“Shields holding,” Commander Milton Ford reported as he worked the operations console, a direct line to engineering in his earpiece, among others. The USS Justice stood sentinel against the colony as the attack from the group of civilian ships began. Defiant-class Relentless slipped around the battle, targeting points and pieces with care and fury. The larger Pathfinder-class Perseverance used her size to support the Yorktown-class beast, hitting harder where Relentless couldn’t quite reach. In the center, Captain Helena Dread, watching the tactical threat screens, her hands curled tightly on the arms of the center chair.
She asked her chief tactical officer, “De La Fontaine, where’s the rest of the party?” The rumor was of swarms. So far, it had come up without substance. She wasn’t willing to dismiss it entirely out of hand. The theory had come from the chief tactical and security officer on the Relentless, and Dread’s cursory read of Lieutenant Charlotte Pelletier’s dossier gave her reason enough to trust the Frenchwoman’s gut. Pelletier’s contemporary on Justice had hard agreed the theory and added a few concerns to the list. Watching the two of them work over comms was a sight. Kondo, the quiet, thoughtful, and tactical, and Pelletier, the obtuse sharp object, just looking to take a stab or a slice.
Kondo kept his eyes on his station as he locked, targeted, and fired the phasers of Justice, moving his hands with the precision of someone skilled in handling the sharpest blades. His blades were phasers at maximum power, and hotter than the hells of old. “We’re detecting movement at the far ends of the sector. They thought we’d come to them. I think they’re trying to decide.” Another barrage of phaser fire tore into a smaller ship, ripping it apart.
Milton kept his eyes on his screens, hands working the console with muscle memory. “Our shields are holding. Relentless is at 90%, Perseverance at 90%.”
Dread leaned forward in the chair, wondering how long she would have to wait for whatever the next thing was, or where it was going to come from. Selene Voss had not threatened to collect from the list. She had named them and claimed them. Then, a shout came from tactical, but it wasn’t De La Fontaine. A junior officer who went silent on a death glare from the chief tactical. Dread asked, “Report.”
Kondo’s voice was even, steady, and did not bend. “We’re picking up a mass coming in from either side. Shuttles, small transports, hardened shells, and more. Computer counting 200 on one end and 250 on the other. All inbound.”
Dread felt her collar heat and sweat form on the nape. That was a lot of small ships, she thought. Built to swarm. Built to break them apart when they were apart. But they weren’t. Looks like their new friends had decided to attempt to break them together. She answered, “Load torpedo bays and get your tactical team on firing solutions. Advise Perseverance to do the same. Relentless holds on phasers only. Ford, I need the Commodore on the bridge.” She didn’t wait for him to repeat the order back, turning to her Chief Security Officer. “Lieutenant Pearce, I need all security officers at their muster stations. Mobilize the overnight shift and get them in place. Have auxiliary officers notified to have ready access to armory stations.” Dread appreciated that Lieutenant Seraphina Pearce had only a flash of confusion across her face before the regular, resolute, and focused face snapped back into place.
The door to the bridge swung open, and the call, “Commodore on the bridge,” went out and Commodore Geroninmo Fontana said, ‘at ease’ with his eyes, and the crew that had moved to stand slid back to duty.
He asked, “Captain Dread, status.” She gave him the brief details as the swarms grew closer. He nodded, “You need an extra hand?”
She shook her head, standing up and shifting away from the center chair. “I need you in the center chair, sir.” Dread didn’t use his name. They were on the bridge of a Yorktown-class powerhouse. You don’t casually call your commodore by your first name on a ship with 3,000 souls. Dread, ever the rebel, refused to summit that mountain of resistance. “I think they mean to force a way onto Justice. I’d rather have a phaser in my hand and throw them out an airlock or two.”
Fontana gave her a quiet, reproachful look. “Metaphorically.”
Helena Dread, ever the rebel, lied. “Metaphorically.”
Geronimo allowed the glance of a smirk to tug at the corner of his lips, but pulled it back, cementing the steel-locked face he’d walked onto the bridge with. “We’ll secure the bridge as a precaution. Keep in touch, Captain Dread.”
Pearce handed her station to her deputy chief and, along with Dread and a gathering of other officers, stepped into the turbolift. The door closed. Fontana made the order as the swarming ships came into range. “Secure all stations on the bridge. Engage lock, secure and lock-out procedures. Engage bridge protection measures.” Hands ran across consoles while tactical and helm continued to keep Justice in the fight, peeling off the larger ships as the swarming group’s range plummeted.
Fontana sat in the center chair, strapping on his safety restraint. “Let’s see what she’s got. Mr. De La Fontaine? Let’s throw some punches.”
