kidnappers.”
Caflisch’s smile thinned to a grim line.
“I
know. That’s why you’ve got to get there first, Jim.”
“Bob, I’m not even sure if the warp drive’s up to snuff yet.”
“At least you’ve got a head start on them. Positionally, the
Enterprise
is closer than any of their vessels. Do what you can. And good luck, Jim.”
“Understood. Kirk out.”
Caflisch’s image dissolved in a loud burst of static.
Kirk turned to address his expectant crew. “I’m afraid the ship’s problems will have to be solved en route. Since we’re understaffed, I’m counting on each of you to give your best. End of speech.” He went back to the conn and sat. “Let’s get to work. Mr. Sulu, plot a course for Nimbus Three.”
“Course already plotted, Captain.”
The doctor sidled over to the conn and began, out of the side of his mouth, “If you ask me, Jim—”
“I didn’t.” Jim cut McCoy off with a matter-of-fact wave of his hand. The anger he had felt during McCoy’s earlier tirade at Yosemite was gone; this time he knew exactly what Bones was getting at, and this time, he had to agree.
McCoy scowled at him, undissuaded. “Go ahead, call me a Cassandra. But you have to admit, this is a terrible idea. We’re bound to bump into the Klingons, and they don’t exactly like you.”
“The feeling’s mutual, Doctor.” Jim glanced over at him. “Now all you have to do is convince Starfleet of the fact. Believe it or not, I have no suicidal urges to go chasing after Klingons. I’m no more pleased about this mission than you are.” He punched a button on the arm of the console, “Engineering.”
A voice filtered up through the intercom grid.
“Scott here.”
“We’ll need all the power you can muster, Mr. Scott, if we’re going to make it to Nimbus before the Klingons get there.”
“Don’t you worry, Captain,” Scott reassured him. “We’ll beat those Klingon devils if I have to get out and push.”
Kirk raised his brows and glanced at McCoy as if to say,
There. Happy?
“I’ll keep your offer in mind,” he said to Scott. “It may come to that.” He closed the channel and addressed the helm. “Best speed, Mr. Sulu.”
“Aye, sir.”
Jim squirmed in his seat in an effort to get comfortable.
“What’s wrong, Jim?” McCoy asked.
Jim looked up at him sharply. “I miss my
old
chair.”
The
Okrona
sped toward the Neutral Zone.
Klaa paced the cramped confines of the bridge, ignoring the occasional curious glances of his crew. Since Nimbus III lay closer to Federation than to Klingon territory, the starship would no doubt arrive there first.
Okrona
had merely to cloak herself before arrival, then quietly steal up on her waiting prey.
Simple, very simple . . . and yet the young captain could not control his nervous pacing. Part of his restlessness was the result of sheer anticipation of the fight. Klaa had not tasted battle in the month since he had become captain of the
Okrona.
Another part of it was the realization that he had become captain through a single heroic act and that some, such as his thick-skulled gunner, Morek, resented Klaa’s meteoric success and were praying for a chance to bring him down, to see the invincible young captain fail.
None disputed that Klaa was the Empire’s best gunner, but many suggested a ship of his own was too great a reward. He had heard the gossip: the most jealous of them called him an idiot savant—a genius behind the gunner’s rig, an imbecile when it came to command. What Klaa needed now was yet another incredible victory, to cement his reputation as captain. And he could do that himself, without the moronic Morek’s help, without anyone’s help.
He walked past the helm and glanced at the back of Morek’s thick, balding head.
You’d like me to fail at
this, wouldn’t you, Morek? Well it’s not my days aboard
Okrona
that are numbered. . . but yours.
Klaa turned to pace in the opposite direction—and nearly collided with
Caflisch’s smile thinned to a grim line.
“I
know. That’s why you’ve got to get there first, Jim.”
“Bob, I’m not even sure if the warp drive’s up to snuff yet.”
“At least you’ve got a head start on them. Positionally, the
Enterprise
is closer than any of their vessels. Do what you can. And good luck, Jim.”
“Understood. Kirk out.”
Caflisch’s image dissolved in a loud burst of static.
Kirk turned to address his expectant crew. “I’m afraid the ship’s problems will have to be solved en route. Since we’re understaffed, I’m counting on each of you to give your best. End of speech.” He went back to the conn and sat. “Let’s get to work. Mr. Sulu, plot a course for Nimbus Three.”
“Course already plotted, Captain.”
The doctor sidled over to the conn and began, out of the side of his mouth, “If you ask me, Jim—”
“I didn’t.” Jim cut McCoy off with a matter-of-fact wave of his hand. The anger he had felt during McCoy’s earlier tirade at Yosemite was gone; this time he knew exactly what Bones was getting at, and this time, he had to agree.
McCoy scowled at him, undissuaded. “Go ahead, call me a Cassandra. But you have to admit, this is a terrible idea. We’re bound to bump into the Klingons, and they don’t exactly like you.”
“The feeling’s mutual, Doctor.” Jim glanced over at him. “Now all you have to do is convince Starfleet of the fact. Believe it or not, I have no suicidal urges to go chasing after Klingons. I’m no more pleased about this mission than you are.” He punched a button on the arm of the console, “Engineering.”
A voice filtered up through the intercom grid.
“Scott here.”
“We’ll need all the power you can muster, Mr. Scott, if we’re going to make it to Nimbus before the Klingons get there.”
“Don’t you worry, Captain,” Scott reassured him. “We’ll beat those Klingon devils if I have to get out and push.”
Kirk raised his brows and glanced at McCoy as if to say,
There. Happy?
“I’ll keep your offer in mind,” he said to Scott. “It may come to that.” He closed the channel and addressed the helm. “Best speed, Mr. Sulu.”
“Aye, sir.”
Jim squirmed in his seat in an effort to get comfortable.
“What’s wrong, Jim?” McCoy asked.
Jim looked up at him sharply. “I miss my
old
chair.”
The
Okrona
sped toward the Neutral Zone.
Klaa paced the cramped confines of the bridge, ignoring the occasional curious glances of his crew. Since Nimbus III lay closer to Federation than to Klingon territory, the starship would no doubt arrive there first.
Okrona
had merely to cloak herself before arrival, then quietly steal up on her waiting prey.
Simple, very simple . . . and yet the young captain could not control his nervous pacing. Part of his restlessness was the result of sheer anticipation of the fight. Klaa had not tasted battle in the month since he had become captain of the
Okrona.
Another part of it was the realization that he had become captain through a single heroic act and that some, such as his thick-skulled gunner, Morek, resented Klaa’s meteoric success and were praying for a chance to bring him down, to see the invincible young captain fail.
None disputed that Klaa was the Empire’s best gunner, but many suggested a ship of his own was too great a reward. He had heard the gossip: the most jealous of them called him an idiot savant—a genius behind the gunner’s rig, an imbecile when it came to command. What Klaa needed now was yet another incredible victory, to cement his reputation as captain. And he could do that himself, without the moronic Morek’s help, without anyone’s help.
He walked past the helm and glanced at the back of Morek’s thick, balding head.
You’d like me to fail at
this, wouldn’t you, Morek? Well it’s not my days aboard
Okrona
that are numbered. . . but yours.
Klaa turned to pace in the opposite direction—and nearly collided with
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