Tension hung like a taut blanket in the air. It lingered and then people began to move, tentatively at first, and then with increasing uncertainty when Raynes did not respond. Hudson studied him carefully, concern creasing her elfin features, and then relaxed slightly. She recognized his expression. He was not frozen in decision. Instead, his mind was working, furiously, trying to plot out their next moves.
Her eyes shifted from his face, darting from the scene on the wraparound viewscreen and then the system indicators on her panel. He needed to make a decision soon, but she dared not interrupt him.
His eyes moved toward her and focused, locking with her gaze for a moment. He did not smile, but his eyes shone with firm decision.
“Helm,” he called to her. “Prepare to bring us about to zero-zero-four mark six. Then prepare to execute evasive maneuver Omega Eight on my mark.”
Hudson nodded, turning back to the helm controls.
“Tactical,” Raynes called out. “Load all aft torpedo bays. Arm them for proximity detonation.”
“Yes, sir,” came Beart’s response.
“Ensign,” he spoke now to Chautran, who manned the primary Science station. “I need you to find me a hole . . . a space somewhere ahead where we can safely jump to slipstream.”
Chautran swallowed hard, betraying her nervousness. “Aye, Captain.”
Raynes give her a quick, reassuring smile. It seemed to calm her. She turned and began to reconfigure the forward scanners.
Raynes tapped the intercom.
“Engineering,” he said, pausing until he received an acknowledgement from the other end.
“Here, Captain,” Wade’s voice issued from the speaker.
“I’m going to need you to divert power to the aft shields,” he told the Engineering chief. “But reserve enough to fire up the slipstream cores. We’re going to be cutting it close, I suspect.”
There was a pause before Wade answered him. “Yes, sir.”
Raynes almost grinned at his mental image of the Chief Engineer’s scowling grimace.
“Ensign,” he spoke to Chautran while studying the readouts on his console. “Put the aft sensor readings up on the center screen,” he said. “I want to see where they are.”
“Aye, sir.”
The star field displayed on the section of the wraparound screen directly ahead of him faded to pale gray, and then was replaced by a computer-rendered view of the three enemy vessels closing on them in their wake.
“Helm,” he called to Hudson. “We’re going to have to make a run for it. Divert power from all non-essential systems, if you have to, to get maximum speed—except for from the cores.”
“Yes, sir,” she acknowledged his order, her hands flying lightly across the surface of her console.
“Captain,” Lau called out. “They’re changing course.”
Raynes’ eyes turned toward the screen.
The formation of the pursuing vessels widened into a broader triangle.
They’re going to try to bracket us in, Raynes concluded. Just as I thought.
“Do you have that hole for me yet, Ensign?”
Although he was not looking directly at her, his peripheral vision revealed tense expression.
“Not yet, sir,” she said.
“Keeping working it,” Raynes responded calmly. “You’ll find it.”
Her dark, shoulder-length hair bobbed along the lines of her shoulder as she worked at her console. For an instant, Raynes felt a hollow ache of nostalgia.
I was that young once.
It was something he found he was having to remind himself of more often of late. Experienced officers with battle experience were in short supply.
Good thing, too, he mused with just a hint of sour recognition, or I never would have been given this command.
That was not strictly true, he knew, for his historical standing held some cachet. Under other circumstances, though, he knew that he probably would have been granted a more honorary post, probably placed in in command of a survey or pure science vessel.
Not that that would have been all that bad, he admitted. Better than watching young officers die.
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