Ship of the Line - Diane Carey [84]
And the return fire plumed through space with enthusiasm—full disruptors, almost to the level of Starfleet’s full-phasers. Of course, the Enterprise didn’t have full-phasers with which to respond, or even full shields with which to deflect the disruptor fire.
The enemy shots cut through key areas of the starship’s hull, and reports flashed in from all over the ship.
“Inertial baseline system’s faltering, sir!” Dennis said, just as La Forge called over his snapping console, “I’m getting breach of integrity in the deuterium flow!”
“Plasma distribution manifold just collapsed,” Data reported. “Prefire chambers are shutting down.”
“Does that mean we can’t shoot?” Bateson asked.
La Forge was apparently already on the problem. “Hamilton reports they’re working on it, but they’re undermanned.”
Riker held onto the helm console as the ship shuddered under return fire and took hits on her reduced shields. “Sir, I strongly recommend against this course of action.”
“What do you recommend?”
“I recommend withdrawal.” Riker called up all his personal restraint to keep from adding what else?
Bateson shook his head. “We can’t give him the idea that Starfleet will run before we’re even on our knees. Don’t you understand? This is a test. They’re testing us. They haven’t fought us in a century. They want to see if we still have a backbone. Come on, propulsion! Maneuver behind him. We’re bigger, but we’re more maneuverable too. Stretch yourself, Andy. Push!”
At the helm, Andy Welch was sweating like a pig. “Okay, aye …”
“Push! She won’t break. Phasers, target the fighter’s aft section. He’ll have all his shields forward. Get him where he’s weakest. He won’t expect that. Fire at will.”
“Aye, sir,” Data responded, and enabled the phasers.
Streaks of controlled energy bored through space and struck the Klingon fighter on the aft underside, and the whole ship lurched.
“No breach of the hull,” Mike Dennis reported. “Phasers aren’t powerful enough for—Captain, I’m getting MJL overload!”
“Where?”
“Right here!”
Riker started toward Dennis. “Get away from it!”
The overload blew out of the subprocessor housing in a funnel-shaped plume, driving Mike Dennis straight backward with sheer force and Riker back the way he’d come. He skidded to the carpet on his side. At his feet, Dennis landed flat on the lower deck, his face flecked with burns.
As Riker scrambled to him, Dennis’s hands and arms were scorched to shreds.
Near Riker’s left ear, Bateson punched his chair arm panel. “Sickbay! Medical emergency!”
“Medics on the way,” the acknowledgment came from a voice Riker didn’t recognize.
“Gabe, take over tactical,” Bateson ordered.
Bush blinked, stared, held his hands close to his chest and twisted them together.
Riker looked up. “You’ve got your orders, Mr. Bush. Get up.”
“Don’t order me around,” Bush said, but with little force. He got up, though, and found his way past Dennis without stepping on the injured man’s legs—quite an accomplishment.
“Bridge, engineering.”
Tapping his combadge, Bateson responded, “Go ahead, engineering.”
It was Ham Hamilton, speaking for himself. “Cap, systems are shutting down all over the ship. We’ve got some catastrophic failures to handle. Can we have a few minutes of buffer?”
“I’ll try. Andy, bend off a few thousand kilometers,” Bateson ordered then. “Give me some room to maneuver.”
“Aye, sir …”
The forward screen swirled, and the starship veered away, leaving the Klingon ship behind by half a nebula or so.
“Is he following?” the captain asked.
“Negative, sir,” Bush reported. “He’s holding position.”
“Why would he do that?”
Riker stood up. “Captain, you got trumped and you’re not seeing the warning signs.”
Not so caught up in having his own way that he wasn’t going to pick up on that, Bateson openly asked, “Warning signs of what?”
“Systems are shutting down all over the ship. It’s sabotage!”
“Don’t be ridiculous.