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“Detmer, get us out of here!”

Keyla felt a million spotlights glaring on her, exposing her weakness and ineffectuality. “We don’t have impulse power,” she said, hoarse.

“Engineering, get our power back!” Lorca demanded.

“Energizers still down, captain. The whole system--“

“I don’t care! We’ll be dead in two minutes if you don’t do something!”

“Sir, we have allocated power in some of the phaser banks. Enough for a couple shots,” Rhys said excitedly.

“The ship is not heavily-shielded,” Saru noted.

“Maybe we can buy some time,” Lorca mused angrily. “All yours, Mr Rhys. Hit them where it'll hurt them the most. Make them bleed.”

“I…sir, we’ve only got power to the ventral portside banks, and they’re not pointed at the enemy. I have a lock, but no firing solution.” Rhys looked like he wanted to melt into the deckplates and seep through the conduits and crannies of the ship, away from this arena of powerlessness and failure.

“God-damn it!” Lorca snapped. 

The idea grabbed Keyla’s brain like a vice-grip. She looked down at her controls to confirm what she believed, and “yes! “We have attitude thruster control,” she called out quickly, excitedly. “Rhys, stand by to fire.”

“Do it, Detmer,” Lorca said tightly, but it was already done. A quick tap of a touch-screen, and the chemical-reaction thrusters along Discovery’s belly exhaled hard into space, tipping her on her centerline, and bringing the concentric rings of the primary hull up like an umbrella being tilted away from a face.

The firing indicator sounds from Rhys’s console called out to the silent bridge like a bird of the morning, and the drifting ship seized up as she spat all the burning energy she had. A moment later, Keyla saw through the viewscreen a distant sparkling shape tumble in an arc toward the artificial horizon, and she fought hard against the urge to laugh hysterically.



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