Distant Shores - Marco Palmieri [14]
“They’re firing again!” Kim called.
“Damage report,” Chakotay called.
Tuvok promptly replied, “Port shield emitters are offline. Repairs are under way. Departments are reporting additional minor injuries.”
“We’re whole?” Chakotay inquired, somewhat in disbelief.
“Aye, sir,” Tuvok replied.
“Mr. Kim, what are those ships made of?”
“From this distance the sensors are not entirely effective, but their hull plating isn’t a match to anything in our database. Their shielding system is unusual-layered, like an onion- “
“Can we punch through them?”
“Unknown.”
“Any comm activity?”
Kim paused to check his station. “Some, not a lot. I’ve been running what we have through the universal translator. No luck so far.”
“I think it’s time we showed them our teeth,” Chakotay said. “Mr. Tuvok, fire phasers.”
“Aye, sir,” Tuvok said. The phasers lanced through the void and struck the nearest ship’s shields. The energy field flared illuminating its shape for a split second, the yellow light nearly whiting out the viewscreen.
“Damage?”
“Their shields are holding,” Tuvok reported, “though their engine efficiency appears to be down.”
“With five ships we can only take on one at a time. We’re outgunned,” Chakotay said. He paused a moment, running a hand through his close-cropped hair. “Mr. Paris, plot a course, 129 mark 7. Let’s put some distance between us.”
“Course plotted,” Paris answered.
“Execute,” Chakotay said. “Put tactical on the main viewer.”
The inky, starlit space was replaced with a computer-generated representation of the area. Voyager was represented by the Starfleet emblem while the five alien ships were green silhouettes based on sensor input. The five vessels were in motion, changing their configuration, spreading out.
“They are widening the space between themselves,” Tuvok said. “Making it more difficult for us to engage more than one at a time, leaving our flanks exposed.”
Chakotay felt like he was being lectured, but it was just a recitation from his tactical officer, nothing pejorative in that. He still chafed at the cold tones.
“How many torpedoes do we have?”
“Thirty-eight,” Tuvok replied. “The captain indicated they were to be used only in the direst of cases.”
“Doesn’t this count?”
Tuvok frowned at the question. “That is not for me to say. You, sir, are in command.”
Chakotay stared at the Vulcan and tried to read for emotional hints on his face. He couldn’t read the placid expression and devoted his attentions to the pressing matters on the bridge.
“Mr. Kim, any luck with deciphering their communications?”
Harry shook his head and Chakotay nodded, turning his attention once more to the viewscreen. Then the commander snapped his fingers, pointing his index finger at the Talaxian. “Neelix, go listen in with Kim. See if you recognize the language.”
Neelix moved to the upper deck and leaned over the station, coming within two inches of Harry’s head. Chakotay wasn’t sure what to make of the Talaxian. After all, he deceived the crew into helping them rescue Kes from the Kazon, but it turned out for the best since they learned more about the Caretaker and one of the most fascinating, if short-lived, races, he had yet encountered. Neelix also struck him as a jack of all trades, master of none, and Chakotay wasn’t sure how he’d fit in on a crew trained for purpose.
Speaking of purpose, he felt the tension rising on the Bridge and felt the need to cut it somewhat. Twisting in his chair, he addressed his tactical officer.
“Well Tuvok, it’s not the first time we’ve faced such long odds, is it?”
Tuvok seemed to ignore the barb, a reference to their time together aboard the Maquis vessel, and concentrated on his status board.
The first officer once more faced the viewscreen, asking the entire bridge crew for status.
“The five vessels are now moving in concert. Looks to be a classic pincer move,” Paris said.
“All hostile shields intact,