Last Full Measure - Michael A. Martin [91]
Mayweather turned toward Chang, grinning. “I don’t think they’ll be following us home, Chang.” Chang returned the grin, and McCammon made an enthusiastic war whoop that must have come close to blowing out the forward window.
“I don’t know how Guitierrez managed to pull this off,” Chang said a moment later, releasing himself from his crash webbing and standing behind the pilot’s and copilot’s seats. “Without staying behind with the fireworks display, that is.”
Chang’s last comment froze the base of Mayweather’s spine as he realized that he, too, could not account for Guitierrez’s all but miraculous long-distance detonation of all the planted bombs; the sudden appearance of the Xindi ship had distracted him, preventing him from thinking anything else through. In order to get back aboard in time for the evac, she had to have set off the detonators nearly from the shuttlepod’s range. And that’s…
Impossible, or at least not very likely. After all, he’d seen McCammon try and fail to arm the bombs from this very cockpit.
Mayweather exchanged a significant glance with Chang, who was obviously doing the very same math. McCammon’s eyes, too, were widening with dawning awareness.
Reacting to the brief, pressure-equalizing hiss that heralded the opening of the inner airlock hatch, Mayweather turned his seat toward the shuttlepod’s aft section. He watched as a lone figure clad in a gray, dust-caked environmental suit clambered awkwardly down the companionway ladder that led down into the crew cabin.
Nobody else followed.
Sixteen
Courier Ship Helkez Torvo
AS THE OVERLOADING propulsion system entered what Archer assumed to be its terminal stage, orange alarm lights flashed brightly enough to send patterns of spots scattering before the captain’s eyes. He blinked them away, even as shrieking emergency klaxons reverberated throughout the little ship with painful intensity.
Archer did his best to ignore both.
“Everybody into the airlock! Now!” he shouted, struggling to be heard over the clamor. There was little time, and he knew he would get only one chance to implement his hasty plan—one that he hoped would work as well today as it had on the one other occasion when he’d seen it attempted.
The captain stepped over the raised rim of the airlock’s inner hatchway right behind Reed, who immediately took up a position next to the locking controls mounted on the bulkhead. Archer turned, pausing just inside the chamber’s open, almost two-meter-wide threshold to watch Kemper, Money, and Hayes as they hurriedly brought up the rear.
Kemper and Money were slowed down only somewhat by the man they carried between them. An obviously terrified La’an Trahve, still handcuffed, kicked at the empty air, his soft-booted feet swinging ineffectually a few centimeters above the deck. The MACOs hefted the alien pilot further upward to get him over the airlock’s rim while simultaneously trying to stay out of the way of his wildly flailing legs.
“Hold still,” Archer said, almost bellowing to compete with the crashing tide of sound. “Unless you enjoy being stunned at point-blank range, that is.”
Trahve grabbed at the rim of the airlock, using both of his manacled hands to keep himself just outside the inner hatchway. “I’m not leaving my ship behind, Archer!” he cried.
“A few seconds from now, your ship won’t be a ship anymore,” Hayes shouted. He seemed utterly incredulous at Trahve’s reluctance to leave this death trap behind.
But Trahve held firm. “Not if you let me vent the warp core. Or try to jettison it.”
Archer could feel the deck plates vibrating ominously beneath his boots. He shook his head. “I think it’s already too late for that. You have to come with us. We’ll get you out of here on our shuttlepod.”
Trahve’s eyes were alive with fear. “This ship is my livelihood, Captain! I have to try to save it!”
“What’s more important?” Reed said. “Your livelihood or your life?”
That seemed to get through to Trahve, at least a little. “Good point.” Addressing Archer, the alien said, “But how