supply.
It was obvious that the MACO team leader already knew that it would be useless to ask if the shuttlepod could outrun the approaching Xindi ship.
“I think we can probably keep from getting caught in the blast, as long as we time everything just right,” Mayweather said. He carefully watched the engine indicators while maintaining the shuttlepod’s position relative to the Xindi facility. “But it may be a bit of a bumpy ride once those tanks go.”
“Then get us out of here as soon as the Target Baker team is back inside the airlock,” Chang said.
Mayweather nodded. If there’s enough time. Staring straight ahead, he watched as the Xindi vessel quickly resolved itself into what appeared to be an expanding disk, then became recognizably cylindrical. Mayweather already thought he could make out portholes and antennae and weapons ports, though he knew that his imagination might be working a double shift right now.
“Think our camouflage will hide us from the Xindi ship, Ensign?” Chang asked.
“Probably not,” Mayweather said. At the rate they’re approaching, there’s no way they can miss us, he thought. Camouflage or no camouflage.
“Airlock shows as occupied,” said McCammon, who continued running the instruments on the copilot’s side of the cockpit. “Outer hatch closing.”
Before either Mayweather or Chang could comment, an amber-colored alarm began flashing quickly on the sensor console to Mayweather’s left. The shuttlepod was being scanned via some active means. “Make that definite—the Xindi know we’re here.”
The com system blared to life, reproducing a voice garbled by so