“That something else might be out there, and that it seems to be mad at everybody?” Reyes asked. “You’re damned right, I’m worried. It seems like for every rock we turn over out here, five more show up, and I end up not liking what I find under three of those.”
“Under at least one of those rocks lay the answers we seek, Commodore,” Jetanien said. “There can be no turning back now. Simply too much is at stake.”
Releasing a tired, humorless chuckle as he cast a knowing glance toward T’Prynn, Reyes turned from the screen. “I have to tell you, Ambassador, the more I hear that, the more I want to find out who said it first and beat them with a lead pipe.”
“You can be certain it was a politician,” Jetanien replied, offering the Chelon equivalent of a broad grin.
Reyes nodded. “I rest my case.”
The conversation was interrupted by the sound of the intercom on his desk emitting its telltale tone. Looking toward the row of status lights embedded at the base of the small gray rectangular module which housed the comm unit, Reyes noted that the red light on the far left was blinking. He reached for the control pad set into his desk, entering a sequence of coded commands. “Computer, activate security encryption algorithm Sierra Delta-Six.”
There was a delay as his request was processed, after which the female voice that characterized Starfleet computer systems replied, “Security protocol enabled.”
Satisfied that the communication now was sheltered under an umbrella of protection, the commodore activated the channel. “Reyes here.”
“ Commodore, this is Dr. Gek,”said the nasally voice of the Tellarite scientist, the effect only enhanced from being filtered through the comm speaker. “ I’ve discovered something that’s most interesting, sir. Something you should know about.”
Exchanging intrigued glances with Jetanien and T’Prynn, Reyes leaned closer to the comm unit. “What is it, Doctor?”
Gek cleared his throat before answering, a sound that Reyes likened to a Grenthemen water hopper stalling after having its clutch popped. “ Sir, we have been going over the sensor data gathered by theEndeavour during the incident at Erilon. According to our findings, the power signatures emanating from the subterranean weapons emplacements appear to have at least a passing resemblance to Tholian technology.”
The silence that descended upon Reyes’s office was total, to the point that after several seconds, Gek felt compelled to ask, “ Hello? Is this unit functioning?”
“Fascinating,” T’Prynn said, her right eyebrow ascending nearly to her hairline.
Jetanien clicked and chirped before nodding. “Well, this seems to have become a new thing altogether. It should make the coming summit that much more interesting.”
Resting his head in his hands so as to better rub his now throbbing temples, Reyes said, “As always, Your Excellency, your gift for understatement knows no bounds.”
31
“Hands on the switch, newsboy,” Quinn said, sounding remarkably sober to Pennington as the pilot maneuvered the Rocinantearound for yet another pass at retrieving their target. “We’re pressed for time, here.”
“Now, whyare we doing this again?” Pennington asked, turning to look at Quinn in the pilot’s seat. Between pinpointing the location of the Klingon sensor drone T’Prynn had tasked the trader with obtaining and cocking up their previous attempts to snare the device, they had been jockeying about the thing for the better part of an hour.
“Because you screwed it up the first two times,” Quinn shot back, his attention focused on his helm console. “So keep your eye on the targeting scanner and quit looking at me.”
Clenching his jaw as he forced down his mounting frustration, Pennington said, “What I meant was, why do we have to bring the bloody thing aboard? Can’t you just scan it for whatever it is you need?” Of course, he knew that given the age and condition of the Rocinante’s sensor suite, they were lucky to be able to scan for entire planets.
“I need to access the hardware directly,” Quinn said through gritted teeth.
“Then why not go out in an envirosuit?” Pennington’s suggestion was an attempt to rankle his traveling companion more than anything else. During the days it had taken to travel from Yerad III to the probe rendezvous point, his efforts to goad Quinn into exasperation or frustrated silence had become his favorite pastime.
“That’s actually an excellent idea,” said Sakud Armnoj from where he sat on a fold-down jump seat situated just aft of the Rocinante’s cramped cockpit, “because you know he’s just going to miss again.”
Oddly, and despite the sadistic fun he himself had been having at Quinn’s expense, Pennington found the fussy Zakdorn’s relentless complaints and bickering—most of it aimed at the pilot—not nearly as amusing. In fact, the accountant’s constant needling annoyed him as much as it did their shared whipping boy.
Maybe we should have brought his snotty beast with us just to shut him up.Thankfully, they had not. After regaining consciousness following his encounter with Quinn’s stun pistol—and after much wailing and complaining as he gathered his accounting files and other materials for Ganz—Armnoj finally had relented and seen to it that his prized pet was placed in the care of a trusted neighbor before the Zakdorn was whisked away to the Rocinante.
Pennington tried to tune out the newest volley of Armnoj’s bleating voice. “If you had a tractor beam on this worthless excuse of a ship instead of an antiquated grappling hook, you’d have been done by now.”
“Stifle your hole before I weld it shut!” Quinn shouted, not even bothering to turn from the helm console.
“As amazing as this sounds,” Pennington said, affecting mock sincerity, “I think I might actually agree with him this time.”
Grunting something unintelligible, the pilot regarded him with a wan smile. “Well, hell, maybe I’ll just stuff you both in the cargo hold for the next week, seeing as how you’re so agreeable and all.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively before returning to the business at hand. “We’re in range,” he said, indicating a status gauge on the helm console which had begun flashing green. “Lock on target.”
“Even if he manages to hit it,” Armnoj said, “the take-up reel will just jam like it did last time, when he missed!”
“Shut up!” Quinn and Pennington yelled in unison.
Maneuvering the grappling hook’s targeting controls with his right hand, Pennington watched as an indicator light turned from dark blue to amber. He felt his finger tighten against the grappler’s firing trigger.
“Hurry, dammit, before we drift too close!” Quinn shouted.
“Almost got it,” Pennington replied, watching the targeting screen as the sights moved to line up with the computer-generated image of the man-sized sensor drone. Then the crosshairs illuminated as bright yellow at the same time the target lock indicator glowed red. “That’s it!”
He uttered the exclamation at the precise instant a pair of maneuvering thrusters on the drone’s hull fired. Pennington pressed the grappler’s firing control, but he was too slow. The drone moved out of the target lock and angled away from the Rocinante,leaving the grappling magnet and its length of flexible duranium cable to sail harmlessly through space.
“Oh, for crying out!” Quinn shouted.
“He missed again,” Armnoj said with no small amount of superior satisfaction. “I knew it.”
Muttering what Pennington recognized as a string of particularly vile Rigelian oaths, Quinn pounded several of the helm controls in a frenetic sequence that Pennington found difficult to follow. “Damn proximity sensors,” he said. In response to his commands, the Rocinantepitched to starboard as Quinn once again set about giving chase after the sensor drone. Rising from his seat, he prompted Pennington to vacate the copilot’s chair by hooking a thumb over his shoulder. “You’re fired. Sit over there and don’t touch anything. I’ve programmed the autopilot to maneuver us to the limit of the grappler’s range. Hopefully that’ll leave enough distance to avoid setting off the drone’s collision avoidance software.”