Chapter Nineteen



AS A MAN STEPS onto a guillotine ramp, Jim Kirk stepped onto the platform that held his command chair, slid onto the edge of the black leather seat, and spoke quickly so that his crew would move quickly.

"Mr. Spock, condition of the general's ship?"

"Impulse drive is off-line. They are helpless."

"How much of a pounding can we take?"

"Unknown." Spock swiveled his chair around to meet Kirk's eyes. "May I ask why, sir?"

"Because I'm going to move her in at close range."

At the helm, Byers turned and his eyes got big. "Sir?"

Kirk ignored the question. "Ahead one-quarter impulse, Mr. Byers. Mr. Donnier, ready with tractor beams."

"One-quarter impulse, aye."

"Tractor beams r-ready, sir."

"Full magnification on Kellen's ship."

The Enterprise leaped forward with breathtaking ferocity, as hungry to get into the cockfight as her captain was. The ship was different in battle mode than cruising mode, all systems warmed up, on-line, backed up, humming … maybe she actually did jump. Maybe it wasn't just imagination.

Patrol cruisers zigzagged in and out of the screen as the starship approached the scene of intensity. On the screen was a huge magnified picture of Kellen's cruiser sliding toward the sharp edges of the Fury ship's five-hundred-foot-wide scales. Kellen's disabled ship was still shooting, though it drifted at a nauseating pitch toward the Rath, making a last-ditch attempt to do the impossible.

The aft scales on the Fury ship were the largest ones, and Kellen's ship was sliding toward the big vessel's aft starboard quarter. Only now did Kirk get a full perspective of just how large Zennor's ship had become, with that vast new section added on.

What was in that section? Was that the power base?

"Mr. Spock, where's the emission center of those energy spirals? See if you can zero in on it."

Without answering, Spock lowered gingerly into his chair, ran his fingers over his controls.

Kirk waved over his shoulder for Nordstrom's attention. "Send Starfleet a recording of what we've seen so far. Do it right away."

"Deploying, sir." A crack came out in her voice. She was getting scared.

"Tractor proximity, Captain," Donnier struggled.

"Get it on, Mr. Donnier, don't wait for orders when you know what to do. Keep Kellen from colliding into that ship."

"Aye, s-s—" Donnier didn't get the response out, but he did get the tractor beam on.

The starship hauled back on the tractor beams and Kellen's drifting ship drew up sharply just as its sagging starboard wing grazed the edge of a purple scale that would've cleaved it in half.

"Power astern," Kirk ordered at the right instant.

"Astern." Byers was hypnotized.

Kirk leaned forward. "Let's go, move … don't baby her, Mr. Byers. Throttle up."

He wasn't watching the Klingon ship being drawn away from the Rath. He was watching the Rath.

Would Zennor fire on him?

"Position of the Klingon fleet."

The ensign shook himself and bent over his sensors. "Eight vessels … three completely disabled … one more moving at less than one-quarter power … four others regrouping."

"They actually retreated," McCoy observed. "After just a few minutes."

"How many patrollers left?" Kirk asked.

Chekov squinted into his screen. "Six … seven still functional, sir."

Looking blanched and strained, Spock pressed his wrist to the edge of his console and paused to look at the screen. "A great deal of damage with very few shots."

"Unless we find weakness, we can't deal with that ship under these conditions," Kirk agreed. "Bring her midships, Mr. Byers. Back straight off. I want my intentions clear."

"Aye aye, sir." Byers licked his lips as he worked to equalize the helm while hauling the Klingon vessel, whose damaged systems were still trying to propel it along its last ordered course.

If Kellen would shut down, this would be a lot easier.

"Pull, Byers. Faster."

"Trying, sir, but there's some kind of resistance."

"Yes, the cruiser's automatic drive—"

The petals of the Rath, filling the screen like huge theatrical flats, began to glow with that sickly yellow-lavender electrical presence.

Kirk drew a breath. "Uh-oh … double shields Brace yourselves!"

He turned to say something to Nordstrom, but suddenly the ship heaved up as if in recoil and the night opened up with purple dragons, cutting a blazing wave across the primary hull and straight through the bridge, throwing the captain and the standing crew to the deck in a tangle.

"Overload!" Assistant Engineer Edwards shouted, the first time since coming on the bridge that he'd said anything at all.

Byers shielded his face from sparks launching from his console, then waved at the smoke and shouted at the screen.

"They fired on us! They fired on us right in the middle of a rescue maneuver!"

Smoke boiled across the bridge. Ventilators came on and sucked valiantly. Somehow the onrush of near-death had shaken Byers out of his timidity and made him mad.

Good.

Generally, those two, Byers and Donnier, would be nowhere near the bridge, yet they'd rallied here today, under adverse conditions. Ordinarily in battle Kirk preferred to have his senior crew there, Sulu and Chekov, or Sulu and another navigation specialist, but Sulu was down, Chekov was helping Spock, and Donnier had just caught the bad luck of the draw.

Donnier and Byers would be able to claim having served in the best crew in Starfleet—yes, they were the best, but they were the best at their own specific jobs. Nobody could be the "best" when thrown into somebody else's job. Almost anyone could fake it at the technicals of another position, but there would always be a loss of art. Kirk knew that he could bull and cackle his way around engineering, but that Scott would be a far better captain than Kirk would ever be an engineer. That was why people had specialties, and why the Enterprise was staffed with specialists. The art of the technology.

That was also what they needed today. A little creative art among the technical business. A little sorcery …

Kirk waved at the smoke, motioned McCoy back against the rail so he had something solid to hold on to, and spoke past him to the engineering station, though he couldn't see through the gushing smoke.

"Compensate," he authorized.

"There's a burnout on the crystal triodes, sir."

That was Nordstrom, but it came from the engineering area. She was either helping Edwards or replacing him, if he was down. The curtain of smoke went from the ceiling to the upper deck carpet.

"Compensating," Donnier called from the starboard side, up where Chekov had been. Unable to cough up much volume, he spoke from the science subsystems station, leaving Byers to handle helm and weapons.

Was Chekov down?

Kirk flogged himself for not thinking to overstaff the bridge. With Sulu down, he should've called an all-hands, summoned the main watch, and just let it be a little crowded up here.

Violent lights, shadows, and sparks argued all around and hadn't settled when Zennor's ship turned loose another whipcrack of purple fire.

"Full astern! Byers! Byers!"

He plunged for the helm console, found the chair empty, poked through the smoke for the motive action menu and forced his fingers to tap the impulse generation up to full power.

"Power's wobbly, sir," Edwards reported innocently, as if he didn't notice the ship being pummeled around him.

"We've got to move off. Mr. Scott'll find the power."

The starship bolted again and his stomach went with her. The deck groaned as if in convulsion beneath his hands. A piece of the hull screamed past his face and he swore it grazed him, but it was gone before he could raise a hand to fend it off. The carpet and the deck beneath it slammed him hard and drove his knees into the side of his chair. The chair swiveled and he couldn't hang on. He sprawled to the deck.

Splinters whistled past his ears and speared his shoulders. He buried his head for an instant until the whistling bore off, then grabbed for the sky and caught part of the helm. He dragged himself to one knee, finally to both, and was about to cheer his accomplishment when he made the fatal error of looking up to scan the damage.

He saw Engineer Edwards' red and black form propelled sideways by a vicious eruption at the port console, slam into the bridge rail, and collapse to the deck.

The purple and sulfur twine of energy shined again on the main screen. Zennor's ship basted near-space with another razor of energy, and over Kirk's head—the ceiling exploded.