Read Online Force and Motion by Jeffrey Lang - Free Book Online Page B

said, tapping his thumb to the lock. “I’ll be right there.” The door to the corridor swooshed open, and he stepped through. “Duty calls.”
    Ops Center
    Robert Hooke
    Old-school, Nog thought. I like it. The Robert Hooke’s operations center had obviously been designed using the tried-and-true circular design aesthetic of mostFederation command centers. Judging by the way the walls curved upward into an arch and the pair of auxiliary stairways to his left and right, Nog decided there was one more deck above them.
    From where he stood on the transporter pad, Nog could see that the workstations all appeared utilitarian and moderately well-maintained by civilian standards. Lights blinked; sensors pinged; indicators pulsed in predictable patterns; and the fabric covers for the furniture, while worn thin, were not rubbed raw or sprouting foam. Everything about the setting made Nog feel at home.
    The only problem, he decided, was the people. To be more precise: the lack thereof. As he and the chief stepped off the pad in unison, each of them looked to his left and right, both searching for a sign of life. They found none. The ops center purred and ticked around them, but was otherwise indifferent to their presence.
    â€œThis can’t be good,” O’Brien murmured.
    â€œThat’s supposed to be my line,” Nog said. “This is why I never want to go anywhere with you.”
    The doors to the turbolift snapped open, nearly causing Nog to jump. A tall, thin man stepped out carrying a tray laden with several beverage containers. The thin man nearly tripped as he stepped out of the lift, moving as if propelled from behind; the beverage containers swayed precariously. Both O’Brien and Nog bounded toward him to see if they could steady the load, but were forced back when the thin man did not check his pace. A deep voice boomed out from behind the thin man, “Forward, my lad. Forward, forward, ever forward. Now step to the side. And halt. Good.”
    A large man stepped out of the lift pushing a trolley before him. One of the trolley’s wheels wobbled and squeaked as it rolled. Several plates, each protected by a domed cover, rattled as the trolley rolled to the only open space large enough to accommodate both it and its driver. “Gentlemen,” the man intoned. “Please excuse our tardiness. Just as we broke off communications, it occurred to me that you might require some form of repast. Not knowing what time of day it is for you, we—my associate and I—decided we should try to assemble several different options.” He pointed at the thin man. “Sabih, please set the tray down over there.” He indicated the console to the thin man’s right. At a glance, Nog decided the thin man was setting down a tray of drinks on the atmospheric control console, which worried him.
    The large man—Finch, Nog assumed—lifted lids off plates, describing the contents of each in brisk tones. “A bit of smoked krelt, which, if you’ve never had, it’s a bit like haddock with a troubled past. Please try the Stilton, though let it warm up to room temperature.” He retrieved a cheese knife from the platter and carved off a chunk, which he popped into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “Definitely a few minutes. I just took it out of the preserver. As I said, we weren’t aware you were coming.” He lifted another lid. “And these are . . .” He studied the morsels carefully.
    Nog inhaled. “ Yak-ja ?”
    â€œAh, yes.” Finch poked at it. “It rather catches the light nicely, doesn’t it?”
    â€œWhen it’s properly writhing,” Nog said, “yes.”
    â€œAh, a connoisseur! Excellent! Sabih, offer them beverages!”
    Sabih asked, “Can I get you a beverage?”
    Chief O’Brien, who Nog could see was casting a skeptical eye at the proceedings, said, “I appreciate