Ship of the Line - Diane Carey [119]
“Well,” Picard sighed, “that’s certainly a better welcome than what I expected.”
“What about your mission, Jean-Luc?” Bateson asked.
“Yes!” A flare of success bolted from Picard, so pleasant that Riker turned and looked, just to help enjoy it. “On those Cardassian ships out there are the crew of the Durant and the satellite tender Tuscany … at least those who are still alive. Their captains are commanding those ships. It’s a good job, you know, when a man gets to bring—”
“Captain!” Riker suddenly had to interrupt as half his board lit up. “I’m reading a Klingon warship on approach vector—fighter class!”
He waited for orders, but didn’t know which captain to look at for those.
Picard tilted his head cannily at Bateson. “Captain, it’s your command.”
Bateson waved a hand. “Oh … no, sir, you took the bridge. I was a captive here. You’re in command.”
Hesitating, Picard glanced at Riker, then back at Bateson. Would he take it?
Riker held his breath. It was a fine line—Bateson was the assigned captain, but he had lost the ship. Picard was the senior officer reconfiscating the vessel.
“I’m not taking the ship, Captain,” Bateson warned during the pause.
“Well,” Picard finally answered, “all right, very well. Would you take tactical, please, and check on phaser power?”
“Aye aye,” Bateson responded, and Riker caught a bit of joy in his voice.
Incredible! Bateson was actually having a good time. In fact, both captains were.
“Number One, please take the helm,” Picard requested.
“All we have is quantum torpedoes,” Riker told them as he settled tightly into the helm chair. “We compromised phasers from belowdecks before we came up here.”
“Picard to engineering. Mr. Scott, do you read?”
“Scott here. Welcome aboard, sir.”
“Thank you. We’ve got a hostile encounter and we need phaser power. Quantum torpedoes won’t maneuver quickly enough.”
“Working on it, sir. My handiwork’s hard to untangle.”
“Quickly. Picard out.”
“Attack position,” Bateson ordered. “Full about.”
“Full about, sir,” Riker said. It did feel good to have his hands on the helm!
Beneath his touch, the big ship pivoted mightily in space, shouldering through the punishment of an asteroid cloud, toward the oncoming Klingon ship.
They could see the ship on their screen now—a strong warship rigged for battle, coming in with its fins down like a shark about to attack.
Picard gripped the arms of the command chair. “Scotty, I need that power!”
“One more minute, sir.”
“Not good enough. Captain Bateson, give me communications to McClellan, Atherton, Reynolds, and Mr. Schoen on the ship I was commanding. I want them to move into formation.”
Riker was looking at the forward screen, maneuvering the starship so that her weakened shields faced the approaching Klingon fighter as much as possible. If they had to take more hits, he wanted the hits to come on the starship’s most narrow profile. She was sluggish—the result of espionage, sabotage, and being in the hands of too many crews with too many conflicting goals—himself, Scott, and Bateson included. They hadn’t done the ship any favors down there.
“Hail the Klingon ship,” Picard snapped.
There was a force in his voice that Riker hadn’t heard in years, and damned infrequently at that. Riker actually turned to look.
“This is Captain Jean-Luc Picard commanding the U.S.S. Enterprise. Identify yourselves and stand down immediately. You are stood off by the combined fleet before you. Respond immediately or face the consequences.”
The comm link crackled between the two systems. For a moment there seemed to be no answer coming. Then a voice sprinkled across the tract of open space.
“This is First Officer Gabriel Bush flying the imperial warship Klacha macha pucka yucka-yourmother’samoose or something. Anybody know how to make this lobster pot go out of battle mode?”
Bateson perked up instantly and called, “Gabe? Is that you? Are you all right?”
“I’m wicked, sir, and so’s Wizz and Mike and everybody.”
“Is that monster Kozara’s ship?”