The Expanse - J.M. Dillard [11]
“Two hundred kilometers off port.”
Archer turned to T’Pol, who was already consulting her scanners. “Who are they?”
Reed called out, “They’ve fired some kind of—”
He never finished. The roar of the blast temporarily deafened Archer; he fought to stay on his feet as the deck shuddered beneath his feet.
He had barely enough time to make it to his chair before the next blast came.
Chapter 4
Through sheer tenacity, Archer managed to hold on as the ship reeled beneath an onslaught of weapons fire. There could be no question: whoever was attacking them was hellbent on destroying the Enterprise.
Over the roar of the next blast, and the sound of the ship trying to shake herself apart, Reed shouted, “That one took out both forward phase-cannons!”
“You’ve still got torpedoes!” Archer called back.
Reed gave a curt nod without looking up from his console and set to work launching a counterattack.
From her station, T’Pol managed to project her voice without shouting or sounding in the least bit alarmed. “It’s a Klingon bird-of-prey.”
As she spoke, an image appeared on the viewscreen: the Klingon vessel, brilliantly illuminated against the dark backdrop of space by a salvo of Reed’s torpedoes. Archer watched in amazement as each burst of light swiftly dissipated, leaving the bird-of-prey unscathed.
We’re outgunned, he realized at the precise moment that the Klingon ship released a vicious blast.
The deck heaved, listed violently to the left, then slowly righted itself. The Captain knew instinctively that his vessel had just sustained heavy damage.
Another blow.
Why? Archer asked himself. Certainly, he wasn’t popular with the Klingons—but why would they pursue him so far from their own territory? It made no sense to pick a fight here, so close to Earth.
Hoshi turned toward him, her earpiece in place, her gaze unfocused as she listened and translated for Archer. “They want you, sir. They’re saying that they won’t destroy Enterprise if you surrender to them.”
A loud boom silenced her, as the ship shook under another blast. She waited it out, then continued, quoting, “ ‘Archer is an enemy of the Empire ...’ ” She paused, mentally translating. “ ‘He must be brought to justice if honor is to be regained.’ ”
Suddenly, Archer understood, at the precise instant the Enterprise sustained another hit. Only one Klingon would be desperate enough to pursue him, all the way to Starfleet Headquarters, if need be.
“Duras,” he murmured, beneath the flickering bridge lights.
On the Klingon bird-of-prey, Duras was exultant, reveling in the sweet taste of revenge. On the viewscreen before him, he watched as the Enterprise listed, her starboard nacelle destroyed, scorched into uselessness by disrupter fire. Soon, Archer would be standing before him, a prisoner, and Duras would have the pleasure of delivering him to the Klingon Council and seeing him properly executed.
It would be a gloriously slow, agonizing death.
From his scanner, Duras’s temporary first officer reported, “Both their nacelles are crippled.”
“And weapons?” Duras asked. While it seemed obvious the Enterprise’s firepower was at least partially compromised, Archer had proven himself quite capable of trickery. Duras wanted to be certain before issuing his next command.
His tactical officer replied. “Their cannons are down.”
Duras straightened in his chair, and for a time said nothing, preferring instead to bask in the sense of pride and accomplishment. His moment of vindication had come; his foe was defeated, and the glory of his house would be restored. He thought of his old command, the Bortas; it would not be long before her deck would be beneath his feet once more.
“Cease firing,” he ordered at last. “Prepare a boarding party.” Raising his voice in victory, he bellowed words he had long yearned to say. “Bring me Archer!”
As if in reply, a nearby console issued a shrill alarm. His first officer glanced down at once, then raised his startled gaze to meet Duras’s.
“Three ships approaching!”
The image coalesced on the viewscreen: three ships, indeed. Duras