The Romulan War_ Beneath the Raptor's Wing (Book 1) - Michael A. Martin [215]
Besides, she’d been getting damned antsy from all the waiting around she’d been doing of late.
“Very good, Sidra,” she said, nodding to the comm officer before turning toward the helm. “Reiko, lay in a course for the Onias sector. Keep pace with the convoy’s lead ship.” Addressing the whole bridge, she added, “And keep your eyes peeled for Romulans.”
“Aye, Captain,” Lieutenant Reiko Akagi said, working the helm with a surgeon’s precision.
“Onias or bust,” said Commander Veronica Fletcher, who stood beside Hernandez’s chair as she watched the convoy’s lead ship on the main viewer.
“I’ll try to go easy on the ‘bust’ part,” Lieutenant Thayer said from tactical. “But some of that could be up to the Romulans.”
The possibility of running into a Romulan sneak attack was a very real one, particularly after the convoy reached its destination. Once there, Columbia would be expected to escort a second group of ships, a mining convoy, out of the Onias sector and back toward the Coalition’s core worlds. At the farthest extremity of her route, Columbia would be at the crossroads of both the Romulan and Klingon Empires, not to mention about as far from Earth as Hernandez had ever ventured.
To say that Columbia and her charges would be vulnerable at that point struck Hernandez as an understatement; it was at such times that she drew genuine comfort from the presence aboard Columbia of Major Foyle and the three-dozen-strong company of MACO troopers under his command.
Columbia surged forward, her latest convoy escort mission under way at long last. But Hernandez remained restless. The convoy’s progress would be slow, and she ached to get back into the fight against the Romulans. Unfortunately, Starfleet had decided that the safety of the convoy’s cargo was worth sidelining one of its best-armed vessels, at least for a while. Antsy though she was, the captain had to concede that Admiral Gardner’s tactical reasoning was sound.
As the fleet sped toward Onias, she thought of Jonathan Archer, who was even now gathering a reconstituted assault force around Enterprise. She was determined that Columbia would be part of that force before it moved on to its next big planned engagement. Hernandez hoped that the inevitable all-out war wouldn’t reach full throttle before Columbia was able to join it.
Maybe I missed Berengaria on account of babysitting duty, Jon, she thought. But you’d better not even think about trying to liberate Deneva without me.
SEVENTY-THREE
Sunday, April 4, 2156
Alaraph Central Spaceport, Zavijava V
Beta Virginis Colony
THE DUFFEL THAT CONTAINED her clothing and imaging equipment slung over her shoulder, Gannet Brooks watched the frantic press of humanity from one of the gallery’s upper levels. The bright yellow light of the star, after which both the colony and its spaceport were named, streamed in behind the frantic prospective travelers, suffusing them with an appropriately unearthly glow.
Brooks judged that comparatively few of these people had come merely to bid farewell to friends and loved ones; just about everyone she saw was laden down with baggage of some sort. These people meant to get off the planet, and quickly. She wondered what percentage of the multitude that crowded the departure gates had booked passage in advance, as opposed to the proportion that had decided to flee at the spur of the moment.
She reached into her pocket to extract the printed plastic flimsy that would get her aboard the transport scheduled for departure at 1430, local time. Nash McEvoy had just narrowed her options down to exactly one: boarding the transport when the time arrived to do so and returning to the Sol system. Her desire to remain here, to continue covering the war’s unfolding drama, had apparently counted for next to nothing.
In retrospect,