Captain’s Log, stardate 2023.05.01. I have been given command of the starship USS Crusader for my final training voyage before graduating from Fleet Academy. It has been a long four years, but I am hopeful that this final voyage will prove that I am worthy to serve in the distinguished ranks of captains who travel the galaxy to spread the good news of the Word. My crew is a mix of academy hopefuls, with varying experience. We’ve all been given temporary officer commissions for the duration of the mission. Still, it is a good thing that we are only to explore a small portion of the galaxy where long range sensors have detected little of interest. No one’s expecting any trouble.
“Captain!” a voice shouted from the starship bridge, causing Captain Owen Baker to blink.
Owen flicked a switch on the captain’s chair to turn off the log recording and focused on Lieutenant Natalee Rieser who sat the comm. “What is it, lieutenant?”
“Incoming transmission from fleet headquarters, sir.” She seemed suddenly nervous as she added, “High priority.”
A sinking feeling found it’s way into Owen’s stomach. “Put it on screen.”
Natalee regarded the many screens in front of her in dismay. “Uh…which one, sir?”
Owen sighed. “The big one, lieutenant. Right there.” He pointed at the main viewscreen that took up most of the front part of the bridge.
“Oh,” Natalee said and then mumbled quietly to herself, “why didn’t you just say so?”
Owen thought of a dozen retorts, but just then the screen flickered to show a larger-than-life view of Commodore Joey Diaz. The commodore’s bright eyes narrowed and then focused on Owen as he said, “Captain, we’ve received a distress call from the USS Hopewell in sector 48.7 of your quadrant. Exact coordinates are being transmitted now. We fear she is under attack, and as you are the only vessel close enough, I’m afraid I must dispatch you to their aid.”
Owen sat straighter in his chair. “But this is a training vessel, sir. We’re not equipped for a combat mission.”
“There’s no one else,” the commodore said. “At least not anyone who can get there in time. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, captain. Admiral Gieseler has authorized the rescue attempt.” Commodore Diaz leaned forward until his face filled the screen. “This may be the same enemy who has been abducting academy cadets for the last year. If so, these aliens are extremely dangerous, intelligent, and utterly ruthless. We don’t even know what they look like, and we’ve not been able to rescue even a single one of the abductees. Weapons free, Captain, and Godspeed. Live long and prosper.”
The viewscreen flickered and then resolved into a view of the stars beyond the bow of the ship.
Commander Usmadia Lozoya, the first officer of the Crusader, muttered darkly, “If he wants us to live long, he shouldn’t be sending us into a combat situation.”
But Owen shot to his feet, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he shouted, “Number One, plot an intercept course to the Hopewell, warp-factor eight!” He fully intended to squash these aliens and rescue the crew of the Hopewell.
Commander Usmaida sat in her chair, staring intently at the screen. She did nothing.
Owen barked, “Usmaida, I gave you an order!”
The commander turned slowly to regard Owen. “Watch your tone, Owen. I don’t take that from no one.”
Owen’s mouth fell open. “But I’m the captain!”
Usmadia shrugged. “So?” She seemed to think about it. “Wait a minute. What did you call me?”
“Number One. You’re the first officer,” Owen explained slowly. “That’s what we all call the first officer.”
“I’m number one?” she said, eyeing Owen with a considering look.
Owen ground his teeth in exasperation. “Yes!”
Usmadia sat up straight, her face brightening. “You all hear that,” she said to the bridge crew. “I’m number one! Ha!” She looked at Owen. “If I’m number one, then shouldn’t I be captain?”
“No!” Owen shouted at her. He spun to the helmsman, Lieutenant Azaiah Martinez, and asked, “Lieutenant, do you have the coordinates for the Hopewell?”
“Aye-aye, captain!” Azaiah said excitedly.
“Then plot a direct intercept course with a .2 degree rise in azimuth above the celestial plane at warp factor eight.” Owen rubbed his hands. “That’ll bring us right on top of them!”
Azaiah’s hands froze on the console. “Say again, captain?” he said.
Exasperated all over again, Owen pointed. “That way!”
Azaiah mumbled, “Why didn’t you just say so?” And then louder, he added, “Engaging warp drives.”
The engine nacelles revved up with all the power of the warp core and then exploded the ship forward at 512 times the speed of light. The stars streaked by in lines of light as the USS Crusader moved to save the USS Hopewell.
Chief Security Officer Jordan Gieseler appeared at Owen’s side. “Captain,” he said, “are we going to get to shoot someone?”
“Perhaps,” Owen acknowledged.
Jordan sighed. “I sure hope so. Scuttlebutt says these aliens who have been abducting people look like giant cockroaches, with huge bugged-out eyes that can hypnotize you at twenty paces, twenty-inch, razor-sharp teeth, claws that can tear you limb from limb with surgical precision, and acid saliva that can eat right through metal.”
Lieutenant Annaliza Alvarado, sitting at the second helm console snorted in amusement. “You’ve just described Kelvin,” she laughed.
“Hey!” Ensign Kelvin Chavez barked indignantly from his station at the weapon’s console.
“Cut it out,” Owen snapped. The captain turned to Jordan. “We don’t know what we’re walking into. Before we go in with guns blazing, we must ascertain if there is a present and clear threat. We don’t even know if the Hopewell is truly under attack. They might just be having engine trouble.”
Jordan saluted. “Right you are, sir! Sorry for the bloodthirsty reaction. Permission to speak freely.”
Owen nodded. “Go ahead.”
Jordan lowered his voice and looked around to make sure he wasn’t overheard. “To be honest, captain, I really do hope they are under attack by giant, bug-eyed aliens. If so, can I be part of the away team?” He patted the phaser hooked to his hip. “Been wanting to try this bad-boy out for some time.”
Owen rolled his eyes and turned away. He’d been saddled with a bunch of crazy people! What was Command thinking? Lieutenant Azaiah suddenly spoke up, “Sir, we’ll arrive at the Hopewell’s coordinates in twenty seconds.”
Owen sat back down. “Very well. Red alert! Shields up! Weapons ready!”
A string of panels around the bridge suddenly turned bright red—at least Owen assumed it was red. His color blindness made certain colors a bit different to him.
A voice came over the intercom attached to his command chair. “Sir, are we going into battle?” That came from the chief engineer, Irvin Chavez.
“We might be, chief,” Owen told him.
“If you scratch the paint on my ship,” Irvin said in a sulky voice, “you buy it.”
Before Owen could reply, the ship decelerated, and the impulse engines engaged.
Kelvin squealed suddenly, “Torpedo incoming!”
Owen only had time to look at the viewscreen before something flashed brightly and then detonated against their shields. The ship rocked, flinging Commander Usmaida from her seat. The commander popped to her feet, her face turning a dark shade of vengeful wrath. “That does it,” she roared. “No one—and I mean no one treats me like that! Revenge is a dish best served cold, and it’s very cold in space.” She said some other words in Spanish, which Owen barely understood. It sounded like she was concocting a way to roast cockroaches over the warp core. She yelled, “Fire!”
Kelvin gleefully hit a button. Two lines of blazing, destructive energy shot out from the Crusader and struck the ship immediately in front of the viewscreen. The blast sheered off one of the engine nacelles, and it went twirling away in a storm of sparks and cascading explosions. Kelvin punched the air and triumphantly yelled, “Cheeseburger!”
“Hold your fire!” Owen shouted above the noise.
Lieutenant Natalee suddenly gasped. “Captain, incoming transmission from the Hopewell!”
With a sinking feeling, Owen ordered, “On screen!”
The viewscreen resolved into the angry-faced captain of the injured ship. “Owen, you baboon-faced rat, are you insane!” he bellowed. “You just blew up my engine!”
Kelvin scrunched down in his chair, looking sheepish. “Oops,” he muttered.
Another torpedo struck the Crusader’s shields, sending the ship rocking. Sparks flew and Usmaida went sprawling again.
Annaliza said, “Shields down to 60%!”
Owen straightened. “Find that enemy ship!” he ordered. He focused on the man in the viewscreen then. “Captain,” he said coldly. “We’re here to rescue you.”
The other captain sniffed. “You’re doing a bang-up job of it so far.”
Usmaida looked from one captain to the other. “You know him, Owen?” she asked.
“Yes. This is my brother, Captain Jacen Baker of the USS Hopewell.”
“Your younger brother,” Jacen snapped.
“Younger?” Usmaida echoed.
Owen shrugged. “He worked ahead, graduated early.”
“Found her!” Azaiah shouted abruptly. “Enemy ship, bearing mark 7.6. He’s a speedy devil!”
Owen ordered, “On screen!” Captain Jacen’s face dissolved into a star filled landscape that showed…nothing. “Where?” Owen demanded, searching.
“Sensors say she’s right there in front of us,” Azaiah said defensively.
“Magnification one hundred,” Usmaida said.
The screen blinked forward, and a sleek looking ship materialized on the screen. They must have been much further away than he’d thought. Weapon ports covered the ship, and it darted about with incredible speed and dexterity. One of the weapon ports began to glow. They were firing again!
“Evasive pattern Alpha-Omega!” Owen ordered.
Azaiah looked at his console again and mused, “Alpha-Omega…was that the one where we go left, down, then up at a 20-degree angle?”
Annaliza shook her head. “Naw, that’s Omega-Alpha. Alpha-Omega goes down first, then right, then up at a 9-degree angle. Didn’t you listen to the lecture?”
“Ah yes,” Azaiah agreed absently. “Should have studied harder at school.”
“Just do something!” Owen pleaded in near panic.
“Well, why didn’t you say so?” the helmsman muttered.
It was too late. Another torpedo slammed into the Crusader. This time, Owen couldn’t keep his seat either and flew across the bridge, bouncing off Annaliza’s chair and skidding into a railing. His ribs hurt. No, that was his knee. Well, something hurt.
“Fire!” Owen yelled in desperation.
Kelvin pushed all the buttons at his disposal. Proton torpedoes and phasers lanced out in devastating fury at their enemy.
“Clean miss!” Natalee shouted.
Kelvin looked mortified. “Not my fault!” he muttered.
“Shields down to 20%!” Annaliza reported like a sports announcer stating the score.
Owen braced himself for another devastating blow, but nothing happened. The main viewscreen blinked off and on, and smoke filled the bridge. Damage control indicators said that they had a hull breech on deck 11, but no casualties. The warp drive was offline, meaning they were reduced to impulse power alone. He climbed shakily to his feet with Jordan’s aid and glanced hopefully at Kelvin.
The ensign shook his head sadly and whispered, “Weapons are also offline.”
Great. It had gone from bad to worse.
“Captain,” Natalee said into the sudden silence. “We are being hailed by the enemy vessel.”
That could only mean one thing. Owen swallowed. “On screen, lieutenant.” And just in case, he pointed. “The big one.”
“I know,” Natalee said, rolling her eyes.
The screen worked hard, and finally resolved into a flickering image of a massive creature that seemed to hulk in the viewscreen. Owen stared. Then he blinked. Then he stared some more. Then he shook his head, just in case. Nothing changed.
Usmaida suddenly squealed in delight, “It’s so cute! It’s like a big hamster!”
Indeed, the creature staring at them did have a blue furry face, big white eyes, and two pink antenna that worked independently above its furry head. Long whiskers curled back from its cheeks to brush yellow ears that rotated in opposite directions. There was absolutely nothing menacing about this alien at all—unless you counted the psychedelic clash of colors. He dead sure couldn’t even see any metal eating saliva dripping from two-foot fangs. Yet strangely, there was something familiar about the alien’s face, as if he’d seen it before.
But then the creature spoke with a booming voice that echoed all over the bridge. “I am Destiny!”
There follow a long, confused pause until Owen finally asked, “Wait. You’re our destiny? What does that even mean?”
“No, you imbecilic human! My name is Destiny.” The alien took a deep, calming breath. “I am Captain Destiny of the Ardt Astro Alliance. AAA for short.” She gestured with a rodent paw to another alien hamster hovering over her shoulder. “This is my second in command, Amia. We demand your full and unconditional surrender. Surrender now, and I will spare your crew. Defy me and I will crack your ship open and spill its guts to the cold of space where you will die in decompressive agony!”
Owen was still trying to get his head wrapped around all of this. “Wait a moment,” he said. “Art? What type of art are we talking about here?” He looked suspiciously at the aliens. “You’re not some sort of neo-impressionism terrorist group are you? I gotta say, I’m not very fond of your artwork.”
“Not art!” Captain Destiny boomed, the fur on her face turning an interesting shade of red and her whiskers quivering in rage. “Ardt! A-R-D-T. It has nothing to do with art!”
Jordan sidled up to Owen and whispered, “The transporter has a lock on their ship. Let me take a team and beam over there.” He again patted his phaser. “I can take them.”
Owen ignored the security chief for the moment, filing the idea away. If push came to shove, he’d do it. He cleared his throat. “Captain Destiny, we have heard your demands. Give me time to arrange everything and inform the crew. I wouldn’t want anyone with an itchy trigger finger to do something rash, would you?”
Destiny’s furry face shifted to look at Jordan who effected an innocent expression that, unfortunately, made him look more like a hungry weasel. Amia’s antennas suddenly twined around each other, an alien version of going cross eyed perhaps. “Maybe you’re right,” the alien said stiffly. She consulted with Amia for a moment before turning back. “You have thirty minutes to surrender, or I turn your ship into star dust.”
The viewscreen flickered off.
“Now what?” Annaliza asked into the sudden silence.
It was Lieutenant Commander Hannah Pagar who came to their rescue. The science officer stepped onto the bridge from the turbo lift along with the chief medical officer Shayla Kunkle. While Shayla set about tending to the small cuts and bruises of the bridge personnel, Hannah came over and stood stiffly next to Owen.
“Any ideas, lieutenant commander?” Owen asked her.
Hannah’s tinted glasses turned toward the captain. “Logic would dictate that we surrender, captain. But fleet regulations forbid surrender to a hostile force under any circumstances.”
“We’re dead in the water,” Owen said, rubbing a bruise on his face. “Weapons are down, and we can only maneuver on impulse engines. Their ship is faster and more powerful than ours.”
Hannah looked speculative. “Captain, the answer might be a matter of scale.”
“Scale?” Usmaida echoed, coming over to join them. “What do you mean?”
The science officer explained, “Perspective is controlled by our senses. We perceive something that becomes reality to us and thereby dictates our actions and reactions. With the right perspective, the problem may be reduced to its true form and control might be achieved.”
Usmaida’s eyes had crossed. “Can you speak in English? Scratch that. Speak in Spanish. You’re making no sense.”
Hannah grinned. “Has anyone taken a measurement of the enemy ship?”
Owen blinked. He spun to Annaliza. “What’s the size of their ship?”
Annaliza worked for a moment and then sputtered in amazement, “Sir, the ship measures about fifteen feet long, four feet wide, and four feet thick.”
Commander Usmaida suddenly laughed. “Why, they are hamsters!”
“Alien, female rodents,” Jordan pointed out emphatically. “I say we still shoot them.”
The screen came to life again, this time with Captain Jacen’s face glowering at them. “I could have told you that,” the captain of the Hopewell said in a hard voice. “What are you going to do, captain?”
Owen didn’t miss the sarcasm in his brother’s voice. Behind Jacen, someone said, “Captain, with our engines inoperable, we’re starting to drift toward the event horizon of a black hole. If we don’t pull away soon, we will be caught in the gravitational pull and be unable to escape.”
“Understood, lieutenant Aarolyn,” Jacen said over his shoulder. “Richard,” he yelled to someone else. “Take Tristan and Alex and get down to engineering. I want impulse power restored immediately! Ivan and Sonja, get the transporters working now!” Jacen turned back to his brother on the screen. “We’ve got a disaster brewing over here, Owen. Do something.”
“Our transporters still work,” Owen said. “We could beam your crew over here.”
“You’d need to lower your shields for that,” Jacen pointed out.
True. Owen nodded and said, “We’ll think of something. Captain Owen out.” He made a cutting sign, and Lieutenant Natalee ended the transmission. He glanced at the time. “We’ve got twenty minutes left, people. Ideas?”
“Shoot them,” Jordan suggested.
“Our weapons are offline,” Annaliza pointed out.
Jordan shrugged. “Beam them over here and then shoot them.”
“Don’t you dare,” Usmaida insisted, giving the security chief her best scowl. “They’re innocent hamsters.”
No one knew what to say to that.
The intercom crackled to life with Engineering Chief Irvin’s voice. “Captain, I’ve been able to restore power to the warp drive with Ensign Brayden’s help, but he warns that he doesn’t think it will hold, and I agree. We can probably do warp 2 for ten minutes before the whole thing overheats and blows us to pieces.” Not far enough or fast enough.
“What about weapons?” Owen asked.
“No go,” Irvin said. “That last volley warped the primary conductor coils. I could probably get a torpedo or two ready to shoot in about twenty minutes, but that’s it.”
Which was a few minutes too late.
Shayla, the chief medical officer, gave Owen a booster shot to keep him functioning in the highly stressful situation. She glanced sidelong at the viewscreen and said, “Couldn’t you beam them into a holding cell?”
The suggestion caught Owen off guard. He hit a button on his command chair. “Transporter room!” he said.
A voice came through. “Ensign Mia Robbs here, captain!”
“Can you beam the crew of the enemy ship into a holding cell on our ship?” Owen asked.
“Doubtful, captain,” came back Mia’s response. “The alien lifeforms are simply too small to lock onto with that level of precision. I can beam them easily enough to the transporter room, but multidirectional beaming is still imprecise. Who knows where they’ll end up. They could end up in the armory for all I know.”
Which would hardly be good. Owen chewed on his lower lip. “Lieutenant Annaliza, how many lifeforms can you detect on the enemy ship?”
“Nine, captain,” she replied promptly.
“Only nine?” Usmaida sounded surprised.
“It ain’t that big of a ship,” Azaiah muttered.
“Beam them to the transporter room,” Jordan said. “I can shoot them there.”
It was Shayla who spoke up quietly. “Doesn’t that violate the prime directive?”
Hannah agreed. “I’m forced to concur, captain. Our prime directive is to spread the Word, not engage in a war of mutual destruction.”
Usmaida looked incredulous. “Cute hamster or not, they shot at us first!”
Hannah raised an eyebrow and asked, “Weren’t you the one who didn’t want to shoot them just a bit ago?”
“I’ve changed my mind,” the commander said imperiously. “Privileges of command.”
Owen sighed and nodded to Hannah. “You’re right, lieutenant commander. We must follow fleet regulations regardless of the outcome, and the prime directive takes precedence even over our lives. We must trust that those in power know what is best.” He turned to Jordan. “Gather a security detail in the transporter room. Set phasers to stun. Stun, mind you. We don’t want to harm them if we don’t have to.”
“You’re no fun,” Jordan muttered as he stomped away. He pulled out a comm unit and began issuing orders into it.
“You’ll still need to lower the shields, captain,” Annaliza reminded him.
“I know. It is part of the plan.”
Usmaida threw up her hands. “Oooh, now he’s got a plan!”
Owen looked at his first officer. “Number One, you’re with me. We should handle this personally.”
She shrugged. “Still number one, eh? I like it.” The woman could go from ice-cold to red hot in a blink of an eye.
Shaking his head, Owen led Usmadia to the turbo lift, rode it to deck 5, and made their way to the main transporter room. They found Jordan already there with the security detail, consisting of petty officers Luke Gieseler, Jonathan Robbs, Niko Alvarado, and Aylin Pillado.
Owen gathered everyone around. “Here’s the plan,” he said. “We’re going to beam the enemy crew into the transporter room. As far as we can tell, they don’t know about this technology. They don’t even have shields as they rely upon their small size, speed, and maneuverability. We can’t outgun them, but we can trap them. When they arrive, we will give them the chance to surrender peacefully. If not, we stun them and put them in a holding cell until Fleet Headquarters can decide what to do with them. Am I understood?”
Everyone nodded. Taking a deep breath, he went over to where Ensign Mia stood at the transporter console. “Be ready on my mark,” he said.
“Aye-aye, captain,” Mia said. “I have a lock on them.”
Owen hit another button. “Lieutenant Natalee, open a subspace channel to the enemy ship. Tell them we are preparing to surrender, and then pipe the transmission to my location.”
“Aye-aye, captain,” Natalee said.
Soon enough, the voice of Captain Destiny of the AAA came over the speaker. “I see that you have a glimmer of intelligence after all, captain,” she said with as much disdain stuffed into each word as possible. There was a pause. “Why can’t I see you on the viewscreen?”
“We’re damaged,” Owen said. “Not everything is working like it should.” Well, it was mostly true.
“Very well,” Destiny responded. “Lower your shields and power down your warp core. Have everyone clear out of the bridge and engineering, and confine all nonessential personnel to their quarters. Open your shuttle bay hanger and prepare to be boarded.”
Owen took a deep breath and looked around at his shipmates. “Ready?” he whispered. They all drew weapons and nodded. Louder, he said, “Lowering shields.” He looked to Usmaida. “Make it happen, Number One.”
She grinned at him and winked, which set Owen back on his heels. What? She hit a button. “Shields lowered,” she said.
Owen turned to Mia. “Energize!” he hissed.
Mia pushed up nine sliders on her console at once. A humming, electrical sound emanated from the transporter pad followed by sparks of light that formed between the emitter arrays on the pad in a rainbow burst of colors. And then matter reconstituted on the pad, and nine colorful hamster-like aliens resolved in the empty space between the emitter arrays. And in truth, they were no bigger than ordinary hamsters. And cute, too.
But Owen was taking no chances here. “Surrender!” he shouted, aiming his phaser at the first alien, the one with blue fur and white eyes. For a moment, the alien seemed stunned at the turn of events, but then she stood on her hind legs, put hands on hips, and glared indignantly at the captain. Oddly, each of the aliens wore colorful skirts and blouses that added to the explosion of colors. They were all females, which doubled Owen’s sense of trepidation.
Destiny looked Owen up and down as one might examine a piece of meat in a butcher’s shop. “What is the meaning of this,” she bellowed—well, squeaked really. Such a small pair of lungs didn’t exactly have the same effect as a computer enhanced voice over the speakers. “You are to surrender to me!” she finished.
Owen shook his head. “You’re our prisoners. If you don’t give us trouble, you’ll be treated well.”
“You think so?” the enemy captain said. “No, Captain Owen, you will find that we are not so easily captured.” She reached down to her belt and pressed a button.
Owen had no idea what to expect, but there was a flash and then the hamster-sized alien turned into a human-sized one, blue fur changing colors from blue to red so fast that she seemed to be a Christmas light. She also had a phaser of her own in her hand, pointed right at Owen.
Not so cute anymore.
The other aliens promptly followed suit, and suddenly, nine very large, very angry, and very armed aliens faced off against eight befuddled humans in the transporter room. Oops. That hadn’t gone according to plan. But now that Owen could see the aliens’ faces more clearly, he really did recognize them. “I know you!” he blurted out. He stared from face to face. “I know all of you!”
These were some of the abducted cadets, captured by a mysterious alien force and never found…until now. He remembered Destiny from the academy. He remembered them all…Gracie Ardt, Beth Hart, Brooke Hart, Candice Ewing, Melanie Gieseler, Gabriella Allen, Eliana Martinez, and of course, Amia Brigham. Something had been done to them, something alien.
“What we have here,” Jordan said, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes as he aimed his phaser at the aliens, “is a Mexican standoff. Except we ain’t got no Mexicans.”
“Hey!” Usmaida protested. Aylin and Nikko also looked askance at Jordan. “Soy Mexicano!” Usmaida muttered, and then without warning, she turned and shot at Jordan. He yelped and dodged, the beam grazing his left ear.
“She shot me!” Jordan yelled, staring wide-eyed at the first officer.
But that opened the floodgates. “Blast them!” Destiny roared, and suddenly Owen didn’t have time for anything other than diving out of the way of a phaser beam that punched a huge hole in the back of the room. Sparks and smoke filled the air to accompany the screams and yells as the humans and alien hybrids exchanged phaser fire. The enemy clearly didn’t have their weapons set to stun.
Jordan began laughing manically as he pulled the trigger of his phaser, aiming indiscriminately. Fortunately, it was still set on stun. His fourth shot hit Eliana square in the chest. Her whiskers went rigid, pointing straight out, and her fur turned a sickly green color as she collapsed, stunned, her antennas drooping over her face.
Someone shot the doors to the transporter room, blowing them apart in a screech of protesting metal and flinging the panels out into the hallway where two midshipmen, Chevy Guerrero and Kali Pickard, stood in wide-eyed amazement. Owen dove through the opening just as another beam cut over his back and punched another hole in the wall. They were tearing his ship apart! “Stop blowing holes in me ship!” he yelled at no one and at everyone.
And then Beth came barreling out of the transporter room. She had a crazed look to one red eye—not an uncommon look on her—and when she saw Owen, she raised her gun and took a shot. The beam nearly caught him, whizzing just over his head and disintegrating a few precious hairs up there, but the impact against the hull of the ship flung him forward right into her, knocking them both off their feet. Fortunately, Beth was all furry and that softened the landing. But her punch to the face was anything but furry. It caught him in the jaw and knocked him back over. He saw stars. Lots of stars.
Somehow, Owen had kept a firm grip on his phaser, and when Beth leaped to her feet and barred hundreds of razor-sharp teeth at him in a clear promise of agonizing pain, he felt it prudent to put an end to the fight. He shot her, point blank. The blast knocked Beth back over and she hit the floor hard. Owen winced as he climbed back to his feet and cautiously studied his opponent. Beth’s eyes were rolling in opposite directions, and a bit of drool escaped the side of her mouth and hit the floor of the hallway. A sizzling sound emanated from the contact, and Owen was shocked to see a little hole where the saliva had actually eaten right through the metal.
Acid saliva. So it was true after all. Owen shuddered. He was grateful she hadn’t decided to spit at him. The image of the damage that would have done sent a chill running down his spine.
More phaser shots and explosions sounded from back within the ruined transporter room. Another ball of fur came rolling out the shattered doors. The alien stood to her feet wobbly, blinking smoke out of her eyes.
“Gracie?” Owen asked hesitantly.
She turned to him, a growl rumbling up in her throat, but then she sighed, her fur turning a neon pink color and her antennas twisting around each other in clear distress. Her eyes rolled up and she fainted at his feet. Whew. At least he didn’t have to shoot her.
But then another of the aliens came leaping out of the door. A roundhouse kick sent his phaser clattering far down the hallway. The attacking alien took up a karate stance, facing him. She wore a black belt around her waist.
Owen blinked. “Brooke?” he asked.
By way of an answer, Brooke leaped up and kicked him in the face.
He would have sighed if he wasn’t in so much pain. What was it about his face that every female he met wanted to hit or shoot?
He went flying backwards and slammed into the wall with teeth rattling force. He came out of his daze in time to just avoid a punch that would have rearranged his teeth—and just when he’d gotten them fixed! He scrambled away and held up his hands. “Now just a minute, Brooke,” he said. “I don’t want to hurt you. My father taught me never to hit a girl.”
“Good,” she growled back, “then he wouldn’t mind if I hit you.”
And oh did she try. At least two of her punches caught him, one in the chest and the other in the stomach—but at least she didn’t hit him in the face again! Victory! She kept it up though, a furious ball of raging fur, sharp teeth, and clawed fists.
Just then Jordan came out of the transporter room, carting Destiny and Amia with him by the furry scruffs of their necks. They looked stunned and glassy eyed, though Jordan didn’t look much better. Phaser burns covered his exposed skin and smoke wafted off of him like a chimney stack. But when Jordan saw the trouble his captain was in, he dropped his prisoners, pulled out his phaser, and aimed it at Brooke. He grinned wickedly and said, “Oh, I’m so going to enjoy this.”
He pulled the trigger.
Brooke dodged faster than Owen could follow, and the beam caught Owen right in the face. Of course it did. Right. In. The. Face. The last thing Owen heard before he fell unconscious to the floor was Jordan’s disgruntled, “Oh brother.”
* * *
Owen woke much later to find Usmaida and Shayla looking down at him. He blinked rapidly to bring his surroundings into more focus. He lay on a bed in sick bay. The monitors above his head blinked on and off with different displays of his vitals. The other beds were filled too, but none of them were aliens. He looked at the two girls standing over him. “What happened?” he asked.
Usmaida grinned. “We won,” she said. “We captured all the aliens and even managed to save the Hopewell…well, what’s left of her anyway. Your brother is safe.” Her grin grew even wider. “And I got to shoot Jordan.”
“Couldn’t you have done it before he shot me?” Owen grumbled, pushing himself up to a sitting position. Dizziness nearly sent him straight back down.
“Careful,” Shayla said, “it takes a while for the stun effect to wear off.”
“Yeah,” Owen agreed in a slurred tone. “Where are the aliens?”
“They’re here,” Shayla explained, pointing around.
Owen studied the other beds. Sure enough, he saw Destiny and the other girls who had attacked his ship laying comfortably on the medical beds. But they didn’t look alien anymore. They looked normal—though Owen doubted he’d ever get the vision of Brooke’s kick to the face out of his eyes. That had hurt, but no less than Beth’s punch. Or Jordan’s phaser shot to the face. No, his face would never be the same again. Still, the fact that the girls weren’t aliens anymore surprised him.
“What did you do?” he asked Shayla.
“Well, once we realized who they really were, I was able to reverse the process done to their DNA with the unmodified samples I had Fleet Headquarters send us. They’re human again.”
“What about mentally?” Owen asked suspiciously. Destiny had pronounced some awful things upon him, and she sure sounded as if she’d meant them. “Will they still want to punch me in the face?”
“No, sir,” Shayla began, but she paused, thinking hard before saying, “Well, no more than normal, anyway. Once they were exposed to who they were under the Word, they came back to themselves.”
Just then Commodore Joey Diaz strode into the room. Owen snapped to attention and saluted, but a wave of dizziness nearly sent him to the floor.
“Hold on there, captain,” the commodore said, lending him a hand. “Steady as she goes.”
“Aye-aye, sir,” Owen slurred out, still trying to regain his complete senses.
“Chief medical officer Shayla is quite correct,” the commodore went on. “Whoever these hidden aliens are, they are pure evil. They are interested more in corrupting us than in killing us. In corrupting us, they were able to get us to turn against each other. We believe it was an attack against our prime directive to spread the true Word to the galaxy. These aliens like to hide in the shadows and attack us where we are most vulnerable, twisting all that is good and lovely into something that seeks to destroy us.” The commodore shook his head. “It is a good plan, and it will work if we are not on our guard.”
A phrase from the Word came to Owen’s mind and he quoted it aloud, “For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.”
“Exactly right,” Commodore Diaz agreed. “It is too easy to fight among ourselves, and when we do, that is when the aliens really win. Our job is to rescue those who have been taken by this evil and bring them back to the light. There are many others who have been taken by this darknesss who need to be redeemed. Let us not forsake them even when they are taken.”
Owen rubbed his jaw. “Even when they punch and kick you in the face?”
Jordan wandered over right then and in a somber tone said, “It’s okay, Owen. I have been, and always shall be, your friend.”
“Oh, shut up,” Owen muttered darkly.
The commodore chuckled and addressed everyone, “This evil can only win if we forget who our true enemy is. I was wrong before. Sometimes, the needs of the few or the one outweighs the needs of the many.” He looked around. “And the enemy is not anyone in this room. Don’t forget that.”
“I won’t,” Owen agreed.
Usmaida also nodded. “Sure thing, commodore sir. Pero al menos pude dispararle a Jordan.”
The End