String Theory_ Cohesion (Book 1) - Jeffrey Lang [60]
“Doesn’t exactly scream ‘officially sanctioned government outpost,’ does it?”
“I would not walk up to the gate and knock to be let in.”
“Then what do we do?”
Seven pulled out her tricorder and ran a brief scan. “Utilizing our superior technological resources,” she said, “I will devise a plan that will permit us to evade detection.”
“Or,” B’Elanna said, “we could just shoot them with our phasers.”
“A waste of resources,” Seven said. “We may need the batteries later.”
Was that a joke? B’Elanna wondered, but only said, “To shoot our way out?”
“My method is more efficient.”
“But it will waste time. We need to contact Voyager as quickly as possible.”
“And what if one of your phaser shots inadvertently damages their equipment?” Seven asked. “Or someone inside hears our shots and deliberately destroys what we seek?”
Hefting her phaser, B’Elanna considered their options. She was really beginning to hate Seven’s being right all the time. “All right,” she said. “Stealth. If stealth fails, then we shoot.”
“That is how these situations tend to unfold,” Seven replied and began to creep down the side of the hill. “Especially when you are involved.”
Tom wished he had thought to bring a hot pad. The heat from the bottom of the plate was singeing his palm. “Harry? C’mon, Harry. Open the door. I’m burning my hand.” Tom pressed the buzzer to his friend’s quarters again. “Harry? I know you’re in there. The computer told me.” The omelet smelled good and he was tempted, very tempted, but there had been enough mushrooms left to make only one and, well, a promise was a promise. He’d try one more time. If Harry didn’t answer, he’d have a nibble. Just to make sure it was still good. “Harry? Really. Flesh burning now. I’m going to leave if you…”
The door slipped open. Tom poked his head in and inhaled the rich smell of loamy earth. Guess we should have done a better job of insulating those mushroom-growing racks, Tom decided. The room was dark except for a single lamp next to the library computer station. “Harry? You there? I brought you some supper. Omelet, Harry. Mmmm. Mushrooms!”
“Just put it down” was the response. Tom could see Harry in the pool of light. The top of the desk was littered with a half-dozen other padds and a jumble of data cubes. “I’ll eat later.”
“If it gets cold,” Tom said, “it will take on the consistency of plastic foam. I refuse to sacrifice the only usable mushrooms in the crop because you’re having a bad day.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“How can you not be hungry? According to Neelix, you haven’t eaten since yesterday.”
“Tell Neelix to mind his own business.”
“I have,” Tom said setting the plate on the low table near the desk. “But he’s constitutionally incapable.”
Without looking up from his work, Harry asked, “What are you doing here, Tom? I thought you and the doctor were inoculating everyone on the ship.”
“Right,” Tom said, opening the medpack at his hip and pulling out the hypospray. “You’ll be pleased to know you’re the last. Could it be because you ignored all the calls from sickbay? Possibly.”
“I’m working on something, Tom. The captain needs to know if the radiation in this fold is going to prevent us from going to warp.”
“Yeah, I heard. Neelix told me about the meeting. Sorry she tore into you like that.”
“It’s okay,” Harry said. “She was just trying to get me to do my job….”
“Harry, there isn’t anyone on board this ship who works harder than you do.”
“Except the captain,” Harry countered.
Tom reflected on that, then nodded in agreement. Pressing the hypo to Harry’s forearm, he injected the drug. “If you feel queasy later, it’s probably