• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

Spock straightened from watching the science panel. “Do you know this man well enough to predict his response?”

“Orsova? Sir, we’re willing to die for a cause. Orsova isn’t. All we have to do is stand him down.”

“Yes, Mr. Stiles, but remember-Orsova has little or no spacefaring experience. It’s unlikely he’s piloting that ship.” Stiles looked at him. “Who do you think is?” “I should say whoever provided him with the tighter.” “Oh, good, I love unknown quantities.”

Annoyed with himself for not realizing that Orsova couldn’t possibly be driving that ship, that he was in fact fighting somebody he’d never met in a ship he didn’t recognize, with weapons he’d never seen before, Stiles dealt with a tumbling stomach and a dry mouth as the ships drew speedily closer.

He struck the nearest comm link. “Jeremy, blow that trigger out the hatch right now.” “Ready… it’s away!”

They waited as the octagonal warp trigger box drifted out into space, visible on a side monitor at starboard, floating lazily out there, brainless to what else was going on. “Distance?”

“Eight hundred kilometers,” Spock ticked off. “One thousand… twelve hundred…” “Ignite it.”

Before his words were even out, space at their side blew bright with disruption and the whole ship was swept sideways away from it. Half the crew was thrown down. Stiles kept his feet only by hanging onto the command chair with both hands. He found himself looking at Dr. McCoy and thanking all the lucky stars out there that the old doctor had been sitting down. Travis was also holding McCoy in place with one hand, himself with the other.

Over the crackle and fume of their own damage, Spock reported, “His shields are losing integrity. They’re flickering.” “Ours are down completely” Travis announced, taking the gloss off their victory. “Whatever happens now, we’ll feel it hard.”

“Enemy vessel is slowing down,” Spock announced briskly. There was a clear ring of win in his voice. “You’ve called their bluff”

“Either that or they’re not willing to die for whatever we represent to them,” Stiles said. “Doesn’t mean they won’t keep trying to kill us.” “Incoming!”

Stiles gritted his teeth as they rode out another hit of the powder-beam. Damage reports came chattering in from all sections, none of them good. Stiles ignored them. “Travis, are the grapples ready?” “Ready, aye.”

“Keep up speed until we’re at proximity range. Let me know when we get there-” “We’re there!” Travis said. “We can reach now.”

On the main screen, the dark blue enemy ship drew up its braking thrusters and surged upward so they could see its underbelly, just as a rowboat surges up on a swell before settling into the sand. They really didn’t want to get hit by the Saskatoon’s cutting prow.

Stiles couldn’t help a little snicker. “Magnetic grapples two and four-launch!” wheeeeeeeeeeeCHUNK-CHUNK

“Got ‘era!” Travis yelped. “Both grapples are on their hull. Now what?”

“Let you know soon as I think of it” Stiles muttered. “He can’t blow us up if we’re riding him. Pull up as close as you can, Travis. Zack, heat up the welding phasers? “Where do you want me to cut him?”

“Any place you can reach. I want you to connect those white dots into my initials. Right there where I can see.”

The Bolt brothers both laughed in spite of the moment’s heat.

Heat-yes, it was getting hotter on the bridge, proof that systems were damaged and the ship’s computers were selectively saving what they could and sacrificing what they couldn’t while waiting for repair. The CST’s welding phasers lit up under the viewscreen and scored the blue body of the other ship, leaving trails of white-hot melted metal and snapping circuits exposed to open space. Still… how much of this could they do?

As the two ships danced in their locked-together waltz, Spock peered into his monitor. “Reading a power buildup.” “Weapons?” Stiles asked.

“No, sir. Routing shield power, I believe….” He didn’t sound sure at all.

Heavy-legged with damage and with