Planet X - Michael Jan Friedman [80]
Then, just in case the Draa’kon weren’t beleaguered enough, the gargantuan Colossus waded into them as well. That gave the rest of them—the counselor, the security officers, and the city guards—the luxury of picking off the enemy almost at will.
It wasn’t long before the Draa’kon succumbed.
Standing knee-deep in fallen adversaries, Wolverine retracted his claws and tossed a grin in Troi’s direction. “Thanks fer leavin’ a few few me, Darlin’.”
She chuckled wearily. “My pleasure.”
However, Colossus was feeling anything but pleased. Finding a couple of the city guards, he made a point of apologizing to them for his mistake.
No doubt, the counselor thought, it would be a long time before the mutant forgot this lesson.
Picard plunged through Xhaldia’s upper atmosphere at the controls of his shuttlepod, making adjustments every few seconds as the vessel bucked another wave of energy-laced turbulence.
Archangel was hanging on to the back of the captain’s seat, as intent on Picard’s monitor screens as he was. No doubt, he could see the red blip on the one that tracked the cluster missile’s progress.
“How are we doing?” the mutant asked.
“So far, so good,” the captain told him without turning around. “At this rate, we will overtake our target in slightly more than a minute.”
What he didn’t say was that they were proceeding at a speed faster than the pod was designed for. But then, even after they caught up with the missile, Archangel would need time to reach it and disarm it.
“It’s getting warm in here,” the mutant noted.
“So it is,” Picard confirmed.
That was what happened when one pushed the limits of one’s shielding against the increasing friction of descent. The physics were simple—the denser the atmosphere, the more quickly a vehicle would burn up. Or at the very least, bake anyone inside it to a crisp.
The pod shuddered and threatened to veer off course, so the captain directed more power to the stabilizers. A bead of perspiration traced a path down the side of his face. He wiped it away with the back of his hand.
Archangel pointed to the screen with the red blip. Another blip had joined it and was approaching it steadily, though its progress belied the difficulty of piloting the pod.
“Looks like we’re in the ballpark,” the mutant observed.
Picard wasn’t a fan of 20th-century sports, but he understood the reference. Seeing no need to reply, he tried scanning the cluster missile. After all, Archangel couldn’t disarm it if the captain couldn’t determine how it worked.
Unfortunately, his sensors couldn’t tell him much about the missile’s inner workings yet. The energy permeating the atmosphere was getting in the way, giving Picard a distorted and incomplete picture.
And it was getting hotter. Much hotter.
The captain could feel the sweat trickling down both sides of his face now. His uniform was wet, too. He desperately wanted to remove his tunic, but didn’t dare—not with the pod jumping and quivering the way it was.
Worse, their deflectors were starting to buckle under the strain. Even with the shields in working order, the temperature in the cabin had risen thirty degrees. If the deflectors deserted them at this speed, they wouldn’t survive long enough to see the missile, much less disarm it.
But on the monitor screen, at least, there was good news. One red blip was swiftly overtaking the other.
“Get ready,” Picard said.
Archangel moved to the hatch in the side of the pod. “You still haven’t told me what to do when I get there,” he pointed out.
“I will,” the captain assured him.
Little by little, his sensors delivered a more intelligible insight into the mechanics of the cluster. Picard studied them, queried the onboard computer, studied them some more, and queried again.
At last, he got the answer he was looking for. Keeping his eyes on his controls, he described out loud what the mutant would have to do.
“It won’t be easy,” the captain finished. “But then, you knew that when you volunteered for this.”
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