The Expanse - J.M. Dillard [28]
“Literally.”
Trip belted back the remaining contents of his glass and refilled it; as he held the. bottle, his gaze hardened.
“I can’t wait to get in there, Captain ... Find the people who did this.” He set the bottle down and sought Archer’s gaze. “Tell me we won’t be tiptoeing around ... None of that ‘noninterference’ crap T’Pol’s always shoving down our throats ...” He paused to take another swallow, then said, in a burst of anger that startled Archer, “Maybe it’s a good thing she’s leaving!”
There it was: grief masked as anger, a feeling the Captain had known all too well himself. His tone was soothing. “We’ll do what we have to, Trip ... whatever it takes.”
Tucker seemed only mildly mollified; he fell sullenly silent.
Archer raised his glass—then nearly dropped it as the deck rocked abruptly, to the sound of a simultaneous boom. He and Trip stood—and almost fell back into their seats as the ship was hit again.
Duras, Archer thought, and managed to scramble for the door, without looking to see whether Trip was able to follow.
The bridge was rattling continually by the time Archer arrived; T’Pol, Reed, Hoshi, and Mayweather had all reported to their stations.
T’Pol looked up from her monitor the instant the Captain stepped foot on the bridge. “It’s Duras,” she reported.
Another boom echoed in Archer’s ears, punctuating her words. He kept his balance as the deck lurched, and swiftly turned to Reed. “You’ve been wanting to test those new torpedoes. ...”
Reed was clearly eager. “What yield, sir?”
“Start low. We just want to get them off our backs.”
Reed responded at once, working the controls on his console.
Archer kept his gaze focused on the viewscreen, and watched as two bright flares streaked away from Enterprise, toward the bird-of-prey.
Duras swore beneath his breath as the ship around him vibrated fiercely, the result of two near-simultaneous, powerful blasts. As soon as he could be heard, he roared, “What was that?”
“Antimatter warheads,” his tactical officer called, in a voice tinged with wonder.
Duras felt his own face contort with fury: his spies had said Enterprise was merely undergoing repairs—incompetent fools! All this time, the humans had been upgrading their weaponry, making Duras’s task all the harder.
But he would not be outdone; too much was at stake. “Increase shielding and target their weapon ports!” he commanded.
It was Enterprise’s turn to do some vibrating of her own.
As the bird-of-prey returned fire, Archer struggled not to lose his balance and drop to the deck; as for Reed, he was clutching his console, teeth chattering as he yelled, “They’re still on our backs, sir!”
“Bring the yield up,” Archer commanded. No point in being gracious or wasting time; Enterprise didn’t need to go into the Expanse already crippled. “Fifty percent.”
Reed grinned faintly as he set to work.
Duras’s head snapped back once, twice, in rapid succession, as though he had taken a personal blow.
His ship fared worse. He could feel the entire vessel heave upward and back along with him: he was momentarily dazzled as a section of circuit-lined bulkhead exploded onto the bridge in a brilliant fiery display. Debris whizzed a mere finger’s breadth from his face.
For an instant, centripetal force held him captive in his chair; the instant he could rise, he lurched toward his tactical officer and vented his rage. “I told you to target their weapon ports!”
The crewman shot him an unhappy but uncowed look; clearly, he had followed Duras’s orders. “Their hull plating’s been enhanced!”
Duras swore silently. If he survived his mission, he would surely see to it that his incompetent spies met their deaths.
Another blast threw him backwards against his chair.
His first officer turned to him, his expression one of desperation. “Our warp drive is failing!”
Duras ground his teeth so fiercely, flecks of enamel grazed his tongue. His every encounter with Archer seemed cursed, marked by failure and frustration. Were he superstitious,