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“Five minutes away from being five by five, Skipper.”
“Well done. When you finish, go help the Endeavour team. They yanked out their main phaser coupling, and they’re ru
“Two miracles before di
The captain pivoted about-face toward the ship’s sensor probe launcher—technically a misnomer, since it was equally capable of launching photon torpedoes. Because of the ship’s limited storage space and the difficulty of moving bulky elements from the cargo deck to the engineering deck, it usually carried only probes and no torpedoes. The rationale for that decision was that the Sagittarius was not designed for heavy combat. Any threat serious enough to merit a photon torpedo was likely one the Archer-class scout ship ought be outru
That afternoon, its entire complement of six sensor probes had been replaced by torpedoes. Junior recon scout Ensign Taryl inspected the new ordnance with her tricorder.
“Do our fish check out, Ensign?”
The Orion woman turned a confused look toward Nassir. “Fish, sir?”
“An old Terran nautical term for torpedoes. I picked it up at the Academy.” Waving off the mismatch in their jargon, he inquired, “Are they ready to go?”
Taryl checked her tricorder one more time, then switched it off. “Ready, sir.”
“Good. Load one into the tube now. When Vanguard gives the order, I want to be ready to come out swinging.”
Ezekiel Fisher haunted the open doorway of his no longer private cabin aboard the Lisbon. He had expected to share his accommodations from the moment the evacuation order was sounded, and he had been right: his VIP cabin for one had become a steerage berthing for six. The once antiseptic-smelling compartment had become a sauna of bad breath and sweaty bodies pressed much too closely together.
The loss of comfort and privacy didn’t really bother him. He had also taken in stride the news that his personal effects had been removed from the cargo hold and abandoned to make room for noncombatant Starfleet perso
One enlisted crewman after another packed into every free space inside the Lisbon. Some of them claimed corners of the mess hall; others staked claims to slivers of space between hulking blocks of machinery. Other than that, there wasn’t much talking. Apparently, most of those ru
The tense but muted atmosphere inside the transport was split by the squawk of Captain Boonmee’s voice over the ship’s PA system.
“Attention, all crew and passengers of the Lisbon, this is the captain. Admiral Nogura has just sent a priority comm to all ships still docked at the station. Vanguard is asking for trained medical perso
Moments later, Fisher saw two people struggling against the tide in the corridor, blading and shouldering their way toward the exit. One of them he recognized from Vanguard Hospital—a Caitian nurse named Kiraar. The other was a human-looking male civilian of middling years whom Fisher didn’t recognize, but the man carried a telltale black medical bag.
Watching those two force their way upstream against the evacuation filled Fisher with guilt. For several painful seconds he wrestled his conscience, fighting the urge to run toward the crisis as he had for most of his adult life. I’ve given Starfleet more than fifty years, he rationalized. That should be enough, shouldn’t it? Part of him wanted to believe that, but the better angels of his nature reminded him of what he knew all too well. If I turn my back now on people in need of a doctor, the last five decades of my life will have meant nothing.
Fisher dodged past his cabinmates to his bunk, retrieved his medical satchel, and slung it over his shoulder. Then he pushed his way out into the corridor and began his own upstream battle back toward the station he thought he’d left behind.
“Dammit, Admiral, that’s a suicide order, and you know it! There’s no way I’m doing that!”
Nogura was not one to tolerate direct repudiation of his orders by a subordinate, much less in such a vociferous and disrespectful ma
A sudden shocked hush fell like a curtain as every person in ops turned to see what would happen next. Nogura stepped out from behind the Hub and prowled toward Telvane. The burly, square-headed, lantern-jawed, sun-browned freighter captain towered over the admiral, and yet it was the larger man who seemed to lean ever so slightly away as Nogura confronted him. Rather than raise his voice to match Telvane’s outburst, Nogura made his reply cold and quiet.
“This is not open for discussion, Captain. Deploy your ship as ordered.”
Digging deep to dredge up the last of his courage, Telvane protested, “My ship doesn’t belong with a battle group, Admiral. We should be escorting the civilian convoy.”
Nogura roared, “Captain! Your ship has a Starfleet registry and a phaser bank! Get back to your bridge and take your ship into battle, or I’ll find someone who will!”
“What’re you going to do? Court-martial me?”
“No, I’ll shoot you dead where you stand.” Nogura drew his phaser and held it casually at his side, aimed at the deck. “Make your choice, Captain.”
Telvane backed away, a disgusted scowl on his swarthy face. “Looks like I’m dead either way. I hope you can live with yourself, Admiral.” He turned and headed for the turbolift.
Nogura holstered his phaser. He didn’t worry whether he would be able to live with his decision. He was too busy worrying whether he would live through the next hour.
Pe
The taller of the men seized Pe
“It’s all right, mate,” Pe
The other male botanist grabbed Pe
Struggling to break free, Pe
The woman lowered her communicator and looked into his eyes. “Why?”
There was no time for lies. “I lost someone I loved on the Bombay. I want the flower as a memento. I don’t have anything else.”
She put away her communicator and said to the men, “Let him go.”
The big man blustered, “Are you crazy? He—”
“That’s an order, Ensign.” Pe