• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

“I have every intention of doing so,” I assured him, and sat down in the helmsman’s place.

Sturgis, who was sitting at navigation and showed no sign of leaving, cast a wary eye at me as I joined him. I mumbled something. He mumbled back. It was the extent of our camaraderie.

Worf’s position was behind mine, so I couldn’t watch as he acclimated himself to the ship’s weapons control console. It was just as well. I had my hands full getting to know the Daring’s helm.

Still, I took note of two officers whom I had not yet met. One was the operations officer, a blond man with a boyish smile and a long, ornate earring though it wasn’t of the Bajoran variety. I would learn later that the fellow’s name was Dunwoody.

The other officer, a dark-haired woman, was at the bridge’s engineering station. Her name was Sheel a Trill, as I would also learn, though not the joined kind.

We soared through subspace at warp six, the stars streaking by us, all periodic system checks coming up negative. In short, the Daring was in admirable working order.

It wasn’t until near the end of our tour, when the captain and her morning-shift personnel came out onto the bridge, that we hit our first snag. What’s more, it had nothing to do with the workings of the ship.

Our first hint of it was when Sturgis scowled at his navigation monitor, where long-range sensor scans were reflected. “Captain,” he said, “sensors show something dead ahead.”

“Something?” Red Abby echoed.

The man’s scowl deepened. “Ships,” he said. “Five of ‘em.”

The captain came over and peered at Sturgis’s board. “Let’s see them,” she said, her voice cool and even.

A moment later, the image on the viewscreen changed. It showed five specks. And though I couldn’t see them very well, their precise positioning confirmed they were spacegoing vessels.

“Increase magnification,” Red Abby ordered.

The image changed again. We were no longer looking at a collection of specks. They were ships, as Sturgis had indicated, though no two were of the same design.

Pirates, I thought. It was the inescapable conclusion.

Worf and I traded looks. This was precisely the sort of obstacle we had hoped to avoid. After all, we were only pawns on this chessboard, subject to the whims of our captain and her newfound adversaries. And with their superior numbers, those adversaries had us at a distinct disadvantage.

Red Abby cursed beneath her breath. “Battle stations. Raise shields. Power up the phasers.”

Our communications officer turned in his seat. “They’re hailing us,” he told the captain.

Red Abby glanced at him. “On screen.”

A moment later, the image of a swarthy, heavily bearded human appeared on the viewer. His thick, unruly hair, shot through with strands of silver, was bound at the nape of his neck in a tight braid.

I recognized him. His name was Marrero Jaiya, a key figure in the Maquis rebellion. I’d clashed with him on two separate occasions, more to his chagrin than my own.

Apparently, he’d abandoned his post among the Maquis since our last encounter. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be pirating in this sector or holding up our vessel at the point of his phasers.

Turning to Worf, I saw his Klingon brow furrow at the sight of Jaiya. When he shot a glance at me, there was a warning in his eyes one I had no trouble at all understanding.

If the pirate recognized either one of us, our cover was blown. We had to make sure that didn’t happen. And as there was a good chance we were both on screen, we had to slink off-screen before disaster struck.

“What do you want of us?” Red Abby demanded of Jaiya.

Little by little, Worf and I made our way toward the periphery of the bridge. Nor did the former Maquis seem to notice.

“You’ve got a big, beautiful vessel there,” he told our captain. “We could find a thousand uses for a vessel like that. Maybe a million.”

“No doubt you could,” Red Abby replied tautly. “I hope you get your hands on one someday.”

“Actually,” Jaiya said offhandedly, “we were thinking we might