Disclaimer: I don't own the Enterprise but I do own a Voyager model!
Author's Note: I have now figured out the time-setting of this story. It is set in the early part of Next Generation's fourth season, before "Final Mission." If Wes Crusher is at the helm, it sort of has to be then…
A Small Request: Do not run away screaming, Wesley-Haters (that's in capital letters, people!), he's just here to fly the ship…and maybe to make a few stupid comments later. Much later.
Chapter Three: Pirates With Phasers
Riker bit back several unkind words as the Enterprise bucked like a wild horse again, nearly throwing him from his seat. The ensigns manning the science stations on the back wall were not nearly so lucky, and were scattered across the bridge like blown chaff in a tornado.
"Report!" he called over the crashes and the red-alert klaxon. He toyed with the idea of adding, "and someone shut that damn siren off," but decided against it. That was captain's prerogative.
"Shields at 53 percent," Worf rumbled furiously, doggedly hanging on to his console. "Unidentified vessel coming about."
"Helm, initiate evasive maneuvers," the captain instructed calmly. "Pattern theta six-eight. Data, find out who's attacking us!" His last words were cut off by another shot from their attackers, slamming into their weakened shields and packing more of a punch than most phasers.
The Enterprise whined furiously as she dodged through space, struggling to get away from the pounding fire. The frequency of the impacts decreased noticeably, a testament to Wesley Crusher's expertise.
"Captain," Data said implacably, spinning in his chair, "We have come under attack by an Orion cargo transport, circa 2356; Starfleet designation Sprinter-class, Orion designation unknown."
"Orions," Riker muttered. "Pirates. Those ships are all engines and weapons; made for quick deliveries—or quick raids."
Data ignored Riker's side comments. "Captain, analysis of the vessel and comparison with Enterprise's database indicates that this is Alameda."
The captain and the entire bridge crew jerked to attention. "Data, are you sure?" Picard asked urgently.
The android blinked at him. "Within a 96.339 margin of error, taking into account discrepancies between-"
"All right, that's good enough," he said cutting off Data's lecture. "Mr. Worf, prepare to fire phasers. Target their weapons and engines"
"Phasers locked," Worf said, managing to convey with only two words that they'd been locked for a good long time now.
Before the captain could order the attack, Alameda struck their weakened shields hard. Any further orders were lost in the cacophony of a starship under fire, along the lines of Kapow! Crash! Red-alert siren! Boom! Screech! Times ten.
"Mr. Worf, fire at will!" Captain Picard shouted over the noise, stubbornly refusing to be thrown from his chair.
"Aye, sir!" the Klingon growled back, also remaining standing. Mere moments later, bright red energy stabbed out from the phaser banks mounted on the saucer section's hull, biting into Alameda with a vengeance. The slim ship reeled back as the shots connected, burning through Alameda's own weapons banks.
Enterprise swooped closer as Ensign Crusher regained his seat. Carefully, they approached the momentarily crippled ship. Sparks were flying from the phaser banks mounted on the pirate ship's hull, burning fleetingly even in the void of space. From the scene on the viewscreen, it seemed that the power had gone out on the other vessel, for all ports and running lights were dark.
"Mr. Worf, target engines and shield generators," Riker ordered quickly.
As they hovered within kilometers of the pirate ship, it suddenly sparked to life again, engines powering up and photon torpedo launchers glowing fiercely.
"Fire!" Riker ordered as fast as he could.
The two ships fired on each other with full power at point-blank range. For an instant, space changed from star-studded black to the orange, yellow, red, and every color in between of some very large explosions.
"Mr. Worf, knock out those photon launchers," Picard said hurriedly. "Prepare a tractor beam. Ensign Crusher, back us away, but keep us within tractor range."
"Aye, sir," they both said, the Klingon's bass far eclipsing the younger ensign's. A quick pattern of photon torpedoes, the big guns of the twenty-fourth century, darted out from the Enterprise's stardrive section at near-lightspeed. The first to reach Alameda's admittedly still-close shields impacted on their defenses, not even reaching the iridescent pale green hull, but the two that followed directly on its heels soared through the just-developed hole in Alameda's shields and punched into the pirates' remaining weapons systems with the force of an antimatter explosion, which it was.
The rogue ship was hammered back through space, tumbling wildly. It regained its equilibrium with difficulty and limped away at mid-range warp without even bothering to take potshots at the bigger ship behind it.
About to continue issuing orders to pursue and capture, Captain Picard was interrupted by a call from Engineering.
"Engineering to bridge," Geordi La Forge's voice came over the intercom. "Whatever you're planning up there, you'd better not. The magnetic constrictor coils have locked down; if we don't stop overtaxing them now, we'll have a core breach on our hands, and there'll be nothing I can do about it."
"Can we spare the energy for a tractor beam?" the captain asked hurriedly.
"Captain, right now we can barely spare energy for the lights. My professional advice is to shut off all non-emergency systems until we can get the core back in shape."
"Mr. La Forge, we are in the middle of a battle—"
"Sir, the core's about to go critical!"
With the threat of a warp core breach on his hands, there was only one thing the captain of any decent ship could do—take his engineer's advice. Captain Picard gritted his teeth and gave the order. "Mr. La Forge, shut down all non-essential systems and get to work on that core."
"Right away, sir," Geordi said with a subtle sigh of relief. "Engineering out."
Picard permitted himself one small sigh as the viewscreen clicked off and the lights dimmed abruptly.
"Damn," Riker said with feeling.
"Indeed," Picard said drolly. He rose, automatically tugged his uniform top down, and said, "Number One, you have the bridge…or what's left of it," he added with unusual gallows humor. The bridge really was a mess, with various consoles burnt out and the debris from their explosions scattered across the floor. In the reduced lights, it resembled a junkyard more than the flagship of Starfleet.
"Aye, sir," the first officer said to the captain's back as he vanished into his ready room. He waited until the doors had closed to add, "But what am I supposed to do with it?"
Down in Main Engineering, Geordi La Forge rested his head against an unresponsive computer panel in brief annoyance. With a sigh, he looked up and began distributing repair teams left, right, and center.
It had taken fifteen minutes, every engineer in Engineering, and a lot of sweat and swearing to stabilize the warp core. Currently, the main core was in no danger of collapsing, but the rest of the ship had taken a hard pounding too. Non-essential personnel swarmed all over the Enterprise like ants in a disturbed anthill, repairing, rerouting, and restoring the Galaxy-class starship to its normal pristine state.
As he joined his engineering crew in fine-tuning the patch job on the warp core, the lights suddenly plunged to complete blackness. Engineering suddenly seemed like a haunted tomb with the sullenly pulsing blue core as the only illumination. Five seconds later, they came back on as if nothing had happened.
"What the hell was that?" Geordi yelled from the catwalk above the lower level. He glanced around, leaning over the railing at quite a reckless angle. Spotting a typically nervous Reginald Barclay, he shouted, "Reg, get on the lighting; we can't fix this bucket if we can't see!"
"Ye-ye-yes, sir," the hapless engineer stuttered, and scuttled away, dodging a team of yellow-shirted engineers, to work on the lights, which were relatively low priority and even lower stress, a perfect job for insecure Reg Barclay.
"We took a pretty thorough beating, Captain," he said hours later at a senior staff briefing. "Alameda may be smaller than us, but she's definitely up to our level on offensive technologies."
"How long until the ship is fully operational again?" the captain demanded in a no-nonsense fashion.
"Two days, assuming Alameda doesn't come back to finish us off," the Chief Engineer estimated.
"Make it so," Picard said reflexively. "Status reports, everyone."
"We took heavy casualties," Doctor Crusher reported. "Mostly bumps and bruises from being tossed around, though we did have several more serious injuries. Most of the injured have been released, although my staff is monitoring a few who need further observation."
"Fatalities?" the captain asked.
"Not yet, but there's one or two crewmen who sustained serious injury, and I'm afraid the prognosis isn't good."
"Understood. Any further reports?"
"Weapons will be back on-line with the next four hours," Worf rumbled.
"Very good. Counselor, what is the crew's morale as you perceive it?"
"Understandably, slightly discouraged at our near-defeat. However, the general mood seems unaffected. They now have a reason besides their orders to catch up to the pirate ship," the half-Betazoid said clearly. "They will do their duty, Captain."
"Excellent. Mr. La Forge, keep me posted on your status. Dismissed."
The senior staff rose almost as one and filed out through two different doors, some to the bridge, others, like Geordi and Dr. Crusher, to their stations at lower decks.
Captain Picard remained seated at the head of the table for a brief moment, looking out at the fluxing stars before rising and pacing slightly; six steps to the left, six to the right, brooding over the events of the last two days. He had just come to the conclusion that they had been caught off guard and would have to take steps to reconcile that when the overhead lights blinked out decisively.
He looked up, annoyed. "Computer, lights on."
A bleeping sound emanated from the ceiling, but no burst of illumination broke the darkness. The captain sighed, exasperated, and, by the light of the warped stars, made his way back onto the bridge.