“Resist and you will be fired upon,” snapped the STS.

Shwartz came into view on the starboard camera. He’d jumped for the warp manifold transport cradle, his suit trailing cables. A glowing red blossom pulsed from the cruiser.

KL TRGT NW XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Pitcher screamed, pounding his console. Ishikawa moved to his side. “What’s wrong?”

“The pain. AAARGH. I can’t stand it.”

“What is it? What can we do to stop it?”

“Dentures! AAAARGH!”

Fragments from the case round rattled against the ship. The image of Shwartz turned to noise.

“Shwartz, I can’t see you,” Ishikawa radioed. “Are you okay?”

“Here, yes. Okay not so sure.”

“Say when it’s connected; then you have 30 seconds to get back inside.”

“AAAAAAAARGH!”

He opened the med cabinet, grabbed an ampoule of morphine and jabbed it into Pitcher’s arm.

“Connected,” came Shwartz’s voice.

Ishikawa scrambled back to the helm. “Cycle the airlock as soon as Shwartz closes it,” he ordered.

Pitcher nodded groggily. FK U, he tongued.