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“Shoot,” he ordered. “Fire at will, whatever we can throw at them. At least we’ll go out shooting.”

The CST’s internal systems crackled and complained. His men fired what little working phasers they had left. But they weren’t a starship-what could they do? Go over there and rebuild the enemy to death?

As Stiles watched the enemy ship on the screen, pursuing them in fits and bursts with those clogged impulse tubes, he knew that despite its falling behind they couldn’t possibly outrun its firepower.

The whole main screen and two lateral ones-the two still working-blasted bright white with incendiary drama. Stiles crimped his eyes, but refused to close them. He wasn’t going to die with his eyes closed. Then he didn’t die-couldn’t even do that right.

“Romulan bird-of-prey on our starboard stem!” Travis called, horrified. “It’s fired on that blue ship! It’s driving them off!”

Spock bent over the science station. “Confirmed. Romulan standard warbird… in battle mode.” “Now what?” Zack cranked around. “Fire on that one too?” “No!” McCoy rasped.

“Don’t shoot!” Stiles countered at the same time. “Give me ship to ship!” “You’ve got ship to ship.”

Stiles leaned over the arm of his command chair’s comm. “Dr, Crusher, I assume that’s you inside that ugly thing.”

“It’s me, Commander. Everyone all right? Mission accomplished, I hope?”

“Accomplished so far, Doctor” He blinked at the bronze war wing hovering on their flank. “Ugly or not, I’m glad to see that big-eyed bug !”

“It worked.” Spock’s announcement was reserved, but victorious. “Enemy is moving off at emergency warp one on a retreat vector.”

“They’re moving off, Commander Stiles. What do you recommend we do? Chase them down?”

Stiles sucked a long breath and heaved it out with a shudder. “No, no, don’t chase them. Let them go, Doctor. And… stand by.” “Standing by,” Crusher acknowledged.

“Do they show any signs of turning back?” he asked his own crew. “None,” Spock congratulated. Jason’s hands shook on his controls. “Think we beat ‘era !” Looking around the deck, Stiles had a hard time believing they’d beaten anybody at all, considering all the wreckage and mess and sparking components. He hadn’t even noticed the parts and pieces blowing around him and now cluttering the deck. But the rush of victory was undeniable on the bruised faces of his crew. “What’s that whine?” somebody asked.

“What whine?” Stiles wasn’t even sure who asked, and didn’t hear anything at first. Then he did.

“Transporter? Spock called over the noise that suddenly filled the bridge.

They pressed back, not knowing what was happening until a band of energy crackled into formation in front of the helm and coalesced into humanoid shape. As they stared in amazement, the sparkling form hardened into Orsova.

Stiles opened his mouth to shout an order, but Orsova was already moving, leaping like an attacking lion at Zevon. Stiles didn’t see a weapon until the last second before Orsova and

Zevon’s bodies collided. A flash of metal, as if he were watching a scene from a swashbuckling movie-unmistakably a blade.

For just a flash this made no sense-why would Orsova, who had at his disposal every weapon on a whole planet, use a blade?

Sykora cried out some unintelligible protest, but Spock and Travis managed to hold her back. Zack and Jeremy sprang from their posts, dove forward over the helm and snatched at Orsova’s clothing. It took both of them to pry him off Zevon. By then, Stiles was there.

“Hold him back!” he shouted. He clutched Orsova’s left wrist and the metal weapon in it-some kind of spike, polished to a silk finish, with a wooden handle like an ice pick. It’s silver surface was spackled with Zevon’s blood.

As Jason Bolt joined the effort to hold Orsova, Stiles handed the weapon to Travis and rushed to Zevon. He grasped Zevon by both arms and held him up. Was he hurt? Was he dying?

“Zevon?” Stiles held him and looked for a wound. He found it under Zevon’s right hand, pressed to his left side. Pulling Zevon’s hand away, Stiles cajoled,