Phaser first, at level with her nose, she peered around the corner. An orange phaser spear rushed past her and she plucked her head out of the way. The beam struck the wall behind her and turned it to dust. Choking, she crammed her eyes closed and tried to wave the sandy dust away from her nose and mouth.
Another phaser whine—another blast. This time they missed this side of the wall all together.
Still she needed more protection—they had all but destroyed the alcove with their first two shots.
The phaser squeezed between her fingers, she put her hand out and fired—once, twice, three times.
And again.
Again.
She kept pummeling the Hidran’s only doorway with energy as she darted across the hall to a different alcove. She only glanced at the hatch for a moment, but saw no one there—no face looked back at her.
Safe for the moment, her protection and view of the Hidran better, she paused, caught her breath. Should she move from pillar to pillar up the corridor and away from here? Or should she stick with the more protective alcoves?
Another phaser blast—this time down the hall past her. She saw the beam cut through the air, sizzling the atmosphere and singeing her hair. She was parallel with the hatchway now—they couldn’t break away at her protection without carving through the walls of the room they were in. That would prove disastrous for all, for the building was stone and would cave into rubble if its supports were shaken enough. She’d already felt the dust fall on her when the Hidran phasers sent tremors through the structure.
Phaser in her right hand, the Hidran’s hatchway on her left, she crept forward, ready.
Ready for what? She was outgunned and outexperienced.
She had to get out of there—others could do this and still be alive when it was over.
Three Hidran exploded from the hatchway and three flashes of metal or plastic broke across the hall. They were all taking aim at her position at once! The fire power combined would obliterate the alcove, and her along with it.
She rolled away, stones and dust snapping at her.
Their aim was good—the alcove where she’d been hidden was no more. She froze behind a pillar, then realized that using it as protection would be her death if they phasered it rather than her. The ceiling would collapse and she’d die under an avalanche of stone and brick. She fired blindly again, at least trying to get a pause in their return, and ran—she wasn’t sure toward what.
Her breath was heavy—the stone under her feet evaporated as they fired and she ran. A corridor—she took it, not knowing where it led.
Stupid—it led back to the same corridor in a big loop. She now had an even better view of the Hidran and their blasted hatch, but they also had the same vantage on her.
Aim. All she had to do was aim. Eye on target and fire. How hard could it be?
She fired, the beam nearly hit one of the Hidran. They moved so quickly for their bulk. She was just getting use to this shoot-and-fire thing and now they were moving the targets.
Her breath coming in long strokes, her hand shaking, she lined up the closest Hidran and thumbed the trigger. Her beam lanced past him but caught one of the others right in the face.
The Hidran soldier bounced back against the wall as if he’d been hit by a thousand fists.
“Well, what do ya know,” she chuckled to herself. “Every once in a while the broad side of a barn jumps up for you.”
One big red barn down—four to go.
The other two Hidran began firing more—taking broad steps toward her.
Barbara fired and ran—toward the other path of the corridor—the one that would bring her around in a loop, but at least put her farther from the Hidran and the hatch itself.
A flash of lightning and the pillar before her exploded and she pulled herself back as best she could. The ceiling cracked and crashed to the floor. Flecks of rock and sand fell on her as she fell back into another alcove. Larger stones rolled and bounced up her legs as she collapsed against the wall, crying out in frustration and pain.
She choked as the dust cleared and allowed her to see the rubble that would become her headstone—she was now blocked from one corridor by the new crag, and the other by the Hidran.
There was no place to go.
And the Hidran were firing . . . and moving closer. She wouldn’t give up without a fight. She pressed herself forward, phaser ready . . .
Suddenly the two Hidran fell forward. A table, one from the lab they’d been held in, crashed up behind them, pushing them down.
Picard exploded out the hatch and dove for the stunned Hidran’s phaser. The Starfleet captain grabbed it in one hand and closed his other into a fist along the floor. He fired back through the hatch and then rolled forward toward the other two downed Hidran.
His phaser connected with one of them, and the Hidran sank back to the floor. The other Hidran spun around and knocked Picard down. The captain’s left hand shot out, but not into a punch—his fist opened—he threw dust into the Hidran’s face.
The alien bent forward, choking and sputtering. For a moment—just an instant—Picard’s eyes locked with Barbara’s. She nodded. She didn’t know what he wanted, but she could go with the flow of it, and that’s probably all he’d wanted anyway.
From out of the hatch came the other two Hidran. They towered over Picard as he spun around.
The captain slammed his boot into the instep of the Hidran behind him—the one that was still choking. Barbara heard a yelp of pain, and Picard went down to his knees. Instantly, the captain grabbed another handful of dust that had fallen from the ceiling and tossed it into the air. The other Hidran crumpled.
He repeated the action as he rolled away, and all the Hidran began writhing and choking, their arms flailing, trying to clear the dust.
Fantastic—horrific—as if they’d been showered with acid. Here she was, cowering in a corner with a phaser as Picard fended off all the Hidran with his bare hands and know-how.
Why wasn’t she helping? That’s what he needed—her help.
Barbara fired three times quickly through the small cloud of dust. She heard one Hidran fall.
She fired again, almost blindly and Picard kept tossing dust into the air as he scrambled toward her. The beam from her phaser shot forward and caught Picard in his chest, bouncing him back into the Hidran he was escaping from.
The dust was settling . . . and Picard was unconscious.
“No!”
Barbara pulled back into the alcove, wishing she could pull the beam back as well.
She heard a sound. The Hidran laughing? Her heart sinking? Both were happening. The three Hidran who remained conscious were choking and yet still moving toward her—and taking potshots with their phasers.
Picard, limp and unconscious, was tossed over the shoulder of one of them. Her fault. Hers. She’d gotten herself into this quicksand, he had been trying to get her out, and what did she do? Pull him down with her.
The Hidran continued to choke even thought the dust had settled. The dust—
The dust!
The Hidran, born from a water planet, hated dust. Dust was their enemy, a disease to them. Picard knew that and was trying to tell her. It’s how he’d fought them: his knowledge of them.
Starfleet wasn’t just brawn and testosterone as she’d thought. And she wished she could tell Picard that now.
She quickly set the phaser—a wide beam, thinly distributed.
They were moving closer . . . closer . . .
Not as close as she wanted them, but she panicked a bit and fired. The phaser spat energy in a thin, broad beam—a spatula of energy that she scraped not against the Hidran, but on the ceiling above them.
Clouds of dust, the sandstone ceiling turned to grit, rained down on the Hidran, and cut off their air. Gagging, they crumpled like large trees being tossed in a tornado. Barbara saw Picard pitched to the floor, a flash of red and black uniform through the chalk fog.
They tried to mov
e forward through the dust barricade. Barbara aimed the phaser and fired again. This time the floor spat up into a gritty barrier that mushroomed into the Hidran. Beyond the patchy thickness she saw them choking, but they refused to retreat back through the hatch.
She choked as the dust found its way forward and reset her phaser back to stun. Stun—if she’d left this to the professionals Picard wouldn’t have been stunned. Then again, at least she had only stunned him. A phaser setting more and he might have died.
Her mouth was dry and she licked her lips, suddenly frightened by the thought that he still might. The Hidran were trapped and who knew what they’d do now?
They did.
The Hidran moved forward, despite the dust, and continued to fire.
She was trapped, and knew she had to make a run for it—to get help—
Taking a deep breath, Barbara leapt forward and began a sprint down the hall—toward the Hidran.
The falling dust half cloaking her, she turned away from them as soon as she could and ran toward the main hall, her muscles screaming and feet barely able to balance on the line of fear she felt.
Relief melted through her as she saw three new Starfleet security guards running toward her.
The calvary had come, and just in ti—
Beside her the wall exploded into large chunks of rock and—
She felt her head snap . . . and consciousness evaporated.
Saxon was glad he was only the transporter chief. That seemed almost a cowardly thought, but he knew how many security teams were down on the planet, and wasn’t really sure what Commander Data hoped to gain by making a personal rescue attempt.
The commander, holding his phaser rifle and tricorder, waited near the transporter platform.
“Lieutenant Wyckoff just signaled that the team is on its way, sir,” Saxon told the android.
Data nodded. “Very well. I will want to beam down outside the main hall.”
“Aye, sir.” A wise move—sensors said no one was on the streets.
The transporter room doors parted, and acting security chief Wyckoff entered, flanked by six other security officers.
“Reporting as ordered, Commander,” Wyckoff said, nodding his men onto the dais before them.
Each man, Saxon noticed, was also carrying a heavy-duty phaser rifle and a few power-pack replacements.
Data nodded to the men who’d taken their places on the transporter platform, then spoke to Wyckoff. “The captain is being held, presumably by the Klingons. I will not discontinue the white-noise blanket for fear that the Klingons would attempt to beam the captain off the planet. However, keeping the transmission jammer active means that our sensors cannot pinpoint his specific location. We are aware that all the life-forms in question are either in the main hall or in other buildings, however, and for that reason we will transport down outside the main hall.”
Wyckoff nodded and stepped onto the transporter dais, as did Data.
The android nodded to Saxon.
“Energizing,” the transporter chief said, running his hand along the controls. Suddenly the console turned dark. He jabbed at the panel, then looked up to Data. “We’ve lost power, sir.”
Data handed his phaser rifle to the guard behind him, who, with both rifles and a utility bag hanging off him, took on the posture of a bandito out of an old Western movie.
“What is the cause?” Data asked, stepping down, leaving the seven security men to hold their positions.
The chief shook his head and shrugged. “I don’t know, sir. Just no power to the console.”
Data quickly tapped at his comm badge. “Data to Engineering.”
“Engineering. Lieutenant Cheng here.”
“Transporter Room Four has lost power. Are we experiencing difficulties?”
“One moment, sir.” There was a pause. “I show your null activity, sir, but it’s not coming from any engineering console. There may be a problem on site.”
Data looked up at Saxon, who dabbed at his console, then shook his head.
“The problem does not appear to be down here,” Data said.
“We’ll get right on it, Commander. In the meantime I can put Transporter Room Five on priority.”
“Very well. Data out.” The android waved the security men off the transporter dais and nodded a “carry on” to the chief.
Smoke was filling the room, billowing from phaser-punched holes, forming black clouds near the high ceiling. Riker shifted his weight onto his bad leg for only an instant, then quickly switched back, wincing in pain.
Five lovely machines, seven lovely craters burned into their sides. Riker pulled Deanna into the corridor, then lowered himself to the floor and admired his handiwork through the open door. Unfortunately, five minutes had passed and no one had rushed in to stop the damage. An automatic fire-suppression had begun to work its magic, but a phaser blast had quickly terminated that operation as well. The thought struck Riker that all this could be for nothing. What if no one was on this ship? What if they had just done something to hamper life-support?
Deanna stooped down next to him. “Your leg needs treatment, Will. You can’t lose any more blood.”
He nodded lethargically. “I know. I’m open to suggestions.”
Grasping his hand in hers, she said, “I have an idea, but it will be painful.”
“More painful than death?”
She smiled weakly and brushed away the hair that had fallen over his brow. “Probably.”
He tried to return the smile. “Deanna, my strength,” he said mock-seriously. “What’s your idea?”
“Give me your phaser,” she said. “I’ll cauterize the wound.”
Eyes bulging, he edged away from her. “Have you lost your mind? Even at the lowest heat setting you’d burn my leg off!”
“You haven’t heard the whole idea—”
“I don’t think I want to.”
She rose, and gestured into the room, toward one of the broken machines. “Look at the wealth of metal. All we must do is cut a piece off, heat it sufficiently, then use it to close your wound.”
He looked from her to a bent piece of the metal panel on one of the damaged machines. “You’re not kidding when you say painful.”
“I’d rather you were in pain than dead,” she said.
“Why are those always my only two choices?” He smiled. They did this to each other in times of stress—each tried to be the one that lightened the mood a little more. It didn’t seem to be working today. Under each smile, Riker knew, was worry and trepidation.
She held out her hand. “Your phaser.”
Nodding, he handed the weapon to her. “Be careful.”
“I’m going to stun you first, on the lightest setting,” she said, playing with the phaser’s settings. “It should daze you dull the pain. I don’t want to use anything stronger because your system is already weak.”
“Understood.” Riker didn’t want all the details. “I’ve agreed. Just do it.”
She let out a long breath, then silently aimed the weapon and fired at the large section of metal that Riker had been looking at a moment earlier. The beam of the phaser sliced easily through the strip of paneling and sent a metal wedge clattering to the deck.
What hit the floor was a triangular edge of some alien ore, still sizzling and spitting sparks.
Balancing on the balls of her feet, she lowered herself to Riker’s injured leg. Slowly she unwrapped the bloody bandage, revealing a deep angled wound that was as painful as it looked.
Riker was not exactly the squeamish type—he could bear the sight of his own blood, just didn’t prefer it.
Deanna wrapped the thick end of the strip of cloth she’d torn from her uniform around her right hand. Her uniform was now sleeveless, having sacrificed both arms to Riker’s wound. With the phaser in her left hand, she picked up the sharper, cooler edge of the metal wedge. A line of energy linked the wedge and the phaser when she thumbed the trigger. They could see the orange heat c
reeping up from the edge of the metal toward Deanna’s fingers. When the red glow was halfway up the strip of metal, and perhaps she was beginning to feel the burn on her fingertips, she clicked off the phaser and reset it.
“I’m going to stun you now.”
He smiled back weakly. “I’ve always found you stunning.”
She couldn’t seem to return the smile, and instead just looked at him anxiously. She aimed the phaser at his chest . . . and fired.
Darkness blotted his consciousness in parts as the surge of energy jolted him, then sent him falling into waking sleep where pain was just a shadow.
He thought he saw Deanna stooped over his leg. He could sort of feel her holding his knee firmly in her free hand. Brighter than the rest of his view—in fact, the only thing he could make out clearly—was the hand that held the wedge of hot metal.
He slipped into complete darkness for a moment, then awoke to a strange feeling . . . He scratched at his beard as a line of sweat from his temple drizzled down his cheek.
He heard himself moan, and tried to focus. He could make out Deanna’s eyes—they seemed large, and he could also see her hand shaking over his leg. Was it over?
She lowered the searing shard of metal toward the gash that was trickling blood. The wound hadn’t even tried to clot.
Pain smacked him wide awake and he had to cram his eyes shut. A spike of agony shot through his leg and up his back. A heat so hot it felt cold, he flinched and Deanna’s grip on his knee tightened. Where had she gotten such strength? He heard the sizzle of his own blood against the hot wedge of metal. He could feel the heat on his skin—it mixed with the heat of the blood until he couldn’t tell the difference.
He grunted—couldn’t help it—the burning—the odor of his own flesh being scorched. He opened his eyes. Deanna yanked the angry torch away from his leg and grabbed her own hand off. His breath pounded in his chest, whistling through his teeth. The blood on his leg was dried and cracked and there was a red patch where the gash had been. It would blister soon, but the bleeding was stopped.
FOREIGN FOES Page 14