The Brave and the Bold Book Two - Keith R. A. DeCandido [24]
“Go,” Hudson said, then looked down at his readout as the sensor display beeped. “I’ve got the artifact emission.”
“Good. We can pick it up after we check out the distress call,” Mastroeni said.
Hudson grimaced. “It’ll be sooner than that. The emission’s at 173 mark 6.”
Mastroeni looked up sharply.
“Warp eight, Darleen. I’ve got a nasty idea about what’s happening.”
To her credit, Mastroeni didn’t hesitate, even though the maximum safe cruising speed for the Liberator was warp seven-point-three.
Then Hudson tried to boost the gain on the distress signal. “—otay of the Geroni —mayday, we need imme—ance. Repeat, this is Chakotay of— nimo, we need immediate assista—”
That was followed by the sound of wrenching metal.
A shiver went down Hudson’s spine and he froze in his chair. Anyone who had ever lived on a starship, as Hudson had most of his adult life, learned to fear that sound, because it meant that the hull—your lifeline, the only thing separating you from the unforgiving vacuum of space—might well be buckling.
“I lost the signal,” Mastroeni said.
“Warp nine.”
Mastroeni didn’t even look up, trying as she was to regain the distress call. “That’s crazy, Cal, we can’t—”
“I said warp nine!”
This time she did look up. Cal Hudson rarely raised his voice—but he wasn’t in the mood for an argument, and he wasn’t about to let Chakotay and his people suffer any more than they had to. He didn’t know Chakotay well, only that he too was ex-Starfleet, that he was from Trebus, and that he had already carved out a good reputation among the Maquis for both efficiency and fairness. But even if he were a total stranger, he would not allow him to suffer the agonies that awaited him if the Geronimo’ s hull ruptured.
“Fine, warp nine,” she said. “I just hope our hull doesn’t go the way of theirs.”
Chapter Five
ROBERT DESOTO WAS NOT LOOKING forward to this impending conversation.
About two hours after Tuvok left, he had put in a formal request to Starfleet Command to enter the Demilitarized Zone. He then awaited the call back from Admiral Nechayev denying the request. All according to plan. If Tuvok was able to find the artifact, or if the artifact made its presence known in some more overt manner, the plan might change, but for now Tuvok needed a clear path to get on the Maquis’s good side.
Instead, Nechayev’s small face with its even smaller features appeared on the screen on the desk of his ready room and informed him that she needed to get back to him, and she would contact him again in one hour on a secure channel, along with Gul Evek.
Voyskunsky had been in the ready room with him when Nechayev’s call came in. She frowned. “That wasn’t part of the plan, was it?”
DeSoto shook his head. “What’s the old saying? The plan of action is usually abandoned three minutes into the mission?”
“Something like that, though my experience says that estimate is often generous.”
Smiling, DeSoto said, “Obviously the board has changed shape somewhat.”
The captain decided to take the second call alone in the observation lounge. A secure channel from Alynna Nechayev meant captain’s eyes only—he’d judge afterward how much Voyskunsky needed to know, though his instinct would be all of it. It was never a good idea for a captain to have to keep things from his first officer.
The more spacious observation lounge, with its viewscreen on one of the walls, gave DeSoto more room to walk around, which he had a feeling he was going to need. Since this promised to be a long talk—Evek and Nechayev both were overly fond of the sounds of their respective voices—he wanted room to move to disguise the fidgeting.
One hour and twenty-five minutes after Nechayev said she’d get back in touch in an hour, Dayrit said, “Incoming transmission from the U.S.S. Nimitz. It’s Admiral Nechayev—priority alpha.”
Voyskunsky grinned toothily. “Nice to know that the admiralty’s reputation for promptness