“What are you doing?” Armnoj asked, his voice now reaching a level of nasally buzzing that Pennington was sure might be useful as a weapon to ward off wolves.
“Shut up,” Quinn said.
From where he stood near the top of the boarding ramp, Pennington glanced over his shoulder to see Quinn making adjustments to the tricorder. The device emitted a series of beeps and tones that seemed to satisfy him, and the pilot reached into the opening he earlier had cut into the hull probe’s hull plating.
“Now what?” Pennington asked.
“Calling for help,” Quinn replied. Rising to his feet, he lurched his way over to a nearby storage locker and flung open its door. From inside he extracted a portable antigravity maneuvering unit, which he quickly attached to the side of the sensor drone.
An energy burst struck the left support strut for the landing ramp and Pennington ducked away from the hatch. “Well, hurry the hell up about it!”
Using the antigrav unit to move the sensor probe toward the hatch, Quinn gave the weight-neutralized drone a kick that sent it down the boarding ramp before slapping the control pad next to the door. “That ought to piss some people off,” he muttered as he stumbled his way toward the Rocinante’s cockpit.
“Are you going to explain what that was about?” Armnoj asked as he followed after the pilot.
“Sit down and stay quiet,” Quinn growled, “or I’ll kick your ass down the ramp, too.” He pushed the accountant into his customary jump seat just outside the cockpit before proceeding on to his seat, his hands moving across the helm console as he went through the startup sequence to bring the ship’s engines to life.
Dropping into the copilot’s chair, Pennington stared through the cockpit canopy at the cargo hold outside the ship. He saw the two thugs who had been shooting at them running for the bay’s exit, trying to get out ahead of the depressurization currently laying claim to the atmosphere inside the chamber.
The rumble of the Rocinante’s engines shook the deck beneath Pennington’s feet as Quinn continued the power-up sequence. “Get us out of here, Quinn, before they override the door.”
“Working on it, newsboy,” Quinn replied without looking away from the helm console. He tapped the controls for the ship’s maneuvering thrusters and Pennington felt the ship lurch, rotating to its right as it lifted from the deck of the cargo bay. He saw the bulkhead in front of the ship slide past as the starhopper maneuvered toward the hold’s massive space doors, which Pennington was relieved to see beginning to cycle open. Quinn nudged the thrusters a bit more and the Rocinantejumped forward. “Here we go.”
Pennington held his breath as the gap between them and the doors shrank. Then the hull of Broon’s pirate vessel gave way to open space and he was pressed back in his seat as Quinn keyed the impulse drive.
“Get on the sensors,” Quinn said, “tell me if they’re coming after us.”
Leaning forward in his seat, Pennington entered the commands to activate the ship’s sorry excuse for scanners, taking a moment to scrutinize the readings before shaking his head. “Not yet, anyway.”
“I’m plotting our course for warp speed now,” Quinn said. “Another minute and we’ll be in the clear.”
Pennington nodded. “What was with the drone?” He could not understand why Quinn would waste time fooling with the device.
“I activated its transceiver relay,” Quinn replied. “It’s sending a distress call right now.” Looking up, he offered a sly smile which appeared crooked thanks to the bruising on his right cheek. “With luck, the Klingons will be on the way and Broon can explain to them what he’s doing with a piece of their hardware.”
Despite himself, Pennington could not help returning the smile. “Grand.”
“I thought so,” Quinn said, chuckling. “Nice moves back there, by the way. Tripping that airlock was pretty smart thinking. Saved our hides, mine in particular.” Glancing sideways toward Pennington, he nodded. “I owe you one, Tim.”
“No charge, mate,” the reporter replied, taken somewhat off guard by Quinn’s sudden display of gratitude. It was most out of character for the trader, though not at all unwelcome.
Their sense of amused self-satisfaction was short-lived, however, as Armnoj rose from his seat and stuck his head into the cockpit.
“Is this how you protect Mr. Ganz’s valuable property?” the Zakdorn opined, looming over Quinn’s shoulder with his briefcase. “I could have died back there.”
“You can die right here, if you don’t shut up,” Quinn replied without looking up from his console.
Sniffing the air in his usual self-aggrandizing manner, Armnoj made a sound which to Pennington sounded like a rapacious cat readying to pounce on a wayward mouse. “Rest assured I’ll be making a full report to Mr. Ganz immediately upon our…”
Pennington slugged him, his fist connecting with the accountant’s jaw and sending him staggering out of the cockpit, tripping over his own feet and landing with a heavy thud on the deck.
“Thanks. Now I owe you two,” Quinn said as he keyed a series of controls and the Rocinantejumped to warp speed.
37
Sitting in the center seat on the bridge of the Endeavour, Atish Khatami once more was gripped by the nagging sensation that the chair and the responsibilities which came with it were too much for her to bear.
“Detecting seven power sources coming online, Captain,” Ensign Klisiewicz reported from the science station. “Same locations as before, including the one directly beneath the site where the landing party and research teams are working.”
Khatami noted the nervousness in the young man’s voice, certain that everyone around them shared his anxiety. The memories from the Endeavour’s last visit here—and what it had cost them—still were fresh, though her people of course were manning their posts and seeing to their assigned duties with the air of aplomb and professionalism Captain Zhao always had demanded. Still, she sensed none of the uncertainty or discomfort she knew had plagued members of the crew in the days following her promotion.
Maybe Leone’s cure for that particular malady is starting to spread.
Emboldened by that thought—as juvenile as it might seem—and despite the tension she knew permeated the bridge, Khatami felt herself sit up just a bit straighter in the command chair.
“Captain,” Klisiewicz called out, turning in his seat, “temperatures at those locations are rising, but they’re doing so faster than before.”
“What?” Mog said, looking up from the engineering station. “Faster?”
Klisiewicz nodded. “Yes, sir. The rate of increase is almost double what we experienced…the last time.”
“Somebody’s been busy while we were away,” Khatami said. Faster temperature increase meant that the lag between attacks from the planetary defense system they had faced during their last encounter would be cut almost in half, and said nothing about any increase in accuracy or power that the massive weapons may have received. “Red alert, all hands to battle stations,” she ordered before glancing over her shoulder to the officer seated at the communications station. “Ensign, get me Captain Okagawa on the Lovell.”
It took only a moment for the frequency to be set up, and the image on the main viewer shifted to display the anxious face of the other ship’s commanding officer, his face creased with worry lines as he sat on the somewhat smaller yet still vibrant bridge of his own vessel.
“ I take it you’ve picked up the power readings?”Okagawa asked by way of introduction.
Khatami nodded. “Yes. Their rate of increase is faster this time around. Captain, I don’t think your shields will be enough to protect you. We had enough trouble ourselves during our first run-in. I suggest you orbit out to maximum transporter range and wait.”