The Romulan War_ Beneath the Raptor's Wing (Book 1) - Michael A. Martin [5]
“The Klingon vessel is changing position, Captain,” Stak said. “Accelerating toward us.”
“Helm and propulsion remain off-line,” T’Pelek said.
“Is there any way to contact the Toth?” Vanik asked, addressing Voris.
“Negative, Captain.”
It occurred to Vanik only then that he had never experienced quite such dire circumstances, either during his earlier tenure as commander of the science vessel Ti’Mur or during his six preceding decades of service to Vulcan’s space-exploration efforts.
“Continue attempting to raise the Toth, Subaltern,” he said. “I need to confer with Captain L’Vor to learn what countermeasures she is taking to prevent the capture of her ship.”
At that moment a transitory burst of light brightened Altern Stak’s side of the bridge. It had already faded by the time Vanik had turned to face the young science officer, whose features were frozen in a curiously un-Vulcan expression of dismay.
Vanik realized exactly which countermeasure Captain L’Vor had employed even before Stak said a word.
“The Toth has exploded, Captain. And the Klingon vessel has not yet opened fire.”
Logical, Vanik thought. If their desire is to capture rather than merely to kill.
It was also logical to assume that L’Vor would not have acted out of panic, but merely out of the prudent necessity of preventing an enemy from acquiring sensitive Vulcan technology.
“Altern Stak,” Vanik said as he arrived at a decision that was as unfortunate as it was both logical and inevitable. “Prepare our log buoy for launch.”
“Immediately, Captain,” Stak said.
The air was beginning to smell dank and stale to Vanik, although he knew that the failure of the life-support system had occurred far too recently to have allowed the ship’s atmosphere to degrade significantly. But he also knew that the T’Jal would be a silent, life-hostile flying tomb soon enough if Stak failed to carry out his next order.
“And try to determine whether we can activate our autodestruct system,” Vanik said, quietly grieving for every katra lost this day. “As the commander of the Toth just did.”
TWO
Friday, July 25, 2155
Enterprise NX-01, Gamma Hydra sector
THE READY ROOM DOOR CHIME buzzed like an ugly accusation.
Jonathan Archer tossed the padd he’d been reading toward the top of his desk. It landed squarely on the cockeyed stack of paper printouts that had accumulated between his computer terminal and a framed photograph of Trip Tucker and himself, taken years ago during a fishing junket in the Gulf of Mexico. Though he wasn’t eager to speak with anyone at the moment, he felt grateful for any opportunity to postpone dealing with the padd’s contents, or the other paperwork beneath it.
“Come,” he said after jabbing a thumb at the desktop intercom beside the stack. The door opened a moment later with a faint pneumatic hiss.
Commander T’Pol stepped across the raised threshold, her Vulcan features as impassive as ever, her hands behind her back. Immediately behind her was Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, who carried himself far more tensely than T’Pol did; his demeanor was that of a man tiptoeing across a minefield.
The door closed behind his visitors, and Archer swiveled his desk chair toward them without making any move to rise.
“T’Pol. Malcolm. What can I do for you?”
“We haven’t come to make any specific request of you, Captain,” T’Pol said, then glanced briefly in Malcolm’s direction.
Reed cleared his throat. “Actually, Captain, we came to see if there’s anything we can do for you.” He looked as though he’d have preferred to be inventorying the armory’s stock of photonic torpedoes or rewiring his tactical console to having this conversation.
Not again, Archer thought, trying to keep his all but omnipresent