|
"Raise
shields - weapons on standby . . ."
"No response
from the Nuarans, sir," Worf said.
"They
are still closing, Captain," Data said, scanning his console.
Once more,
Picard thought. "Enterprise to Nuaran vessels. I repeat, we
are on a peaceful mission, and we request communication with you."
Again, there
was no response, and Picard drew in a breath of frustration.
"Lieutenant
Worf, go to yellow alert--arm phasers and lock on targets." Picard
leaned forward in his chair. "Range, Mr. Data?"
"Thirty
thousand kilometers . . . twenty . . ."
On the
viewscreen, the five Nuaran spacecraft had grown from flitting pinpoints
to sleek harbingers of death.
"Optimum
range, sir," Worf said.
"I'm
aware of that, Lieutenant," Picard said evenly. "Hold your
fire."
The Nuaran
ships continued to close, rushing like mad birds of prey, till they were
almost directly on top of the Enterprise . . .
|