GEMWORLD: BOOK ONE OF TWO
Page 21
Dane’s eyes narrowed. “Let me get this straight.”
“All right,” said his science officer, a white-haired man named Hudlin. He was standing next to the captain with his arms folded across his chest, an expression of impatience on his wrinkled face.
“Our long-range scanners,” Dane began, “have detected a wormhole out there in the Neutral Zone. And like any other wormhole, it’s probably not going to be there for long.”
“That’s correct,” Hudlin confirmed.
“But while it is there,” said the captain, “you’d like the chance to study it at close range—even if it means entering the Neutral Zone, violating the treaty we just signed and risking another war.”
The science officer frowned. “With all due respect, sir, we don’t have to go very far into the Neutral Zone, and it’s highly unlikely that the Romulans would notice us. As you’re no doubt aware, the war served to thin out their fleet considerably.”
True, Dane conceded. Of course, the same could be said of the Federation. “So you really don’t think we’d get caught?”
“I really don’t,” said Hudlin.
The captain granted. “I’ll tell you what, pal—I think you’re in luck. You see, between you and me and the bulkhead, I don’t give a rat’s fat patootie about this Romulan Neutral Zone everybody’s so impressed with. On the other hand, I don’t give a rat’s fat patootie about your wormhole.”
Bryce Shumar was three weeks out of Earth orbit when he fi- nally found what he was looking for.
The Tellarite vessel on his viewscreen was a collection of dark, forbidding spheres, some bigger than others. The deep creases between them served as housings for the spacecraft’s shield projectors, weapons ports, scanner arrays, and audio-visual transmitters, while a quartet of small cylinders, which spilled golden plasma from unlikely locations among the spheres, provided the ship with its propulsion capabilities.
More to the point, the vessel was far from any of the established trade routes. And from the time it had picked up Shumar’s ship on its long-range scanners, it had done its best to elude pursuit.
Unfortunately for the Tellarite, there wasn’t a starfaring vessel in the galaxy that could outrun a Christopher 2000. It hadn’t ever been a question of whether Shumar’s craft would catch up with its prey; the only question had been when.
Mullen, Shumar’s first officer, came to stand beside the captain’s chair. “Interesting ship,” he noted.
“Ugly ship,” Shumar told him. “Probably the ugliest I’ve ever seen. And when you run an Earth base, you see all kinds.”
The younger man looked at him, no doubt uncertain as to how to react to the remark. “I have to admit, sir, I’m no expert on esthetics.”
“You don’t have to be,” said Shumar. “Some things are ugly by definition. That Tellarite is one of them.”
“Weapons range,” announced Wallace, the helm officer.
The captain leaned forward. “Raise deflector shields and route power to laser batteries.”
Forward of his center seat, Morgan Kelly manipulated her tactical controls. “Aye, sir,” came her reply.
Just like old times, thought Shumar. He turned to Klebanov, his navigator. “Hail the Tellarite, Lieutenant.”
The woman went to work. A moment later, she looked up. “They’re responding,” she told the captain.
“On screen,” he said.
Abruptly, the image of a porcine being with a bristling beard and a pronounced snout assaulted his viewscreen. “What is the meaning of this?” the Tellarite growled.
The science officer stared at him, clearly more than a little confused. “But you said I was in luck.”
“You are. You want to get a little closer to that wormhole? Be my guest. Just don’t get me involved, all right? I hate the idea of having to explain something like this to a court-martial.”
And with that, Dane got up from his chair and headed for the turbolift. Naturally, he didn’t get far before he heard from Hudlin again.
“Sir?” said the science officer, hurrying to catch up with his captain. He looked around at the other bridge personnel, who were looking on with undisguised curiosity. “Where are you going?” he asked.
Dane shrugged. “To my quarters. I figure I’ll get a little shuteye. But don’t worry—you’ve got all the leeway you need. Just try to bring the ship back in one piece, okay?”
Again he headed for the turbolift.
“No!” Hudlin exclaimed.
The captain looked back at him. “No?”
The science officer swallowed. “What I mean is . . . I can’t command the ship. I’m only a science officer.”
Dane feigned surprise. “Hang on a second, Mr. Hudlin. There’s a wormhole out there just begging to be examined with short-range sensors—and you’re going to let that kind of opportunity slip through your fingers? What kind of scientist are you?”
The man couldn’t have looked more frustrated. “But I’ve had no tactical training. What if—”
The captain regarded him. “What if you run into some Romulans?” He allowed a note of irony to creep into his voice. “It’s highly unlikely that they’d notice us, don’t you think? Especially after the war thinned out their fleet so much.”
The other man frowned. “There’s no need to be abusive,” he responded. And without another word, he retreated to his science station.
Dane returned to his center seat, where he was greeted again by the stars that filled the Neutral Zone. “There’s no need to be abusive, sir,” he said under his breath.
* * *
Shumar could tell the alien was covering something up. Tellar- ites weren’t very good at duplicity.
“I’m Captain Shumar,” he said, “of the starship Peregrine. I have reason to believe you’re carrying stolen property.”
“I’m Captain Broj of the trading ship Prosperous,” the Tellarite answered, “and what I carry is my own business.”
“Not so,” the human pointed out. “It’s also the business of the United Federation of Planets.”
Broj’s already tiny eyes screwed up even tinier. “The United What?” he grunted, his tone less than respectful.
“The United Federation of Planets,” Shumar repeated patiently. “An organization of which your homeworld is a charter member.”
“Never heard of it,” said the Tellarite.
Another lie, the human reflected. “Nonetheless,” he insisted, “I need to search your vessel. If you haven’t got anything to hide, you’ll be on your way in no time. If—”
“Sir,” said Kelly, a distinct note of urgency in her voice, “they’re building up laser power.”
Shumar wasn’t the least bit surprised. “Target their weapons ports and fire, Lieutenant.”
Out in space, the Peregrine buried her electric-blue fangs in the other ship’s laser banks. But Shumar didn’t see that. What he saw was the wide-eyed apprehension on Broj’s face as he anticipated the impact of Shumar’s assault and realized that the human had beaten him to the punch.
Suddenly, the Tellarite flung his arms out and lurched out of sight, revealing two other Tellarites on a dark, cramped bridge. A console behind them erupted in a shower of sparks, eliciting curses from Broj’s crewmen and a series of urgent off-screen commands.
When Broj returned, his eyes were red-rimmed and his nostrils were flaring with anger. “How dare you fire on a Tellarite ship!” he snorted.
“As I indicated,” said Shumar, “I’m acting under Federation authority. Now, are you going to cooperate . . . or do I have to take out your shield generators as well?”
Broj’s mouth twisted with indignation. For a fraction of a second, he looked capable of anything. Then he seemed to settle down and consider his options—and come to the conclusion that he had none.
“All right,” the Tellarite agreed with a snarl. He glanced at someone off-screen. “Lower the shields.”
Shumar nodded approvingly. “That’s better.” He got to his fe
et. “Lieutenant Kelly, you’re with me. Mr. Mullen, you’ve got the center seat. Keep our weapons trained on the Tellarite—just in case.”
As Kelly slaved her weapons functions to the navigation console, the captain headed for the turbolift. To his surprise, his first officer insinuated himself in Shumar’s path.
“Yes?” the captain asked, wondering what the man wanted.
“Begging your pardon, sir,” said Mullen in a low, deferential voice, “but Earth Command regs called for commanding officers to remain on their ships. Generally, it was their subordinates who led the boarding parties.”
“Subordinates like you, I suppose?”
The exec nodded. “That’s correct, sir.”
Shumar smiled at him. “This isn’t Earth Command, Mr. Mullen. Starfleet has no regulations against captains leading boarding parties—at least, none that I’m aware of. Besides, I like to get my hands dirty.”
By then, Kelly was ready to depart. Shumar clapped his exec on the shoulder and moved past him, then opened the lift doors with a tap on the bulkhead padd and went inside. After Kelly joined him, he closed the doors again and the compartment began to move.
The weapons officer glanced at him sideways. “So tell me,” she said, “when was the last time you had occasion to use a laser pistol, Captain I-Like-To-Get-My-Hands-Dirty?”
Shumar patted the weapon on his hip. “Never, Lieutenant. That’s why I brought you along.”
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