Operation Orion - Kevin Dockery [18]
Each member of the Team was equipped with significant detection equipment as part of his space suit. Geiger counters, thermal detectors, sniffers, and other devices gave them considerably more search power than a simple eyeball. He could only hope it would be enough.
“Grafty?” he said next, contacting the coxswain who had remained in the drop boat in the main shuttle hangar.
“Right here, Lieutenant,” came the reply.
“Have you been in touch with our mother ship? Is she anywhere in our neighborhood? And can you patch me through to the captain?”
“Your wish is my command, sir,” the pilot replied. “The Pegasus just pulled up next door in the last few minutes. Give me a moment to establish a comlink.”
As soon as the search parties had been deployed, Jackson was in contact with the CIC of the frigate, and he broadcast a message to Carstairs. The captain of the Pegasus came back on the line immediately.
“We have the ship secured, sir. You were right: They were pirates. But there’s a wrinkle. Consul Char-Kane is here, and she’s pretty certain the pirates would have left some kind of bomb on board. We’re conducting a search right now, but I suggest you stand off with the frigate a good safe distance. You know, in case…”
“I understand, Tom,” the navy captain replied. “We’re about a hundred klicks off now, which should be safe. I’ll hold on station until we get the all-clear from you.”
“Good, sir. Thanks. About that pirate ship?”
“She made a getaway, diving close to the star and then shooting out into the system. We chased her for a ways and we’re still tracking her, but I didn’t want to leave you fellows behind.”
“And thank you for that, too, sir. I’ll be in touch. Over.”
Char-Kane led the lieutenant toward the main hold while his men spread out, joining the Shamani crew on the search. Accompanied by Char-Kane, Jackson made his way through the ship, at least the stern half, which was still relatively intact. He passed large carpeted compartments and lounges that made him think of the luxury accommodations on a cruise ship. They soon gave way to a network of smaller passages with tiny sleeping berths that were more reminiscent of his sleeping tube aboard the Pangaea. Since they remained weightless, they propelled themselves by releasing jets of air from their suits’ mobility nozzles, and Jackson was grateful that he wasn’t walking; it seemed that the tight corridors were only about a meter and a half from floor to ceiling.
Finally, they emerged into a reactor room where several Shamani engineers were busily trying to keep one of the cores operational. Reports from the searchers, both SEALS and Shamani, came in steadily as they cleared one compartment after another without finding a sign of any explosive device.
As they were approaching the hatch at the far end, it was the new guy, Mirowski, whose voice crackled into Jackson’s earpiece with the welcome news. “We’ve got a nasty-looking package here in the main hold, LT. It’s causing all sorts of funny sounds on the rad meter. No doubt about it: We’ve got a nuke ticking away down here. It doesn’t have one of those little red timers like you see in all the spy movies, though. I thought that was required.”
The officer had to suppress a chuckle. He was impressed with Mirowski’s aplomb. “Good work,” Jackson replied. “Baxter, Teal, do you read me?”
“Aye, aye, sir,” came the double reply.
“Make tracks to the main hold. Get to Mirowski and see what you can do about disabling that bomb.”
He turned to Char-Kane. “Why would they go to the trouble—and risk—of booby-trapping a ship they had all but captured?”
“I have been wondering that myself. It would not be to destroy the ambassadorial mission; pirates would have no interest in that. But there is something else…” Her voice trailed