The auxiliary control room seems hot and crowded. The main bridge, of course, is still unusable - King Estmere is only just operational... and several of our hard-won repairs were undone by the turbulence when we breached Mur's subspace conduit. We had to do it - when it formed, close by us, we knew it was the only way back to the Rift in time - but the cost was high.
I'm still wearing the EV suit. I think it's the only thing holding me together. My chest is a solid knot of pain, that worsens with every jolt transmitted by our damaged inertial dampers.
Ahead of us... is Tapiola, and Falcon looking stricken, and Mur's ship, and - the globe. Whatever it is.
"Sir." The comms console is manned by Cordul, a dark-haired male Trill with a body-builder's physique. "Mur has cut communications, but I have a link to Tapiola... I think the Falcon's trying to get through, too -"
"Try and get Ronnie," I say, and each word hurts, "and put T'Pia through."
T'Pia's face appears on the screen. "Vice Admiral Shohl," she says. "I am gratified to see you survived. I will summarize the situation. The Rift entity is linked to Vice Admiral Grau; it is attempting to transfer itself to Enteskilen Mur by means of the large crystalline sphere ahead of you. The Falcon is disabled by a Borg virus released when Vice Admiral Grau was temporarily reassimilated. I have devised a countermeasure against the Rift entity, and I am transmitting the details on your data channel now."
I turn to Amiga at the science console, ignoring the burst of pain the movement causes. "I'm receiving something, sir," the android says dubiously. "It - doesn't immediately make sense."
"It will not," says T'Pia. "It is based on an insight you yourself supplied - do you remember telling me about a rhythm that seemed wrong, but sounded right? The solution proved to be - something similar."
"We don't have time to test this, sir," says Amiga, "and it will put quite a strain on the main deflector -"
"Don't worry," I say. "T'Pia's never let us down yet. And neither has Gustav Holst, come to that. Set it up."
"Thank you," says T'Pia. I could almost imagine there was some emotion in her voice. But I remember the defence of Andoria, where we trusted her with my people's homeworld, and she came through for us... I have a feeling T'Pia is a safe pair of hands.
"First things first," says Anthi Vihl. "We are five minutes from weapons range with Mur's ship, and we will not survive another hit from his warp cannon. The sphere is already in range."
"I will occupy Mur," says T'Pia. "If you eliminate the sphere, that will deal a significant blow to his plans."
Something to shoot at. I would lean back in the command chair, if my back would let me. "Consider it done."
"Sir," says Cordul, "I have a link to the Falcon."
"Split screen, link Ronnie in," I order.
Ronnie's face appears next to T'Pia's. She is holding a phaser to her temple, she is half bald, she looks about a week dead. "Good to see you, kiddo," she rasps at me. "I'm keeping the entity busy, neutralizing this phaser. I press the stud, it blocks the beam, keeps it occupied at least. Now, you kick it where it hurts - I want this beast out of my head and back out of my universe, all right?"
"Sometime soon, you're going to have to explain what's going on," I say. Ronnie laughs wildly.
"Firing solution locked," says Kophil Phohr. My uncle is the best energy beams officer I've got, and that's only one reason I'm glad he's lived through this business - or he has, so far.
"Let's do it," I say. "Open fire."
We have less than a dozen plasma torpedoes left, and we can't launch the Mesh Weaver frigates without shaking the ship apart... but our plasma beams are still fully functional, and they blaze with green-hot fury across space to the dark mass of the globe.
The Warhammer springs to life, turning towards us with sudden frightening speed. Tapiola leaps forward, tetryon beams spitting from her forward blades, a thermionic torpedo shooting out to crash into Warhammer's shields. Green disruptor light flashes back from the Siohonin ship towards T'Pia.
King Estmere's beams rip through the structure surrounding the globe, scattering it in blazing fragments across the sky.
"Something's wrong," Kophil mutters.
"What?" I ask.
"That - whatever it's made of - it's not reacting to the beams. They're just reflecting off it. I don't think I'm even heating it up," Kophil says. He sounds almost indignant.
"Steer two nine mark four," I say. "Keep the globe between us and Mur." The Warhammer is still on a heading towards us, though it is taking a pounding from T'Pia's assault on its flank.
King Estmere seems to groan as she angles away from the Siohonin ship's approach. Kophil is swearing under his breath as the plasma beams lash out again, only to splash uselessly back from the black glassy surface of the globe.
Then, "Wait," says Kophil, "wait...."
"What is it?" I ask.
"There's something... there's just a spot," says Kophil. "One spot where the reflection isn't complete. There's a tiny, tiny flaw in this thing, and if I can hit it just right...."
"Warhammer approaching weapons range," says Anthi. "But we're getting behind the globe now...."
The enormous black shape seems to drift across the screen, eclipsing the oncoming Warhammer. Kophil is not swearing any more. He is hunched over the weapons console, hardly breathing, his fingers moving in the tiniest of increments, trying to wield King Estmere's massive plasma arrays with the precision of a jeweller's tool.
"Yes," says Kophil, almost crooning the word, "yes...."
On the screen, the black shadow of the globe is suddenly broken by a dimly glowing spot of red. Kophil hits the firing controls again. The plasma beams blaze at the red spot... and it brightens, and spreads, from a single dot to a sudden lake of molten gold.
The sphere rolls, molten crystal flying out in great gobbets to freeze solid again in the deeps of space. Fractures start and spread from the ruined section, and suddenly it is no longer a sphere, but a hurtling mass of jagged fragments, breaking apart and colliding again in a dizzying chaotic storm.
But it's just a thing, and Enteskilen Mur can make another one, given time. "Target the Warhammer," I snap. The wreckage of the globe is no longer protecting us, and Mur is going to be angry.
"Please engage the countermeasures for the Rift entity." T'Pia's voice. She sounds completely calm, though Tapiola has taken some shrewd knocks from Mur's disruptors. "I will hold Mur immobile while we proceed."
Golden specks fly across the sky from the Tapiola. The Orb Weaver's web generator is undamaged - and Warhammer is suddenly caged in an icosahedral web of shimmering golden threads. It will hold Mur - maybe for long enough.
"Ready on my bridge," Ronnie says. "Do it."
"Engaging main deflectors," says T'Pia.
"Hit it," I tell Amiga.
A deep pulsing drone sounds from somewhere within King Estmere, a sound with unsettling harmonics, weird notes that set my teeth on edge. Light is flickering from Tapiola's main deflector. On the screen showing the Falcon's bridge, Ronnie Grau stiffens into immobility as light plays around her.
"Frequencies building," says Amiga. "I'm still not clear what frequencies," she adds.
Whatever they are, they're having some effect on my ship, if on nothing else. The vibration seems to seep into me, setting off fresh pains in my back, my chest. There is a sudden sputter of sparks from one console. Transient surge in our much-abused EPS grid.
On the screen, Ronnie Grau is surrounded by a glowing nimbus. Sparks are flying from her Borg implants.
Another burst of sparks, this time from the weapons console, and Kophil curses. "Lost fire control for the plasma arrays," he says. "Trying to reroute it now -"
The next jolt hits me like a kick in the spine. King Estmere is groaning all around me. Ronnie is a blazing figure in the middle of Falcon's bridge, the sparks now branching in torrents from her implants. She screams -
The golden web collapses. Warhammer is scorched and battered - and free -
"Plasma torps!" I yell, and something tears loose in my chest.
King Estmere shudders again as the torpedoes fire - and again, and a third time - and then nothing, as the magazine runs dry at last.
Tapiola fires her tetryon banks, pounding at the Warhammer's shields - and there is a weak spatter of fire incoming from the Falcon, too -
It's enough. Before Warhammer can fire the warp cannon, its shields go down, and our plasma torpedoes punch through. The first salvo turns that massive domed prow into a flaming molten ruin; the next two plough through, into the body of the ship. The cylindrical hull swells and bursts with fire, and then the warp core goes, and Warhammer is nothing more than a shower of blazing dust. Whatever happens, Sebreac Tharr needs another high priest.
The lights go out on the screen. King Estmere steadies. Ronnie Grau is lying very still on the deck of her bridge. The only moving thing about her is a wisp of smoke, curling up from the ruined implant over her left eye.
"T'Pia!" I yell, and something has given way inside me, because blue blood sprays from my mouth as I speak. But only one thing matters now. "Did it work? Did we do it?"
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