Pathways - Jeri Taylor [55]
Tagar continued to fine-tune the still, all the while avoiding Harry’s eyes. It was as though he wrapped himself in a protective cocoon of indifference, letting little of himself out and none of the outside world in. It wasn’t an attitude Harry thought appropriate in a team situation like the one they were experiencing, and he decided he’d have to find a way to break through Tagar’s defenses. He intended to do more than simply bring this group back intact; he wanted them to bond, to be cohesive in the way groups can become when they share difficult circumstances. A good leader would find ways to make that happen.
A small yelp of surprise caused him to turn and dash toward the shelter that Slisik and T’Passa were constructing. But when he emerged from the conifer grove, he saw only T’Passa. His heart sank, for he knew what had happened.
One of his group had been “killed.”
They were being monitored, of course, by Academy personnel, to make sure no one got into serious danger, but also so their comportment in the wilderness could be evaluated. If the group made a serious mistake—one that might prove fatal in an actual situation—a member was dematerialized and transported back to the camp at the staging area. The group was graded on the number of cadets that made it “alive” to the camp, and now he’d already lost one.
T’Passa was, of course, singularly unruffled by the event. “I assume she was transported to the staging area,” she announced coolly. “One minute she was right here beside me, and then she was gone.”
Her demeanor exasperated Harry. “I know she’s been taken back. That’s obvious. But why? We’re following procedure exactly.”
T’Passa began inspecting the shelter she and her recently departed comrade had been constructing, looking for errors. Harry began pondering every step of their operation, trying to figure out where he’d gone wrong.
“I find no mistakes in the construction of this shelter,” the Vulcan announced confidently. “The error must have come in another phase of the operation.”
Harry found himself getting irritated. This icy Vulcan wasn’t the group leader, he was. He’d be the one to take the blame for any failures, he’d be the one Nimembeh would lambaste. It was easy for T’Passa to shrug off responsibility, because in the long run, she wasn’t accountable. He was. And now, only an hour into the expedition, he’d already lost a member.
Why? He moved quickly to O’Connell, who was drawing in the dirt with a stick. “We’ve lost Slisik,” said Harry tersely, and was comforted at the distress that flashed on the cadet’s face.
“What did we do wrong?”
“I can’t figure it out. We’re doing everything we should—determining our route out of here, finding shelter, food, water . . . it’s all been right by Starfleet protocols.”
O’Connell inspected the markings he’d made on the ground. “I’m sure I’ve done this properly,” he said worriedly. “I estimate we’re almost due east of the staging area. I’ll get a more accurate measurement tonight, with the stars, but we should proceed west until I can triangulate our position more closely.”
Harry squatted on his haunches, mind working furiously. Could it be George? Had his roommate done something that violated protocol, and for which he was now being punished? He stood up and marched in the direction George had taken for his reconnaissance.
Five minutes later he heard something crashing through the brush. He stood behind a tree in case the noisemaker was a bear, but in seconds he spotted George, face flushed from exertion, just meters from him. Harry stepped from behind his tree right into his roommate’s path. George stopped abruptly, startled.
“Harry—you could give a person a heart attack,” he gasped.
“And you could raise the dead with all the noise you’re making,” shot back Harry. George’s eyes widened slightly