Ship of the Line - Diane Carey [13]
Audio was barely working. The words crackled and snapped between the ships, just enough to hear each other. The Klingons were letting them talk, but just so far.
“What are you doing here, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“We have catastrophic failure in our environmental control and an explosion in our lower deck flushed much of our plasma. We need assistance from a full starbase facility and request your merciful cooperation.”
Bateson laughed out loud. “What a bag of bilge!”
“You insult me.”
“I don’t know who you talked into giving you that ship, but it must’ve been a scene to behold. You don’t really think I’m going to let you get anywhere near Starbase 12 with that bulldozer, do you?”
As the captain spoke, Gabe Bush wedged his arms tight to his body and gripped his elbows and tried to keep them from shuddering. What a sorry display! He wasn’t as afraid as he was certain he must appear, yet the appearance bothered him more than his own mortality.
“We have no unconventional weapons aboard,” Kozara’s voice crackled. “Only the usual disruptors, and I shall shut those down.”
“Really?” Bateson said. “Kinda takes the starch out of an assault, doesn’t it?”
There was silence, given a few snaps and fizzes, for many seconds. Then the comm cracked so loudly that half the bridge crew flinched.
“Dog.”
“Butterfly,” Bateson responded instantly, and glanced at Bush. “Enough shillyshallying.”
Bush returned the glance, but had no idea what he was communicating to his commander. Support, probably. What else could there be? Doubts and fears were already spoken for.
“It’s my intention to impound your ship,” Bateson announced.
This lofty and ludicrous statement caused Bush to chuckle suddenly, and some of his nervousness broke down as he waited for Kozara’s reaction.
A dull rippling sound sniggered across the impeded comm link, and surely they were hearing the amusement of the Klingon crew.
Then Kozara spoke again. “You … in that … will detain me … in this?”
“What choice do I have?” Bateson said. “It’s not like I’m towing a dungeon.”
“Am I looking at a single cruiser a quarter the power of this warship?”
“No,” Bateson said. “You are looking at a Starfleet Border Service Soyuz-class cutter, with the full authority of the Federation Division of Law Enforcement and the nerve to use it. Unless you turn around right now and head back through the Neutral Zone, I’ll have to hold you, your ship, and your crew in preventive custody. If you turn around, I’ll log the incident as a navigational error. That’s the deal.”
While waiting again for the response, Bush slipped forward a step and tapped Andy Welch on the shoulder. When the helmsman looked at him, Bush whispered, “Plot evasive.”
Had he whispered too loudly?
Welch nodded and worked at his board, fumbled, rubbed the blood back into his fingers, then worked again. On the starboard side, Perry tiptoed—as much as a man of his girth could go on his toes—behind the captain and Bush, back to the main engineering console on the port side. Just to be ready.
John Wolfe came to life suddenly. “Sir, I’m reading a firing solution!”
Bateson snapped his fingers. “Evasive maneuvers, right now!”
The deck dropped out from under them. Perry grabbed for balance, Dayton hunched his shoulders, and Welch leaned into the controls. Captain Bateson drew a breath and held it. Engines surged—and Gabe Bush sensed a slight buckling of the maneuver that should’ve been smooth. The Bozeman was struggling, but finding the power someplace. Unlike the men, the ship didn’t get nervous and would just swim like the reef shark she was.
“No deal.”
As the deck vibrated under their boots, Kozara’s voice gave its final snap over the inhibited comm, and the system went dead silent. Frustrated, Wizz Dayton rammed the palm of his hand into his console, then turned a scared-puppy look at Bush.
No distress call. There was nothing to be done for that.
“Work on intraship,” Bush snapped. “Keep it clear.”
That would at least give Dayton something