Nog’s eyes remained focused on his console, his hands working to set up the reconfiguration of the ship’s systems, even as he sought clarification of Vaughn’s orders. “Everything?”
“Everything,” Vaughn said. Then, to be sure there was no mistake, he added, “Shields, any reserves left in the weapons, transporters, communications, sensors, life support.” To the crew, Vaughn supposed, the orders must have sounded desperate, but he did not have time to explain why this course would provide them the best chance for survival. The Jarada were nothing if not intensely territorial; if they couldn’t destroy Defiant,they’d be satisfied to drive her out of their domain, and the incident would end here. Escape meant the hundred thousand Europani still in transit to Bajor would be safe.
“Ensign ch’Thane,” Vaughn said, stepping away from the engineering console. “Apprise the medical bay.” If any casualties were being treated, the medical staff would need to know about the interruption of power.
“Sir,” Nog said. “If we’re at warp and the fracture in the nacelle widens, we could go up in a fireball.”
“And if we stay here and allow four Jarada battleships to attack us in tandem, we willgo up in a fireball.” Vaughn made sure his tone left no doubt that his orders would stand. He had planned enough operations in his career, developed enough strategies, solved enough problems, that hesitation had long ago been banished from his decision-making process. “Time until the trailing ships are in weapons range?” Vaughn asked.
“Three minutes, twenty seconds,” Dax said.
“That’s how much time we’ve got to get far enough away from Torona IV to go to warp. Can we do it?”
“Depending on how much power we draw,” Nog began, “how much power there is…” His voice trailed off.
“You don’t know?”
“I’d have to run an analysis, and that’d take a couple of minutes.”
“No time,” Vaughn agreed. “Lieutenant,” he said to Dax, “shortest route, now.” Then, touching the fingers of his right hand to Nog’s shoulder, he said, “Go.”
Nog responded by working his console, his hands moving with expert precision across the controls. His demeanor seemed to change slightly, Vaughn noticed, almost as though the engineer found relief in having something specific to do. In the short time Vaughn had been aboard Deep Space 9—not much more than a month—he had been impressed by Nog, and even seen the station’s recently promoted operations officer grow in confidence. There was still something innocent and even wide-eyed about him, perhaps a healthy fear of the unknown and of death, but there was, Vaughn thought, a great deal of potential in the young man. And Nog’s engineering skills only slightly overshadowed his remarkable ability to improvise.
As Nog discharged his orders, Defianttransformed. The atonal groan of the port impulse engine disappeared, leaving the smoother, softer hum of the pair that remained online. The shuddering of the deck also smoothed out.
“Port engine is offline,” Nog said. “Deuterium conduits are clear. I’m rerouting power.”
“Sensors and shields last,” Bowers said.
The insistent, blaring alarms cut off abruptly. Even with the sound of the impulse drive, the bridge suddenly seemed almost quiet to Vaughn. He looked around in time to see most of the stations go dark: environmental control, transporter operations, communications. When the sciences console lost power, Ensign ch’Thane rotated his chair around to face the rest of the bridge. His antennae no longer bent downward, Vaughn saw, but seemed tense, as did the expression on his face. He’s trying to control his fear,Vaughn thought, and then, recalling the Andorian response to danger, corrected himself: Not fear; anger.Something flickered off to the right, and Vaughn looked to see that the main viewer had gone blank.
“Power levels are coming up,” Nog reported as he continued to redirect the ship’s systems to funnel into the impulse engines.
The lights went next, plunging the bridge into momentary darkness before the emergency lighting came on. The few wisps of smoke still hovering about looked to Vaughn like phantoms haunting the scene. He found the pall menacing, and it occurred to him that he had spent a great deal of his career—a great deal of his life—bathed in the gloomy twilight of impending danger.
And then the emergency lighting went out. A claustrophobic blackness surrounded Vaughn. Only the engineering and tactical stations, and Dax’s rerouted flight-control display, remained operational, their lonely glow like beacons in the night. The bulkheads felt closer now, and Vaughn was acutely aware of the smallness of Defiantabout him, and of his own insignificance in the vastness of space.
The resonant drone of the impulse engines grew louder again, but remained steady this time. “We’re approaching ninety percent of full impulse,” Dax said, her face barely visible in the reflected light of her console.
“The near ships are closing in again,” Bowers said, his words coming quickly and loudly.
“They don’t—” Vaughn started, but then a thunderous jolt pounded Defiant,and another. Vaughn reached for the back of Nog’s chair, but missed, and he went sprawling backward onto the deck. No alarms sounded, but something hissed loudly in the darkness. Vaughn rolled to his feet and looked toward tactical, where Bowers’s shadowy figure hovered over his station.
“Starboard shields are down,” Bowers called out. “Aft armor down to—” The tactical officer stopped speaking as his own console went dark. Vaughn could no longer see even a dim outline of the man. “Aft armor down to twenty-three percent,” Bowers continued, obviously reporting the last reading he had seen.
“Sensors and shields rerouted,” Nog reported, finding the last bits of power for the impulse engines.
“They weren’t prepared for that burst of impulse power,” Dax said. “We may have time before they can swing around for another pass.” Another pass, another disruptor strike like the last one, Vaughn knew, and Defiant’s armor might not hold.
“Time,” Vaughn said. The hissing stopped, but again the sound of the impulse drive wavered.
“Estimating ninety seconds before the third and fourth ships get here,” Dax said. “Eighty seconds before we can go to warp. If the impulse engines hold up.”
Good,Vaughn thought. They had made up time. He hoped it would be enough. Moving through the darkened bridge from memory, he found the center seat and settled into it.
“One minute until we can go to warp.” Dax said. “With sensors offline, I can’t tell where the Jarada ships are.” Vaughn thought he heard the confidence present in the lieutenant’s voice up to this point begin to drain away.
Another blast rocked the ship, though not as violently as the previous strikes. Had it, Vaughn realized, Defiantwould likely not still be here. He stopped himself from asking Bowers for a status update; with the tactical station down, there was no way to know how much more the aft armor had degraded. But Vaughn did not need that data to know that Defiantwould not survive another assault.
“Fifty seconds,” Dax said. Then: “We’re not going to make it.”
Vaughn turned in his chair toward Dax. She was staring intently at her console, her face shining orange in its light. He could not make out the spots on the side of her face, but he could see her inexperience in her expression.
So young,he thought, and then about Shar and Nog, and even about Bowers and Bashir: They’re all so young.Still, Dax’s eyes never left her display. She was good, this one, and strong; command had been the right choice for her. Vaughn had no idea how good a counselor she might have become had she continued in that profession, but he was confident that, given the chance, she would make a fine commander, and sooner rather than later. And so he chose to trust her instincts now.