Print

Please login or register.
1 Hour 1 Day 1 Week 1 Month Forever
Login with username, password and session length

[Governor Ronjar]

I worked quite hard on this CH. I hope it comes out as something better than lame. I had great difficulty with it, and it suffered from many periods where I just didn't feel  like writing any more. Lemme have some feed back, please. This will be the last Trek story for a bit, and I'm particular about this'n.




CH. 7





Commander Ron Davenport sat sleepily in the command chair and watched the young, Earth-like world revolve beneath Endeavour. It was late in Gamma Shift, 23:57 hours. Soon, Mister Bronstien would report for duty and take over the bridge. The lighting was as low as it was during combat alerts to emulate nighttime conditions on terrestrial worlds.

The bridge staff was moderate. One officer manned each key position: Conn, Helm, Ops, Science, Communications, Engineering and Tactical. Noncoms manned the other, less vital stations. When the shift rotated, Engineering, Tactical, Comm and Helm would then be assumed by enlisted personnel in need of the console time. There would be senior noncoms on deck to watch over several of the lesser stations at once and to help baby-sit the less experienced crewers.

The after hatch opened and disgorged Lieutenant Bronstien earlier than expected. Ron turned the conn to face the slim young lieutenant as he stepped down into the command circle. Soon, the pilot would be receiving a new set of cloned legs to replace his current prosthetics. The kid had come to walk rather well on his new masts. Only his slower gait belied the lack of real limbs beneath his pant legs.

Johnathan came to a bobbing halt beside the conn, arms clasped behind as he also eyed the main screen. “Quiet evening, Commander?”

“Yes, indeed, Lieutenant.” Ron replied, trying to mask his tiredness with a slightly louder voice. “You’re the early bird today, I see.”

“Trying to buck for a raise, sir. Relief still coming along strong down there?”

“We’ve gotten all the Ya’wenn to the ship now. Last one beamed on board at twenty-hundred. Security has ‘em confined where they need to be. Commander Tolin has a team down there sifting through the wreck.”

“Anything good?”

“She’s recovering their computer core and their comm suite. Ya’wenn communications are nearly as advanced as ours, and usually powerful enough to break through Tempest interference. She wants a look at it.”

“I don’t suppose she managed to recover any torpedo casings. Maybe a damaged one Jarn’s men couldn’t use in their fight?”

“No such luck. Jarn used everything he had to keep clear of capture. But we got him anyway.”

“Any word from Constellation?”

“She’s closing on the escort. The Ya’wenn are trying to give her the shake, but Jeremy is hanging onto them.” Davenport replied.

The chronometer clicked home on 00:00 hours. A gong sounded throughout the ship’s main spaces as the main computer denoted the time. Soon, the lifts were spilling fresh faces onto the deck. The change of shift was as smooth as expected. Once the junior officers made their exit, Ronald himself stood before the conn and assumed a lax state of attention. Johnathan stood rail straight. He made a pretty officer when he tried.

“I relieve you, XO.” Bronstien said.

“I stand relieved, Lieutenant.” Ron stepped off the dais. “You have the conn.”

“I have the conn.”

Johnathan ascended up to the level of the big chair but did not sit down. He looked about the bridge space for a second, telling Davenport he had something else on his mind. Ron turned back fully to the young man. There were only seven crew on the bridge level now. This was as cozy as it was going to get for a private conversation.

“Something on your mind, John-Boy?”

Johnathan clenched his lips a tad and looked down. When he spoke, it was nearly silent. The noncoms were experienced enough to turn away at the sound of quiet officer talk and busied themselves in keeping the younger hands occupied.

“It’s about the Skipper.”

Ron stepped in close, curious.

“Down on the planet?”

“Yeah. He almost killed Jarn. I think Keller knows about it.”

Davenport had thought such a thing likely given the facts and the CO’s mood when he’d returned to the ship hours ago. He’d had plenty of time to ponder what could or might have occurred down there. He looked questioning up to the boy.

“Which are you concerned about, Lieutenant? That the commodore was going to kill him or that Keller might know?”

“Ya know…I’m not so sure.”

Ron’s face became stern. It did not portray anger.

“Ford is among the best CO’s in Starfleet. If he kills a man, then it was deserved and unavoidable. He doesn’t kill out of malice or revenge. Whatever he might have wanted to do, I seriously doubt it would have ended with the death of his prisoner unless Jarn had tried to kill him or one of you. And since Jarn’s still alive, then it doesn’t matter what the doctor or even you believe he might have been about to do. There’s nothing to base any suspicion on.”

Bronstien took in the commander’s words and considered the stony set of his manner. At length, he nodded. He might have liked to argue the matter further, but no matter what, Ron was essentially right. Jarn was still among the breathing. Whether or not Ford had wanted him dead or was considering murder, it hadn’t occurred.

“Very well, sir.”

Ronald nodded once and turned leisurely away. As he made for the lift, he pondered how much of his speech had been truth and how much was simply wishful thinking…
***





Doctor Keller stifled a yawn. She was barely awake. Her duties among the injured and dying Ya’wenn had covered her in blood and worn her to the bone. Now the majority of them were stable, resting amid the armed guards down in the triage. She’d gone to her cabin already, showered and changed. Her red hair remained damp as she snaked through the corridors and halls of her ship. She was in uniform, but had opted to go without a duty jacket.

She found the commodore in Whisker’s, much as she thought she might. The barrel-chested man leaned his girth onto the polished top of the bar as he swigged his way through a tall glass of amber fluid. She slowed her pace as she neared him. He’d sighted her as she’d passed through the glass doors.

“Have a seat, ‘Drea.”

Andrea slid onto the stool nearest her man and regarded him somberly. He seemed buzzed, but not drunk yet. She wondered just how long he’d been here, and how long he intended to do this in front of the crew. Thankfully, Whisker’s beheld only ten enlisted and a spare officer at the moment.

“Feeling any pain, darling?” She inquired of him.

“If you’re implying I’m drunk, doll, think again.”

“I’m not. I know an old hound such as yourself prides himself on the quantities he can imbibe.” I’m wondering as to your status as a ‘Paragon of Virtue’ among the crew, however.”

Ford cast half a glance over his maroon clad shoulder to the assorted people about the compartment. Few of them were even associating with each other, let alone casting a look his way. This time of night was the late-drinker’s hour. Few came here during the wee hours. They wanted to avoid being thought of as a drunk. The few that did come in only stayed an hour at the most.

“Don’t think they ever thought of me as a paragon of anything.”

“You’re still not showing yourself as a proper officer, Chevy. How long have you been in here?”

Ford looked at her, amusement shining on his wide face.

“Is this what I’m gonna be looking for’d to if we ever get hitched? You trying so very hard to straighten out my kinks?”

Keller forced a wry smile.

“As well as correcting your grammar. ‘Hitched’ indeed.”

Ford grunted a laugh and drained the rest of his glass into the detriment of his liver. Then he slid off the stool and assumed his spongy feet. “Then lead me the hell outta here, my British darlin’. Ed-ju-ma-cate me.”

At least he wasn’t being loud and overly obnoxious. Andrea nodded and wrapped an arm around him as she escorted the commodore out the door. He was walking quite steadily, but he was taking particular care to remain at a slow pace. He led her out the double transparencies and into the darkened, empty corridors. He was headed aft, and not toward the turbolift banks.

“Where are we headed, Chevy?”

“Aft observatory seven. Sweet view of the fantail and the port nacelle.”

“Romantic.”

“Could be…if it wasn’t for the fact that the engineer checking the manual impulse manifold coolant gear comes through every hour on the hour.”

The doctor smiled despite herself as he led her to their private corner of the ship. The observatory was open and designed for the comfort of visiting passengers. It was open to the rest of the deck and granted a beautiful view of the aft portions of the Excelsior-Class ship. The broad bulk of the silver and black trimmed engineering hull dominated the left-hand side of the window furthest to starboard. The other four portholes showed a panorama of the living planet beneath them, receding constantly abaft, and the long, sleek mass of the port warp engine. Only the bearing strut connecting the engine to the secondary hull blocked out any of the view, but it was far enough removed and quite low. One had to get close and look down to see the plane of it. Andrea could see men moving to and from in the upper control section of Shuttlebay 2.

Chevis settled down on one of the armless, blue chairs that abounded in the observatory and patted the one next to it. Andrea sat, hands knit in her lap as she watched him. She’d been angry and confused and shocked about what she’d witnessed early on today. Chevy Ford had looked like a killer bent of revenge. Now, he was a kindly and even sweet starship commander bent of relaxing.

“Chevis,” she began. “I hardly know what to think about you.”

Ford looked to her, his attention having been fixed on the view aft of his ship.

“Oh?”

“Earlier, you looked like Satan himself, poised to commit a dreadful crime. Now it’s as though that never happened. As though your greatest enemy isn’t laying in a bed on this very deck…”

Reminded of his hatred, the commodore’s face darkened and twisted into a frown.

“What the f*ck did you have to bring that up for?”

Andrea almost regretted it. Part of her wished just to ignore the happening. But, she couldn’t abide being with a murderer. And if he was truly capable of committing the act she was sure she had been about to witness down there on that planet…

“Chevy… You were going to kill him… At least that’s what it seemed.”

His face was a mask of hate. Directed at her or not, it was painful and frightening to behold.

“Was it really?”

“Don’t try to mislead me. And don’t even try to deny that the phaser you turned in was set to maximum power.”

Chevis grinned maliciously.

“Nice try. I made sure to turn it back down to setting two before I beamed back home.” Finally his evil persona lessened, abating to a shadow. “But, yeah…you’re right. I might have killed him.”

“Might have?”

The commodore seemed to slide into a reflective mood and relaxed again into the square cushioning of the decorative furniture. “At the time…I was gonna kill him. And I wanted him to see me killing him. When I heard your voice…I wasn’t so sure any more. I wasn’t going to do it and have you think less of me.”

“And if I hadn’t happened along just in the nick of time?”

There was no change in Ford’s now guarded expression. His face was a mask. Andrea felt slightly betrayed at this apparent effort to hide himself from her. He looked right into her eyes.

“I’d have killed him. I’m pretty damn sure of it.”

The admission sank in with a cold grip of fright. Keller drew rigid as she sat there before him. She was afraid of the fact that he was blatantly capable and willing to commit such a thing. More frightful still was the assured knowledge she possessed that he would not miss a wink of sleep over it. The fact that he hadn’t actually killed Jarn did not totally allay this fear. This fact tainted everything she felt for him at this moment.

She struggled with the knowledge, however, that Jarn was indeed deserving of such treatment, whether or not she believed in the taking of life. The man was an animal. Hateful and cruel. A murderer as well. He’d have done exactly the same or far worse to anyone aboard this ship if given a reason or the chance. And when cornered…that same tyrant had begged for his life and pleaded with the nearest sympathetic ear to protect him.

But what did all this make Chevis D. Ford?

“So you are a murderer?”

Those brown eyes narrowed into cold, angular slits.

“Am I?”

“I don’t know. Do you?”

“I was gonna kill his ass. So am I as bad as him?”

“Perhaps not…but I don’t know if you’re truly much better…”

Comparing Ford to his enemy, the man who’d tortured him, might have driven him into hysterics. Chevis’s teeth ground back and forth as he fought to retain control. It was the most telling thing he was allowing to pass through his façade. “Fine, then.” He replied in acid. “I’m a piece of sh*t.”

Andrea shook her head. The sudden realization that she would do little more than drive him away from her flooded her senses and made her more afraid than she’d been of his capacity for murder. “No…no! Chevy… I’m…simply trying to come to some kind of understanding…”

“No…You’re trying to decide if you want to be with a killer.”

Andrea bit her bottom lip and looked down, at a loss over how to salvage this situation. What the hell was she doing? They’d only been back together for a day! Now she was calling him a murderer to his face and berating him for something he might have done to a man that deserved to be dead! She looked back up, her eyes pleading.

“Whatever you are, Chevy… I still love you…”

Her voice was tiny as she whispered those last three words. She clenched suddenly scratchy feeling eyes and instantly felt wetness fall down her flushed cheeks. Ford eased off the chair across from her and sank to his knees before her. He pressed in close and wiped the tears from her face. His lips pressed to hers. He drew in his breath to avoid assailing her with the smell of whisky, though his lips still tasted of it.

Separating himself from her again, but still on his knees, Ford looked into her hot feeling eyes. All the anger had fallen away, leaving only his compassion for her. “I love you, too… I won’t do anything that makes you think less of me, Andrea. You have my word…”
***



Much of the conversation just ended was patterned after conversations I've had with 2 various significant others. I wanted a feeling of 'where the hell is this conversation going'? I hope this was conveyed and that it looks like an actual discussion between partially estranged lovers while not seeming too...melodramatic...

Lemme know y'all.

And have a Happy New Year!!!

--thu guv!!

[Andromeda]

I just read the last several chapters to get caught up.  I don't know what Anya is so I'll have to ignore that point.  The last chapter is very powerful, but weakened by the ones before it.  Parts of them are necessary though.  What I mean is that you can get most of what happened from the last chapter and don't feel like you're missing anything. 

[Governor Ronjar]

I see what you mean. I think it was necessary to recap things for the purposes of a clear conversation, though. [if I take your meaning at all]

For details on Anya, read #11: White Rabbits.

--guv!

[kadh2000]

Finally caught up with this.  It's good as is.  Different dynamics to it than if you changed it the way Rommie meant (I think).  I really like that you've been able to show us deeply flawed people and that we haven't gotten rid of all of our bad side by the time we get to Trek era.  Scott Bennie did that very well too.

[Governor Ronjar]

 

--thu guv!

[Scottish Andy]

Printing it out now to read later.

Remembers he still has to comment past Ch4 4 of the last Endeavour story.

[Governor Ronjar]

CH. 8





“Contact, Lieutenant…”

The uncertainty in the voice calling to Bronstien from the science station caused the helmsman to slowly swivel the conn that direction. The young, brown-haired specialist was peering into the raised main sensor scope. Her hair spilled over the black extension, defying her attempts to restrain her long bangs. She uttered nothing more for a few seconds, but continued to enhance the sensors she was employing.

Johnathan gave her a moment further then cleared his throat.

“And, Specialist?”

“What I have is a gravimetric shift, seven light minutes distant, sir. I believe it to be a mass…traveling at over a tenth the speed of light, which most likely makes it a ship.”
The blue eyed girl looked up to him, taking her eye from the viewer for the first time. “I think it’s a starship making a stealth approach on Endeavour, sir. She’s coming in through the most densely packed disk of stellar material in this system. ETA at estimated speed is just over an hour.”

‘A ship coasting in on us, set for silent running…’ Bronstien thought to himself. He believed as the Spec did. Ya’wenn? Jarn’s scouts had tried the trick on Endeavour before. They’d learned it from someone… Their original government perhaps?

Bronstien tapped the intercom controls.

“Commodore Ford to the bridge.” Echoed out amid the decks of the ship. The thunder of it could even be heard through the deck plates of the bridge. The lieutenant nodded to the science specialist. “Thank you, Spec.”

“Addler, sir.”

“Miss Addler.” The LT acknowledged and returned his attention to the main viewer. Space was black and serene beyond the curvature of the cloudy blue planet they orbited. It was not long before the commodore emerged from the turbolift.

“Report.”

Ford looked tired and a bit drunk as he shuffled down the steps beside the helm and entered the command circle. Doctor Keller was with him. She halted at the rail and tried to avoid eye contact with the young man sitting at conn. Bronstien addressed the CO.

“We have a silent contact approaching, sir.” He looked to the icon depicted on the tactical repeater on the left armrest of the command chair. “She’s coming in from 035 mark 077. Approximately one half impulse power, ETA outside of an hour.”

“Not very exact…” Ford murmured as he looked to the viewer. His expression was sleepy and amused. John shrugged as he slid out of the conn.

“Not much to go on. She’s being careful, Skipper, and we haven’t painted her with an active sweep yet.”

“Take the helm, Mister.” Chevy told him as he took over the center seat. The commodore looked to his lady with a wink and then to the science console. “Specialist, get me a visual on our incoming guest. Passive, telescopic detection only.”

“Aye, sir.” Addler activated the visual sensors and leaned in close to the main scope. She then began the task of scouring the vague set of coordinates she possessed to spot her quarry. The task could take seconds or long minutes. There was a great deal of open space out there to search through. Without active sensors to assist her, she had to rely on her eyes and basic computer enhancements.

Ford looked back to Andrea who was now stepping down the steps into the rail-partitioned command center. He smiled for her, their earlier tiff forgotten. Their renewed relationship felt slightly alien and the feeling was making itself known to him. Andrea flicked a wayward strand of hair out of her face as she looked up to him. Neither of them was dressed for bridge duty.

“What do you intend to do, Chevy?” She asked in a low voice.

“Gonna watch ‘em close in, catch their markings and try for an ID. Jarn’s ships have a pretty distinctive set of logos.” He told her.

“And then?”

“If they’re a Ya’wenn Primus vessel, we hail them. And if they’re rebels, I open fire.”

“Then I hope they’re a government ship. I was hoping we would avoid any further battle.”

Chevy nodded as he returned his eye to the main screen. “We’ve had more than our share in the last year.” He agreed with her. His longing to fight with the rebels had diminished significantly since the capture of Jarn. The skipper glanced to the noncom at communications.

“Last report from Constellation?”

“She’s escorting the Ya’wenn escort ship back home, sir. ETA to Tempest eight hours.” The youth told him. She was quick to add: “No damage to Constellation.”

“I have them, Commodore.” Specialist Addler called forth. The forward viewer switched then to a familiar shape of a wide designed Ya’wenn cruiser. The distinctive blue trim on her bow denoted her affiliation with the homeworld’s government. Ford felt himself relax a bit. He didn’t like being sneaked up on, though. Had they been slipping in here to catch Jarn unawares, or him? His hand fell to the intercom.

“All hands, report to duty stations. Repeat, this is the Cap’n… All hands report to duty stations.”

“Ops,” Called off Bronstien to the youth sitting in the station opposite of him. “Set all systems to standby and restore daytime lighting.”

“Aye.”

Ford watched the Ya’wenn cruiser close in, obviously drifting on her own inertia. He course was maligned and her crew was not correcting for the pull of planetary gravity, so worried were they over maintaining their stealth. But, like the rebel escort months ago, they had no clue they’d already been found. This ship bore obvious sign of previous battle. Her hull was scared with black and pot-marked. New hull panels shone out, unpainted and new where repairs had been made without the help of a yard. Chevis wondered how many missiles the ship would have left in her magazines.

A moment after this reverie, the after hatches sprang open and deposited the Alpha bridge crew onto the deck. They fanned out, resuming their stations and relieving the younger hands. Ford watched them settle into their posts, noting that each of them had managed to pull together complete, clean uniforms despite the sleep still clinging to their eyes. Only Commander Slik showed no obvious sign of tiredness. Their CO wore his wrinkled and beaten pants, which still bore dirt from the planet below and his white duty tunic. His jacket remained in his cabin, likely claimed as a bed for China by now. Ford had to smirk.

“We have a government issue Ya’wenn cruiser inbound to our position, trying to make it in under our scopes. Just like we did with the rebel escort, we’re gonna let ‘em come in just within torpedo range before we flip the lights on and let ‘em know we’re home.” He told his people. There were nods and ‘aye’s’ from several. Most had already grasped the situation with a single glance at the main screen.

“Veapons on standby, reserves fully charged, prefire chambers remain cold. Torpedo bays fully loaded.” Nechayev began to call out.

“All stations report ready,” Hissed the Operations Officer. “Ship is ready for immediate switch-over to alert status.”

“Cruiser closing to ninety-five million kilometers, Skipper.” Surall was next to quote.

Davenport was leaning close behind the science officer, reading off several secondary scopes. Specialist Addler was now seated behind him in the support station. Ron glanced toward the conn. “I detect no active energy emissions from target. She’s running zero propulsion, no active power sources and minimal life support. But I am reading heavy battery charge in their capacitors. I think her weapons are ready to fire at a moment’s notice.”

“Now detecting a course correction from target.” Came Surall again. “She has realigned for a more perfect intersection with us. ETA at current speed: sixty-two minutes, thirty-seven seconds.”

“That’s an awful long wait, Chevy.” Andrea mentioned.

Chevis looked to her at length, considering. He really would like to fool the aliens into a false belief about their own stealth capabilities…but then…one couldn’t estimate how long the would be willing to creep in before their nerve gave out. Would they power up at range and swoop in at maximum impulse or even warp speed? Or did they plan to drift all the way in to weapons range. Their previous encounter with the escort had been within the confines of the Tempest, with all manner of EM radiation and interference to mask their signature. The enemy had had no reason to suspect their cover wasn’t fool proof. Surely these more well trained naval personnel would know better.

“Alright, go to Red Alert. Power up all tactical systems. Paint them with active scanners.”

The Endeavour all but purred as her systems began to come up all at once. Power surged through her decks and bulkheads, activating everything needed to defend the ship. The approaching aliens would immediately note the shields snapping into existence and the powering of weapons.

“She’s noticed us…” Ronald called out from behind Surall. “She’s halting her approach… powering up.”

Ford looked portside to Smith.

“Comm, open hailing frequencies.”

[Governor Ronjar]

“You’re on, Skipper.”

Ford looked back sternly to the main screen. “Ya’wenn vessel, you are trespassing in sovereign Federation space. You will discontinue your stealth approach and power down for inspection. Respond.”

There was a considerable pause as their guests pondered their next move. Their ship no longer feigned the pretense of stealth. Its weapons were hot and Ford expected to see her missile doors open at any time. Finally, there did come a response.

The viewer clicked onto the view of a compact, militaristic bridge, packed with controls and men. There were no women among their officers. The grey-skinned Ya’wenn glaring back wore the austere green and black uniform of the homeworld’s military, and each man bore a severe flattop haircut. One man separated himself from the rest near the after quarter and came closer to the visual feed. He was the eldest, though he couldn’t be much past the human equivalent of thirty. Ford gave him a respectful nod. It wasn’t returned.

“To whom do I speak?” The alien commander asked.

“Commodore Ford, commanding officer of the USS Endeavour.”

The commander nodded. His arms crossed in a manner that told of impatience; as though Ford were the transgressor, not he. “I am Captain-Commander Eddrin of the attack ship Rill’don. Commodore, we have intercepted your transmissions to the planet. We know you hold the traitor Jarn.”

Ford did not betray emotion to his opponent. His impassive face stared right back to the grey-faced alien. “We do. What of it?”

“We demand he be turned over to us immediately. He is a traitor to the state and a rebel commander. Our Premier was assassinated on his order. He has brought war to my people.”

The Captain-Commander was a strong willed individual, Ford believed. He obviously bore great hate for the man in Endeavour’s sickbay. The commodore leaned back into the cushion of the conn and considered his options. He could hand Jarn back over to his people with a clean conscience. They could do whatever their system of justice decided best. Ford hoped they still practiced execution. But, then, there was a lot of space between here and Ya’wenn Primus. Even should Endeavour escort the cruiser all they way back to the Tempest, that government cruiser would likely be alone in her transit back to the homeworld. There would be plenty of time for Jarn’s men to get to him, even reclaim him. Nothing would have been gained.

Chevy didn’t like the chances. While one might believe the odds were greatest that the prisoner would never see freedom again, Ford was not willing to chance that minute percentile that he’d have to deal with the Over Warden again in the near future.

Andrea was looking back to Ford, worry in her eyes. She likely wondered about what he was thinking. He gazed back at her. She shook her head slightly. For whatever reason, she didn’t like the idea either. The commodore looked back to the Captain-Commander.

“No dice, Commander Eddrin. Jarn faces charges here in the Federation. He’ll be transported back to our base and face trial and judgement there. You can arrange to participate and appeal for possible extradition through our ambassador service—“

“That is unacceptable!” Eddrin shouted back. He was not one to constrain himself in front of his men, obviously. His crew looked to their work and tried to avoid being noticed. “You will return Jarn to his people. His trial will be held on Primus! And he will be processed and executed!”

“Processed…” Ford found himself pondering aloud. “What’s involved in your…’processing’?”

The Captain-Commander’s face became a cruel mask of childish joy. He looked like the kind of kid who enjoyed setting cats on fire to watch them dance and yowl. Ford had seen similar on the faces of Jarn’s own men during his stay on Kovarn. It made his stomach turn. “He’ll get his due…I’ll say simply that, Commodore. He’ll pay for his crimes in slow fashion.”

Ford took his time in replying. He’d really like to just hand his own private enemy over to such treatment, but at the same time, justifying such treatment and placating such people as this alien commander was an undesirable notion. The thought of how the Captain-Commander’s men would behave while transporting their prisoner, then the idea of what he’d meet upon getting home was sickening. Never mind Jarn deserved such. Never mind, also, that Ford couldn’t wish it on a nicer person. The commodore would not condone such punishment after having suffered it himself.

Again Chevy looked to his significant other. Andrea looked back in idle fear, wondering what Ford would do. Ford looked back to the screen. “Sounds temptin’… but no deal, Commander. You have thirty seconds to turn that tub back for the plasma field and get packin’.”

The Ya’wenn CO narrowed his eyes in a display of pseudo-intimidation that Chevy was having none of. “You dare to order us about like criminals! You’re making a profound mistake!”

“File it with someone who cares, Commander.”

Ford looked back to the comm station and delivered a cutthroat gesture. Then he looked back to Doctor Keller as the irate alien vanished from the viewer. “You better get to sickbay.”

“That really could have been handled better, Chevy…” She chided gently.

“All too true, darlin’. Get below.”

As the stately doctor took her leave, Ford looked back to his gunnery chief. “Weps, set for missile defense.”

“Of course, Keptin. Phasers standing by.”

Surall looked up from the main scope.

“Ya’wenn are powering sublight engines. They are accelerating to full impulse power.”

“You want me to break orbit, Skipper?” Came from Bronstien. The planet below still took up the entire bottom section of the main viewer as the flat shaped cruiser bore in on them.

“Negative. We still have people down on the surface.” Ford told the pilot. Three full work crews were taking full advantage of the ebbing daylight down there. They did not know what was transpiring over head yet. Endeavour’s chief engineer was down there too. “Keep us well within transporter range of the planet surface in case they try to light them up with a missile.”

“Aye.”

“Enemy now opening missile bays on port and starboard sides,” Davenport called out. The XO had grabbed good holds on the edge of his and Surall’s station and the back of the science officer’s seat.

“Enemy wessel beginning active lock!”

“Missiles incoming!”

“Ahead one third,” Ford called off, his brown eyes focussed on the tac repeater on his armrest. “Begin defensive fire at your discretion.”

“Phasers firing!” Nechayev confirmed. The first barrage of fusion driven weapons was just coming into phaser range.

Endeavour’s phalanx fire peppered the approaching wall of projectiles, lighting them with a dancing spectacle of detonations and near hits. The incoming wall of ordnance evaporated inside of ten seconds. The huge Excelsior, meanwhile, closed the distance with the intent of tying the enemy up and keeping their mind off the fifteen men down on the planet, vulnerable to a single missile strike.

Another barrage of missiles loosed from the flanks of the silver hulled enemy craft.

“Firing!” Again sounded from Tactical.

Again, the effectiveness of the incoming weaponry was displayed. They’d lasted a grand total of seven seconds this round. Ford knew his enemy’s tactic, though. Implore Endeavour to waste her phaser reserves knocking down miscellaneous torpedoes, all the while closing in for a heavy beam strike. Ford might have done similar if forced to use such weaponry against a foe known to be able to interdict them so readily. But Chevy wasn’t about to fight completely from a defensive angle.

“Lock photon torpedoes on target. Target their shields and weapon arrays.”

“Aye, Keptin. Veapons locked!”

“Fire when ready.”

Slight shimmers passed through the deck plates as the first two torpedoes rocketed out into the face of the enemy ship. The alien staggered, nearly sluing off course as she closed. The cruiser quickly regained her footing and straightened out. Her own beam weapons were beginning to glow in readiness to fire once she made range.
Another duo of photonic weapons struck the Ya’wenn’s forward shielding and rattled the entire craft. Sparkles of energy, blue-white, could be seen dancing over the contours of the hull and its shields. They were already taking a pounding, and Endeavour had only fired four times.

‘They’re not up to Jarn’s level, yet,’ Ford thought to himself as he watched the aliens absorb another two shot volley. They were beginning a slow, clumsy looking turn to port, attempting to throw off Mister Nechayev’s aim. ‘Jarn’s ships have better shielding. Likely from the Klingons…’

“Rill’don now entering beam weapon range…” Ronald called out from the science corner. Ford unconsciously braced for the pounding to come.

The last barrage of missiles was still being dispatched even as the Ya’wenn opened up with banks of azure beams. Those magnetron bursts cascaded over the curved hull of Endeavour’s upper main hull and lower saucer hub. The ship rocked and rattled with the sound of a great crash as the impact was made known. The shots continued to pour in.

The enemy was no longer firing their missiles.

“Reset main phasers for standard fire. Take those guns out!”

Now adding to the photon torpedoes, phaser bursts lashed out in red against the weakened or unprotected expanses of hull belonging to the enemy cruiser. The Ya’wenn craft rattled fiercely, trailing loose hull panels and atmosphere as she doggedly closed in. The two monsters traded shots as they zeroed in on one another.
‘They’re not thinking about hitting our crew on the planet…’ Chevis decided with relief. There would be little good to come of such a tactic, but the urge to do some harm might prove irresistible to a commander losing a fight. ‘This can’t be their only strategy… What else is he planning?’

Those open missile doors fired off a new salvo of primitive rocket driven death. This time, the weapons’ flight vectors took them wide of the defensive fire bracket and away from the two combating ships. The tactical screens showed the missiles arcing past the Endeavour, then turning in on her to close on all sides from amidships.

“Nechayev!” Ford barked.

Daniel was already on it. The whoop of initiator alarms called out from the weapons console as Nechayev sent out a wave of phaser bursts to ward off the approaching devices. That had been a sneaky tactic on the Ya’wenn’s part. They’d tied up Endeavour's phasers in a gunnery duel, then launched their missiles in the hopes of slipping them around for a strike to the flanks. Endeavour, however, had plenty of firepower to go around.

The missiles made it in closer this time, though they still found nothing to hit.

Endeavour rolled wide from the near impacts as her shields were bombarded by ionized nuclear particles and atomized matter. Another missile barrage followed the previous, following the same path. Then came another in short order. Endeavour’s phasers kept on shouting their defiance at the weapons. The weapons kept on detonating. Not one struck home. But the ride was becoming quite bumpy.

“Deflectors are absorbing massive EM discharge!” Called off Specialist McCoy. Her engineering panels were alight with warning notes and flashing red indicators. “Surge coils are becoming overloaded!”

‘They’re not aiming for us!’ The commodore realized suddenly. His stomach plummeted. ‘They’re targeting our shields!’

“Helm, hard aport! Put our starboard beam to ‘em. Mister Nechayev, target their core!”

Targeting the enemy’s engine core was nearly a sure-fire way of blowing them clear to hell, but the chance to take them down with a minimal of bloodshed was quickly waning. He had to protect his own people. Endeavour continued to buck and roll from near misses.

The intruder alarms were the next thing Ford heard.
***


--thu guv!

[kadh2000]

Trick within trick.  One should know the capability of one's enemies.  Apparently the government forces do that.  Of course, one should also not assume that the guy in one's brig is the best of his race.  Ford underestimated his foe this time.  Nice story.  The early part has a few sentences that read awkwardly wordy or sesquipedalian.

[Commander La'ra]

Yup.  He screwed that one up.  First with being a bit too bull-headed with the Ya'wenn Captain, and then during the fight.  As Kadh said, I think he underestimated his adversary, probably due to his interactions with Jarn.

Now, that said, this seemed entirely believable.  Waiting to see where it goes.  Seems like a good opportunity for Jarn to be 'killed in the crossfire', but I doubt that'll happen.  I also wonder if Ford might think of just letting the Ya'wenn boarders get Jarn. 

"They were just too quick, Admiral..."

[Governor Ronjar]

I think y'all will like this next part...




CH. 9





Jarn feigned sleep. It was relatively easy, given the amount of drugs he’d been given to keep him passive. Whatever these Earthers were pumping into his veins was giving him an upset stomach, but was not nearly so effective at keeping him unconscious.

The Over Warden was relatively sure his captors had healed him. Commodore Ford had been bent on killing him, but had not possessed the stomach to commit the act with his woman doctor in attendance. Despite Ford’s hatred for him, the weakling had allowed his healers to tend to Jarn’s legs. Jarn had tentatively been testing them over the last few hours. Pretending to be resting fitfully, he twitched and stretched, moving his limbs as he did so. His arms were bound and a strap held his chest down.

Nothing covered his previously injured legs.

This was a small advantage to be sure, but one he’d implement none the less if given the opportunity. Only one question remained: How? He had to escape this space borne prison. How he would bring this about and what he’d do after eluded him.

The sound of the human ship’s alarums brought Jarn’s eyes fully open. He glanced about at the nurses and security soldiers flanking the long compartment they kept him in. The guards came to a more rigid state of attention and the medics began to nervously banter in their untranslated language. The doors opened on both ends of the room, spilling in more armed soldiers. After another moment, a lone female, the head doctor, entered and began issuing stern orders in her odd accent. Jarn nearly closed his eyes once again, feigning incapacity.

Abruptly, Endeavour’s bulkheads began to reverberate with the squall of energy fire. They were in the midst of battle. The warden prayed to no entity in particular for one of the Earther’s translators. Was it his men out there attempting to reclaim him? Or was it Heedis’ men out to take his head home to place on a damned pike?

Jarn eased his eyes open for a glimpse about to find that the lady doctor had slipped up close without his notice. His eyes widened with surprise. She smiled back without warmth. “Pretending to be asleep, were we?”

At least she’d brought a translator. Jarn didn’t know where she was wearing it, or even if it was on her person. This Federation of Earthers and their subjects had very advanced technology.

Endeavour shook with the blast of a near hit. The wash of forces sweeping across the alien ship’s hull felt all too familiar. Nuclear weapons. Not Kovarn warships, and not Klingon. Heedis’ men had found him.

“Does Ford fight for his right to execute me himself?” He croaked up at her while she looked up to study the readings on the unintelligible board over his bed.

“You’re not going to be executed. The Federation has no laws allowing such forms of capitol punishment.” Keller responded. She did not bother to look down at him. She didn’t seem afraid of him, a quality he’d known in few women. He liked this doctor.

“How fortunate for me,” his gravel-voice mocked back. “Heedis cannot match this ship, and will only last against it till Ford’s patience runs out. Then I will be taken to one of your soft, comfortable prisons. Not the worst I could have asked for…”

“You deserve far worse.” She muttered, turning away.

Jarn bent and quickly snagged her arm in his steel hand. Rifles were instantly pointing his way. Jarn ignored them. “You’re Ford’s woman, aren’t you…?”

The human lady gaped back in shock, if only for an instant. He’d guessed right.

“What do you know about me?”

“Oh… The commodore squealed about you when he was a guest at my compound. He begged for you…” Jarn’s wicked crooning caused the doctor to turn fully back toward him, blocking the soldier’s line of fire for a moment. Two men had separated from their positions to advance on his, weapons up and placed firmly to their armored shoulders. Keller beat them to the punch. Quite literally.

Jarn’s head cocked back painfully as Keller’s palm connected with the bridge of his nose. The Ya’wenn jailer instantly tasted the metallic tang of blood. The pounding sensation in his face told him she’d just broken his nose.

“Mayhap that will teach you some manners, Warden.”

Doctor Keller whirled away from him; his hand no longer wrapped around her wrist. Jarn tried to cradle his nose, but bound, he could do little more than writhe. Another series of shockwaves began to pummel the Endeavour. The great mammoth yawed from side to side, throwing men off their stances and causing Keller to stagger into the neighboring bed. Jarn kicked down with his feet, forcing the bulk of his body to rise up on the bed. The tension in the straps binding his arms slackened.

The green sparkle of Ya’wenn transporter beams began to light the room, setting off shrill alarms and frightening Jarn to his cold hard core. Heedis’ men had made their way aboard! Had they breached Ford’s shields? How many ships had they brought?

It was a ten-man team that coalesced into being there in the forward center of the medical ward. The Warden could see that each of them carried subspace beacons on their shoulder armor. Ford’s shields remained intact, else they would simply have beamed him away without the effort of incursion. Those beacons would ensure they were able to retrieve him through any small fissure in Endeavour’s shields. They had to lay hands on him first…

The Starfleet grunts were quick on the trigger. Though outnumbered temporarily, they managed to even the numbers by dropping four men before the shock armored Ya’wenn could even turn to react. The blue energies of their stun beams caused the troopers to wobble and stagger to the carpeted deck with a series of thuds. Medics scrambled and jostled to get out of the way. More than one ran for nearby weapons stations. This took them to the furthest ends of the sickbay. The cacophony of noise; shouting, firing and impacts; echoed within the infirmary.

The Ya’wenn troopers fired back, ducking and scooting behind cover as it presented itself. One man made an immediate rush for Jarn and was cut down. The man landed so rigidly that the warden knew better than to think him dead. He was just temporarily immobilized. Once his stim packs kicked in, he’d be back on his feet and after Jarn.
Jarn kicked himself further up in his bed. His sizable hands pulled free of the binds holding them. A stun beam sizzled past him as an alert human security man took note of his efforts. This attempt to restrain the Warden served only to distract said Earther while the nearest of Heedis’ men shot him down. The Ya’wenn’s weapons were not set for stun. That particular human rolled back onto his backside, a smoking crater of mangled flesh and burned bone where his face had once been.

Jarn, his arms free, tore away the heavy strap that had pinned his massive chest and rolled onto the soft deck. He landed atop Keller, who looked up at him in wide-eyed shock. Both laid eyes on the rifle laying just an arm-length away. Jarn propelled himself toward the gun with a powerful pushup style lunge. Keller’s foot caught him across the temple and sent him rolling into the legs of his former biobed. Jarn glanced back at the tiny human female in open shock, just in time to catch another foot to his already smashed nose. Jarn bellowed out and clutched his beefy hand to the ruined pulp of his face. Motion triggered his senses, undefined in his torment, and he forced his reddening eyes open. The woman was scrambling for the Ya’wenn assault rifle. It was Jarn’s turn to deliver a vicious kick. His broad, unclad foot impacted dead center in the left side of the doctor’s ribcage and sent her sprawling into a fetal position beneath the nearest bed. He’d barely heard her scream over the din of the unseen battle raging within the med bay.

Jarn smiled, unknowing of the teeth he was now missing, and rolled closer to the unclaimed rifle. Keller, her face darkening from the burning lack of oxygen in her system, propelled herself off the legs of the bed above her and smashed her full mass into his. Jarn barely rocked back from the hit, but he was just that much further away from the rifle. Keller’s tiny fists found his nose, his temples and his eyes. Her raspy shouts of defiance scared the hell out of the rebel leader and he found himself scrambling back from the vixen lest she do further damage to him.

Keller didn’t follow. She now had the rifle. She aimed, using both hands to point it at his face, and pulled the trigger. She didn’t know there was a safety trigger on the fore grip…

The weapon made a plaintive squall of noncompliance. Jarn smiled and began to leisurely lean forth to take the weapon from her. Keller looked at the weapon in betrayal, then reversed her hold on it and brought it down with both hands onto the warden’s left leg. The barely healed fusion of bone bent beneath the impact, sending tears immediately to his bloodshot eyes. Jarn lurched ahead and hit her full force in the side of the head, sending her reeling.

The stunned soldier lying beside the two of them came up on his elbows, his sidearm unholstered. Jarn intercepted the probing pistol and began to wrestle its owner for control. The two of them tied up, strength testing against strength as they pried for leverage. Keller was returning to a sitting position across from them. Jarn watched as she groggily looked over the alien rifle in her lap and detected the two triggers. She claimed a look of immense satisfaction as she raised the weapon and put it to her small shoulder.

Jarn lifted the pistol in his and the trooper’s hands and bore down on the covered trigger beneath the other man’s finger. The beam of silver energy pierced the human and tossed her back like a rag-doll hurled by a child. The soldier beneath Jarn stiffened in shock. Jarn had the pistol away from him a second later and was rolling for the bulkhead. He aimed at the center of the trooper’s helmet visor and squeezed the trigger.

The briefest glance told the alien warden that the battle in this compartment was about to peter out. Heedis’ troopers were just too few to make much more than a quick grab for him and that had obviously failed. Jarn didn’t know where he could go from here, but he knew he’d gain nothing by remaining.

Jarn reached out and grasped the white sweater the human female wore and dragged her back toward him from under the narrow beds. He crawled, trailing her behind as he made for the exit at the far side of the sickbay. Keller was still alive. She’d be a valuable hostage against her lover.





Endeavour shuddered a final time from the impact of microwave energy cannon as her stalwart helmsman drove her out of range. Ford leapt from the conn and circled round to the tactical station where Nechayev was reading over the security update system. The weapons officer did not need to be asked for a report.

“Ve have multiple intruders on Deck Eight, Section Fourteen. Sickbay. Definite veapons fire. One squad of guards already on station. Two squads responding to ‘de area.” The Russian told the CO and the XO whom both crowded around him. Ford looked up from the readout, noticing the slim, dark skinned beauty leaning against the science console just behind the point Surall was peering into her scopes.

Chevy looked quickly away from the vision of Anya, bound to ignore her. She smirked sardonically and leaned down to pretend to look over the science officer’s shoulder. Nechayev looked sternly back to his captain.

“Sir, let me take another team down ‘deer to access ‘de situation.” The security chief’s accent was thickening with anxious energy. Ford shook his bald head.

“Negative, Weps. Stay on the guns. Is Goodwin down there?”

“Aye, Keptin. He’s just reaching ‘de area.”

“Then order him to meet me in Corridor Fifteen, Section Two outside Sickbay.” Ford headed for the after equipment locker and withdrew a type two and a power pack from within. “I’ll resolve the situation myself. XO, you have the conn. Blow that sumbitch out of my sky.”

Ronald did not try to talk his skipper out of going down there. There was something in his eye that told Davenport that it was not the Government Ya’wenn soldiers down there that worried him. He felt…knew…that Jarn was now up to something. That sneaky, dark souled bastard wouldn’t be able to pass up this opportunity to start something…

“Aye, Cap’n.” Davenport said simply, nodding before turning back for the conn. “Helm, bring her around to 111 mark 14. Keep us out of transporter range. Stand by to make your maneuvers sharply to bring us to bear on the enemy ship.” The exec looked over his shoulder to the weapons officer, just as Ford slipped out of view through the closing lift doors. “Ready the Mark Fours.”
***



--thu guv!

[Governor Ronjar]

I finally did some research on the actor I had in mind when picturing Jarn for this series.

For a better mental image, picture him as played by actor Clancy Brown, who played as the Kurgan in Highlander and as rebel leader Zobral in the ENT episode 'Desert Crossings'. I didn't have a name for said actor till I Wikied him up tonight.

--guv!!

[Andromeda]

Nice to see the good doctor having some tough stuff.

[kadh2000]

There's an apparent flaw in the logic of the baddies here.  Suppose they get Jann.  Then what?  Does Ford let them keep him?  Do they expect Federation ideals to be so high that they'll get away with the prisoner?  I can only conclude this has to have been a suicide mission from the start.  There only recourse would have been to kill him upon capture and take their lumps.  Of course, with him dead, Ford would have no real reason not to let them go. 

Btw, nice episode title.

[Governor Ronjar]

The Ya'wenn captain is crafty...an knows he's crafty...

...this is where his mistake has come from. He fully believes he has a plan that will get him, his ship and Jarn away from Ford.

What WAS his plan? Hell, I don't know. Ask him.

 
--thu guv!

[almost named this 'Sympathy for the Devil'... Didn't fit at all. Mercy was closer, begrudgingly though it was rendered.]

[Grim Reaper]

The stones version is good, the GNR version is better.

OT though: I like this one a lot. Nobody is flawless, which makes it all the more believable.

@Kadh I thought the same thing but I thought the baddie would have a (small) fleet in waiting outside sensor rage, that he could call when he'd gotten Jarn. But I'd already bring them in the moment I was detected.

[Governor Ronjar]

CH. 10





As the motion of his ship’s decks shifted perceptibly to port, Ford cocked the charge manifold on his phaser and checked his indicators. The pistol read full charge, setting four. Setting four was a basic disruption level. It would slash through organic material without slowing or losing power, burning away tissues while doing enough kinetic damage to keep the wound from truly cauterizing. He’d need level five or six against an armored opponent, but then, he wasn’t expecting to shoot an armored combatant.

He fully expected Chief Petty Officer Goodwin to have all of the intruders detained by the time he arrived. He also fully expected that his good friend Jarn had somehow capitalized on the situation and was loose.

Anya leaned against the turbolift’s bulkhead and studied him curiously.

“You’re going to kill him off now, right?”

“If I gotta.”

“I think you’ll want to when you find him.”

There was assuredness in her tone. The commodore looked back to her.

“Why?”

“He has her.”

“Keller?”
“You call her by her last name? How stand-off-ish.”

“Andrea, then? How the hell can you know?”

“Woman’s intuition, Commodore.”

The doors opened onto Deck Eight, allowing him no further time to converse with his imagination. Ford ran full tilt down the curving hall till he entered within sight of his security cordon. Several bound Ya’wenn, doffed of their helmets but still retaining their black armor sat on their knees in a line, faces toward the inner bulkhead. Their unclad hands and feet were bound with zip-ties. CPO Dawayne Goodwin turned stiffly in his drab grey combat armor, rifle across his broad chest as he noted his CO’s approach.

“We got ‘em, Skipper.” He told Ford.

“Jarn?”

“Unaccounted for. I have men making another sweep.”

“Casualties?”

Dawayne motioned back to the blackened sickbay doors. “The med staff took the worst of it. Three dead, two wounded. Doctor Keller is unaccounted for also. One security injury. Minor.”

A security crewman stepped out of the sickbay compartment to address his seniors.

“Jarn’s not here, Chief. And we still haven’t found the CMO.”

Ford looked sharply to his most trusted security officer.

“Jarn has her, and he’s on his way to somewhere he can negotiate from. What’s the best cover he could hope for between here and—“

The grunt nearest Goodwin looked up, her hands pressed to the sides of her wide helmet as she listened to updates from the main bridge security station. “There’s weapons fire aft of here, sirs! Section Fifty-Two near Junction Sixteen. Ya’wenn particle weaponry and phasers!”

Both men were off in a dead run. Goodwin slowed only to deliver rapid hand signals to those he wished to stay or follow. Ford led a group of six men down the long, circular hall then down a long radial corridor. Signs denoting Junction 16 edged into view and the commodore slowed his pace, phaser low but ready in his right hand. His men took up defensive positions before and to the rear of him. The reinforcing group came up on two more grunts flanking either side of the hallway, their bulk smashed in behind bulkhead braces.

Ford walked forth carefully and calmly.

Jarn was there. He had Andrea. The huge Ya’wenn criminal had his lady held up by the throat before him. He hid his face behind the mass of her smaller head. His dark eye glimpsed out from behind tatters of her unkempt red hair as he leered back to Ford. He was the very picture of the caged animal.

The two of them were in the very observatory that Ford and Keller had come to talk in just minutes earlier. The length of the hull and the black, dead of space shone behind them. Stars moved and changed direction with the maneuvers of the massive ship around them. The thrum of the engines and the beat of weapons fire and alarms faded in their perceptions.

Ford raised his pistol and took aim.

Coughing, barely able to breathe for the grip on her throat, Keller nodded to Chevy, telling him to take the chance. Fire. Ford held off, refining his aim for the subtle movements of the hull. Jarn tightened his hold on the doctor, cutting off her gasps with a wet click and making her eyes bulge. Anya lounged behind Jarn, leisurely leaning back in one of those blue loungers. The glint in her eyes told of her rapt enjoyment.

“Take your finger off that trigger, Captain…” The monster graveled at Ford. His black and silver pistol dug into the base of Andrea’s chin, aimed up. “I’ll turn her head into meat paste.”

“You’re not going anywhere, Jarn.” Ford countered. He could feel his men tense. There was no real opening to shoot. Jarn had Andrea up off her feet, a full foot and a half off the deck. She grasped his muscled arm to take the unbearable strain of his hold off her neck and throat. Her face was totally red. Soon, it’d turn blue. She’d already been shot once. She’d be fine… “There’s no where for you to go on this ship, and I’m not letting you go.”

“You have shuttles!”

“And they ultimately answer to me.” The commodore replied, forced calmness flowing through his voice. “You take off, I order it to bring you back or land where I want it to go. You know that won’t work.”

“But I’ll still have your woman, Ford. You won’t do anything to me or try any tricks with my foot on her throat!” Jarn bellowed out. He was sweating. He stepped back, closer to the semi-circle of chairs behind him. He had a limp. Ford took it all in, waiting for his chance. He adjusted the grip he held on his weapon, letting the sweat beneath his palm cool and dry.

“How we gonna do this, Jarn?”

‘Buying time…that’s all I’m doing… Waiting for him to f*ck up…’ he thought.

“First, Captain…order your men to back the frell off. They leave my sight. I can see all the way down that hall behind you and down both corners down here… They leave…and we talk more about how I’m leaving this ship! At the first tingle of a transporter, she dies!”

“Skipper?” Came Goodwin’s warning question. Ford glanced down to where the CPO knelt at his side. Ford nodded.

“Move out, Chief. This is between us.”

“Skipper…”

“Move, Chief.”

Goodwin turned and began issuing gestures to his grunts. With obvious distaste and misgivings, they obediently fell back and yielded the deck to the CO and his nemesis. Ford returned his full attention to Jarn. He forced his mind, even his vision, to block out everything else. Andrea…her darkening face…Anya…the cruel sneer as she waited for Ford to cave in Jarn’s skull. Ford smirked.
***





Endeavour’s newest weapons systems slowly protruded from their deep chasms of armored hull. They peeked out past their parted hatches, showing themselves for the first time since their installation and testing. They were wide barreled energy cannon, built for massive starbases and space stations. They were made to cut swathes through large fleets of large-scale ships. They weren’t made to be emplaced aboard a starship.

Endeavour made a final correction to her flight path as she bore in on her target. The Ya’wenn cruiser saw this new closing maneuver as her next opportunity to free her captive troopers, perhaps try once again to obtain the leader of the rebellion they battled back home. She, herself, bore in on the Endeavour at her fullest speed.


Commander Davenport held firmly onto the armrests of the conn as he anticipated the order to open up on the enemy ship. He felt badly for the necessity to end this fight. He thought about hailing them to end this conflict before it ended so badly. The Ya’wenn would only want to end this after they’d obtained Jarn. The skipper did not trust them to hand the prisoner over to them. And he had reason not to trust them. They were not likely to keep their charge long enough to get him to trial. Nor were they obviously planning to give him a real trial. They were going to torture him and kill him. That wasn’t justice. Capitol punishment was one thing, and while not practiced in the more evolved political body of the Federation, was acceptable to many. Torture and show executions were abhorrent. Such things belonged in medieval times.

Hailing them would prove of little use. They would continue to demand what Ford would not give them. They’d go on demanding it till they got it by force… or learned that they could not get it at all.

“Target locked on…” Nechayev reported, standing tensely by at his console to the right of the conn. Ron nodded, still eyeing the quickly growing enemy ship. Their particle cannon were primed to fire again. Missiles launched out from their flanks, again aimed to destabilize the shields and beam men in or out.

“Main phasers to point defense, fire torpedoes, minimal spread.” Davenport called out in timed fashion. His photons shot out, impacting on the enemy’s hastily patched together forward deflectors. The paper-thin shields flared and died, showing caved in hull and rent open compartments from the impacts. “Helm, maintain firing arc…”

The Mark IV phaser cannon were designed to be emplaced on a large turret, built to swivel and track. No such space abounded on a comparatively small starship, even on an Excelsior. Therefor the weapons’ ability to hit depended primarily on the ship’s orientation to the target.

Bronstien watched the main screen, ignoring the precise measurements rendered by his instruments. He flew by sight and feel alone. His hands worked over the contours of hard controls and by the heat of computer generated touch pads. “Easiest thing in the world…” He boasted idly, his attention centered.

Explosions rocked the ship as missile after missile detonated at medium range against Endeavour’s defensive phasers. The viewer was alight with flashes as they closed the distance. Ron grit his teeth. “Fire!”

Great, rushing sounds of energy being channeled toward a purpose echoed throughout the ship. The deck jerked spasmodically beneath the crew. Monitors blanked out and lighting dimmed at the activation of the huge guns’ prefire chambers…

The heavy phaser cannon fired, first one, then the other soon after. Each lashed out long, unending lances of crimson hell onto the incoming vessel, which was unable to defend against the attack. The forward section of the sharp-nosed cruiser blew away into glowing ribbons of bent metal. A cloud of white-hot plasma boiled out from the wounds as the beams carved ten-meter deep swaths of bright destruction beneath their touch.

The cruiser banked away, half out of control, half under the frenzied, panicked direction of it’s pilot. The beams slashed down the port quarter of the ship, burning away hull, sensors and maneuvering thrusters as easily as a cutting torch melts butter. The port nacelle of the ship imploded on contact, billowing out fresh torrents of ionized gas from within the ship’s engine core.

Finally, the barrage ended.

The Ya’wenn cruiser was completely disabled.

“Got him!” Nechayev howled, fist raised into the dim air. The lighting was only beginning to recover from the power surges. Ron looked upon the now derelict piece of flotsam that was once a ship with pity. At least they weren’t destroyed.

Now they could talk…

“Mister Smith, hail that…wreck.”

“Hailing them now.”

Nechayev allowed a relief officer to claim his post and circled round the railing to step before the conn. “Permission to go below!”

“Granted, Lieutenant.”

As the weapons officer exited the bridge, Commander Slik slid up from his station and stalked aft to take over the weapons post. Be bid the officer there to take ops and stood tall behind the weapons console. Ron glanced up to the Gorn officer. The reptile seemed all but bristling, eyes wide and shining brightly.

Slik noticed the ape’s scrutiny and looked down.

“That was…an exhilarating show of…power.”

Ron nodded, looking back to the main viewer. There was an unmistakable feeling of pride and…yes…power… blooming within the executive officer. It was not something to be proud of…but he could not deny wielding such destruction had been…appealing.

“Yes it was, Lieutenant. Yes it was.”
***



That's CH. 10 Part 1...

My posting has outrun the replies, but I'm ready to be done with this one. Hope its liked.

--thu guv!

[Grim Reaper]

Hell yeah me like! Not to keen on the cliffhanger though ;-)

[Andromeda]

Andromeda

• Queen of Amber
• Ensign
• 
• Offline
• Gender:
• Posts: 206
• 
• Absolute Destiny!