Caretaker - L. A. Graf [2]
"Hold on!"
The crash of the storm swallowing them whole rivaled any blast from the Cardassian warship, but it was a welcome, familiar violence that lifted the crushing dread from Chakotay's heart even as it battered his tiny craft. Thrashing flares of electro-magnetic fire writhed across the viewscreen, whipping their damaged shields like living tentacles as plasma rocked and shook and pitched the Maquis ship in warning of what they would face should they stray too close to the heart of that fury.
It was a power Chakotay already respected well, and one he didn't plan to abuse. Weaving carefully between the grasping tendrils, he counted the seconds since the Cardassians last opened fire on them, and smiled.
As if aware of Chakotay's thoughts, Tuvok volunteered from the weapons station, "The Cardassian ship is not reducing power.
They're following us in."
Chakotay aimed them neatly through a tear in the plasma hardly large enough to take them. "Gul Evek must be feeling daring today."
Tuvok inset the video from his sensors to the edge of the main viewscreen, granting Chakotay the privilege of watching without interrupting the pilot's work. It was worth having the chance to sneak a look, Chakotay admitted. The huge Cardassian vessel twisted and jumped as plasma discharge racked it from all sides.
Chakotay recognized their pattern--a crude attempt to follow the path sketched out by the Maquis ship on its way into the maelstrom. He couldn't wait to see what happened when they tried to thread that plasma needle he'd just squeezed through.
Evek's ship wrenched suddenly sideways--to avoid the skirl of fire biting at its belly, Chakotay supposed--only to have its upflung nacelle engulfed in a hungry tentacle that swelled all too quickly into a searing blast of light and spinning debris.
He caught the briefest glimpse of the warship as it tumbled over itself and off visual, trailing glowing destruction behind it.
"They're sending out a distress signal on all Cardassian frequencies," Tuvok reported. Which meant most of them were still alive. Too bad.
Torres snorted and thumped a fist on her panel in pleasure.
"Evek was a fool to take a ship that size into the Badlands."
"Anyone's a fool to take a ship into the Badlands," Chakotay reminded her, and she rewarded him with one of her rare, sharp-toothed smiles and a rude gesture with one hand.
Still grinning, Chakotay passed his gaze over Tuvok on his way to returning all attention to his console. "Can you plot a course through these plasma fields, Mr. Tuvok?" It would be nice to have something to work from other than the seat of his pants, not to mention nice to let the computer do some of the work for a while.
"The storm activity is typically widespread in this vicinity."
Tuvok fell silent as he swept their surroundings with whatever sensors the Cardassians had left them. "I can plot a course," he decided at last, "but I am afraid it will require an indirect route."
Chakotay shrugged, enjoying the luxury. "We're in no hurry."
Tuvok didn't seem to appreciate the dry humor--after all, with no warp drive and damn little impulse, there wasn't much hurrying they could do--but Chakotay had learned to enjoy the opportunities for humor made available by a Vulcan's literal mind. Humor was something hard to come by in the Maquis these days.
Chakotay waited for the telltales on his panel to blink acceptance of the computer's control, then pushed away from the console to climb stiffly to his feet. Muscles all down his back twinged in none-too-gentle reminder of the hours he'd spent hunched in the tiny pilot's seat. He pulled his face into a grimace and stretched until his hands brushed the ceiling. Even with the ship still jumping and rumbling through the trails of plasma discharge, it felt good to be standing. He was getting too old for this kind of cat-and-mousing every day.
Torres remained glued to her station, calling damage reports and instructions to other parts of the ship while