“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Captain, by rescuing them without carefully negotiating with them in advance for the privilege, we’re all but telling their warriors that we think they’re incompetent. And, of course, just about every caste in the Assembly will be frustrated by our, ah, unauthorized incursion into their space.”
“Damned if we do, and damned if we don’t,” Sulu said, feeling grim. But he took heart in the fact that no Tholian warships had arrived as yet.
[131] “The aliens are firing on the Tholian outpost world again,” Akaar announced loudly, and the viewscreen showed the evidence of his words. Multiple ion lays lanced out from the Neyel ship and into the planet’s atmosphere.
“Asher,” Sulu said. “Take us into the path of those blasts, between the Neyel ship and the Tholian settlement. We’re putting a stop to this. Now.”
Chekov moved toward his chair and leaned in. “Please tell me you a have a plan,” he said quietly.
“If we lost only seven percent of our shield capacity from the previous attack, then we ought to be able to sustain another few direct hits without serious damage. And that may buy some time for the Tholians down there.”
“You hope,” Chekov finished for him. “If that first volley they fired at us really was only a warning shot ...”
“I can’t just allow the wanton slaughter of those people down there, Pavel. And if we can stop the attack without having to open fire ourselves ...”
“Big gamble,” Chekov said.
“I know,” Sulu told him.
Punching the comm button on the arm of his chair, Sulu said, “Chief Azleya, we’re going to take some heavy flak in a few seconds. Make sure our shields hold, however much power it takes.”
“You’ll have power to spare for the shields, Captain,”the chief engineer said in the mock-chiding tone to which Sulu had grown long accustomed. “So long as you don’t ask me to draft any new laws of physics, that is.”
Sulu grinned. “No promises, Chief. Sulu out.”
“We do not know what other weapons they may possess, sir,” Akaar said. “They may be able to shoot us out of the sky with something even more potent than what we have seen so far.”
“ Or,they may listen to reason and stop shooting long [132] enough to hear us out,” Sulu said. “Let’s not assume the worst about them until they give us a reason.”
He saw the veins in Akaar’s neck throb visibly. Clearly, his security chief wasn’t happy with the situation. But itis his job to expect the worst,Sulu reminded himself.
“I haven’t given an order to stand down weapons in the meantime, have I, Lieutenant?” he asked, fixing the much taller man with his gaze.
“No, sir.” Akaar seemed to try, unsuccessfully, to restrain his enthusiasm.
“Good,” Sulu said. “I want to bring this affair to a peaceful conclusion if I can. But the Neyel didfire on the Tholians—and on us—first. And without any apparent provocation. Make sure all weapons batteries are ready.”
Akaar nodded. Without glancing at his tactical readout, he said, “Already done, sir. All phaser banks are fully charged, and all torpedo tubes are loaded and ready.”
Let’s hope we can greet them eventually with open hearts and hands,Sulu thought, quoting the well-known Capellan greeting. Rather than with our security chiefs closed fist.
He turned his attention toward Rand. “Janice, please keep trying to hail the Neyel ship. If you get through to them, put me on immediately.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sulu studied the viewer as the Neyel ship, with its long, weapons-festooned hull, loomed steadily larger in Excelsior’sflight path. He wondered for a moment if any sort of parlay or peace was even possible with such apparently hate-filled people. After all, the Neyel with whom he had spoken had referred to the Tholians as an “infestation.”
I just hope I’m not placing my ship and my crew in jeopardy over a lost cause,he thought.
In the torpedo bay on the starboard side of Deck Twenty, Chief Julia Pitcher’s crew scrambled to prep the [133] complement of photon torpedoes. She knew that the portside crew was simultaneously doing the very same job, under the command of Lieutenant Curry, one of the junior tactical officers.
Each torpedo had to be checked and double-checked before being loaded into the torpedo bays. Even though the equipment was scanned at least twice a day—mainly to check on the magnetic containment of each weapon’s internal supply of matter and antimatter—a red alert called for even more stringent quality-control measures.
“Julia, we’ve got a red light on the M/A fuel cell for Torp37A,” said Petty Officer Tagame.
Pitcher moved over to that particular torpedo quickly, her tricorder in one hand to double-check whatever she diagnosed with her eyes. She afforded a quick grin to the young Japanese man. “Since when do we use first names during red alerts, MisterTagame?”
He blushed and stammered an apology as she crouched to check on the miniature warp fuel cell. “It’s okay, Gen,” Pitcher said good-naturedly. “If we have to be all spit-and-polish with our duties during battle, at least we can be informal with our use of names.”
A wisp of hair fell across Pitcher’s face as she leaned in to study the mechanism; she blew the hair upward with a gust of breath. Prodding the control panel on the device, she ran the scanner over the surface. As expected, it told her the same thing she already knew. “Pull this one, Gen. We’re going to have to replace the cell.”
As she stood, the room jolted violently, knocking several of her crew onto the floor. Pitcher had barely recovered her balance before another blow to Excelsiorknocked her off her feet entirely. She heard a sharp cry from her left, simultaneous with a sickening, wet crunch.
Looking across the room, Pitcher saw that one of the torpedoes had gotten off track from its antigrav carrier and had [134] pinned Win Lemkopf. He was struggling to move the heavy casing, and something was clearly wrong with him.
Pitcher and two other crew members got on their feet to help him, even as the feminine computer voice droned out “Shields at seventy-four point eight percent. Minor damage to Decks Three, Four, and Five.”
Lemkopf screamed in pain as Pitcher, Bell, and Rolquin lifted the massive torpedo off of him. As they moved it, Pitcher could see why. His leg was crushed, probably broken in several places, and a large shard of bone protruded from just above his knee.
“Sickbay, we’ve got a medical emergency coming your way,” Pitcher yelled. “We need a trauma team, Deck Twenty, Torpedo Bay Two.” The communicator channel on their consoles in the torpedo bay were locked on to allow for hands-free communication.
“Acknowledged,”came a female voice. Pitcher didn’t immediately recognize it, but figured it probably belonged to one of the new nurses. “We’ll dispatch a team immediately.”
“Need any help down here?”
Pitcher turned to see Lieutenant Shandra Docksey standing in the open doorway. The pretty East Indian officer generally worked the helm on the beta shift, but if she was here now, Pitcher wasn’t about to refuse her help. She knew that Shandra had had a good deal of previous experience working both in the photon torpedo bays and the phaser stations. Besides, Pitcher genuinely liked working alongside anyone whose disposition was as positive as Docksey’s.
“Stay here with Lemkopf until the medics arrive,” the weapons exec said. “We’ve got to prep these torpedoes.”
Docksey knelt beside Lemkopf, who was moaning in pain. She immediately removed her belt and cinched it around Lemkopf’s leg at mid-thigh. Pitcher turned back to the others and ordered them to get back to loading, then [135] moved to double-check the viability of the torpedo that had fallen on Lemkopf.