“Fire again!” the captain said.
As before, two seething beams of phased energy poured out of the Stargazer and buried themselves in the sea of gases. And as before, he could only imagine their effect.
But this time, Gerda gave him something more concrete than his imagination. “The enemy is slowing down,” she announced triumphantly. “Half impulse at best.”
Glancing at her monitor, Picard could see the gap between them and their prey diminishing precipitously. One hundred thousand kilometers. Eighty thousand. Sixty thousand.
“Match their speed and fire!” he said, his voice sounding stentorian in the narrow confines of the bridge.
Idun slowed them down, and the Stargazer’s phaser batteries poured destruction into the roiling clouds. As the captain watched them vanish, he was joined by Ben Zoma.
“How are we doing?” the first officer asked.
Picard kept his eyes on Gerda’s radar monitor. “Better than before, Number One. Much better.”
“So what made you think of that stop-and-fire tactic?”
What indeed? “I was thinking of Captain Ruhalter. We used to fence, as you know, and one of his favorite moves was something called a stop-thrust. It often began with a retreat.”
Ben Zoma seemed impressed. “I see.”
“We must have hit them again,” Gerda said. “They’ve slowed to a crawl, sir.”
Indeed, the behavior of the green blip bore out her observation. The pirate was hardly making any progress at all.
“Looks like he’s had it,” Ben Zoma remarked.
Something occurred to the captain. “Unless our friend the White Wolf is laying a trap for us.”
Ben Zoma looked at him. “Feigning disability to bring the Stargazer in closer, so he can let us have it with both barrels?”
Picard nodded. “Precisely.”
“Our regular sensors aren’t completely dead,” Ben Zoma reminded him. “If we get within fifty kilometers of the bastard, I’ll bet we can get a full scan of him.”
The captain considered the option. If the White Wolf attacked them with phasers at a range of fifty kilometers, it could leave the Stargazer a shambles. But they had a mission to complete, and they weren’t going to complete it by hanging back.
“Slow to one-eighth impulse,” he said.
“One-eighth impulse,” Idun confirmed.
Picard watched Gerda’s radar screen. The pirate ship’s behavior wasn’t changing one iota. She was still moving through gas-drenched space at a snail’s pace.
When they got within sixty kilometers, the captain called for thrusters only. At fifty-six kilometers, some of the traditional sensors began to kick in. By the time they reached fifty-two kilometers, they had enough information to know where they stood.
The White Wolf’s shields were down, her weapons were off-line, and her propulsion systems were all but useless. The Stargazer had won. Her prey was hers for the taking.
The White Wolf swept away some of the smoke issuing from his helmsman’s flaming control console, situated just ahead of his captain’s chair. Then he peered at the still-functioning radar screen attached to his armrest.
Their pursuer, represented by a blue icon on a white grid, was creeping closer to them by the moment.
“Damn them,” growled Turgis, who had been injured and was using the back of the center seat to hold himself up.
“Yes,” said the pirate. “Damn them indeed.”
His vessel was absolutely helpless, rendered so by their Starfleet enemy’s surprise tactics. There was nothing he could do to keep his hold from being emptied of its stolen cargo, or his crew from being tried at the nearest starbase.
The prospect left a bitter taste in his mouth—even more bitter than the acrid taste of burning plastic.
But he had still had his hidden ace. As long as that individual hadn’t come into play yet, there was still a chance that the White Wolf would come out on top.
Picard was tempted to smile as he savored his victory.
But he couldn’t, of course. There was still work to be done and lots of it. For one thing, he doubted that he could tractor the pirate’s ship back through the obstacles Beta Barritus had thrown at them, so he would have to board the pale, slim vessel in order to remove her crew and cargo.
And the captain couldn’t depend on his transporters. The gas clouds and free-floating ions in the vicinity were creating too much interference for that. So the only way to remove anybody or anything—
“Captain?” said Gerda, interrupting his thoughts.
He looked at her. “What is it, Lieutenant?”
The navigator pointed to her radar screen, which now showed not one blip but two. “Sir,” she said, her voice low and grim, “radar shows a second ship in the area.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
PICARD TURNED TO BEN ZOMA. “A second ship?” They had been expecting only one ship when they went after the White Wolf. If there were two or three of the pirates or perhaps even more, it would mean trouble.
Ben Zoma frowned. “Doesn’t sound good.”
“Evasive maneuvers,” the captain told Idun.
But as the Stargazer began to swing around the White Wolf, Paxton spoke up from his comm console.
“They’re hailing us,” he informed Picard.
The captain felt a muscle spasm in his jaw as he considered the situation. “Discontinue maneuvers,” he told Idun. “But be ready to resume them on my command.”
“Aye, sir,” came the helm officer’s response.
Picard glanced at Paxton. “Return their hail, Lieutenant.”
Paxton turned to his console and did as he was told. A moment later, he turned around again, an unmistakable look of disbelief on his face. “Sir,” he said, “it’s the Cochise.”
Picard wasn’t ready to believe it. “Are you certain?” he asked his comm officer.
Paxton shrugged. “That’s what they claim, sir.”
“Then they should be able to show me Captain Greenbriar,” the captain concluded. “Tell them I want to see him. Now.”
Paxton went to work again at his console, and before Picard could draw another breath, the craggy visage of a Starfleet captain filled his viewscreen. It was static-riddled and it wavered occasionally, but there was no question that it was Greenbriar.
“Picard,” he said, “are you all right?”
“I am,” the captain told him. He looked around his bridge at the damage it had taken. “Though somewhat the worse for wear.”
“And the White Wolf?”
“Disabled, apparently. We were about to put together a boarding party when you arrived.”
“That’s good news,” said Greenbriar.
Picard should have been happy to see his colleague, happy to have a little support in such a perilous setting. But something about the Cochise’s presence here felt wrong to him.
Before the Stargazer, no one had ever managed to get this far. Not in dozens of previous attempts. No one.
Yet here was the Cochise, basking in the proximate, ruddy light of Beta Barritus. It seemed like an awfully big coincidence—a little too big for Picard to swallow.
“I hadn’t expected to see you here,” he told Greenbriar.
“I hadn’t expected to be here,” Greenbriar replied in a comradely tone of voice. “At the last minute, Admiral McAteer changed his mind and dispatched us to back you up.”
“Yes,” said Picard, “I knew that. I meant I didn’t think you would be able to penetrate this far into the system.”
As he spoke, his mind raced headlong. What is going on here? he demanded of himself.
Picard’s friend Corey Zweller had warned him that McAteer wanted to see him fail, so that Admiral Mehdi could be seen to fail as well. But how badly did McAteer want it?
Badly enough to take the lives of Picard and his crew?
And if the Stargazer and all its hands were to be lost here, in this dangerous place, who would question it? Who would know that the C
ochise had followed her in?
No one but the captain and crew of the Cochise—and Admiral McAteer, of course.
Suddenly, the captain realized what he was saying—and rejected the idea. I’m being paranoid, he thought. I’ve been on edge so long, I’ve begun tilting at shadows.
McAteer might have been a lot of things, but he was also a high-ranking Starfleet officer, a man trusted implicitly by other men of good judgment. It was unthinkable that he would sacrifice the Stargazer just to further his personal ambitions.
Wasn’t it?
As he asked himself that question, he noticed Ben Zoma leaning over Gerda’s console. A glance told him that Greenbriar’s ship had come within their limited sensor range—although it wasn’t as limited as the Cochise’s sensor range, since Greenbriar’s instruments hadn’t been enhanced by the Stargazer’s Chief Simenon.
Ben Zoma was scrutinizing the Cochise intently, examining her power levels, her structural integrity, her crew, anything that might have told him something was wrong. And Gerda was following his every move.
Inwardly, Picard smiled. It seemed he wasn’t the only one wary of Greenbriar’s appearance here.
“How did you make it this far?” he inquired of Greenbriar.
“The same way you did, I expect,” came the man’s reply. “We warp-jumped the debris field, then altered the polarity of our shields to make it through the vortex belt. And when we couldn’t see in this muck, my chief engineer came up with the idea of—”
Without warning, Gerda whirled in her seat. “Captain,” she said, her eyes hard and angry, “the Cochise is powering up her weapons!”
Picard didn’t even have time to utter a curse. “All available power to the shields!”
They made the adjustment just in time to ward off a blinding red phaser barrage. Nonetheless, the impact sent everyone on the bridge reeling hard to starboard and tore one of their plasma conduits free of its moorings.
“Return fire!” the captain bellowed as the conduit whipped back and forth capriciously, spraying superheated plasma at a bulkhead.
Vigo punched back at the Constellation-class Cochise with his forward phaser banks, but Greenbriar’s ship was already executing evasive maneuvers. Only one of the energy beams managed to strike her.
And a moment or two later, Picard’s colleague came about for another pass at him.
“Shields down fifty-four percent,” Gerda noted.
The captain absorbed the information. His ship was at a distinct disadvantage. She had already been battered by the White Wolf, whereas Greenbriar’s vessel was all but unscathed.
And Greenbriar himself was one of the most experienced captains in the fleet, while Picard had been given command of the Stargazer only a few short weeks ago.
A lopsided match if ever there was one, Picard thought. He had to find a way to pull off an upset.
“Evasive maneuvers,” he told Idun. Then he glanced at Vigo and said, “Fire at will.”
Picard’s helm officer moved them off the bull’s-eye, giving the Cochise a running, twisting target. And as soon as Greenbriar’s ship came within range, Vigo greeted her with a sizzling phaser salvo.
But the Stargazer was brutalized as well. The captain was thrown back into his chair as an aft control bank erupted in flames.
“Shields down seventy-six percent,” Gerda reported.
“Casualties on decks seven and eight,” Paxton added. “Sickbay is sending out teams.”
Picard felt a familiar hand on his shoulder. “We can’t just trade volleys with them,” Ben Zoma said, his voice so low that only his friend could hear it. “That’s what Greenbriar wants us to do.”
The captain frowned as he considered his options. In the meantime, the Cochise wheeled and came at them again with full fury. As before, Idun made it difficult for Greenbriar to hit them, but he still got in a solid phaser shot.
“Shields down eighty-seven percent,” Gerda announced, a hint of frustration in her voice.
And the Cochise, her captain undaunted, was coming about for another charge at them.
The Stargazer could withstand only one more barrage before she lost her defenses altogether. If Picard was going to turn the tide, this would be his last chance to do so.
Perspiration collected in the small of his back. He had to do something. But what?
And then it came to him. Of course, he thought. It was so simple, he was amazed that he hadn’t thought of it before.
“Mr. Vigo,” Picard said.
The weapons officer turned to him.
“Target the center of the Cochise’s navigational deflector and hit it with the narrowest, most intense beam you can manage. And don’t let up until I tell you.”
Vigo smiled, a sign that he had some idea of what his captain was up to. “Aye, sir.”
The captain glanced at his helm officer. “Give us a good look at our target, Lieutenant.”
Idun nodded, as steady as ever. “I will, sir.”
As they closed with Greenbriar’s ship, Idun banked sharply and unexpectedly, taking the Stargazer across the Cochise’s bow. It seemed like a reckless move in that it exposed their flank to their adversary’s phasers for an awkward amount of time.
And the Stargazer paid for it.
Raked by Greenbriar’s directed energy beams, she lost more than what was left of her shields. She suffered hull breaches and severed power linkages and ceased to function in a thousand small ways.
Picard didn’t need to hear the damage reports. He could feel what had happened in his bones.
But Idun’s maneuver also gave Vigo the opening he needed. The Stargazer’s powerful crimson phaser beams plunged mercilessly into the heart of their adversary’s navigational deflector, cutting through layer upon layer of graviton-contained spatial distortion in the merest fraction of a second.
Fortunately, they didn’t have to take out the entire deflector. Their objective was the small, long-range signal emitter at the center of it, a shallow, bowl-like structure currently being used for one purpose and one purpose only . . .
To transmit the special-frequency radio waves that drove Greenbriar’s radar system.
As Obal rushed into the shuttlebay with the other members of his security team, he took in the scene as calmly and objectively as his Academy trainers had advised him to do.
There were three crewmen down. No, he thought, as he came around a cargo shuttle and saw another pair of legs protruding beyond it, make that four crewmen down.
Racing across the bay as fast as he could, he reached the unidentified legs and saw the body to which they were attached. It belonged to Lieutenant Chiang, the chief of this section.
The man was unconscious, bleeding from a cut on his forehead. There was blood on the shuttle next to him as well. Apparently, Chiang had struck his head on it during one of the phaser impacts the Stargazer had suffered.
It was Obal’s job to get him out of here, just as his comrades were removing the other crewmen in the bay. Of course, Chiang was much bigger and heavier than the Binderian, but he believed he could manage.
He had already hooked his hands under the man’s armpits and begun to drag him toward the exit when he noticed something—a red light on the lonely-looking console not twenty meters away.
It gave Obal pause. If he recalled correctly, a red light only came on in case of trouble, and very specific trouble at that. It signaled that the semipermeable force field between the bay and the tinted sea of gases outside was about to fizzle out.
If that happened, all the air in the bay would rush out into interplanetary space. And along with it would go any crewmen and equipment that happened to be present at the time.
Could the light have gone on due to a circuitry malfunction? It was certainly possible, with all the punishment the ship was taking.
Or, Obal asked himself, a chill running down his spine, might it be that the light was working perfectly? In that case, the problem would be in the mechanism that maintained the force
field.
“Lands of fire,” he breathed, invoking an image from his people’s most primitive belief system.
He couldn’t take the chance that it was a simple short circuit. He had to do something, and do it quickly.
Easing Chiang to the smooth, hard surface of the deck, Obal darted in the direction of the console. But even as he did this, he saw the barrier begin to buckle and spark, and felt the tug of something hideously powerful.
Was he too late? he wondered. Would everyone in the bay, rescued as well as rescuers, be sucked out of the ship?
No, he vowed. I won’t let it happen.
Gritting his teeth, Obal hunkered down and drove his slender legs as hard as he could. Little by little, he made his way across the bay to the freestanding control console.
He ignored the cries of his fellow security officers as they realized what was happening. He even managed to ignore the sight of Lieutenant Chiang sliding toward the failing barrier.
Slowly but insistently, Obal plied the last couple of meters of his journey and reached the console. Then he hung on to it against the pull of space as he surveyed its colored studs and touch-sensitive pads.
In his Academy class he had had no trouble remembering which stud did what. Now, with so much riding on his actions, he found the task a bit more difficult.
That one, he decided at last, singling out a square blue stud. And he pushed it down as hard as he could.
For a moment, Obal feared he had made the wrong decision. Then he felt a let-up in the force that had been tugging at him. Looking up in the direction of the force field, he saw by the silver gleam along its perimeter that the back-up emitters had been activated.
There was a second force field in place, stopping the air from leaving the bay—along with everyone and everything in it. Obal drew a deep breath and expelled it. He was just glad he had noticed the red light in time.
Releasing the console with an understandable reluctance, he returned to Lieutenant Chiang’s still-unconscious form. Then he began dragging the man toward the exit again.
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