Double Helix 03_ Red Sector - Diane Carey [62]
“Are you damaged? You’re venting something off your upper hull.”
“Yes, we’ve got some damage, but we’ll repair it later. Your ship comes first. Keep the comm lines open if possible. You’ll have to drop your shields while we raft up and do the work.
That’ll be the tricky part. You’ll want to have one of the other Starfleet ships run a cover grid.”
“I’ll contact the Majestic and-tactical, broad on the bow-fire! Deflectors, shift double starboard! Hail the Majestic-fire at will, Samuels! Majestic, Sattler here-“
“She’s got her hands full.” Stiles turned and called back into the scoped hatchways, not bothering with the comm. “Tell me when you know something, Jeremy! Those Romulans can see we’re vulnerable, so work faster.”
Jeremy’s disembodied voice trailed back through three sections. “Scanning… nacelle hasn’t been breached… not on the outside, anyway… could be internal feedback from a hit someplace else, though. The main injector’s secure… there’s a crack in the sliding bulkhead. Let me follow it down… I got it, Eric’, I see a fractured buckler. It’s not the nacelle. It’s the strut “
“Great!” Stiles clapped his hands once, and startled the socks off his new helmsman. “That’s a relief. Ship to ship-Captain Sattier, good news. It’s not the nacelle that’s kinked. It’s only the strut. We’ll raft up right here and square it, but you’ve got to keep those stingers off us for a solid fifteen minutes. I have to put extravehicular crew on the skin of your ship and I don’t want anybody barbecued on your hull.”
“Commander, you fix my nacelle in fifteen minutes in the middle of this mess’ and I’ll owe you a big soppy kiss and a crystal decanter of your favorite. We’ll put out the warning pennant and anybody who comes near your workers will feel the heat. There’s nothing like a movable starbase when we need one!”
The charming-oh, yes-and sultry voice of the destroyer’s captain made Stiles smile again. For a moment, he had trouble imagining her in a uniform. “I’ll take the kiss and send the decanter to my grandfather. Maintain standby communications and let us handle the rafting. Drop your shields on our mark.”
“Pennant%’ flashing. Standing by for rafting approach. Do you intend to use tractors or umbilicals?” “Both,” Stiles told her. “Aren’t tractors faster?”
“Usually, but if we get hit and there’s a power failure, our ships would just drift away from each other and we couldn’t help each other. With umbilicals, we’ll be netted together no matter what happens,” “Good thinking. Ready when you are.” “Three… two… one… mark.” “Affirmative, shields down. Approach when ready.” Glancing at his bridge crew, Stiles said, “Okay, boys, we’ve got fifteen minutes! That’s two to raft up and thirteen to effect repair. Let’s clone that destroyer a new nacelle strut. Sound off.”
From deep through the body of the combat support tender, team leaders and section masters called off. “Internal repair squad ready, sir!”
“Rafting hands ready. Umbilicals one, two, and four manned, magnetic tethers hot.” “Rivet squad suited and ready, sir” “Caissons ready.” “Gun team?” “Weapons armed and ready!” “Where are the evil twins?” “Already in the airlock, Eric.” “Beautiful! Lateral thrusters one half. Let’s move in.” “All hands, brace for action rafting! Shields down!” Ah, the chatter of activity. What a good noise.
Out there, not far away on the cosmic scale, a half dozen Romulan fighters darted around two Starfleet destroyers, one patrol cutter, and three merchant ships caught in the crossfire. Bursts of phaser fire, disruptor streams, glancing hits and direct detonations lit the fabric of black space like flashing jewels. There was a startling beauty about it, stitched firmly into the crazy quilt of hazard and excitement.
“Okay, you lot-tea time! Battle Cook Woody reportin’ f’duty, sah !” Stiles rolled his eyes and groaned. What timing.
At the port entryway, Ship’s Mess Officer Alan Wood came rolling