Ship of the Line - Diane Carey [115]
Riker hit his combadge and dared a quick message. “Cancel!”
Instantly the gravity changed again, and he had to hang onto the doorframe to keep from falling over. Seven here, ten in the janitor’s closet, six chasing chickens. Twenty-three Klingons out of commission.
Happy in their victory as schoolboys, Riker and Bateson met each other in the corridor.
“Twenty-three down,” Bateson said. “That leaves seventeen. Not bad for nonlethals.”
“Not bad at all,” Riker agreed as they ran to auxiliary control and plunged inside.
“Scotty!” Bateson called instantly. “It worked! Icing the deck was brilliant!”
But Scott was not sharing in their joy. In fact, he looked sagged and overwhelmed. “Sir …”
Both Riker and Bateson fell ominously silent at Scott’s horrified expression.
“He’s unloading the quantum torpedoes,” Scott rasped. “Somehow he got ‘em armed!”
“How?” Riker bolted. “The firing sequence wasn’t laid in yet!”
“His spy probably told him how,” Bateson huffed.
Riker rushed to Scott’s side and looked at the readouts. “And he’s firing them?”
Scott pointed at the firing display. “He’s sure as hell shooting at something, sir.”
As the blood in his body drained to his feet, Riker raised his sore eyes to Bateson’s and Scott’s paled faces. They gazed helplessly at each other for a few ugly seconds.
Then Captain Bateson dared to ask what they were all thinking. “Have we made it to Cardassia Prime? Could he be shooting at cities?”
“I don’t know,” Riker said. “But if so, our buffer’s run out.”
Did it matter if a grain of dust in a whirlwind retained its dignity?
Hornblower and the Atropos
Chapter 24
“We have destroyed sixteen outposts, primarily automated signaling centers.”
“How many killed?”
“Few.”
“Good. I want my options open.”
“The Cardassian subspace communications crackle with terror at our presence. They know we will soon come to Cardassia Prime, and they have no fleet in this sector to stop a ship like this. Nearly all their ships are on the defense perimeter. Their own vigilance will ruin them!”
“Good, Gaylon, good. We will strike at the heart of Cardassia Prime and erase their government’s seat. They will have to deal with the empire, and the empire will have to deal with me. Carry on.”
Gaylon felt invigorated giving such a report to Kozara, and especially having Zaidan standing by, watching, not really understanding any of the technology of this great sweeping vessel they had stolen.
So much power! And the interior was like artwork, like brushstrokes. Like the Klingon sky before a storm.
But there was trouble also. They had now lost contact with thirty-eight members of their crew below decks. Malfunctions, perhaps, or mistakes, but Gaylon did not believe that. Nor did Kozara. There was part of a Starfleet crew trapped below, and while the firedoors and bulkheads were secured, Gaylon had no way to be certain those would stay secured. This ship was too complicated. They could be sure of exactly nothing.
If some of the Starfleeters had broken free and debilitated the Klingons below, then time was against Kozara’s plan. The battle for possession of the ship was under way.
Time … time …
“Cardassia Prime in fifty-three minutes, Commander,” Klagh reported from the helm.
“Hold course and speed—”
The turbolift door swished open, and just as Gaylon turned, Morgan Bateson and that Klingon-sized first officer came charging out of the lift, brandishing hand phasers.
Where had they gotten charged hand phasers?
The question dominated Gaylon’s mind as he and three of his crewmates met the two angry men at the back of the bridge. The first officer fired, and took down two Klingons in what appeared to be phaser stun.
Stun! So they wanted to fight hand-to-hand. Gaylon joyfully lowered his disruptor and lashed out with a boot, tripping Bateson and sending him sprawling along the upper deck. Bateson’s phaser spun out of his hand.