DISCLAIMER: Star Trek and all related characters are the property of Paramount Pictures, Inc and CBS-Paramount Television. No copyright infringement is intended. This work of fiction is for entertainment purposes only and no money has changed hands. The original characters and events are the sole property of the author and may not be used without permission.
STAR TREK:
THE CAVALIER INCIDENT
By Darrin Colbourne
Lieutenant Gwendolyn Flores decided to welcome Montoya back before getting ready for the Evening Watch, so she was waiting on the Hangar Deck when Rider One was recovered. It didn't take long for the Flight Deck to repressurize and for the access hatch between the decks to open, so Flores walked through and went over to the Cavalier as Silas and Montoya climbed out. "So, how was your joyride?" She asked with a grin when they had their helmets off.
Montoya gave her a scolding look. "It wasn't a joyride." She said.
"Actually Isabel," Silas said, "in military terms, that pretty much was a joyride." She smiled and turned to Flores. "Hey, Wendy."
"Hey, Brigid."
"We've got some great pictures for you. Just have to get 'em downloaded from the ship's databanks. I'll see you later, Smart Girl." She offered Montoya one more smile, then moved off to talk to her Plane Captain.
Meanwhile, Flores followed along as Montoya went through to the Hangar Deck on her way to the squadron locker rooms. "I like her," Flores said, "and she likes you. I can tell."
"Stop…" Montoya said, a warning tone in her voice.
"No, really. You just have that way about you. It's that whole 'Damsel in Distress' thing you do."
"I do not do any 'Damsel in Distress' thing!"
"Please, Belle. Tell it to someone who hasn't been your best friend since forever. You turn it on and off at will. Like yesterday, you were all 'Oh, look at Shiva Three! It's sooo beautiful and sooo deadly! Won't someone help me explore it?', then Brigid came up and rode you down there in her Faster-Than-Light white horse."
"Look, do you want to know what we saw down there or not?"
"I know exactly what you saw. Whales."
"You were right about those shadows."
"Of course I was right. The nice thing about exobiology is that under the right conditions there's nothing much 'exo' about it. So, give me details."
"You'll be able to see them for yourself. Brigid is going to train us both how to work the sensors in the Cavaliers so that we can do a more thorough survey."
Flores's mood darkened immediately. "Goody. More training."
"Useful training. Training that we can apply to our work and that isn't just about being good little Starfleet Officers."
"Maybe, but we also have more of the other kind of training to go through."
"What do you mean?"
"Guess what The Powers That Be decided while you were gone."
Montoya hadn't seen many men as large and well-built as Gunnery Sergeant Tom Larkin outside of a professional wrestling league or an American Football team. He measured at least 6-foot-5, had tree trunks for arms and impossibly broad shoulders. His sandy hair was trimmed down to the "high-and-tight" style buzz that was regulation for Starfleet Landers, and serious blue eyes stared out from a face that might have been chiseled for him by a Renaissance sculptor. His choice of workout clothes consisted of green fatigue pants, sneakers and a black t-shirt that sported the Landing Force silver Star-Globe-and-Anchor emblem on the chest. Flores had muttered a soft "Damn!" when the Science Department's officers reported for their first Unarmed Combat training session and she noticed how well the t-shirt showed off Larkin's torso.
The training session was being held in the ship's small exercise room on the Life Support Deck. Any exercise equipment that could be moved had been taken out to make room for lessons. The Science officers were in workout clothes as well, but Montoya thought it was telling that no one had chosen to wear Starfleet-issue ones, opting instead for items that ranged from numbered jerseys similar to those worn by the pros to sweats sold by their respective universities.
When he was sure everyone had arrived, Larkin began the session. "Let's start with a simple question: How many of you think you know what we mean when we talk about Unarmed Combat?" As he expected, everyone raised their hands as soon as he asked. "Commander, why don't you tell us what you think we mean?"
Everyone lowered their hands and Montoya answered. "It means fighting without weapons. Martial Arts. You're going to teach us something like Karate or Judo, right?"
Larkin offered a small smile. "That's about what I figured. No, Commander, I'm not going to teach you anything like Karate or Judo, because Unarmed Combat is not a martial art. It's not an art at all."
"What is it, then?"
"A mindset. You see, the problem with the martial arts that most people are familiar with is that they're heavy with tradition and ritual, they emphasize defense over offense and style over purpose, they're more useful for exhibition than actual combat and they all make the same erroneous assumptions about fighting hand-to-hand, such as the one where you expect your opponent to actually face off against you and follow the same rules, as opposed to just coming up on you when you least expect it and dusting you."
"All right, but if they do actually face off against you wouldn't it be better to concentrate on defending yourself? Isn't the best offense supposed to be a good defense?"
"Only if you ignore a basic fact of history: Nobody ever won a war by staying on defense. And Unarmed Combat is about fighting a war. It's a war that usually only involves you and one other person, but it's a war nonetheless, and the purpose of war is to do as much violence as necessary to your opponent to make sure he's no longer a threat."
Montoya frowned a little at that. "I suppose you mean killing him?"
Larkin nodded. "That's often the amount of violence necessary, but it's sufficient if, when the smoke clears, you're still standing and he can't get back up."
Montoya considered that for a moment, then shook her head. "I can't help but wonder if any of this is really necessary."
"The way I understand it, Commander, having the Klingons parked next to us in orbit makes it necessary."
"Well, isn't it possible that the Klingons' intentions are what they say they are?"
"Anything's possible. They could be here just to observe, or to destroy the ship, or to capture it. What would you do if they picked option three?"
"Well, how likely is option three? Enterprise is bristling with weapons and overflowing with people who know how to use them! And what reason could they have for wanting to capture the ship in the first place?"
Larkin shrugged. "Don't know, but like I said, anything's possible."
Montoya and Larkin regarded each other for a few moments, then Montoya began to pace. "Look, Sergeant, I understand what you're trying to do," she said, "and I can appreciate Captain Pike's and Commander McDonald's reasons for having you do it, but you'll have to forgive me if I find it ludicrous that we should all learn how to kill with our bare hands just because the Klingons are going out of their way to annoy us."
Another pause, then Larkin cocked an eyebrow at Montoya. "That so? In that case, maybe we need to illustrate the problem for you. Just out of curiosity, have you ever taken a self-defense course, or karate? Something like that?"
"A self-defense course, yes."
"Okay. Why don't you show me what you know? The rest of you might want to step back and give us some room."
Montoya turned to the others. "It's okay." She said when she saw them hesitate. She turned back to face Larkin when they moved, but instead of Larkin all she saw was a massive blur heading toward her. Part of the blur streaked toward her neck and slammed into it, then suddenly the room was spinning, then she landed hard on her back. She barely registered the pain of the impact because she was too busy fighting for breath. By the time she could focus enough to realize what was happening there was little she could do about it. Larkin had a death grip on her neck with his right hand, had her right hand pinned to the mat with his left hand and he was sitting with most of his weight on her right leg, and the shock and pain and the lack of air kept her from focusing enough to use her free limbs effectively, so she flailed them near Larkin's body as best she could, hoping against hope that she'd hurt him enough to make him relax his grip. Larkin did relax, but not until she started to go limp. He relaxed his grip on her neck and let her catch her breath, but kept her pinned down as he spoke.
"I'm gonna be honest with you, Commander. The only reason I didn't snap your neck just now is that nobody on this ship wants to do the paperwork necessary to report a training mishap. It's a good thing for you that I'm not a Klingon, because a Klingon would have no such compunction. They enjoy killing things with their bare hands. They do it for exercise. They do it for fun. And if there's paperwork involved? They love it. Gives 'em a chance to brag." With that he rose and let her slide out from under him. The look of indignation she hit him with was priceless.
He turned to Flores. "You're the biologist, right?" She nodded. "Then while you're helping Commander Montoya up why don't you explain to her what we're dealing with in terms she can understand?"
Flores shot him an incredulous look, then concentrated on Montoya. She helped her friend up to a sitting position and sat next to her while she talked. "Klingons are what Humans would be if you moved Earth just a shade outside of its Goldilocks Zone. Heavier gravity, a more exotic mix of atmospheric gases and heartier organisms conspired to create a wilder ecosystem than what we're used to. Everything on Kronos evolved to be bigger and meaner, including the higher primates. Early Human Beings were never able to compete physically with the larger predators on Earth without using tools, but Early Klingons were big enough and strong enough to hunt most of the other animals on their planet with their bare hands, and even as they evolved into tool-using animals they tried their best to hold onto the traits that made their ancestors the kings of the primitive jungle. They don't try to suppress their violent urges the way we do. To them it's more important to find ways to apply violence intelligently. And all that leaves you with Modern Klingon, a primate with the intelligence of Homo Sapiens and the build and aggressive tendencies of the Great Apes, sort of a…shaved-down, Warp-capable Sasquatch." She gave Larkin a quick glance before finishing her lecture. "And he's right. If a shaved-down, Warp-capable Sasquatch gets it into his head to kill you with his bare hands, you're not gonna stop him with the stuff you learned in a self-defense class."
Montoya offered Larkin one more withering glare as Flores helped her to her feet. He simply gave her a small smile in response, then continued the class. "I hope everyone was paying attention to the Lieutenant because everything she said was true and it will make what I show you here over the next few days all the more useful. Klingons are bigger, stronger and meaner than any human you'll ever meet, but the things they have in common with us are things you can exploit when fighting them…"
Enterprise's Shooting Range was located near the Armory and could accommodate four shooters at a time. Major Wayne Song had decided to handle the Science Department's Small Arms training himself and his first four students were Montoya, Flores, Ben Goren and Jim Greenfield. He chose to start them out on Childress particle weapons because he considered them the perfect firearms for beginners. "There is absolutely no recoil," he explained, "and each particle will burn a hole in the air for the next particle, and as they travel at near light-speed the effect of gravity on the stream is almost nil, so you will not have to correct for bounce, drag, wind or anything else associated with other weapons. It is almost a foregone conclusion that you will hit what you aim at, so the onus is entirely on you to aim smartly. I'm gonna show you how to do that momentarily, but first I want to familiarize you with the weapon. Pick up the one in front of you."
On the tabletop in front of each of the trainees was a Childress pistol and two power packs. Each of them picked up the weapon. As when she first encountered it, Montoya was struck by how light the large, blocky hand-held weapon seemed.
"If you look on the right side of the handle you will see two contacts," Song continued, "one marked 'S' and one 'M'."
"S and M," Flores whispered to Montoya. "Kinky!"
"Shush!" Montoya whispered back.
"Relax," Song said to her, "someone always says it. Of course, that someone is always wrong because in this case the 'S' stands for 'Safety' and the 'M' stands for 'Mode.' Their functions will become clear when you power up the weapons. Go ahead and put a power pack in now." The Science Officers complied. "With the pack in you should now be seeing indicator lights above each of the contacts. The green indicator above the S-contact means the weapon is now in Safe Mode, which means you can squeeze the trigger, drop the thing, kick it, throw it at your best friend or what have you and it will not fire. This is the weapon's default setting. To make it a useful killing tool you must depress the S-contact and switch the indicator from green to red, which you will do when I give you the command 'Safeties Off.'" A pause. "Safeties Off!" Everyone pressed their S-contacts and watched the indicator light switch color.
"If you see red," Song continued, "you are now holding a live weapon, and you can now use the M-contact to select the mode-of-fire. Right now the indicator should be yellow, which means the weapon is in Semi-Automatic Mode. This means that when you squeeze the trigger the weapon will emit a stream of high-energy particles for a duration of one second. There is enough power and material in the pack for you to do this thirty times. That's thirty shots in Plain English. If you press the M-contact you will switch the indicator from yellow to red. Press the contact." A pause while the class complied. "The weapon is now in Full-Automatic Mode, which means when you squeeze the trigger the weapon will fire a continuous stream of particles until you ease off or until the pack is depleted, which will happen thirty seconds after you start firing. Questions so far?" There were none. "Safeties On." Everyone put their weapons back in Safe Mode.
"Now we can talk about aiming. You're essentially going to make your body into a bipod for the weapon. Your accuracy will be determined by your stance. We'll start with a two-handed stance. You want to stand up straight with your legs slightly apart. That's it. Now extend your weapon toward your target and use your free hand to support your gun hand. Here you'll want to turn your support side slightly toward the target. Good, good. Now, sight down the barrel, and by that I mean center the shooting end of the weapon on the part of the target you want to hit, which in this case is going to be the bull's-eye in the head. Everybody got that?" The officers nodded. "Remember how you're standing right now. When I say 'Aim' you will assume this stance, line up on the target and take a deep breath. When I say 'Fire' you will squeeze the trigger twice. Now bring your weapon up above your shoulder." Everyone complied. "This is the stance you'll take when I say 'Ready'. Any questions?" There were none. "Safeties off, Semi-auto." Song paused and backed off a little as everyone set their weapons. When he saw they were ready for him, Song put on his command voice:
"Ready! Ai-m! Fire!"
The sound of a Childress particle shot was that of a distant peal of thunder. The eight thunderclaps that echoed in the Shooting Range, along with the flashes of white light that indicated the shots' impacts on the far wall, left Montoya with the instinctual desire to seek shelter from the approaching storm. The gut reaction lasted only a second, long enough for Song to approach a nearby control panel and press a contact. The four targets slid on rails until they were close to their shooters. Song walked along behind the science officers, checking the targets by looking over their shoulders. Everyone had put their shots through the bull's-eye.
Song smiled. "There. That wasn't so hard, was it?"
Montoya grimaced as she lowered her weapon and stared the still-smoldering hole in the target silhouette's head. It hadn't been hard at all, and she found it distressing that it might be so easy to kill a living being. She wanted to voice that to Song, but her experience in Unarmed Combat training helped her to hold her tongue.
Flores had never been that easily cowed. She turned to Song. "What if the target doesn't have a head?"
"Beg pardon?" Song said.
Flores indicated the targets. "These are all humanoid torsos. I suppose it's useful to learn how to shoot humanoids properly with these things, but what if we come up against something with no head or vital organs?"
"What on Earth would have no head and no vital organs?"
"Well, that's kinda my point. We're not on Earth. What if you were down on Shiva Three with no other weapon but this and you encountered…I dunno, a land jellyfish or something."
Song winced. "A land jellyfish?"
The others chuckled as Flores shrugged. "Okay, it's not a real jellyfish, but something like it that can survive on the planet's marshy surface. Look, all I'm saying is that a jellyfish doesn't have a head, or vital organs or much of a nervous system. It's just a really big mass of really small things that work together to get by, and if you ever had to face one of them with just this thing you'd be screwed, because it wouldn't even notice all the particles you shoot through it. So what do you do?"
The others looked at Song as he thought about it for a moment. "Do you have a radio?" He asked Flores.
"Would that matter?"
"Sure, because if you have a radio you can holster the Childress, call the ship, have it rain fire down on the thing and run like hell before Enterprise's particle shots hit. It's called 'Fire Support'. I never said these weapons were the right tool for every situation, Lieutenant. We're just more concerned with the very real Klingons sharing an orbit with us, and fortunately for us they do have heads, vital organs and nervous systems, so why don't we continue training as if we'll be facing them and worry about land jellyfish when we see them, Okay?"
Flores turned back to her target. "It was just a question…"
Song ignored her and went back over to the control panel, deciding to move on. "Okay, let's recycle these targets and try shooting one-handed…"
Lieutenant Commander Peter Shanahan, Brigid Silas's Scanner Officer, was handling Montoya and Flores's training in the Cavalier's sensor systems. The four of them were on the Hangar Deck. Silas and Montoya were in the cockpit of Silas's Cavalier, while Shanahan and Flores were standing on ladders on either side. The cockpit was open and the controls were operating on auxiliary power so that Shanahan could talk Montoya through tracking drills. "Remember that the camera's automatic control systems are doing most of the work for you," he said, "so it's already compensating for the target's speed and maneuverability as you work the controller. All you really want to do is tell it what to look for."
Montoya's attention was fixed on the main multi-function display as she controlled the ship's optical system by feel. She was using the joystick controller and the thumb-operated trackball on top to keep a set of crosshairs centered on a bright target on a low-light moving image.
"That's it." Shanahan said. "You've got it right in your sights. Now pull the trigger."
Montoya complied, squeezing the trigger on the joystick. The optical system began to follow the target on its own.
"Now you can try to match the image in the database. Use the trackball to highlight 'Ident' on the sidebar menu, select it with the trigger, and if the computer has info on it you'll see it on the right-side display."
Montoya complied. She heard the same tone that sounded when they'd first identified the Martok. When she checked the proper display this time she saw that the computer had identified a Klingon Raptor.
"Surprise," she said, "it's a Klingon."
Shanahan chuckled. "I figured that sim would come in handy. Obviously, you're not going to have any of Shiva Three's lifeforms in the database…"
"Except the whales." Silas noted.
"…except the whales, but if the Klingons are going to keep hanging around while we do our recon, being able to ID them will be a useful skill."
Montoya let go of the joystick and settled back in her seat. She let out a soft sigh as she stared at the Raptor information.
"I know that sigh…" Silas said.
"So do I." Flores said.
Montoya turned to Flores. "If we were smart, instead of practicing how to identify Klingons and shoot Klingons and break Klingon necks we would simply ask if they mean what they say about being here to help us."
Silas couldn't let that one slide. "We're plenty smart. We practice all that because we're smart enough to remember that Klingons often don't mean what they say."
"I think it's an encouraging sign that they've honored the cease-fire for ten years."
"All that did was give them ten years to build up weapons for the day the intend to break it."
"How can you be sure they're intent on breaking it?"
"Because wars end in victory, not cease-fires. That's what Klingons believe."
"I think there are too many Humans with the same pig-headed notion."
"Belle, Brigid," Flores said, "play nice or I'll tell Number One on you."
"I'm not the one who sees Klingons under every bed!" Montoya said.
"And I'm not the one who thinks the Klingons warped all the way out here just to sing Cumbaya with us!" Silas said.
"Brigid, the only reason Humans and Klingons are enemies is because we let ourselves get caught up in the Reunification War. The Romulans used the Klingons against the Vulcans and the Vulcans used us to counter the Klingons. We were pawns that might never have encountered each other in battle if it weren't for another race's perennial hissy-fit over which thousand-year-dead guru they should follow."
"Maybe, but the Klingons wouldn't have gotten involved at all if they didn't see some kind of benefit in pitching in with the Romulans, and part of that benefit is any spoils they can get from us. Those potential gains didn't go away just because all the Pointy-Ears decided to take an extended break. We know that and so do the Klingons, and eventually they're going to come after those spoils, Romulans or no Romulans."
"Well, has anyone ever bothered to ask what we might give the Klingons to keep them from attacking?"
"Oh, of all the stupid…"
"It's a valid question, Commander."
Everyone turned to see Captain Pike standing near the craft. He came closer as he continued. "And the answer is 'Yes', but the big brains all got together afterward and decided that for what the Klingons really want, it would be more cost-effective to simply fight them to the bitter end. Bean-counters aren't usually that bright, but there you are." He turned to Silas. "Would you give me a moment alone with Commander Montoya?"
Silas nodded, then turned to the others. "Pete, Wendy, come on. Let's let these two talk." She climbed out of the cockpit and let Shanahan help her down, then the three of them moved off toward where a plane crew was working on a transport. Flores gave Montoya a small smile and wave as they departed.
"How do you do that?" Montoya asked as she watched them.
Pike smiled. "Rank hath its privileges." He climbed up the ladder Flores was standing on and peered into the cockpit. His attention was on the pilot's station. "I've always wanted to try one of these."
"You've never flown a Cavalier before?"
"Not once. They didn't come into service until after I got on the Command Track, and I never was a VTOL pilot."
"I would think the principles would be the same for every spacecraft."
"The principles are the same, but each ship applies them differently, and sometimes the differences can be radical. It takes a special kind of crazy to fly this thing." He smiled. "I was only the standard kind of crazy." He waited until Montoya smiled back, then got serious. "So what was that all about?"
Montoya frowned. "Apparently I'm being hopelessly naïve about the Klingons."
"In what way?"
"I think it would make sense to see if they really are here to help us conduct our survey."
"And if they are?"
"It was something Wendy said about them earlier: We might not be able to put an Away team on Shiva Three, but the Klingons might. If we could get them to lend us some people, we could equip them with tri-corders and they could do a closer inspection than we can with our smallcraft. They might thrive on land that hostile, where we'd just be overwhelmed by it." When Pike turned away to think about it, her heart sank. "I suppose you'll chew my head off as well."
"Not necessarily." Pike said as he turned back. "Frankly, that's not a bad idea. Every one of them that we could get on the mission is one we can account for and deprive their captain of at the same time. It'd be great if we could get them to commit their detachment of Guardsmen, and all their Raptors…"
"That's not what I meant."
"I know it's not, but that's the way I have to look at it."
"Because they're Klingons and therefore automatically evil."
"Not automatically, but they do have the potential for great evil. All I'm interested in is reducing that potential."
"So simply trusting them is out of the question?"
"There's an old saying: Trust, but Verify. I'll trust them when I know for sure I have the upper hand."
"Well, I don't think I'll need half their crew. Just a few people to carry tri-corders."
"In that case, let me do the negotiating. You take what you need and we'll find something creative to do with the rest of them."
"Maybe we should just forget the whole thing."
Pike shook his head. "I said it was a good idea, Montoya." He climbed down off the ladder. "Look, if you decide to go ahead with it let me know and I'll get in touch with Koloth." With that he turned away and headed for the turbolift.
"I still can't believe you actually wanted to bring the Klingons in on the mission!" Silas said. She and Montoya were "Feet Hot" again over Shiva Three and descending toward their assigned search area. In the few days following their initial sighting of the whales, Silas and her operations team had drafted a proper flight schedule and mission plan for observing the planet's sea life.
"Let it go, Brigid," Montoya said. "I didn't actually go through with it."
"I'm still stuck on the fact that you even considered it. What were you thinking?"
"It seemed like a good idea at the time. Captain Pike even said so."
"Don't fool yourself, Smart Girl. I'm sure he was just being polite."
"Well, wouldn't it be better to have at least some Klingons working for us so we can keep an eye on them?"
"No, it's better if they all stay in their ship, so that if we need to deal with them…"
A familiar tone interrupted Silas. This time Montoya recognized it as the Scanner Intercept Warning alarm. She looked for the proper contact on the left side panel and turned it off, then looked at her displays. "Sorry, but they're not cooperating. A Raptor just entered the atmosphere. It must have followed us down and locked onto us as soon as it came out of 'blackout.'"
"Of course it did." Silas muttered. "Where is it now?"
"Um…okay, it's at zero-nine-three degrees and about 15,000 feet above us." Just then the intercept warning sounded again. "And it's tracking us again."
Montoya turned off the alarm just in time to hear Silas mutter, "Son of a…" then Silas rocked the ship back and forth.
"He's coming down on our right." Montoya said. Seconds later the Raptor appeared next to them, matching their angle of descent and speed. Montoya and Silas looked over in time to see the Klingon pilot wave.
Montoya waved, but couldn't see Silas seething at the enemy pilot. A quick glance at the Raptor's markings told her that it was the same ship that accosted them when they first descended on Shiva. Knowing that made her decision easier. The Klingon was waiting for her to wave back. Instead she brought her hand up in a sharp salute. As she brought the hand down and returned it to the controller, she said softly: "A-M-F."
Montoya wasn't prepared for the snap roll and dive, so she screamed all the way until Silas leveled out and streaked over the canopy of the Shivan forest. When she recovered she screamed at Silas: "Would you stop doing that!"
Toro followed the Cavalier right through the maneuver, a grin on his face so wide he was bearing his fangs. This was more like it. Apparently the Earthers had decided to stop acting like fishermen and start acting like tactical pilots. That was fine. Klingon squadrons often practiced against captured and rebuilt Human ships, but they didn't have any Cavaliers. This would be good training. He made a mental note to be thorough in his after-action report so that the Flying Corps would have usable data for instructing future pilots.
"What are you trying to do!" Montoya said. Indicators on her displays showed that the inertial dampers were starting to kick in as Silas took her ship supersonic.
Silas ignored her. Normally she would be relying on her backseater to keep track of their pursuer, but Montoya was nowhere near experienced enough, so she decided to rely on her perfectly good Mark One Eyeball and her side mirror to let her know if the Klingon was still behind her. Sure enough, a small speck in the distance was keeping pace with her as the forest streaked by under them.
Montoya was going to ask Silas the question again, but the Enterprise beat her to it. "Rider One, Prize, we read you as going evasive and accelerating through Mach Numbers. Do you require assistance, over?"
Silas took a moment to respond. "Negative, Prize. Just giving my wingman some impromptu ACM instruction, over."
Order her to stop! Montoya begged in her mind. The ship's velocity was climbing steadily toward hypersonic range.
The Science Officer was disappointed. "Roger that, Rider One. Be advised that your wingman is accelerating to overtake and that King One is also enjoying the show. Give 'em something pretty to watch, over."
Silas grinned under her mask. "Will Do, Prize. Rider One out." She signed off in time to hear Montoya curse in Spanish. "Hey! I know what that means!"
"Then maybe you'll be more cooperative when I beg you to stop!" Montoya said.
Silas checked her mirror. The Raptor was getting closer. "Oh, I'm gonna stop…"
Montoya felt a twinge of hope. "You are?"
Silas was still watching the Klingon's approach. "In a minute…but you might want to brace yourself."
"Why?"
"Because even with the dampers, you're gonna feel this." Now!
Montoya lurched forward as Silas checked the ship's forward motion hard. The pilot kept her gaze fixed upward and was rewarded with the sight of the Raptor streaking past overhead. She didn't take too long to enjoy the view. Instead she yawed right and firewalled the throttles, accelerating even faster than before.
Toro cursed and asked Martok for a position check on the Cavalier. He couldn't slow to a hover fast enough to copy the maneuver and a turn at this speed would be a wide one, so he would just make it wide enough to intersect the Human's track.
"This is Base," he heard. "Prey is at canopy level and heading 136 at 1530 kramm and accelerating."
Toro did the math in his head, accelerated and started his turn. "Acknowledged."
Silas was crunching numbers in her head as well. If the Klingon were any kind of pilot he would be burning up the atmosphere trying to get ahead of her on her course. Fortunately, there was only so fast that he could go and stay in the atmosphere. The same went for her, but in this instance the limitation was a blessing. It meant that she would make it to the coast before the bad guy completed his turn. When that happened she'd only need to make a slight course correction to throw him off again. "Come on," she mumbled, "Feet Wet, Feet Wet…"
She grinned as the green blur she was flying over turned into a sparkly blue one. She counted down to the right moment, then yawed right again and dropped to wavetop level. Twin plumes of white erupted in the Cavalier's wake as the engine exhaust vaporized the ocean water.
Toro sighed as he heard the latest position check on the target. His current course and speed would still intersect the Cavalier's, but he'd be behind and above it. He weighed his options. He could simply alter course and overtake the Human ship, but that would only be a useful course of action if he meant to shoot it down. His orders were specific: the Humans had to know they were being hounded, so he had to confront this adversary head-on. That meant choosing Option Two. He continued through his turn until he was heading in the right direction, then accelerated to escape velocity.
"Rider One, Prize," Enterprise called, "be advised Bandit One is Feet Cold and transiting through low orbit. Estimate reentry in five minutes and Bandit will be at your Ten O'Clock when Feet Hot."
"Cheater." Silas muttered as she acknowledged the report with two clicks of her mike. "Isabel! I need your help!"
"I'm not helping you!" Montoya huffed. "You're insane!"
"I know you're mad, but all I need you to do is give me control of the active sensors."
"Why? So you can shoot him down!" This time the Cavalier was armed with clusters of short-range, hypersonic anti-air missiles.
"No, so I can make him think I'm going to shoot him down. I just want to light him up as he's coming out of blackout, then we'll stand down, okay?"
Montoya thought about it for a minute, then decided the situation couldn't be more fouled-up than it already was. She hit the "ALAC" and "CTP" contacts, then crossed her arms petulantly and stared out the right side of the canopy.
Toro rolled his ship as he slowed to reenter, then nosed in. He was just barely traveling slow enough to keep from burning up. He wanted to emerge from the ionized air around him traveling too fast for the Human to react, and just to make things interesting he activated his cloaking device as soon as he reentered. The Human would probably be at wavetop level when their paths intersected, so it was Toro's intention to power dive on the Cavalier and level off at the last possible second. The concussion of the dive and the wash from his engines should shake the craft like a leaf in the wind. If the Human pilot were as good as he pretended to be, he should manage to keep the craft aloft. If not…well, Toro decided he'd be really sorry, but Constitution-class ships usually carried two, so it wouldn't be that great a loss…
Silas checked her watch, then slowed to a hover and matched bearings with the target. She angled up slowly until the ship's nose was pointed to where she expected the Raptor to emerge, then she counted down. At zero she fired off the target illumination system, fully expected to hear the high-pitch warble that would signal a target lock. When there was nothing but silence, she contacted the ship. "Prize, Rider One. The target must have cloaked. Can you confirm Bandit is Feet Hot, over?"
Montoya ignored Enterprise's response. She closed her eyes and shook her head, hoping that she was having a bad dream. When everything was the same after opening her eyes she sighed and looked absently out the left side of the canopy.
Her eyes bugged out at what she saw. "Brigid…"
"Not now, Isabel." Silas said. "We only have a couple of seconds…"
The large shadow Montoya saw was getting closer to the surface. "I know that! Look left, now!"
Silas glanced left -- then stared at the surface of the water. "Holy…!"
She backed off just in time to avoid the gout of water that erupted as a Shivan whale breached the surface with one of its leaps. Time seemed to slow down as Montoya watched the animal hang in the air. Then the air above it seemed to shimmer…then the whale exploded in a red mist. Then, where the Cavalier had just been hovering, there was a more conventional explosion that roiled the water in front of them. Pieces of the crashed object slammed into the Cavalier, starring the canopy in a few places but otherwise causing little damage.
Silas didn't stop backing off until the shockwave of the explosion subsided. She gained altitude and started to circle the grisly scene. What was left of the whale was floating in one direction while what was left of the Raptor floated the opposite way, but the whale's blood was spreading across the site and would soon mingle with the Raptor debris. There was no sign of the Klingon pilot at all.
Montoya swallowed hard. "My God…" She said with a quavering voice.
Silas's reaction was more focused. She got on the radio: "Rider One to all ships: Raptor is down! Repeat: Raptor is down! Request immediate hostile environment Search and Rescue dispatched to my position!"