by Dave Stern
The inertial dampers on the Stinger were good. Archer heard a minimum of cursing from the main cabin behind him.
The two PDC fighters shot past and just barely missed colliding with each other. The larger vessel, though, wasn’t fooled. It adjusted azimuth in mid-attack, and fired photon charges again.
The captain hit full impulse as hard as he could, sent them screaming straight downward. Barely in time. The charges went off behind them. The captain rode the shock wave as best he could.
By the time he’d stabilized the Stinger, he saw the three PDC vessels were re-forming for another run. Delta formation.
Archer reversed course and made for the debris trail again. He had the idea of snaking in and out of the wreckage, using it to fool at least the smaller ships’ sensors.
Twenty seconds into the maneuver, he could see it wasn’t working.
“T’Pol,” he said, gunning them up and away from the wreckage. “Please tell Lieutenant Hess she now has five minutes to get me warp drive.”
“I am in contact with the lieutenant, sir. Again, five minutes is not a realistic—”
“Realistic is not an option at this point,” Archer said. “Tell her to do the best she can.”
“An incorrectly aligned crystal will destroy us as surely as a photon charge.”
“I’m open to other options.” Archer shook his head. The larger ship was coming for them now. He changed course, put one of the smaller vessels between the two of them. Elementary blocking tactic—it worked long enough to slow their pursuers. Temporarily.
“How the hell did we get into this mess anyway? Where did these ships come from?”
“I believe I have discovered a blind spot in our sensor grid, which the two smaller vessels took advantage of.”
“What about the big ship?”
“It must have waited out of range until the attack commenced. As I mentioned earlier, the radiation surrounding the debris field has affected our long-range scanning ability.”
That was something the PDC ships had no doubt counted on.
Archer suddenly realized something else. “The blind spot in our sensors—the PDC knew about it before they attacked.”
“Yes, sir.”
“So it’s not just this ship that has it. It’s all the Stingers. A design flaw. We should let Makandros know.”
“I have been trying to send a transmission.”
“Trying?”
“Our signals are being jammed.”
Of course they were.
The ship shuddered again.
Near miss. He’d lost track of one of the smaller ships for a second, and it had come in firing at them. Projectile weapons only, but still—
One direct hit, and they were history. The Stinger had no hull plating to polarize, and few defensive weapons to speak of—not to mention those faulty sensors. At least the PDC didn’t know about the general’s little trick with the computers—
The captain sat up straight.
“Riley!” he yelled. “Get up here and fly this ship!”
“Sir?” T’Pol asked.
“Gonna even up the odds here a little, Sub-Commander.” Archer hunched over the helm, bringing them around the debris trail again, searching. Ah. There it was.
He became aware of Riley standing over him.
“Take the helm,” he said, getting to his feet. “Keep us in range of that vessel, all right?”
As she sat, he leaned over her shoulder and pointed at the viewscreen—at the Stinger they’d passed scant minutes ago, the ship with the coolant leak and its running lights still on.
“In range?” Riley frowned. “What does that mean?”
T’Pol responded before the captain could.
“It means keep us close enough to allow our computer’s guidance signals to control that ship. The exact limit of that control is currently uncertain—unless you know differently, sir?”
Archer smiled. “No, I don’t.”
“I get it,” Riley said.
The floor dropped out from underneath them—Riley dodging another projectile blast.
Archer clapped her on the shoulder and moved to T’Pol’s station.
“So how do we do this?” he asked.
“I am accessing the Stinger’s command-line interface. Instructions should be available to us there.”
Her fingers flew across the console. Archer watched her work and wished he’d asked Makandros for more details about how the computer tie-in worked, exactly. How far apart the two ships could be for the linkage to operate.
“Direct hit on the larger vessel,” Yamani said, a note of satisfaction in his voice. “They’re dropping back.”
“Nice work, Ensign,” Archer said, not lifting his eyes from T’Pol’s console. He could see what she was doing—scrolling rapidly through an interface that listed all ship functions, breaking them down into menus, submenus, sub-submenus and so on, searching for the right one.
She just wasn’t doing it fast enough.
He took the empty station next to her.
“I’ll work from the bottom of the interface,” he said, and brought up the same display she was looking at. Environmental systems function, atmospheric control function, exhaust flow control function—
The ship suddenly accelerated—Archer felt the impulse engines rumbling—and shot forward.
“Delta formation again,” Yamani said.
“Roger that,” Riley said. “Hang on.”
They banked right. Archer felt a shock wave—another photon charge?—push them even harder in that direction.
He went back to the console.
Sensor control function, sensor storage function, sensor calibration function—
“Captain,” T’Pol said suddenly. “I have it.”
Archer looked at her screen. Weapons control function, remote guidance subsystems, interface protocol…
Bingo.
“System seems relatively straightforward. Instructions to the satellite vessel are routed through communications…” Her voice trailed off, and she looked over at the captain.
“Communications are jammed,” he said.
She nodded. “Over a short distance, though, we should be able to insure signal integrity.”
T’Pol brought up the system interface on-screen. She began punching in commands. A moment later, she frowned.
“No response from the other ship. It is either damaged, or we are not close enough.”
All at once, they banked hard left—so hard Archer almost fell out of his seat.
He was about to remind Riley that a little advance warning was called for on maneuvers like that when he looked up at the viewscreen and saw they were right on top of the other Stinger again.
“Thank you, Ensign,” T’Pol said. “Systems are now handshaking. Captain, we have control of the other vessel.”
“Well done, everyone. Give me helm here,” the captain said, leaning over his console. “Send weapons to Mister Yamani’s station.”
T’Pol did as he asked. The captain studied the control layout—exactly like this Stinger’s. Excellent.
“All right.” He checked the position of the three PDC ships—the two smaller ones were corkscrewing around the debris field, using it as cover, coming back for them. The larger ship had moved off. Archer saw why now. The hit that ship had taken had resulted in debris blocking a weapons port. Elson’s people were probably clearing it out. It would take them a few more minutes to get back in the battle.
But the captain didn’t have that time.
Too bad. The first attack with the other Stinger was going to come as a complete surprise. He would have liked to use it up on the ship that posed the biggest danger.
They’d get to her soon enough, though.
“All right,” he said. “Let’s see if we can’t teach these ships a little second-year strategy. Ensign Riley, you know Rackham’s back door?”
He heard her laugh. “Yes, sir. I do indeed.”
“Mister Yamani
?”
“Rodriguez and I were just talking about it the other day, Captain.”
“All right. Let’s do it. We’re the decoy, obviously.”
T’Pol frowned. “Rackham’s back door?”
“It’s an old Academy attack move. A little unorthodox,” he smiled, “but that’s exactly why it’ll work.”
“Could you be more specific?” T’Pol asked.
Archer smiled. “You might as well just watch.”
The two fighters were bearing down in pincer formation again.
Riley punched thrusters, and drove straight at them.
At the last possible second, she dove. The PDC fighters fired—two misses, not even close—and then moved to follow, practically skidding to a halt in space and turning.
“Nice,” Archer said.
He saw the corner of Riley’s mouth turn up in a smile.
“Here comes the fun part,” she replied.
The fighters had made long arching parabolas in space that brought them right up on the Stinger’s tail. Now Riley cut forward thrust in half, which put them back in range of the PDC weapons. The captain could well imagine the smiles the pilots of those ships were wearing right now. They thought one of those last rounds of weapons fire must have gotten them, that their engines were going. That the chase was almost at an end.
The captain smiled.
They’re right about that, he thought.
All three vessels passed the apparently disabled DEF Stinger.
And Archer activated that ship’s drive.
“They see it, sir,” T’Pol said. “They’re veering off.”
Too little, too late. Yamani already had the other ship’s weapons stations on-line.
“Locked on target,” Yamani said.
Archer smiled. “Fire.”
Streaks of light—charged torpedoes—flew from the DEF ship toward the fighters. One dodged. The other didn’t.
It exploded in a sudden flash of orange and white.
Riley punched thrusters and shot after the remaining fighter. It veered frantically from left to right, trying to escape pursuit.
The Stinger closed.
“At your discretion, Mister Yamani.”
The ensign didn’t waste a second.
“Charges away,” he said, and a heartbeat later, the second fighter exploded.
Riley took them right through the hail of white and orange it left behind.
“Rackham’s back door,” T’Pol said. “Interesting.”
“Not textbook execution,” the captain said. “But it worked. Nice job, people.”
He looked up at the viewscreen just in time to see a third explosion.
“What…”
“The other Stinger,” T’Pol said, “has just been destroyed.”
The big PDC ship, Archer saw, was moving toward them again.
Yamani’s console flashed.
“Weapons lock!” the ensign shouted.
“Initiating evasive action,” Riley said.
Archer was about to tell her to stay on course—they had momentum, they should use it.
But Riley’s reactions were too quick. Even before he could open his mouth, she hit thrusters hard, veering them back toward the debris trail.
Mistake, the captain thought.
Space around them flared white.
Archer didn’t have time to brace himself. The ship wrenched hard left, and he went with it, slamming into the cockpit wall. He stumbled and went to his knees.
His vision swam.
“Direct hit!” Yamani was yelling. “Aft hull plating. Weapons stations A and B disabled.”
Archer blinked and looked behind him.
The main cabin was on fire. Half a dozen of his crew lay on the deck, stunned. O’Neill was bleeding, Rodriguez was rolling on the floor, crying out.
“Captain, I only have half thrusters.”
That was Riley, right above him.
Archer grabbed on to the back of the nearest chair and pulled himself upright. Every muscle in his body was sore. He reached for the com, to respond to Hess…
And saw the main viewscreen was black.
“Lateral sensor array is off-line,” T’Pol said. “Trying to compensate.”
He nodded and opened the com.
“Archer to engineering. Report.”
“Hess here. Not good news, sir. Got another ten minutes before the field collapses. We’ll have to shut down before then.”
Ten minutes of life left in the engine. Archer frowned.
He turned to the main cabin and called the first person he saw.
“Duel!”
The ensign, tending to one of his fallen comrades, looked up. “Sir?”
“Get those EVA suits down. Get them prepped and ready.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Archer spun back to the cockpit crew.
Riley was half turned around in her chair, anguish in her eyes.
“Sorry, sir,” she said. “My fault. I should have—”
“Enough,” Archer snapped. Her eyes widened in surprise.
If she was expecting sympathy, he didn’t have time.
“Keep us from getting hit again. I know,” he managed a smile, “you won’t make the same mistake twice.”
“No, sir. I will not,” she said, and bent to her task.
The viewscreen came back to life.
The PDC ship was closing—fast.
“Mister Yamani, we still have starboard weapons?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Ensign Riley, keep us starboard to that vessel. No matter what.”
His mind ran through scenarios—Academy battle simulations, his own limited combat experience, stories he’d heard from other captains. Nothing.
“Anyone? Any thoughts?”
The ship shuddered again. Archer heard the crew behind him returning fire.
“Jettison the warp core,” Yamani said. “Lure the PDC ship near it, and set it off.”
“Target it with our weapons, you mean?” the captain asked.
“Either that, or a timed charge.”
“Unlikely to be effective. Their sensors will easily detect it,” T’Pol said.
“You have a better idea?” the captain asked.
“I am thinking,” T’Pol said.
Her console sparked. The viewscreen went black again.
“Sensors are off-line,” she said.
Archer punched the com.
“Engineering?”
“Reactor is failing, sir. Ten minutes may have been optimistic.”
Archer frowned.
He didn’t like Yamani’s idea any more than T’Pol had, but he didn’t see as they had any other options.
“Lieutenant Hess, I’m sending Ensign Yamani down to engineering. We’re jettisoning the warp core with timed charges attached.”
“Won’t be much of a bang, sir.”
“What?”
“We pumped out most of the antimatter already. Just in case. I can activate the injectors again, but—”
“No,” Archer said. “Never mind.”
He looked at T’Pol.
“I don’t see as we have much choice,” he said. “Transmit our surrender.”
She nodded and leaned over her console again.
A second later, she looked back up.
“Our signals are still being jammed. It appears the PDC are not interested in hearing what we have to say—under any circumstances.”
He nodded, tight-lipped. There wasn’t much left for them to do, then.
“Ensign Riley,” he said. “Bring us around.”
“Sir?”
He smiled grimly. “Let’s take as many of these bastards as we can with us.”
She nodded. “Aye, Captain.”
T’Pol spoke again. “Perhaps I can reconfigure the targeting sensors to give us minimal scanning ability.”
“Do it.” The captain called Hess again.
“Lieutenant, does this vessel have a self-destruct circ
uit?”
She took a second before responding.
“Aye, sir. A ninety-second circuit.”
“How late into the countdown can we abort?”
“Any time.”
“Activate it now. Give me marks every ten seconds.” Archer looked up and saw T’Pol had worked her magic. The viewscreen was live again, though the resolution was a fraction of what it had been, the images blurry and unfocused.
He could see one thing clear enough, though—the PDC vessel was closing fast.
He leaned over Riley’s shoulder.
“At ten seconds, we’re going to want to dive them.”
“Aye, sir. A kamikaze run.”
He nodded. “That’s right.”
“Seventy seconds, Captain.” Lieutenant Hess’s voice came over the com.
“Roger that,” Archer said, and turned.
He looked out into the main cabin.
Circuits on the aft and port walls were still sparking—the consoles there were empty. O’Neill and Sanchez were leaned up against the engineering core, half-conscious. The rest of the crew was still working at starboard weapons stations.
The captain stepped through the cockpit door. All eyes turned to him.
“I’ll keep this short, ladies and gentlemen.”
“Not good news, is it, sir?” O’Neill asked.
“No. The PDC ship is not acknowledging our surrender.”
His eyes went around the room quickly, making sure that each person understood the implications of what he’d just said.
“One minute.” Hess’s voice rang out behind him.
“We’re going to try and take that last PDC ship with us,” Archer said. “Self-destruct. Anyone who wants to abandon ship in one of those”—he nodded to the EVA suits that Duel had stacked in the center of the cabin—“is more than welcome. Go now, though.”
He looked out among the sea of faces. No one moved.
“We’re with you,” D.O. spoke up. “Right to the end, sir.”
Archer nodded.
“Thank you. Man your stations.”
“Forty seconds,” Hess’s voice came back.
Archer stepped back into the cockpit.
The PDC ship was still closing.
“Is that another ship behind them?” Yamani asked.
Archer squinted. The ensign was right: a fourth vessel was now entering the fray—as if the PDC needed reinforcements.
“That’s one big ship,” Riley said. She was right: this vessel was even larger than the first, though that was all he could tell about the ship, with the limited sensor resolution they had right now.
