* * *
All eyes were fixed on the screen, projecting both the visual of the approaching dry-dock carrier and a grid of all the ships within the immediate vicinity. The carrier was less than twenty leagues distant, and its giant belly doors now fully opened. The three lead ships from the Third Fleet were only seconds from crossing the Shikkeron’s helm, and still they had not slowed. Apparently, the carrier had not yet seen them.
Darla was reconsidering her options. Should the carrier manage to capture them within its hold, there would be no help for them. A moment ago, she was certain that was the Shikkeron’s fate. Now, though, there was a glimmer of hope. If those advancing ships could hold the carrier off for a few minutes, the Shikkeron might be able to slip out of range.
“Engine room!” Darla shouted into the communication set. “Fire up your starboard engine and prepare for full thrusters!”
“Aye! With our compliments...” came an enthusiastic reply.
Darla then haled the torpedo room. “Open the hatch and prepare to fire your missile at the carrier on my mark!” The torpedo room acknowledged.
The navigation officer called up to the bridge, “Commander, the fleet’s three approaching ships have fired torpedoes! They’re passing our hull as I speak!”
Darla’s eyes watched the screen to see dozens of missiles, leaving corkscrew streamers as they flashed into view. They were spreading out in a wide, general sweep, mainly projected at the distant, waiting enemy fleet. “Strange...” The colonel muttered.
She didn’t have time to consider it further when the communications officer piped up, “Message coming in un-coded.” The officer’s face contorted, displaying a lack of understanding. “Message reads: ‘Western Star, do not waste the gift you are given. Leave us now.’”
At that second, the Oruomai and its two escorts blasted past the Shikkeron, just clearing the crippled ship. The escorts banked away hard - the bark, Griffon, to the left and the brig, Mors, to the right. The Oruomai went straight for the carrier.
A brilliant flash of blinding light exploded on the screen and through the portholes of the Shikkeron. An instant later, a concussive punch rolled the ship hard to port and twisted it around, sending it spinning lazily away from the enemy fleet.
Darla screeched in despair, “No! No! No!” She clutched her head, falling to her knees, writhing in mournful agony, crying out, “No! You cannot go! You cannot do this to me! I cannot live without you! I will die! I will die! I will...” Clawing at her face, in hopeless desperation, pulling out clumps of her hair, Darla wailed, “Let me die, Mother, please! Let me die! Let me die!”
Crashing to her knees, Darla began thrashing about in uncontrolled seizures, moaning incoherent jabber while reaching up toward a deity only she could see, beseeching its assistance. Ardon watched in horror as the girl frothed at the mouth, chewing her tongue while her head lolled from side to side, her eyes rolling back into her head.
Chunks of debris began violently pummeling the Shikkeron’s hull. If not for the energy shields, the ship might have been torn apart. As it was, the crew was taking quite a beating. Something needed to be done...and soon, or the ship might well be destroyed. But what?
Ardon shouted, “The major has the bridge! The major has the bridge! Thrusters full! Thrusters full!” Everyone just stared at him, dumbfounded at what they were seeing. “Do it now! Ardon screamed, commanding, “Do it now!”
The bridge officer shouted to the engine room, “Full ahead! Give us all you’ve got!” He then asked, “Where to, Commander? What’s our bearing?”
‘Where to go...’ Ardon had not thought of that. Any place was better, safer than this madhouse they were in. “Q-south!” He shouted. “Give me Q-south!”
The bridge officer ordered the helm to set course for Q-south.
Not waiting for the bridge officer’s acknowledgement, Ardon sank down in front of Darla, taking her by the arms as she fell forward. Bloody sweat ran in streaks down the woman’s skin, falling like copious showers onto the command bridge. As her breathing became more rapid and shallow, the girl’s heart pounded angrily against her chest. Staring wildly from a tormented face, Darla tried to call for help, but only the sounds of raspy breathing came from a contorted mouth.
Looking into Darla’s eyes, Ardon could see little more than two bloody, opaque mirrors staring back at him. “Adaya! AdayaDarla! Child! Oh, my child!” He shouted into ears that could no longer hear him.
Darla’s body stiffened and her arms flew up, her hands wrapping about the back of Ardon’s neck. Holding him as if for dear life, she cried in anguish, all the while coughing and spattering blood in the man’s face, “Don...leav...m... Don..t...eave...m..e...”
Darla suddenly jerked away from Ardon, falling back and crashing onto the bridge before the man could grab her. She twitched a few times, her eyelids fluttering, and then she moved no more.