Marooned - Christie Golden [17]
"The eight ships have abandoned pursuit. They've split off in eight different directions," said Chakotay.
"They're trying to lure us away," Kim volunteered. "They're activating their displacer device in an attempt to confuse us."
"Don't let those three ships out of your sight, Mr. Paris," warned Janeway.
"Don't intend to, ma'am," retorted the lieutenant.
"Begin firing, Tuvok. Aim for their engines. We want them disabled and boardable if possible. Remember, one of them's got Kes."
"Aye, Captain."
The next fifteen minutes seemed to last fifteen years. Voyager kept firmly on the tail of the ships, despite all attempts the aliens made to shake the pursuit. Two of them fired back, closing ranks to protect the third.
"How are we doing, Mr. Kim?"
"Not good, Captain. We can't keep this up much longer."
"It looks as though we won't have to," said Chakotay. "The battlefield is thinning. We should be in open space in a few seconds."
"Keep firing, Tuvok. We've got to disable them so they don't jump into warp once we're clear of the debris. Concentrate your fire on the one in the middle."
But the stubborn two escort ships prevented any damage to the vessel they were protecting. They took the phaser fire themselves, and one of them spun off out of control to collide with the hull of an ancient ship in a blinding explosion.
They were running out of time. Paris and Tuvok worked together as a team, the young helmsmen skillfully maneuvering Voyager to bring it into position for the clearest, most effective shot, and the Vulcan security chief taking complete advantage of every opportunity thus provided.
"We'll be clear of the debris in ten seconds," said Kim. "Five... three..."
And space suddenly opened up, peculiarly liberating after the close, dangerous confinement of the wreckage through which they'd been maneuveing. Tuvok got off one final phaser blast, but the remaining escort ship, in a move worthy of a twentieth-century kamikaze pilot, placed itself between the fleeing ship and the phaser fire. It was blown to pieces.
The single remaining vessel went into warp, and was gone.
"Stay on it," said Janeway. Simultaneously, expecting her response, she heard Harry say miserably, "We can't, Captain."
"Why not?" Disappointment filled Janeway, but she was not about to let it show.
"Every time they go into warp, they set up the displacer equation." His fingers continued to move on the console as he spoke. "It's an algorhythmic equation, different every time. We know how to break it, but it'll take a few minutes. I'm sorry, but each time they do this, we've got to figure it out all over again."
Janeway leaned back in her chair. "I know you and Torres are working as fast as you can, Ensign. Carry on.
"Captain," broke in Chakotay's gentle voice, "You should probably take advantage of this lull to have that injury checked out." He nodded at the wound on her head. It was, ironically enough, in the same spot as the first officer's tattoo.
"I will," she promised, "but let's let the doctor treat the more seriously injured first." She hesitated, then said, "He'll have his hands full without Kes to help him. Mr. Paris, once upon a time I had you training with the doctor as a field medic. Think you remember enough to help?"
"I know enough to distinguish a medical tricorder from a standard one," Paris quipped, a hint of his old jauntiness returning to him as he gave Harry a friendly wink.
"Then get yourself down there. I'll let you know when we need your expertise back here." Paris left quickly, his movements full of contained energy, eager to do something-anything-to help.