Taking Wing

by Michael A. Martin

  Akhh! I have signed my people’s death warrant!

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  * * *

  U.S.S. TITAN

  Riker was both grateful and annoyed that the new command seats came equipped with automatic safety harnesses. Triggered into operation by Titan’s momentarily overloaded inertial damping system, the automatic restraints had deployed quickly enough to prevent the violent impact of the first attacker’s barrage from throwing him to the deck. But he was not in the habit of allowing himself to be pinned down, especially in the middle of a combat situation.

  “Report!” he shouted as he reached for the manual release control, located on the left arm of his chair.

  “Shields holding at seventy percent,” Keru said from his post at the aft end of the bridge. “Phasers are armed and ready.”

  Riker knew that under normal circumstances, returning fire would be one of his prime options. But this situation was anything but normal. Old and new Romulan ships—vessels crewed by opposing Remans and Romulans—were moving quickly to engage one another in the night skies over Romulus. It was difficult to tell the two sides apart, let alone determine with certainty which side had attacked Titan.

  “Any idea who hit us?” he asked.

  “It’s not immediately clear,” Jaza said, his hands playing over his console. “Both the Romulan and Reman ships are firing at each other. I’m not certain that salvo was even meant for us.”

  Riker looked to the forward viewscreen, where he saw what must have been several dozen ships engaged in aggression. Angry red disruptor beams ionized the night sky, briefly seeming to entangle one vessel with another in a lethal cat’s cradle. “Give us some distance,” he said. “Maybe we took fire because we’re too close.”

  As Lieutenant Rager and Ensign Lavena entered course corrections into their respective conn and ops consoles, Riker turned to Vale, who was seated at his right. “Tell the Phoebus, T’rin’saz, and the Der Sonnenaufgang to withdraw from disruptor range.”

  “Yes, sir,” Vale said, tapping commands into her armrest console. The Starfleet aid ships had already moved to a one-thousand-kilometer orbit over Romulus, but that still wouldn’t necessarily keep them entirely out of harm’s way if the gunners on either side of the Romulan-Reman conflict decided to target the convoy deliberately.

  Riker started to turn toward Tuvok, Spock, and Akaar, intending to ask the admiral to escort both Vulcans down to sickbay, when another blast rocked the ship. A spray of sparks arced out of a conduit above the upper corner of the main viewscreen, which blacked out a moment later. Riker stumbled to one side, thrown against a railing as Titan’s inertial dampers kicked in, righting the deck.

  “Get that screen back on line,” Riker ordered, swallowing a curse. “In the meantime, activate every other available monitor so we can see what’s happening out there.”

  As he moved to the aft end of the bridge, several monitors had already taken up the forward viewscreen’s slack.

  “Shields down to forty-eight percent, Captain,” Keru said. Riker could hear the timbre of concern in his voice.

  “The Klingons are moving in toward us, but they’re not firing at the Romulans,” Jaza said. “They appear to be taking up defensive positions between Titan and the skirmish line.”

  “Circling the wagons,” Riker heard Deanna say while he studied one of the tactical displays and considered his options.

  He spared a quick glance toward Akaar, Tuvok, and Spock. The expressions on all three faces were inscrutable, but Riker knew they were probably contemplating the same question he was; how to defend the ship without actually engaging in—or escalating—the developing battle. If the Klingons are holding back, Riker thought, then Khegh must have decided that the Romulans have him overmatched, and that today isn’t such a good day to die.

  The turbolift doors opened, and a pair of engineers stepped onto the bridge, carrying their tools on a small hovering platform. Riker barely spared them a glance.

  “Mr. Keru, can you target just the weapons on those ships?” Riker asked. If Titan could force both sides to stop firing at each other for at least a while, then some other more permanent solution might present itself.

  “Hard to say, Captain,” Keru said, frowning at his monitors. “We’ve taken some damage. But I think I can get a lock on the weapons of some of those older ships the Remans are using.”

  “Lieutenant Rager, get me Khegh,” Riker said. A moment later, the scowling visage of the burly Klingon general appeared on one of the monitors.

  “A touchy situation, is it not, Captain Riker?” Khegh said, baring his yellow teeth in a fierce smile.

  “General, we need to stop the hostilities,” Riker said. “Do you have any influence over the Remans?”

  Khegh’s smile disappeared. “They seem to have chosen their course, Captain. I doubt we could dissuade them.” He assayed a guileless expression, but failed miserably. “And truthfully, why should we want to?”

  “We are prepared to target only the weapons systems of the Reman ships,” Riker said, feeling a trickle of cold sweat begin to run down the back of his neck. “Can you engage the Romulans, without destroying their ships?”

  “Where is the fun in that?” Khegh asked, grinning again. He turned and barked an order in Klingon, addressing his crew. “Besides, I thought you wanted to keep us from fighting these treacherous Romulan petaQ.”

  “Believe me, asking you to fire on Romulan ships isn’t my first choice,” Riker said. “But we need to stop this war before it gets completely out of hand.”

  He wasn’t surprised when Khegh signed off without acknowledging him.

  “The Klingons are breaking away from us,” Vale said, looking up from her console. “Our shields are still at less than half-strength, Captain. Staying out of harm’s way would be as good an idea for us as for our convoy ships.”

  Riker slapped the combadge on his chest. “Riker to engineering. We need to get our shields back to full power, Ledrah. Now.”

  “We’re already working on it, sir,” the chief engineer’s calm voice replied.

  Riker strode back down toward his chair, aware that the eyes of his wife had been on him for the last several minutes. He could feel her calming influence, even though she wasn’t speaking aloud.

  He turned toward Keru. “Mr. Keru, you may fire when ready, but I do not want any of those ships destroyed. Just make sure they can’t take any more potshots at anyone else.”

  “Yes, sir,” Keru said.

  Tuvok stepped toward the captain’s chair. “Captain Riker, if you require additional help, I was the tactical officer aboard Voyager for seven years. I can assist Mr. Keru if you have a targeting console to spare.”

  Riker nodded curtly. “Glad to have your help, Commander. Two good marksmen are better than one.” He turned to see the forward viewscreen flicker to life for a moment, then wink out again. In that instant, Riker caught a glimpse of one of Khegh’s Klingon battle cruisers swooping in toward one of the newer Romulan warbirds, while a phaser burst from Titan lanced out toward an older, Reman-crewed ship.

  “Sorry, sir,” the engineer said, holding up a pointed spanner. “We’ll have it back up in just a moment.”

  Riker noted that the pair working on the viewscreen were the Polynesian twin ensigns. He could never tell them apart, so he was glad in this instance that he could just use their mutual surname. “As quickly as you can, Ensign Rossini.”

  “I’ve tried hailing Praetor Tal’Aura, but our signal apparently isn’t getting through,” Deanna said, looking up from the console she had snapped down from the side of her chair. Her dark eyes grew wider, and he felt her speaking directly into his mind.

  This is not your fault, Will. I’m not even sure that Ambassador Spock could have prevented this, regardless of what he believes. He might only have delayed the Reman attack.

  Small comfort, Imzadi, he thought in response. It feels as if we’re trying to keep a boat from sinking with a bucket brigade.
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  She frowned slightly at his boat reference, and he was certain she was remembering their honeymoon. Suddenly, an urgent voice pulled his full attention back to the crisis at hand.

  “Captain, one of the Remans is closing on our port bow! Collision course!” Rager’s voice was high-pitched, though not panicked.

  “Evasive maneuvers!” Riker roared.

  The viewscreen flickered back on just in time to display an obsolete D-7 cruiser barreling toward Titan, filling almost the entire image area.

  Then the incoming vessel appeared to pull away. Riker felt intense relief.

  Until the other ship was hit by some other vessel’s disruptor fusillade, breaking her hull into burning, atmosphere-venting fragments that careened in every direction.

  One rather large, jagged piece was headed straight for Titan’s new evasive heading.

  “All decks, brace for impact!” he shouted into his com-badge. He saw Lavena and Rager frantically entering commands, but he knew that even their considerable skills wouldn’t be enough.

  A cacophonous sound rent the air, and Riker felt himself thrown violently backward. The lighting dimmed to near-darkness, lit only by a shower of sparks. Amid the blare of klaxons and the tortured moans of strained structural integrity fields, Riker heard a scream, and a wet sound. Then he crashed against something hard, a flare of pain igniting within his left shoulder.

  A few seconds ticked past before the bridge’s emergency lights kicked on, bathing the scene in an eerie orange glow. Will struggled to sit, aware that he had landed near his command chair, his back up against the upper-level support frame for the bridge’s raised aft work stations. He heard Deanna moan, and saw her sit up from where she was slumped over her chair’s armrest, held in place by the autorestraints.

  Riker placed his hand against the deck, feeling something wet and warm there as he turned toward Vale’s chair. He saw that she was sitting in it, held in place by her harness; she looked dazed, though not obviously harmed. An errant thought flickered through his mind: Clearly the lesson here is to stay in my chair.

  As Riker struggled to his feet, he heard the other members of the bridge crew moaning and moving around him. He stooped near the conn, where Ensign Lavena lay after evidently having opened her restraints; her suit had sprung a leak, and its fluids were rapidly spilling onto the deck. Riker realized that this was the source of the moisture he had felt on the deck, and was thankful that it wasn’t anyone’s blood.

  “Everybody, sound off,” he said, turning. In quick succession—though accompanied by many moans and groans—Lavena, Rager, Jaza, Deanna, Vale, Akaar, Tuvok, the Rossini twins, and three other members of the bridge crew called out their names.

  Which left only Keru.

  Riker turned to see Tuvok kneeling beside one of the aft consoles. “Captain, your tactical officer is badly injured.”

  Riker tapped his badge, as Deanna and Christine rushed to the upper level. “Riker to sickbay. Prepare for incoming wounded.” He sighed, and turned to Jaza as the science officer moved back toward his station. “Status report.”

  The Bajoran ran a shaky finger across his console’s monitor, following as he read. “Titan was turning when she was struck. We were lucky. We appear to have sustained only minor hull damage. There’s a small breach on deck five, and emergency forcefields are already in place. But our shields were overloaded by the impact.”

  “How badly?”

  “They’re down to thirty percent, Captain. Sir, we can’t take another hit like that.”

  “Will.” Deanna was calling him from the upper part of the bridge, aloud this time.

  “Contact Khegh, Rager. We’re going to need the Klingons protecting our flanks.”

  “Will!” Deanna’s voice had become more insistent. He moved in behind her, steadying himself against a console as he looked down.

  Ranul Keru lay in a crumpled heap, contusions about his face from the console circuitry into which he had crashed. But of far, far more serious concern was the spanner that protruded from his chest. Deep red blood oozed out around what he recognized as one of Ensign Rossini’s tools.

  Then he noticed that the large Trill was not breathing, either.

  Simultaneous to this observation, Vale tapped her com-badge. “Vale to transporter room four! Beam Commander Keru directly to sickbay. Sickbay, prepare a trauma team. We’re beaming Mr. Keru directly to you. He’s critically injured.”

  As the shimmering curtain of energy surrounded and dissolved Keru, Deanna stood. Riker saw that her eyes were wet. “I could barely feel him, Will. I don’t know if he’s going to make it.”

  Not caring how the gesture would look to Akaar or anyone else, Riker gathered Deanna into his embrace. He looked over her head at Vale.

  “Let’s get this ship running again,” he said grimly.

  SEVERAL MINUTES EARLIER

  Olivia Bolaji had screamed so much that her voice was hoarse, and not even all the asinolyathin in sickbay seemed to be of any help.

  Ogawa checked the biobed display again, then kept her voice as low and calming as possible as she addressed her infuriated patient. “I’m sorry, Olivia. I don’t see any change. If we don’t get your baby out now, we’d be risking both of your lives.”

  Axel Bolaji stood near the biobed, his dark-hued hand now purplish from the hard squeezing Olivia had been giving it. “He’s four months early. Will he survive?”

  “There are always risks, but we’ll make certain they both do fine, Axel,” Ogawa said. Though it was rare in modern Federation medical experience, human babies still occasionally arrived prematurely.

  “Noah wasn’t premature, but he had a difficult birth,” Ogawa said, giving Olivia a small smile. Calling thirty-two hours of labor “difficult” is a bit of an understatement, she thought. I was ready to yank him out with a tractor beam if he’d taken a minute longer.

  “You’re sure the transporter won’t hurt him?” Olivia asked, wincing.

  Ogawa shook her head side to side. “We’ll be using a small, confined transporter beam. It’s the least invasive procedure we can do.” She gestured out toward the rest of sickbay. “I’m going to need Dr. Onnta’s help though, since he has the most experience in this arena. I’m going to go get him now. The sooner we get this done, the better it’ll be for the three of you.”

  The Bolajis nodded, and Ogawa turned and exited the OB/GYN room, deactivating then reactivating the bio-isolation field as she left. She made her way to Surgical Three, where Dr. Onnta and Dr. Ree were working on Lieutenant Denken. The young Matalinian had been grievously injured during the raid on Vikr’l Prison, and lay unmoving in the surgical bay.

  Ogawa was about to ask how the surgery had gone when she noticed that Nurse Kershul was wrapping Denken’s severed right arm up in cloth.

  “You weren’t able to save his arm?” she asked.

  Ree shook his head, the sensor cluster’s bright surgical lights making his scales look almost iridescent. “Whatever they cut him with in the prison was poisoned. We were barely able to stop it from spreading throughout his nervous system. Another five minutes and he would have lost seventy-five percent of his mobility, another ten and he would have died.”

  “He has that to be thankful for then,” Ogawa said. She was always careful to be positive around trauma patients, even those who were sedated or even apparently unconscious; she knew that their subconscious minds often heard everything being said in the room, and that their waking minds might later access those memories.

  The red-alert klaxons suddenly came on, startling everyone in the room. Although the klaxons were quieter here in sickbay than up on the bridge, they were no less effective.

  “Bridge, what is the nature of the emergency?” Ree asked, speaking into a wall-mounted companel.

  “Just being careful, Doctor,” answered Lieutenant Commander Jaza. “We’re pretty close to some ship-to-ship combat between the Romulans and the Remans, and we don’t want to be drawn into it.”

&n
bsp; Ree’s double eyelids blinked several times in rapid succession. “Is Titan in danger, Commander?”

  “I really can’t talk now, Doctor. I’ll try to get back to you. Bridge out.”

  Onnta sighed heavily. “Let’s hope we won’t be engaging in any battle either. Whatever beef the Remans have with the Romulans, it isn’t our fight.”

  Ogawa nodded. Ever since Andrew had died fighting the Dominion War, she’d had little stomach for armed conflict, and an increasing contempt for those who were too quick to resort to it. She excused herself for a moment to call Noah, to make certain he stayed put in their quarters.

  Back to the matter at hand, Alyssa, she silently chided herself. There’s a new life about to be born. Try to focus on that.

  “If you’re available, Dr. Onnta, it’s critical that we deliver Olivia Bolaji’s child as soon as possible,” Ogawa said, gesturing toward the OB/GYN room.

  “Yes, of course,” Onnta said, doffing his bloody surgical gown. “Mr. Denken is sleeping soundly. Have you prepped the equipment?”

  “Of course, sir,” Ogawa said, nodding. She liked the gold-skinned Balosneean doctor well enough, despite his often absentminded air—and the fact that he often spoke to her as if she were a second-year med student. It only bothered her slightly now, but if his attitude didn’t improve soon, she’d find the time to share with him exactly how much field experience she’d had after nearly a decade of service aboard two starships named Enterprise.

  “I’d like to come along to observe,” Dr. Ree said, his tail switching to one side behind him. He scratched at his chin absently with one of his long, multijointed fingers. “I have been treating Mrs. Bolaji regularly, but found no warning signs of this premature labor.”

  As the trio strode toward the OB/GYN room, Onnta let out a sigh which Ogawa took to be one of relief, though it could as easily have been born of frustration. “Busy day. I’m glad every shift isn’t like this,” he said.

  Both Ogawa and Ree nodded. In less than an hour, they’d treated not only Bolaji and Denken, but also the various nicks and scrapes that other members of the away team had suffered. And then there was the large, unconscious Reman, whose injuries had apparently been less severe than Ogawa had originally feared. Remans, it seemed, were made out of pretty stern stuff.