TNG 53 - Double Helix 3 - Red Sector by Star Trek

Author:Star Trek [Star Trek]
Language: deu
Format: epub
Tags: \Star Trek
Published: 2011-01-02T07:59:29.359000+00:00

"Detonate!" Stiles authorized, and the shots lanced out before the sound his words had died.

At the weapons console, Matt Girvan fell on his controls instantly, obviously expecting the authorization to fire while there were extravehicular crew out there. He'd been ready to defend the CST, despite the attempts by Lafayette and Majestic to protect the wounded destroyer and her rafted repair ship. Phaser fire blew from the Saskatoon, cutting across the paths of two streams of disruptor fire that actually were meant to hit the Majestic but had missed. The shots detonated in midspace-good work, though the power wash and the stress of opening fire rocked the CST and caused the umbilicals to sing through their hull mounts. The inside of the ship whined freakishly, buffeted by the power wash.

"Oh, what happened?" Ansue Hashley's arms flew wide as the deck rocked. "Did we get shot?"

Not a direct hit, but the wash did enough damage to fritz several of the monitors. Two went completely dark, and a half dozen flashed and became garbled, losing the view of the rivet team on the destroyer's nacelle strut.

His ears aching, Stiles crossed to the portside monitors and called over the whine. "Check the men!"

Horrified by the shouts and calls rattling over the comm from the repair team, he fixed on the nearest monitor, which showed a closeup flurry of elbows and parts of suits, but didn't give a clear view of any one person.

Frantic for a wide view, Stiles muttered, "I'd really like a look."

"I'm getting green on all the life-support signals," Travis said with undisguised relief. "The body of the ship deflected the wash."

"Lucky angle. I hate to fire when I've got men out." No one paid any attention except Ansue Hashley, whose eyes somehow got even wider at the declaration. Stiles punched the nearest comm link. "Rivet squad, running out of time. Minute and thirty left."

"Shouldn't you be out there, Mr. Lightcudder?" Hashly asked. "If you're in command?" "No, they don't need me out there." "Maybe there's something I can do ...." "Not fight now, thanks."

"Stiles, Bolt. Strut cradle's secure, riveted, and caulked. Main injector's flowing and the sliding bulkhead is jury-rigged over the cofferdam and-Monks, is it glazed? Yes, it's glazed and chemical-bonded. Ready to retract the caissons and the davit."

"A whole minute early!" Stiles whooped. "You guys are singing! Back inside before we get another visitation."

He stood back to listen to the tumble of orders as the rivet team handled their own reshipping. This was when all the hours of brain-frying drills paid off.

"Mr. Stiles, this is Sattier. We saw the crossfire. Do you need assistance ?"

"Don't worry about us, Captain. Your ship's the important one here, not ours. Soon as I get my men aboard, we'll shove off and you can do your job with those Romulans. Congratulations on your first combat rafting."

"You're a piece of work, Mr. Stiles. Now I know where you get your reputation." "All lies. Stand by, please."

Travis met his questioning gaze as if cued in psychically.

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