“Helm, hard over! Phasers, fire!”

The Blythe shook firmly as the phaser blasts lit up the center viewscreen, briefly illuminating the space in between the two vessels. The alien ship turned sharply to evade, returned fire, a number of phaser pulses shaded a rich orange struck the far side of the Blythe’s hull, rippling against the light glow of her shields. The impact knocked a number of officers to the floor, Rutledge grabbing the rear of his seat so firmly his knuckles turned white, both feet firmly planted to the steel floor. He leaned forward, bellowing to his officers.

“Return fire, full effect, phasers and torpedoes! Aim for their weapons systems, Mr. Rahm!” 

The Bajoran Lieutenant at tactical locked weapons to what he could only vaguely discern to be their weapons, and opened fire, his hands sweating over his controls, exhaling as he fired, leaning over his console further as he did so. 

The ship shook once more as her payload of weapons burst from the hull of the Blythe, the unmistakable sound of her torpedo tubes emptying as she lurched, simultaneously dodging fire from their new adversary. The vessel’s shields buckled significantly under the torpedoes, and the Blythe’s phaser blasts again rippling against her shields, altering the enemy vessel’s course as it was forced off its intended course. It readjusted, firing another volley of orange phaser fire that once again shook the Blythe soundly. Matthews was knocked off his feet, his head hitting the bulkhead as he slumped to floor, and his eyes fluttered shut, leaving the flight controls unattended. An operations crewman leapt down to attend to the Lieutenant, moving his head, now bleeding from his crown, and shielding it in his knees.

Rutledge, also knocked to his feet towards the bridge’s rear, motioned to Zjune, still strapped to his seat, and pointed to the empty flight controls.

“Helmsman!”

Zjune hopped to his feet, throwing himself forward amidst the chaos, and attended to the helm as ordered, veering the listing Blythe, now facing her bow towards the vessel, allowing Rahm to readjust and again, open fire. 

The phasers pounded the adversaries” shields, knocked the ship to of its course and out of control. The last volley of phaser fire was too much for the smaller vessel, and it started to list heavily, no longer moving, no longer firing at the Blythe. The chaos subsided, almost immediately, as Rutledge motioned to tactical to cease fire, turning his attention to his First Officer. The thickness in the air seemed to subside as well, and the aperture, which briefly had become an afterthought, was in the background of their viewscreen looming over their assailant with a rich, solemn darkness. Their brief exploit had brought them much closer to the aperture than before, unintendedly, of course, but the captain was eager to reinstate a safe distance. 

“Back us off the aperture, ten kilometers as before. Report on the enemy ship.”

“Enemy vessel’s shields gone; her weapons systems failed as well. Warp drive out, but they can maneuver, slightly, on impulse.” Zjune reported, briefly glancing over to the science station. “We’re counting ten life forms aboard, all of them humanoid…but varying species”

Rutledge nodded. That’ll make things interesting. 

“What’s our status?”

“Shields holding at 85 percent. Weapons, warp drive, both online. Only minor phaser burns to primary hull.”

“Keep weapons locked on her engines, and for God’s sake, get Matthews down to sickbay.”

“Aye, Sir!” 

The crewman, his gold uniform now darked by Matthew’s blood, jumped to his feet, and lifted the unconscious helmsman to his chest, lifting his arm over his shoulder and putting all his weight on his shoulders. He buckled slightly but shrugged off any attempts for help. He made his way to the turbo-lift, leaving the bridge in a silent but intent rush. 

Rutledge mulled over the situation a moment, leaning forward in his chair, weighing his options. He looked over at Zjune, now back in his command chair, Matthews’ seat occupied by a young command rate officer. Now backed away from the aperture at the designated distance, he had a wider view of the vessel and the aperture behind it. The situation was his now, seemingly, but he found it curious, if not almost amusing, that their newfound adversary had plunged itself into a firefight when it was so apparently outmatched, even to the likes of a smaller Starfleet vessel. It remained mostly motionless, correcting its list every minute or so, seemingly making no attempts to escape or return a delayed line of fire, of which he and his crew knew they were incapable.  

“Let’s re-open a hailing frequency, maybe they’re keener to answer us now.”

“Hailing frequencies open, Sir.”

Rutledge sat upright in his chair, slowly scanning his bridge as he spoke. His officers kept to a respectful volume.

“Unidentified vessel, this is Captain John Rutledge of the USS Blythe, United Federation of Planets. You have unlawfully fired on a Starfleet vessel. State your intentions or prepare to be boarded.”

The captain let a small smirk rest upon his lips. He had no intention of boarding the enemy vessel, he had never done so before, but was eager to let his adversaries know he meant business. He had used that bluff before, figuring it a daunting possibility for a ship with a crew of only ten men. Still, his crew were less apt to his empty threats, eyeing each other almost nervously, if not slightly amused, albeit curious. Only Zjune kept his head still, facing forward with the cold glare he was used to carrying, amused at his captain’s bluff as he was, if only inwardly so. 

The tension on the bridge built as they awaited a response. The silence of the ship, only the slight hum of her engines seemed to exaggerate the stress in the air, the silence growing louder by the minute. Rutledge, however, was intent on receiving a response, however reluctant or even forced it might have to be.

“Fire a warning shot across their bow. Low yield, just something to scare them.”

“Aye, Sir.”

Rahm barely had re-target the phaser that was already locked on the vessel. One quick shot adjacent to its position didn’t do any damage, and the vessel continued to drift aimlessly. Rutledge readjusted himself in his chair, and looked back to Rahm, to his right and smirked, a calm demeanor, much the opposite of his comrades.

“Good shot, Lieutenant. Couldn’t have done it better myself.” He leaned forward in his chair, his right hand on his knee, carrying the weight of his upper torso. “We’ll hear from them soon.” 

The captain let the silence dwell another moment, and the viewscreen flickered on, a crackling and faded screen appearing before the bridge officers, a figure appearing before them, occupying the center of the screen.

“Federation starship.” The figure, a muscular male figure with green pigmentation and a short haircut addressed the crew. His face was bruised and bleeding, but his demeanor contrasted any hint of being in pain. He sat upwards, with a locked and vengeful gaze. He was an Orion, but his crew in the background were not. “I am Nivvor of the Corsair Syndicate Sentinel vessel Hangman. Surrender your vessel immediately.”

Rahm did his best to stifle a laugh, closing his mouth at the last second, hoping no one had heard. Surely, he must be joking! No shields, weapons, and no warp drive? Either he was entirely too hopeful, or desperately attempting to bluff Rutledge. Probably both.

Rutledge, however, felt no such humor in the Orion’s request; the request to surrender had annoyed, almost insulted him. The mere thought of a vessel succumbing to an under-gunned one like the Hangman, as they called it, was offensive, a disparage. Hardly likely.

What did their Captain say earlier? Corsair Syndicate? That’s a pirate ring, a small fleet of smugglers. Amateur raiders!

Rutledge stood and faced the viewscreen so his entire figure would be in view for the Orion pirate, pulling his shoulders back and bellowing to the figure before him with a sincere authority.

“Your shields are down, your weapons inoperative, and you have nowhere to go. As I stated prior, you unlawfully fired upon a Federation vessel, for which you and your crew will face adequate judicial punishment. You can surrender peacefully, or I can take you by force.”

Nivvor scoffed, stepping backwards and spitting on the ground behind him so Rutledge could see, a disdained look on his face. “Any attempt to board will be met with lethal force! We are well armed, trust me when I say so! I will give you one more warning, Federation starship, one you should heed! Surrender your vessel!”

V’liv alerted the captain from her station, so that only Rutledge could hear her. “Sir, their life support systems are failing. They won’t last more than ten minutes by themselves.”

Rutledge nodded in acknowledgement, turning from her to face the viewscreen again, now even more confident in his position over the situation than before. He subtly pressed a few buttons on the side of his chair, so carefully as to not bring notice to any movements his arm was making. The captain eyed Zjune, who only gave him a slight nod of approval, an understanding without any words exchanged. His glance turning its attention back to the viewscreen, he locked his stare to Nivvor, who still held an expression of disdain and subdued desperation. “Boarding your vessel won’t be necessary. Helm, can you get a lock on all ten signals?”

“Yes, Sir, signals locked.”

The Orion’s eyes widened as he realized the captain’s plan. His face filled with panic, and his screen flickered more as he ran to his nearest bridge officer, flailing as a control panel that had quite obviously burned out. His crewmen hardly moved a muscle.

“Alert Mr. Pronichev in security and have him standing by in the brig. I have some guests stopping by for an impromptu visit.”

“Standing by, Sir.”

The Orion yelled once more through the viewscreen. “You can’t!”

“Energize.”