Ad Astra :: Star Trek Fanfiction Archive ^{Beam me up, Scotty.}

Chapter Text

Captain's log, Stardate 4202.8. The Enterprise has almost reached the far boundary of Sector L-300, but has still found no trace of the missing starship Constellation. I genuinely fear for what has become of my former commanding officer, but I do not intend to abandon the search before consulting with Starfleet Command. First, I intend to consult with my chief medical officer about what we are likely to find.

"Something smells appealing in here," Kirk said, inhaling deeply as he entered McCoy's office.

"Yeah, it's a little something I'm prescribing for Delta Shift," McCoy said. He filled a coffee cup from a flask and passed it to Kirk. "Here, give it a swig."

Kirk quaffed, stared into the cup and made an impressed face. "Not bad, Bones. Not bad at all. Some secret Southern ingredient to this?"

"Not quite. It's called raktajino, a Klingon brew. I got my hands on a canister during the Organian peace talks. Don't tell the surgeon general." McCoy winked and smiled knowingly as he poured himself a cup.

Kirk raised his eyebrows and stared into the cup again, uncertain of whether or not he should enjoy a Klingon beverage. As he was deliberating, McCoy sat behind his desk and motioned for Kirk to sit in front. "What's on your mind, Jim?"

"This rescue mission of ours. In strictest confidence, the Constellation was reported off mission over a month ago. But I was Matt Decker's first officer for more than two years, and I never figured him for a renegade. I'd welcome your expert psychological opinion here."

"It'd help if I knew what sort of mission he was off of. I do know the word around Starfleet Medical a few years ago was that he wasn't very happy when he lost out on getting command of this ship."

"Even though it was on account of bereavement leave?"

"In all fairness, whatever prudish detail officer in the Bureau of Personnel decided on the change should have known better than to overrule the division commander. But let's be honest with ourselves, to read some of your mission logs, it's bound to make any man a mite envious."

Kirk absently sipped the raktajino and frowned. "What are you getting at, Bones? That Matt's taken his ship on some wild space race because he thinks he's got something to prove?"

"I couldn't tell you, Jim," McCoy shook his head. "I don't know him like you do. What I know is that any number of things can drive a man to a nervous breakdown. Injustice, tragedy, trauma, to name just a few. Sometimes they co-occur, exacerbate a personal problem he's already having....and God forbid he got himself into an altercation that caused some kind of neurological damage."

"Which I wouldn't rule out, having learned from the Organian affair what sorts of neurological weapons the Klingons have at their disposal."

"Well, without a close-up psychological evaluation, I couldn't begin to guess at his mental state."

"If we find him - and mind you, that's a big if - I'd like you to be ready to perform just such an evaluation."

"Why me? The Constellation's doctor is none other than Jol, the Bolian. There's no one at Starfleet Medical who doesn't know him by reputation. There's nothing I can tell you about Decker that he couldn't."

"That's assuming Jol is still alive and fit for duty himself. Before the Organian affair, the Constellation was on a mission similar to ours, but Matt hasn't been heard from since then."

"Complete with the transporter duplicate, the alcoholic virus and the nightmare shore leave?" McCoy said with a wry grin.

Kirk chuckled. "I'm afraid I wouldn't know. But you weren't with us when we encountered the galactic energy barrier and I lost Gary Mitchell to his own delusions of grandeur. If Matt Decker's been subjected to any sort of external neurological trauma during his time as the captain of a starship, I shudder to think what could have resulted from it." He set his coffee cup down emphatically on the desk as the intercom whistled for him, and he leaned over to the comm screen.

"Kirk here," he replied.

"Spock here, Captain. Lieutenant Palmer reports receipt of a general distress call. Origin unknown, but barely intelligible, and broadcast on all Federation emergency channels."

"Very well, Mr. Spock. Put all decks on security alert. Commence a search pattern, I'll be up in a minute." Kirk shut the screen off and stood.

"Might be you're about to get your answers," McCoy commented.

"Or at least I'm about to find the man who has them. But right now, I'm apprehensive about finding out what they are."

He saw nothing.

He felt nothing.

He heard nothing.

He wouldn't have remembered his own name if someone came into the auxiliary control room and asked him what it was. He felt, heard, saw nothing because nothing was left. He even remembered nothing before his last shore leave that mutated into bereavement leave. Maria was dead, his crew was dead, his ship was wrecked beyond any hope of repair. At this point, after his apocalyptic failure, he couldn't even conceive of Will or Brandi being proud to call him father....nothing remained of the life he knew.

Why was he even still living it?

He'd broken so many promises. To Will, to Brandi, to Ray Brienzio and Jim Kirk, to Admiral Komack and Casey Suslowicz, that he would take care of himself, his ship and his crew. To his crew themselves, that he would bring them home alive. To himself, that he would keep the worlds of the Federation safe from destruction. He'd sworn it on Maria's grave....

He'd never have a chance to commend Tara Marlowe for her adroit navigation during Operation Orodruin. He'd never enjoy another thought-provoking chess game with Toshiro Masada. He'd never learn what Stan Dorian's story had been. He'd never forget Anita Seppala's truncated scream as she tried to drag Dorian toward the turbolift just as the bridge decompressed. He'd never hear another one of Danny Samuels's comical, mood-lightening wisecracks.

Laurie Galbraith....she'd been like a daughter to him.

She'd told him right off when Dorian threatened her that she didn't want to die. Now she, Dorian, and all of them were dead because of him.

What was it Marlowe had said about her great-grandfather's axiom? Make a decision and then make it the right one somehow. But now he couldn't remember the last right decision he'd made, any decision that hadn't gotten anyone hurt or killed.

He thought he heard voices somewhere outside in the corridor. He didn't even register them, let alone recognize them. All he heard was echoes of words never to be heard again from their dead speakers. Why, he wondered again, was he still alive? He should have died instead of them; why had his gambit failed and his Bane hadn't opted to finish him off?

Suddenly there was no longer nothing. He sensed something – something incomprehensible, something he was almost afraid to acknowledge for fear that the monster might have returned. Vaguely, he heard his name, felt hands shaking his shoulders, trying to snap him out of it. He didn't respond – couldn't respond, couldn't blink his eyes, breathed shallowly. For a moment he fancied ghosts of his destroyed crew coming back to haunt and defile him for letting them die. Something jabbed into his shoulder, and he reached up absently to rub the spot as a strange tingling sensation ran through his nerves. Then the individual standing over him shook his opposite shoulder again, and he squinted in the faint light from the corridor as the fog began to lift.

"Matt!" the individual repeated insistently.

Still rubbing his shoulder, Decker leaned away and smiled faintly as it dawned on him who the individual was. "Kirk," he croaked, sighing with relief that an old friend had come to his aid. "It's Jim Kirk."

Even as Kirk questioned him, and even as the horror and grief descended upon him yet again, the dawning brightened. Once again, Kirk to the rescue, with the Enterprise this time - the ship and crew that Decker should have commanded, and would have if that filthy, disgusting alien disease hadn't so agonizingly drained Maria from his life: the one ship in the entire galaxy that could take on Decker's Bane, let him settle the score and find some peace.

Somehow....somehow he must convince Kirk to hunt the thing down and make it pay for its ghastly deeds, even if it meant pulling rank on him.

But first, some things never changed: least of all Kirk's propensity for going off on some long, drawn-out, irrelevant tangent that he'd been so infamous for holding forth in the officers' lounge on the Merrimack. As he listened to his old first officer prattle on about doomsday machines and ancient wars, Decker found that he was absolutely not in the mood: he vehemently let Kirk know it, only to be reminded that the Constellation had been reduced to nothing but a crewless, inoperable wreck. His acquiescence to Kirk's demand that he beam aboard the Enterprise for treatment was so spontaneous that he didn't even think of the greater implications as he and McCoy stepped back out into the corridor.

The last time he'd left this ship was months ago, when the Constellation visited Alrescha II searching for a colony of humans whose ancestors had escaped Earth with outside help just before World War III. That planet had better not have fallen victim to Decker's Bane by this time. This departure, however, was liable to be considerably more permanent.

"I'm sorry about Jol," McCoy said in a muted tone as he and Decker walked back toward the corridor junction where the Enterprise boarding party had beamed in.

"Did you know him?"

"The first Bolian to graduate summa cum laude from Starfleet Medical? Who didn't know him?" McCoy shook his head. "He was a trailblazer, that one. Wasn't for him, we likely wouldn't have a lot of the extraterrestrial MDs who've joined up in the last decade."

"Yes, I'm aware of the impact he made on the medical community. If anything, I'm painfully aware, having sent him to his death."

McCoy looked at him and studied his haggard appearance, the empty shock in his eyes. So far, he didn't like what his extemporaneous psychological evaluation was telling him. Carefully choosing his words, he said: "Well, there's no doubt in my mind that he went out the same way he spent most of his life, treating the sick and injured."

"Well, it's the damnedest thing, isn't it?" Decker said as they paused in the middle of the corridor junction. "Usually doctors are the ones who hold people's lives in their hands. But in the presence of a higher authority, they end up being no better off than anyone else." A soft jolt joined a muted creak from up above as the Enterprise's tractor beam cast over the Constellation and tugged it gently into motion.

"For what it's worth," McCoy said sagely, "a good doctor doesn't enjoy being responsible for other people's lives any more than a commanding officer does. If you ask me, deciding who lives and who dies should be left to a much higher power than either one of us."

"I just wish I knew how that higher power manages with all the lives that it takes before their time," Decker muttered. McCoy only had time to shoot a concerned glance at him before the familiar tingle of the transporter beam assailed both of them, and the bulkheads of Decker's ruined ship faded from his sight for the last time.

He half hoped that he would materialize in empty space - perhaps on one of the asteroids that remained of the third planet, of his crew. For as long as men had commanded ships, outliving their crews was looked upon as a betrayal, an abject failure of judgment. He could either take his vengeance now, or make the ultimate sacrifice. As Richard Edgerton would have said, there was no middle ground: but as as they both reappeared in the Enterprise's transporter chamber, it no longer mattered which. By the time they solidified, the red alert was already blaring.

"Come on!" McCoy exhorted, jumping from the pad. Both men bolted from the transporter room, headed for the nearest turbolift at a dead run. Already Decker's heart was going like a triphammer as he dreaded the cause for the general-quarters alarm.

"Bridge," McCoy ordered the lift. As it eased into motion, he turned around, a grim expression lining his face. "I'm sure I don't like the sound of this."

"It could be anything," Decker said tensely, staring fixedly at the crack between the two doors. "But if that beast is still out there with two planets still intact, you'd better prepare yourself for the worst."

The lift halted, and they both dashed forward onto the bridge just in time to hear Kirk's voice from the comm speaker: "We're blind here, what's it look like?"

Decker froze, standing stock-still, curling his fists, uncurling them, curling them again as he observed the image on the main viewer. An image he'd seen far too much of already. Decker's Bane, his own personal chaos demon, the white whale that had permanently wounded him without thought of consequence for its incursions, had returned to finish the job.

The huge machine drew inexorably closer. The business end filled the entire screen as the helmsman looked apprehensively over his shoulder at the stoic Vulcan sitting in the command chair.

"It looks very much like Commodore Decker's planet killer," Spock said matter-of-factly.

Framed on the screen by the Enterprise's warp nacelles, the berserker turned to close the chase, blotting out all view of the Constellation. Its interior glowed more red-hot than ever: the energy field blazed like a nebula made of flame.

"And it is pursuing us," Spock added as the entire bridge was bathed in the fiery glare.

"Readings, Mr. Spock," Kirk's voice, masked by the interference, hissed from the captain's speaker. "Give me a full report. I want to know exactly what it is we're dealing with."

"A moment, Captain," Spock said, rising. In a few long strides he was on the upper level of the bridge, bending over the viewer at the main science station. "Machine is approximately fifteen miles in length; width of its maw roughly two point one miles. Hull composed of neutronium, impervious to all known weapons. Interior temperature three hundred and ten degrees Celsius, no doubt on account of some sort of anti-matter energy field purposed to absorb mineral fuels." Spock paused and squinted into the sensor viewer, his head inclining to one side. "Fascinating. Carbon dating indicates an approximate age of three billion years."

"Three billion!" McCoy repeated in a stunned whisper.

"My God," Decker muttered with a disbelieving shake of his head. "Can you imagine how many people it's killed over all that time?"

"The object does not appear capable of warp speed," Spock continued. "Unfortunately, Captain, the state of the Constellation's structural integrity would prohibit engaging our own warp drive without releasing the tractor beam."

"Are you still maintaining distance, Mr. Spock?" Kirk demanded more than asked.

"We are more maneuverable, but it is gaining on us," Spock answered, glancing at the screen. "Sensors indicate some kind of total conversion drive. No evidence of life; subspace interference level incredibly high."

"Well, whatever it is," Kirk said determinedly, "we can't let it go beyond us to the next solar system, we have to stop it. If it's a robot, what are the chances of deactivating it?"

"I would say none, Captain. The energy generated by our power nacelles seems to attract it. I doubt we could maneuver close enough without drawing a direct attack upon ourselves. I also believe the nature of this machine precludes the possibility of easy access to its control mechanisms."

Decker paced to the port side of the bridge, stealing a glance at the helmsman's control console. The main viewer was at regular magnification. The weapon was perilously close behind them - perhaps three, perhaps four minutes away from engulfing both ships if they couldn't outrun it.

"It's closing on us, Mr. Spock," the helmsman called out.

"Closing, Captain," Spock relayed.

"All right, lower your deflector screens long enough to beam us aboard." Kirk's voice was masked with static.

"Acknowledged," Spock said. "Transporter room, stand by to beam landing party aboard."

Only vaguely did Decker hear the transporter chief's acknowledgement of the order. He stared in horror at the main viewer, his breath catching at the sight of the machine's energy field brightening. The helmsman's fingers were half a second from snapping off the deflectors and the berserker was about the same span from cutting loose -

"Incoming!" Decker hollered, grabbing the nearest console. His warning came a poor second too late. Taken by surprise, only a few of the bridge crew had time to do the same before the solid yellow beam arced forth from the weapon's maw.

The Enterprise rocked madly to starboard as the beam impacted on the lower port side of the primary hull. The ship heaved, flung more than forty degrees off course, tractor beam severed and throwing the Constellation off in the opposite direction. All hands were pitched violently sideways: Decker fell over the railing into the well, but he had nonetheless been first to feel the planet killer's wrath and was now the first to recover from its assault. He struggled up into the helmsman's seat, Spock gaining ground alongside him and easing the Enterprise back onto an even keel; if Vulcans were capable of gratitude, it was as evident in the first officer's expression as it would ever be. Sighing, Decker shoved himself clear of the helm and back to the upper level of the bridge.

"Evasive action, Mr. Sulu," Spock ordered calmly. "Damage report, all stations."

"Mr. Spock, the transporter's out!" was the first squawk from the speaker.

"Effect repairs," Spock replied, switching channels. "Captain Kirk, come in, please."

"Kirk here."

"Captain, we have been attacked. Transporter is damaged, we're taking evasive action."

"Mr. Spock, communications damaged," Lieutenant Palmer called out. "We're unable to override interference!"

"Damage to communications, Captain," Spock repeated. "Interference will make voice contact impossible. Request you stand by until we are able to make sufficient repairs."

Only static and interference responded. Eyebrows slanting even further than normal, Spock regarded the speaker. "Please acknowledge. Captain Kirk, respond, please. Miss Palmer?"

"Contact lost, sir," came Palmer's doleful reply.

"The shape that ship's in, she's a sitting duck," McCoy muttered. "If Jim can't get her underway and that thing decides she's an easier target...."

"I think that distinctly unlikely, Doctor," Spock said factually as he resumed the command chair. "The Constellation's power output is immeasurably low. The object will undoubtedly pursue and attack the most salient source of energy within its immediate vicinity."

"But there's still plenty of sources out there bigger than us," Decker said grimly. "If I were you, Mr. Spock, I'd be damned careful about minding our heading. If we lead that thing near an inhabited solar system, a lot of people are going to get hurt."

"All right, lads," Scott called out to Elliott and Russ as he returned to the upper level of main engineering. "Captain's orders, we've a miracle to work! And let's thank our lucky stars these impulse engines only have a couple of years on 'em!" He dropped down the ladder to the main deck and made a beeline for the fusion reactor.

"What's going on topside, sir?" Russ asked.

"Found out what's caused all this damage." Scott switched on his tricorder and began to circle the reactor like a buzzard. "An alien weapon the likes o' which we've never seen in our day, and it's come to mak' siccar on the Enterprise this time." He examined the reactor shielding, then the tricorder readings. "All right, there's just enough inert deuterium left to trigger a reaction. Elliott, cross-circuit the impulse controls to the emergency power reserves and let's see if we can light this off."

"How can we prevent the reactor from overloading and blowing the entire ship to bits?" Elliott questioned. "It'll be damn near impossible with the condition it's in!"

Scott gave him a sidelong glance and grinned. "Laddie, they took the word 'impossible' out of the Starfleet engineering lexicon after my graduation. Now you can either connect the phaser transfer coil or hold my Scotch, but be quick about makin' up your mind!"

Decker found the shock and horror of that first engagement almost completely gone as he stood at the rear of the Enterprise bridge, watching the crew go about their motions. He felt his good old comfortable authority returning. Casualty and damage reports were still coming in, but this crew seemed less shaken, knowing in advance what they were dealing with. The crew that could have been his, if not for a cruel twist of fate.

He considered that he'd gotten just a tad too familiar with the crew of the Constellation in some cases, that maybe Dorian had had a point when he accused Decker of playing favorites with certain junior officers. Well, whether that sneaky bastard had been onto something or not, Decker didn't intend to repeat that mistake, or any other he'd made during the first round.

Suddenly and to much surprise, the berserker broke off the chase. For only a moment, Decker tried to remember if Masada had been able to determine its heading to its next target, but only a moment was needed: Sulu already had its next target on the board.

Rigel.

Exactly what Decker had been afraid of. And if it was headed for Rigel now, Delta wouldn't be far; and Will was still stationed there. An evacuation alert, even if it cut through the subspace interference, would be too little too late, considering the logistics of evacuating a dozen planets populated by billions of people.

Logistics. God, poor Laurie, the tortures of the mind and the senses she must have endured in the last ephemeral minutes of her life. The foul thing must be stopped at all costs.

But Spock was having none of it. Decker had pretended to himself that, being half human, Spock might not so rigidly adhere to the principles of logic by which the rest of his race swore, even young women like T'Prea. All too quickly it was borne upon Decker that, once again, he'd sorely miscalculated - Spock's human half had had the opposite effect, incited him to embrace with even greater fervor the tenets of logic and reason. If you'd debated one Vulcan, you'd debated them all. And Decker had no time to waste on debates, especially debates in which his opponent not only invoked the gut-wrenching loss of his ship and crew, but reminded him of a member of it, and forced him to admit a fatal mistake. Every second they wasted here might as well be one more life lost when the planet killer reached Rigel. Fed up with Spock's arguments, and driven by sheer determination, Decker ordered him out of the seat, an act that raised McCoy's own temper to boiling point.

For a moment it was touch and go. Decker barely restrained himself from lashing out when Spock cited the criteria for relieving him of command for medical reasons. This was a bit less heated than his previous confrontation with another first officer and ship's doctor on this subject, but the threatened result would be no different and he could stand not to be reminded of those two senior officers to whom he'd been so close before the massacre. However, McCoy, having only just brought Decker on board, was a bit less prepared to act than Jol had been. Fuming, McCoy went below as ordered, leaving only Spock to stare unblinkingly at Decker from right beside him.

Decker regarded the stonefaced Spock for a moment, then slowly turned in the chair, eyeing the engineering officer, the helmsman, the communication technicians one at a time. All eyes were on him, all but Spock perturbed, none of them quite sure of how to take this little development. No matter. He was in command now, all they had to do was follow his orders and do their duty as Starfleet Academy had taught them to do. Will could have been on that bridge and Decker wouldn't have regarded him any differently from the rest.

He turned forward and ordered a pursuit course. Slowly, almost reluctantly, Sulu turned back to his console and acknowledged the orders, thrusting the Enterprise ahead. In an almost graceful move the great starship leaned into a reverse turn, stars sweeping diagonally across the main viewer as it accelerated back toward the planet killer's heading.

"Lieutenant, put me on speakers," Decker called over his shoulder to Lieutenant Palmer.

"All decks standing by." Palmer's voice was soft and impassive.

"Attention, crew of the Enterprise," Decker announced. "This is Commodore Decker. I have assumed command of this vessel under the authority granted me by Starfleet regulations. That planet-eating superweapon is still on the loose, and we are going to pursue and destroy it, regardless of the risks we have to take and the price we have to pay. Obey your orders and carry out your duties as you would if Captain Kirk was aboard. We will avenge the loss of countless billions of lives during that weapon's reign of terror, and we will protect our Federation from total annihilation. That is all." He shut off the intercraft speaker and leaned back in the chair, scuffing the computer disks between his fingers.

Spock hadn't budged since he'd stood up from the chair. Decker couldn't tell if he'd so much as blinked those dark, inscrutable Vulcan eyes.

"Tell me, Spock," he said. His voice was calm to the point of casual as self-confidence and determination washed through him again. "Has Jim ever told you about our escapade over Dimidium?"

"He has," Spock replied flatly.

"He was my first officer then. He knew what we had to do, as any good first officer knows what's necessary in a battle situation."

"Indeed, Commodore. However, it would be dereliction of my duty not to remind you that these circumstances are not at all similar. Unlike our adversary, the Manticore missile was not indestructible - in fact, it was designed to explode on impact."

"Sir, we have contact!" Sulu interrupted. "Bearing ten degrees mark six, range one hundred thousand and closing. It's still headed for Rigel."

"It won't get far," Decker asserted. He sat up straight in the chair and looked at Spock, who still stared at him impassively without even blinking. His were the only eyes on the bridge that didn't lock fast on the viewscreen as the planet killer reappeared, tail first, headed away from the Enterprise as it raced to catch its nemesis. Decker smiled to himself. That vile abhorrence thought it could devour his entire crew and get away with it, but it was in for a very nasty surprise indeed.

"Mr. Spock, kindly return to your post," he said quietly. "I want updates to the minute on our battle readiness and that machine's maneuvers."

He kept his eyes locked on the viewer as Spock strode wordlessly behind him, ascending to the upper level of the bridge. Activating his sensor viewer, he bent over and focused. "The object is aware of us, Commodore," he reported calmly. "It is turning onto an intercept course; velocity increasing. Rate of closure approximately warp three."

"That's right, you big-mouthed son of a bitch, I'm back," Decker muttered under his breath. "And this time you're the one who's going to suffer."

"Mr. Spock," Palmer cut in. "Engineering reports a power drain from the antimatter pods. Best available speed now warp seven point eight."

Cocking an eyebrow, Spock turned around, his eyes on Decker. "If memory serves, Commodore, the electromagnetic field generated by the machine's hull rendered the Constellation powerless. The same will surely befall the Enterprise if you persist in this course of action."

"You heard what your captain said," Decker replied. "We can't afford to let that thing reach another populated solar system. And I am not letting it off the hook. Range?"

"Eighty thousand kilometers," Sulu said, peering into his viewer. "Closing fast."

"Deflectors at full power," Spock reported. "They can't take much more of this."

Decker was tiring of Spock's objections – he was almost starting to wish that he had relieved the insufferable Vulcan of duty. He shrugged off Spock's warning, nodding in Sulu's direction. "Helmsman, hold your course," he ordered. "Stand by all phaser banks."

"Aye, aye, sir," Sulu said flatly.

It was then that the planet killer cut loose, jolting the Enterprise almost to a complete halt. As it was, the ship's momentum had reduced by nearly half when a second impact slammed against the forward shields. Decker grimaced, clutching the arms of the command chair, determined to concentrate; he wouldn't let that thing intimidate him again. He leaned forward, eyes on the viewer, scowling defiantly down the planet killer's throat.

"Deflectors holding, but weakening," Spock said, his voice calm but insistent. "We must retreat, Commodore. The energy drain – "

"I'm in command here, Mr. Spock," Decker said curtly. "Maintain course, helmsman. Get us in closer!"

"Steady on course, sir," Sulu acknowledged. "Resuming full speed. We're twenty thousand kilometers out, eighty KPS closure." He spared a quick glance away from his sensor viewer, just long enough to snap the phaser banks onto standby. "All phasers indicate ready."

"Very well," Decker said. "Increase attitude six hundred meters. I want to hit that thing outside its angle of attack."

"Six hundred meters, aye," Sulu said. He punched the two toggle switches on the far end of the panel, firing maneuvering thrusters forward and aft to raise the Enterprise's bow. Decker fingered the two computer disks restlessly, his pulse racing with excitement as he saw the bottom edge of the planet killer's maw vanish from the screen. They were in close, perilously close, and even if the machine could hit them at this angle, it still needed its few seconds of recharge time between blasts.

"Range," he said sharply.

"Eight thousand kilometers and closing," Sulu said, peering into his viewer. "Six hundred meters attained, sir."

"Phasers stand by...." Decker clenched his teeth. Point-blank range and the planet killer still hadn't opened up again. At last he would have his moment of reckoning - and revenge.