Star Trek: Corp of Engineers - 019 - Foundations - Book 3 by Dayton Ward;Kevin Dilmore

Author:Dayton Ward;Kevin Dilmore
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: High Tech, Space Opera, General, Science Fiction, Adventure, Fiction
ISBN: 9780743456746
Publisher: Simon and Schuster
Published: 2002-01-02T08:00:00+00:00

Chapter

5

As Talev zh’Thren fell away, al-Khaled exercised the only option open to him.

He jumped.

Arms stretched outward, al-Khaled kicked off from the Chandley’s hull, arcing away from the ship and into free space.

“Commander!” Talev called out again, her arms and legs thrashing about as she drifted farther from the ship. She was reaching out for anything that might arrest her motion, but of course there was nothing.

“Hang on, Talev,” al-Khaled said, speaking in as calm a voice as he could muster, all the while cursing whoever had dismantled the Chandley’s transporter. “I’m coming.”

Drifting after her in the void, al-Khaled was helpless to do anything but listen to the echoes of his own breathing. His pulse raced and pounded in his ears as the distance between them shrank too damned slowly.

“Mahmud,” Scott’s voice sounded in his helmet, “what’s wrong?”

Not answering, al-Khaled’s attention was instead focused on Talev, who was now close, so very close. Reaching out, al-Khaled’s gloved fingers brushed against the side of the Andorian’s boot. He missed the grab, the action serving to twist her body away from his hand, her body turning cartwheels in the vacuum. Her arm was swinging around, though, and al-Khaled angled to reach for it.

And then his tether line went taut.

“No!” he cried as his hand closed around nothing and he felt his body pulled back toward the ship. The gap between him and Talev, which had been mere millimeters an instant ago, started to widen again.

As her body turned about and the visor of her helmet became visible, Talev’s expression was one of panic. “Commander!” She reached vainly in the direction of al-Khaled even as she continued to drift farther away from the Chandley. Al-Khaled flailed his arms in a desperate attempt to grab on to her, knowing even as he did so that the attempt was fruitless.

Then he saw movement in the corner of his eye.

Drifting past him was the remainder of Talev’s tether, still attached to her environmental suit. The severed safety line was arcing and twisting in response to the lieutenant’s frantic motions, and now it was almost within al-Khaled’s reach. But could he grab on to it?

“Mahmud,” Scott’s voice repeated in his helmet, “what the devil is goin’ on out there?”

“I’m a little busy at the moment, Scotty,” al-Khaled replied through clenched teeth. “Stand by.”

He grabbed on to his own tether and, using it for the tenuous amount of leverage it possessed, al-Khaled twisted his body around and reached out one last time with his free hand. The material of Talev’s safety line slid across his gloved fingers and he tightened his grip. His body curled around as the Andorian’s momentum was transferred to him, and then he felt his own movement arrest as his own tether went taut once more. When he was jerked in the direction of the Chandley this time, however, it was with Talev’s line still in his grip and the lieutenant now drifting along with him back toward the ship.

“Gotcha,” he called out in triumph. Easy there, he cautioned himself.

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