Storming Heaven

The cha

“Helm,” Terrell said, “set course for the civilian convoy. Maximum warp until we overtake them, then reduce speed to match them. Engage.”

“Aye, sir.” Dastin plotted the course and jumped the ship to warp.

“Lieutenant Sorak,” Terrell rasped. The Vulcan came to his side. “It seems Doctor Babitz was right. I am bleeding rather profusely. I need you to carry me to sickbay, please.”

“Aye, Captain,” Sorak replied, reminding Terrell that he was no longer the first officer of the Sagittarius but its de facto commanding officer. The Vulcan hoisted Terrell forward and out of the chair, then draped Terrell’s right arm across his shoulders.

Teetering on the edge of consciousness as he was assisted off the bridge, the acting captain looked back at the shell-shocked Theriault and smiled.

“You have the co

She smiled back as best she was able. “Aye, sir.”

Khatami had stopped asking for damage reports when they started coming in every few seconds on their own. The warp drive was down, along with the ventral shields and half the phaser banks. Disruptor blasts and plasma charges struck the ship every few seconds, making it impossible to cross the bridge without being thrown around like a rag doll. The Endeavour had become like a punch-drunk fighter: pummeled to within an inch of its life, the only thing that seemed to keep it going was the battle itself.

“Sagittarius made the jump to warp,” Klisiewicz confirmed.

McCormack waved away the tattered curtain of black smoke drifting between her and the navigator’s console. “The Buenos Aires is taking heavy damage!”

“On-screen!” Khatami leaned forward as the viewscreen switched to an angle that showed the Miranda-class frigate making wild maneuvers in a futile bid to escape a three-way Tholian crossfire. “Target the ship on their starboard flank and fire!”

“Phasers locked,” McCormack said. “Firing!” A scathing blue beam lanced upward from the Endeavour and destroyed one of the Tholian cruisers pestering the Buenos Aires, which veered clear of its remaining pursuers and swung wide to prepare for another attack run.

A bone-rattling crash as plasma charges slammed through Endeavour’s primary hull and plunged the bridge into darkness. Half a second later, the lights surged back, but several display screens above the aft duty stations showed only static. Thorsen scrambled across the deck to an open panel beneath the affected consoles. “Hang on,” the baby-faced blond lieutenant shouted as he slithered inside the machinery. “I’ll have them back up in a few seconds!”

Commander Stano called out, “Brace for impact!”

The Endeavour pitched as if it had been struck by the hand of God.

Sparks flew, lights and consoles flickered, and bodies seemed to tumble around Khatami in slow motion, their erratic paths stuttered by the strobing light. When the ear-crushing rumble of the blast abated, Khatami heard Thorsen’s screams of pain. She turned to see Stano and Estrada pulling the tactical officer clear of the maintenance area beneath the panels, which were crackling with flames and belching toxic smoke. The explosion had peppered the young lieutenant’s face with a flurry of metal shards and scorched it with second-degree burns. Thorsen seemed to want to press his hands to his face but couldn’t bear the slightest touch, so all he could do was writhe and scream and bleed. Estrada retreated in horror from his comrade while Stano belted out, “Medkit! I need a medkit, now!”

Klisiewicz bolted from his seat, retrieved the first aid kit from the emergency locker by the turbolift, and ran it to Stano. The first officer pried open the case, pulled out a hypospray and an ampoule of medicine, and injected Thorsen via his carotid artery. Almost instantly, Thorsen ceased his agonized wails and drifted off into a deep and—Khatami hoped—dreamless slumber.

The captain looked at Stano. “How bad are we hit?”

“Pretty bad,” Stano said. “They just punched two holes clean through the saucer.”

“Load all torpedo bays, and tell Buenos Aires to do the same, we’ll need them as a wingman when we—”

“Buenos Aires is in trouble,” McCormack said, drawing Khatami’s attention back to the forward screen. The badly damaged frigate took several hits in rapid succession—some from disruptors, some from plasma charges—to its warp nacelles and main engineering section.

“Hector, hail them. Hurry!”

“Aye, Captain,” Estrada said, scrambling into action at the communications panel. Seconds later, he turned back toward Khatami. “I have Captain Jarvis on audio.”

“Put him on.” At a nod from Estrada, she continued. “Captain Jarvis, this is Captain Khatami. What’s your status?”

Over the white noise of distress, Captain Andrew Jarvis replied, “We are officially FUBAR, Captain. We just lost shields, phasers, and warp drive.”

“Withdraw, Captain, we’ll cover you. Come about on bearing two eight—”

“Negative. We’ve still got torpedoes, and I plan to use them. Jarvis out.”

“Captain! Belay that!” When she heard no reply, she looked to Estrada.

He shook his head. “They’ve closed the cha

Stano pointed at the main viewscreen. “Look!”

The Buenos Aires made an abrupt course change and charged directly at the densest cluster of Tholian ships circling Vanguard. Moments later the frigate unleashed a steady torrent of photon torpedoes—and accelerated behind them.

“My God,” Stano blurted out, “they’re on a ramming trajectory!”

Khatami sprang from her chair. “Helm! Get us to the other side of Vanguard—now!”

The thrumming of the impulse engines escalated to a high-pitched droning as Neelakanta accelerated the ship to flank speed while guiding it through a dizzying bank-and-roll maneuver.

A brilliant cone of destruction blazed through the Tholian armada, which scattered along dozens of vectors. Phaser and torpedo fire from Vanguard tracked the ships as they were forced out of their holding pattern, and blasted them with ferocious zeal and intimidating accuracy.

Checking the sensor data on the main viewscreen, Khatami realized the battle had already claimed nearly sixty-five percent of the ships in the Tholian armada. For a moment, she was torn between despair for the lives lost in the frigate’s suicide run and gloating for the havoc it had seemed to wreak upon the Tholian fleet. Then she remembered that with the loss of the frigate, the Endeavour was now the only ship left defending Vanguard. Their situation until that moment had been bad. It was about to become much worse.

“Look sharp, everyone,” Khatami said. “We’re about to get to the fun part.”

Fisher cut through one side of the jammed door to Phaser Control Delta with a phaser while his Andorian compatriot, Shor, pulled on the other side with all his considerable strength. As the phaser beam sliced past the midpoint of the door, the entire thing buckled and folded outward, and Shor pulled it off its slide track and hurled it aside. He rushed inside the smoky compartment without a moment’s hesitation and called to Fisher, “This way, Doctor!”

Fisher followed the Andorian thaan through the suffocating haze until they reached a trio of motionless perso