Section 31_ Rogue - Andy Mangels [58]
Hawk tapped several controls on the navigation console, and the shuttle responded by banking gently onto a southeasterly heading. The craft’s forward velocity began to diminish, as did the buffeting and turbulence.
“Captain?” the lieutenant said, his brow crumpling. “Something about these sensor readings isn’t right.”
“Apart from the interference?”
“Yes, sir.” The younger man gestured to the static-garbled tactical display. “Even through the charged atmospheric particles, we’re already close enough to detect some sign of the rebel base. But I’m reading absolutely nothing. Not even a stray calorie of waste heat.”
Picard pondered what that might mean. Then he glanced at his chronometer and decided to put the matter to one side for the moment. “Carry on, Mr. Hawk,” he said, rising from his seat. Best to let the lad do what I brought him along to do.
Picard sat beside Batanides and Crusher. The admiral was massaging her temples.
“Admiral, perhaps you should remain aboard with Dr. Crusher,” Picard said. “If you’re not feeling up to this-“
Meeting his gaze, she cut him off. “Remember the time I came down with that Berengarian virus?”
He was glad they lacked the time to tell Crusher that story. During their Academy days, Batanides had been exposed to an alien enzyme that put her into a coma and nearly killed her. She was alive now thanks partly to her own innate ruggedness, and partly because Picard and Zweller had secretly-and illegally-taken her to the remote planet Yrskatdon for the gene resequencing therapy that had ultimately saved her life.
He wondered: Was she trying to remind him that she was tough? Or that their current circumstances might force him once again to bend Starfleet regulations?
“How could I forget?” Picard said, nodding. If she could survive that, then a little queasiness wouldn’t even slow her down. He could already see the color returning to her cheeks.
“How’s the mission timetable?” Batanides said.
“We’re locked on course for the coordinates we received from Corey. The shuttle should be over the base in…” Picard paused to consult his chronometer “…two minutes and five seconds. We’ll have only a few moments to beam into the base before the Kepler flies out of transporter range. That will put us inside the base four and a half minutes before the forcefields in the detention area come down.”
“If the forcefields come down,” Crusher said grimly.
Picard ignored the doctor’s comment. “After the beam-in, Mr. Hawk will circle around, pass back into transporter range, and retrieve everyone from the beam-up point.”
His eyes on the instruments, Hawk said over his shoulder, “It’ll be tricky, because I’ll have to do the beam-outs a few at a time. I’ll just have to keep circling over the base until I’ve recovered everyone.” With a sheepish grin, he added: “Assuming that the Chiarosans don’t shoot me down first.”
“And also assuming,” Crusher said, her gaze trained on Picard, “that this entire situation isn’t a trap. It’s still possible that Commander Zweller’s message was a ruse created by the rebels.”
“Or perhaps even by the Romulans,” Picard said as he rose and walked to the portside weapons locker. He quickly removed two tricorders, a pair of hand phasers, and a compression phaser rifle. “I’ll grant that we may be walking into a trap. On the other hand, we can’t accomplish anything by waiting. This is the best-and the only-lead we’ve got.”
Batanides followed him and took possession of a tricorder and one of the hand phasers. After checking the charge on her weapon, she turned toward the cockpit. “Heads up, Mr. Hawk.” She threw the phaser to him, hard.
Hawk swiveled his chair toward her and plucked the phaser out of the air as though it had been standing still. The admiral smiled. “Good reflexes, son. You’ll be a real asset to the