Pantheon - Michael Jan Friedman [168]
“Aye, sir,” the communications officer replied, and moved forward to do as he was asked.
Picard turned and gazed at the viewscreen, where a reverse perspective showed the Nuyyad ship clinging to them in pursuit. It only took him a moment to realize that there was something curious about the sight—and another moment to figure out what it was.
The enemy vessel was slightly atilt as it sped through space, slightly off-line relative to the axis of its forward progress. Picard knew enough about propulsion systems to understand the reason for such an aberration.
One of the Nuyyad ship’s warp nacelles was misfiring. The one on the port side, it seemed to him. That suggested a weakness of which his helm officer could take advantage.
“Lieutenant Asmund,” he said, “the enemy will have difficulty turning to starboard. Reprise Pattern Epsilon on my mark.”
“Aye, sir,” the helm officer replied.
Next, the second officer turned to Werber. “Target photon torpedoes.”
“I’ve been doing nothing but targeting,” Werber told him.
Ignoring the man’s tone, Picard eyed the screen again. “Lieutenant Asmund—execute your maneuver. Lieutenant Werber—fire when ready.”
The words had barely left his mouth when the Nuyyad spewed another wave of green fire at them, trying to finish off the Stargazer. But by then, Idun had gone into her turn.
The vidrion assault shot harmlessly by them. And as the Federation vessel continued to perform her maneuver, the enemy shot by as well—much to Werber’s delight. Cheering beneath his breath, the weapons officer released a hail of golden photon torpedoes.
The first wave ripped into the Nuyyad’s flank, shredding what remained of her shields. The second wave clawed chunks out of the vessel’s hull. And the third penetrated to the very heart of the ship, finding and obliterating critical power relays.
A moment later, Picard knew that at least one torpedo had reached the enemy’s warp core—because the Nuyyad ship tore itself apart in a ragged spasm of bright yellow fire.
The second officer watched the fragments of the shattered craft pinwheel end over end through space, expanding outward from the point of the explosion. There was a macabre grace to the scene, a feeling of something strangely akin to serenity.
He looked back over his shoulder. Ruhalter’s corpse was gone, having been spirited away while Picard was busy with the Nuyyad.
But his work wasn’t done yet. They were still in unfamiliar territory, with wounds to lick and the ever-present threat of another attack—not to mention some serious questions to answer.
And his bridge was on fire.
As Werber, Paxton, and Idun Asmund watched him, Picard moved to the rear of the bridge and found the fire extinguisher he had used before. Then he began spraying down the ruined remnants of the nearest console.
Carter Greyhorse ran his sleek, palm-sized regeneration unit over the flesh of Lieutenant Cariello’s bare shoulder, creating a few more healthy, new cells to replace the ones she had lost to a white-hot spurt of plasma.
The doctor took a moment to examine his work. Satisfied with it, he checked Cariello’s vital signs on her biobed’s overhead readouts. The lieutenant’s systems were all stable, he observed. In a day or so, after she had gotten some rest, there would be no indication that she had been within minutes of losing her life.
Activating an electromagnetic barrier around Cariello to guard against infection, Greyhorse moved to the next bed in line. Lieutenant Kochman was lying there in a stasis field, outwardly unharmed but inwardly suffering from broken ribs, ruptured organs, and considerable hemorrhaging.
He would require a good deal more work than Cariello, the doctor reflected. But at least the man was alive.
Greyhorse glanced at the corpses laid out under metallic blankets in the corner of his sickbay. There were four of them in all. Barr, Janes, Harras…and, of course, Captain Ruhalter.
If the chief medical officer had had more than twelve biobeds at his disposal, he wouldn’t have subjected the deceased to