In The 24th Century…

    The shattering impact of phasers hammering against the already strained shields of the Tantalus class freighter Platinum Hook was taking a heavy toll on the vessel. The bridge was already filled with smoke from damaged control panels and half of the screens were dark. The three-man crew of The Platinum Hook had their hands full as they desperately tried to coax their impaired ship into an evasive maneuver to stay out range of the Intrepid class Federation starship that was swinging around for another attack run on the freighter.

    It had been a long chase but it seemed as if it were finally over. The freighter had suffered major damage in the brief but intense fighting. Despite appearances, the freighter was much more heavily armed and shielded than it appeared with the naked eye and bafflers of Ferengi design had prevented the Federation ship’s sensors from getting an accurate reading on The Platinum Hook’s true power levels and armaments. Still, once The Federation ship had taken measure of the freighter, it fought back with an overwhelming storm of phaser fire. And it was not about to let this particular prize get away.

    The pilot of the freighter spun about in her chair. Even in such a hideous situation so fraught with imminent death it was apparent that she was an amazingly lovely young woman with dark chocolate skin, full lips and startling clear, seductive eyes. The calm of her voice belied the peril they were in: “if you’ve got anymore tricks up your sleeve, this would be the time to pull them out, honey.”

    The man she was speaking to was tall, lanky with a narrow, intense face. He was busy at the operations console, trying to coax more power from the failing engines. “You would think that Starfleet would have more important things to do than chase down an honest businessman trying to earn a living,” he muttered. “Coop, how do things look from where you sit?”

    Cooper Wilde, the ship’s engineer and the third member of the crew shook his auburn head in dismay, throwing up his hands in angry frustration. “Life Support is holding…. weapon power levels are only at 40% which would only tickle that ship…shields are down to 30% …if they decide to hit us one more time it’ll do us in…Denys, we’re in serious trouble this time.”

    Denys Fotheran sighed. The cargo hold of The Platinum Hook was filled to bursting with visualization fluid capsules, Uralian stimulator probes and advanced cognition bacteria…none of which had any business being in Federation space. He was loath to lose the lucrative profit he would make from the cargo but he was even more loath to fall into Federation hands. As one of the most wanted smugglers operating in Federation space he could expect nothing but a very long Starfleet sponsored vacation in a Federation rehab colony if captured.

    The woman pilot spoke up, her voice urgent; “Denys, the ship’s hailing us.”

    Fotheran made his way to the co-pilot’s chair and fell into it, slipping into the shoulder straps and buckling himself in securely. “Answer ‘em but play dumb…buy us some time. Coop, reroute all power systems to my control here and get busy getting me some more power.”

    Wilde looked doubtful as he pushed his hair back out of his eyes. “Denys, all we’ve got is backup power and if we use that we’re not gonna have anything left to run with.”

    “Who said anything about running? Just do what I tell you. Courtney, open a channel.”

    Courtney looked at Fotheran soberly. In the four years she had been with this man she had grown to respect his skills and talents. At times he amazed her and at others he exasperated her but always had she trusted him, believed in him and had never been afraid. Until now.

    The circular view screen changed from a holographic representation of The Federation starship to the image of a beefy, gray haired man sitting in the captain’s chair. His lined, handsome face was serene in the knowledge that he had his quarry exactly where he wanted them.

    “Have I the pleasure of addressing Captain Denys Fotheran?”

    “You do, sir. May I have the honor of knowing the name of the Starfleet officer who has so tenaciously pursued me across three star systems?”

    “Captain Luciano Rutledge of the Federation starship Liberator.”

    “My compliments to you and your ship, Captain.”

    “I’ll not waste your time or mine and get right to the point. Our scans show that your ship is low on power. If we fire again your shields will go down and you’ll be at our mercy. There’s no dishonor in surrendering to a superior opponent and you’ve acquitted yourself admirably. I strongly advise that you stand down and allow us to beam you over to our brig. You and your crew will be treated well and with respect.”

    “Let me ask you a question Captain Rutledge. Let’s say our positions were reversed. Would you surrender your ship so easily?”

    Rutledge lazily waved a hand and replied; “Irrelevant. Our situations are not reversed. You are hereby ordered to stand down and disable your primary power systems. Your ship will be towed by tractor beam to Starbase 212 where it and you will be handed over to representatives of The Federation Trade Regulation Commission. They’ll decide what’s to be done with you.”

    Fotheran smiled. “I’m sorry, Captain but I’m not inclined to indulge your wishes today. Or any day for that matter.”

    Irritation crept into Rutledge’s voice as he said, “Don’t be stupid, Fotheran. You’ve been a nuisance up to now but you’re interfering in matters that go far beyond smuggling. You’re attracting the attention of people with power and influence you can’t begin to imagine. You’d be wise to cash in your chips and end the game now. Surrender without any further delay-“

    Fotheran cut him off: “Give me a minute to talk it over with my crew, Captain.” Fotheran made a slashing motion with his hand and Courtney cut the audio transmission. Fotheran could see Rutledge’s First Officer and Security Chief coming over to talk with him. Probably to advise their captain that Fotheran shouldn’t have any time at all to come up with a possible plan of escape. Good advice.

    Courtney sat back in her chair. “We’ve got no warp power. And we’re not going to outrun an Intrepid class ship just on impulse. What the hell else can we do but surrender?”

    Fotheran swiveled around to face Wilde. “How’s our transporter system?”

    “You want to beam over to the Liberator and abandon the Hook?”

    “I want you to stop answering my questions with a question and give me a straight answer!”

    Wilde’s face tightened with anger but his voice was calm as he said, “We’ve got full transporter capabilities. Transporter power is routed through a separate Chasalian power matrix independent from the rest of the ship’s power. But I don’t see what-“

    Fotheran ignored him and delivered orders in a clean, concise voice. “Coop, you keep monitoring our power levels. You keep transporters online and I don’t care what you have to do to make it so. Courtney, when I give the word you take us on an attack run right above Liberator’s port nacelle…got that?”

    Courtney looked at Fotheran as if he’d suddenly grown another head. “If you want to commit suicide why don’t you just borrow my phaser? Or step out of the airlock?”

    “Trust me, okay? I’ve got one trick that might work but I’ve got to get Rutledge mad enough to fire on us again.”

    Courtney and Wilde exchanged looks of sheer bewilderment.

    “Courtney, let me talk to Rutledge.”

    Rutledge waved his officers away as he heard the chirp of audio being restored and said, “What’s it going to be, Fotheran? I’ve got a busy schedule and I’d like to get this over with so I can get back to work.”

    “Then you’d better blow us out of space, Rutledge. You see, I’ve got a shielded quantum torpedo hidden away in the hold and I’m coming to ram up right up right up your Jeffries tube.” Fotheran made a slashing motion with his thumb across his throat for Courtney to cut all transmissions. The screen changed to an exterior view of the Liberator, which was changing direction to angle away from the Platinum Hook.

    “Courtney! NOW!”

    Courtney’s fingers flew over her board like dark doves and the Platinum Hook turned, picking up speed like a racing greyhound going into the last turn of a championship track, speeding right at the Starfleet vessel.

    Fotheran was busy at his own board, entering a set of co-ordinates and instructions to the transporter and targeting computers. It was damned tricky, mainly because they were two separate systems that normally had no reason to work together and thanks to the upgrades and jury-rigging Fotheran and Wilde had done to the ship, the Platinum Hook had components from half a dozen different computer systems that were never designed to work together and did so only begrudgingly.

    “They’re targeting us!’ Wilde called out as the Hook came in closer.

    “Get ready!” Fotheran yelled. “I’m betting Rutledge won’t fire phasers for fear of detonating the quantum torpedo we’re supposed to have on board! He’ll use photon torpedoes instead! Courtney, as soon as they fire, break toward the port nacelle!”

    “I’m on it!”

    Wilde yelled, “They’re firing!”

    Fotheran had called it right. Rutledge hadn’t fired phasers. A pair of photon torpedoes burst from the forward tubes of the Liberator and having been set to target in on the ionic trail of the Platinum Hook’s impulse engines, curved up and around, locking in.

    “Impact in forty seconds!”

    Courtney threw the Hook into a wrenching turn toward Liberator’s port nacelle and at the same time Fotheran made his final calculations and tabbed the transporter control.

    A shimmering curtain of blue light, intershot with dancing gold and blue sparks appeared in front of the photon torpedoes which entered the curtain of light and all of it promptly vanished.

    Wilde was frankly amazed. “Son of a bitch…you used the transporter to vaporize the photon torpedoes…I didn’t even know that could be done…”

    “Actually I was trying to do something else,” Fotheran sounded almost disappointed. “But hey, if it worked, it worked-“

    Fotheran’s board suddenly exploded showering him with sparks and he fell out of his chair onto the deck, his clothes, hair and face smoking. He screamed as his hands went up to his face, the skin sliding off the flesh. Wilde’s board was also in a similar state of chaos as the Hook’s systems, already under a heavy strain simply refused to bear the burden of the power they were being asked to handle and reroute. Wilde hit the large red button and fire suppression systems kicked in, smothering the flames roaring from the consoles as he bent to sent to Fotheran, who was rolling on the deck of the bridge in a tight fetal position, muffling his animal cries of pain.

    Courtney Brass was the only one to see what Fotheran had done. Some 400 meters off the port nacelle, the shimmering curtain of the transporter effect reappeared and the Liberator’s photon torpedoes sped out of it, their destructive power undiluted. The photon torpedoes slammed into the port nacelle of Liberator and exploded with apocalyptic results.

    The nacelle exploded and the resultant disruption of the delicate matter/anti-matter balance sent a domino effect cascading throughout the entire ship. The Liberator’s bridge immediately went to red alert. Captain Rutledge had leaped from his chair and was at the helm, trying to assistant the helmsman in regaining control of their vessel.

    “Tactical! What the hell did Fotheran hit us with?”

    “Sir…I think he used our own torpedoes…”

    “Talk sense, woman!” Rutledge looked around his chaotic bridge and snarled, “Ops! Status report!”

    “Systems are crashing all over the ship, Captain! We’ve got to eject what’s left of the port nacelle to regain control of the ship and stabilize the warp core!”

    “Eject port nacelle immediately! Implement emergency procedures and evacuate all decks in danger of radiation contamination! Dammit, Tactical, where’s Fotheran?”

    “The Platinum Hook is moving away at half impulse, sir! On a course heading of 241 mark 17!”

    “Helm, lay in that course and pursue! Best possible speed! Tactical, target and fire! I want that ship stopped right now!”

    The Klingon First Officer was in a blood fury as he roared, “Impulse and warp drive are both offline and weapons systems are down! It will take at least fifteen minutes to get them back!”

    And if that wasn’t enough, the ship’s comsystem crackled with the urgent voice of The Chief Engineer. “Captain, I’ve got to take the mains offline! If power isn’t shut down all over the ship so we can make emergency repairs we’ll have to eject the warp core!”

    “Goddammit, Ivanov, I need my weapons! Fotheran’s getting away!”

    “Sir, it’s either lose him or lose your ship!”

    Rutledge stood for a few seconds, watching as the bridge crew was using extinguishers to put out small fires. He listened to the reports from his medical staff as the injuries that were coming in and from damage crews as they struggled to keep Liberator in one piece. And he knew what he had to do. He tabbed his chair’s com unit.

    “This is the Captain to Engineering: shut down everything except for Life Support and Environmental Control. Do you copy?”

    The relief in the answering voice was plain; “Aye, sir!”

    Rutledge stared at the rapidly departing Platinum Hook on the main view screen and he fought to hold down the boiling anger that churned inside his bowels. “This isn’t over, Fotheran,” he whispered. “Not by a damn sight.”

---

    “So you used the reserve power to boost the transporter and redirect the photon torpedoes right back at Liberator.” Cooper Wilde shook his head in amazed admiration.

    In the six hours since they had escaped what seemed like certain capture, Courtney had placed The Platinum Hook on a course for Cinnabar. The Hereditary Bastard of Cinnabar was a good friend and long-time partner of Fotheran’s and would gladly give them sanctuary while they made repairs and got Fotheran some much needed medical attention. Wilde had done the best he could but he was no doctor and that was what was needed to repair Fotheran’s ruined face and hands, which had been horribly burned when his control panel exploded. Wilde was a better than average field medic but Fotheran would require some cosmetic reconstruction. He took the news with his usual devil-may-care attitude, saying that after blowing the hell out of a Starfleet ship he would need to change his face anyway. The skilled surgeons on Cinnabar would be able to reconstruct his face anyway he wanted. If they got there without any further incident.

    “Where’d you learn that trick from, guy?”

    Fotheran’s face was covered in dermaline gel. Wilde had applied a dermal regenerator as well as an anabolic protoplaser and that would insure that Fotheran would lose no more skin than he already had. Wilde’s quick actions had saved most of his face. Despite the gel covering his face, Fotheran was able to talk clearly as he answered Wilde’s question.

    “You know my dad is an Archivist. He used to tell me bedtime stories about a lot of Starfleet captains. One of them used that trick…I think it was Kirk….”

    Wilde chuckled. “Man, if all the stories told about Kirk were true he’d have to have been three different men who each lived to be six hundred years old. But what the hell…wherever you got that trick from, it saved our asses and that’s a fact.”

    But Fotheran was no longer listening. He had fallen asleep; a combination of exhaustion and the painkillers Wilde had hyposprayed him with. Wilde pulled the blanket covering Fotheran up to his neck and left the medical tricorder on a shelf and made his way to the bridge where Courtney was using an engineering tricorder to finish surveying the damage.

    “How are we doing?”

    Courtney shook her head. “Way I estimate it, we’re looking at a good five weeks worth of repairs. Denys may have gotten us out of a tight spot but he damn near destroyed The Hook to do it.”

    “He damn near destroyed us.” Wilde moved closer and gently plucked the tricorder from her hand, placing it on a blackened, ruined console and wrapped his arms around her slender waist. Courtney turned up her face to accept his kiss. A kiss that was full of the passion that only came when one was standing on the hem of Death’s robe, when every new breath you drew in tasted as sweet as the first kiss of sunlight on a world you’d never visited before. Wilde was the one to break the kiss and he held Courtney’s face in his hands as he said, “When are you going to tell him about us?”

    Courtney hugged him tight. ‘Don’t push me, Coop. I’m still not sure how I feel about all this. I still love him…”

    Wilde drew back and looked her full in the face. “You love him. Okay. That’s all well and good. But he’s going to get you killed, Courtney. You must know that. The Federation’s after him now and after the black eye he’s given Starfleet they won’t rest until they’ve clapped him in irons and thrown him in the worst rehab colony they’ve got. And it’s only a matter of time before they get him. I’m offering you a way out, Courtney. I can give you a life. A life free from fear that you can be killed at any moment. That’s not a life Denys can give you. Not now. Not after today. And not after what he did to the Liberator.”

    Courtney could think of nothing else but to kiss him again. And oh, did his kisses match his name. They were so wild indeed and they made her blood sing and a way that not even Fotheran’s did. But this time, it was Courtney who broke the kiss.

    “Coop, let’s just get Denys to Cinnabar and back on his feet and then we can ALL make a decision on this, okay?”

    “Do you love me?”

    “Coop…”

    “Do you love him?”

    Courtney’s voice was flinty as she dropped her arms and folded them across her chest, looking away from Wilde. “You know I do.”

    “So where does that leave me, Courtney? Where does that leave US?”

    “I don’t know, Coop! And I don’t want to give you an answer now and I don’t want to think about it now! Let’s get Denys some help first, okay?”

    Wilde turned and headed down the ladder, throwing a final word over his shoulder; “We’ve got to settle this, Courtney…and soon. I mean it.”

    Courtney said nothing as Wilde climbed down the ladder as she heard his boot steps echo and fade. She sat in the pilot’s chair. Her head dropped into her hands as she determined to forget for a few minutes that she was a smuggler and a wanted criminal and allow herself the momentary luxury of being a woman and cried her heart out.

    The majestic insanity of warp space sped by the battered hull of The Platinum Hook as it bore its equally emotionally battered crew towards the safe haven of Cinnabar.

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