The Romulan War_ Beneath the Raptor's Wing (Book 1) - Michael A. Martin [155]
We’re on our own, Dunsel thought.
Bird-of-Prey Dhivael
“Approaching the Andorsu homeworld, General,” ch’Narv reported. “Adjusting altitude to a standard strafing orbit.”
T’Voras savored the image of the blue-white ball of ice that turned serenely on the viewer before him, growing ever larger as the Dhivael optimized her orbit, balancing the minimum acceptable weapons impact with the maximum tolerable exospheric/atmospheric drag. He wished he could afford to take the time to properly admire his target, though there would be many opportunities to enjoy the system’s many scenic wonders after the Romulan banner had been unfurled here and a proper Imperial presence established.
Although Andoria was remote from its sun, the yellow-white star that illuminated the planet was very nearly as brilliant as Eisn, the home star of Romulus and Remus. Blue-white, largely glacial Andoria was actually the satellite of the system’s eighth planet, a massive and turbulent gas giant embroidered by an intricate array of gossamer rings. Regardless, Andoria’s size, mass, atmosphere, and surface gravity—and the fact that it was circled by a pair of moons of its own— made it a planet in every way that counted, at least as far as T’Voras was concerned.
“Locate the two target cities,” T’Voras said, putting aside his ruminations until he had concluded the business at hand. “Establish weapons locks.”
Looking up from his tactical scanner, ch’Narv said, “Incoming ship, General. It’s Ch’lenjer, the NX-class hevam vessel.”
An inspiration suddenly struck T’Voras. Why not share the glory of the coming kill—with the hevam Earthers?
“Lock the arrenhe’hwiua device on Ch’lenjer’s systems, ch’Narv.”
Challenger
Never before had Roy Dunsel felt such an intense sense of purpose.
“Lock phase cannons onto the Romulan ship,” he said as he studied the hawklike vessel that hung against the incongruously peaceful blue-white backdrop of Andoria’s northern hemisphere. “Full spread of photonic torpedoes.
“Fire.”
Rubin pressed the firing stud.
Nothing.
Static flooded the main viewer, which went dark an instant later. Meanwhile, the bridge lights flickered, dimmed, and shut off entirely. Red emergency lights, battery-powered backups, began casting their eerie, shadow-strewn glow a second or two afterward.
“What the hell?”
“Weapons systems are nonresponsive,” Hendricks said. “Life support has just failed as well.”
“Propulsion and navigation are gone, too,” Kaye said from behind the helm.
The bridge shook and rumbled at that moment, though not as severely as it might have under a salvo of enemy weapons fire.
“The Romulan ship has grabbed us somehow,” Rubin said in answer to Dunsel’s unspoken question. “It reads a lot like a Vulcan tractor beam. They’re pulling us fairly close to them.”
Of course, Dunsel thought. They want to take Challenger intact. “Ensign Hendricks,” he said. “Tell the MACOs to prepare to repel boarders. And get down to the armory and start passing out phase pistols and communicators to all Starfleet personnel.” Since the comm system currently was in no better shape than the rest of the ship’s hardware, Hendricks headed straight for one of the bridge stairwells to see to Dunsel’s orders in person.
The tactical console suddenly began glowing intensely. “Our primary weapons system has come back up, Captain,” Rubin said. “Our photonic torpedo launchers are locking onto targets on the surface, just like the Romulan ship seems to be doing. But I still have no control over anything.” His fingers stabbed at the buttons and touch pads, to no apparent effect.
God, no! Dunsel thought, studying the tactical panel over Rubin