“KHAAANNNN!” Reynard bellows as he materializes in the transporter cubical. Even knowing he is no longer on the planet’s surface, his body was driving home the blade with such force he’s unable to prevent himself from puncturing the floor. He does slow his assault but not enough to prevent a fissure in the transport panel.
“Not good, Commander.” Doug hops from the controls as sparks fizzle from the cleft in the floor. “You quoted Wrath of Khan. Though I’m not sure doing so during transport follows the rules.”
“Seemed appropriate, as the Sandman’s name didn’t have the same villainous appeal as Kirk’s nemesis.” Reynard releases the sword and it vanishes.
“There’s a Throgen battle cruiser in system,” Doug warns.
Samantha scampers from the cubical.
“I want to know where the next orb fragment is as soon as we’re back in hyperspace.”
“You have a Sandman to contend with,” the cat mews.
“I just ended Archimago.”
“Did you see him crumble to dust?” Samantha asks.
The Dragon bucks.
The lights cut off.
“A LOW YIELD blast,” Amye says.
“They must have cut back on power to increase range,” Australia says.
“A smerth’n warning shot,” Scott adds.
Some warning. Amye taps the power meter as it falls to the red. “It shorted out all our reserve energy. We don’t have enough to maintain life support, let alone make a jump out of the system.”
“Be thankful the living skin absorbed most of the blast, or we’d be vapor.” Scott scrambles to locate power.
“Shields are disseminating.”
“All systems negative.”
Amye slaps the comm. “Aus, report to the bridge.” She releases her shoulder harness. “The power cells you moved to the shuttle bay contain a full charge.”
“Switch over to them,” Scott orders.
“The couplings have disengaged in the blast.” Or you didn’t finish attaching them.
Australia and Chelsie both join the crew on the bridge.
“You better decide quick. The Throgen battle cruiser will have optimal target lock in three minutes,” JC reports.
“Athena, run diagnostics on failed power systems,” Amye orders.
“Complete power system diagnostics will require six hours.”
“We run a direct line of cables. No time to figure out where the power loss originates. We have all the cables from when we hardwired the hyper drive.”
“Take the controls.” Amye gives up her seat to Australia.
“I will prepare the hyperspace course,” Australia says, taking her place at command.
REYNARD JUMPS FROM the transporter room. “Scott, I damaged the transporter.”
“It may not matter, Commander, if we don’t get power to hyper drive engines.” Scott bursts past.
“What help do you need?”
“Drag the cables while I connect them to the hyper drive. Chelsie, Amye, Doug, connect them so they reach the power cells in the forward section. We’ve got two minutes.”
Amye and Chelsie drag a cable toward the hidden door of the shuttle compartment.
“How will this work?”
“We’re bypassing whatever is preventing the power from reaching the hyper drive engines.” Amye drops the cable. “The crash caused a lot of damage.”
The smell of charred wires and smoke from an electrical fire hangs in the air. Chemical fire suppression foam covers most of the visible wires. Bent metal contorts out from the wall from an internal explosion.
“Smerth. The system couldn’t handle the redistribution of power.” Amye draws her knife. Before she pulls out some of the wires, she strips back some of the insulation to expose bare wires. “Follow the cable back and make sure all the couplings are secure.”
JC slides from Leeka’s quarters—without her headband—before switching places with Chelsie on the lift.
Scott attaches his end of the cable to the hyper drive systems. “Reynard! The engines are cooling. We don’t have time—”
Reynard understands, racing to the bridge. He grips his controls. “Athena, funnel any power left into the thrusters.” He stares into Australia’s sapphire eyes. “Do you have the jump coordinates locked in?”
She nods.
“Thirty-four seconds left.”
Amye hard wires the attachment clamps into the burnt wires. She scoops up the power cable. JC wraps her hand around the snaking tube. Before Amye protests, JC presses the tip of a medical syringe gun against Amye’s temple, flooding her system with a sedative.
“It always had to be this way,” JC says.
The Crimson Nova fires.
Reynard presses the hyperspace engine igniter.
Nothing.
The blast grows on the main view screen.
“You are condemning one of the crew,” Australia warns.
He keeps the button depressed. “One of us, or all of us.”
JC jams the plug into the socket. The junctions were never designed to be placed together while flowing with live power. Electrical lightning juts from the connector as the circuit completes, raining sparks through JC.
The restored energy ignites the hyper drive engines, and the Silver Dragon slips safely into hyperspace. Power fluctuates over the ship. Reynard holds her steady, leveling off: ensuring the rest of the trip through hyperspace will be smooth.
“Take the helm.” Reynard releases the joystick, resolving to keep his calm. He adjusts his gun belt. Squaring up his chest, he marches from the bridge.
The empty corridor gives him time to consider each and every member of his crew who were working to restore the engines. One of them was the last one to complete the connection.
The lift doors open. Two pairs of boots.
Reynard sees nothing but blind rage as Scott catches him.
“It’s not Amye,” Scott whispers.
Even worse.
Doug fondles the syringe gun. “JC drugged her in order to be the last person to make the connection. As if she smerth’n knew.”
“She did.”
“What about your medical tank?” Chelsie asks.
“Joe’s healing in it,” Doug says.
“The burns have rendered the bacterium useless,” Scott says.
“She gave her life for us.” Reynard slips JC’s pendant from his pocket. He squeezes it tight, imprinting the image into his palm. JC’s last thoughts burst into his mind. This was how it was supposed to end—my Admiral.
