Crossover - Michael Jan Friedman [91]
By that time, Spock was already crossing the courtyard in long running strides, eyes darting about to see who might be firing a blast at one of his charges. He was so intent on protecting the others, he almost didn’t see a dark blue disruptor beam slice through the air in front of him.
But it didn’t hit him. So far so good.
And he’d covered almost half the courtyard. Judging from their cries of exhortation, the other rebels were right behind him.
The Vulcan felt one of his hamstring muscles tighten painfully. He gritted his teeth. After his long confinement, he was fortunate his other muscles hadn’t cramped as well. In any case, he could tolerate the discomfort—as long as it ended in their freedom.
With every pelting step, the gate and the crowd of Romulans in front of it was getting closer and closer. And so, of course, were those who guarded the gate. Spock hadn’t forgotten about them.
Earlier, he’d noticed that there were two sentinels. As he looked up now, it seemed that he’d counted correctly—if the two disruptor rifles pointed in his direction were any indication.
Up until a few seconds ago the weapons had no doubt been trained on Eragian and his escort. Like everyone else, the watchmen had likely forgotten about the rebels. However, it had become rather difficult to ignore them.
Raising his weapon two-handed, the Vulcan slowed down just a bit, so as not to throw off his aim. Then he released a blast at the sentinel to his right.
The blue beam rammed into the Romulan, sending him sprawling out of sight. Spock nodded approvingly.
Turning his attention to the other watchman, he was about to repeat the maneuver when he saw another beam rise up—and envelop the sentinel in a ball of writhing, wrenching energies. As the Romulan fell from his perch, Spock glanced at the source of the beam.
It was Skrasis, with a disruptor pistol in his hand. Somehow, the Vulcan mused, his student had gotten hold of a weapon. What’s more, he had no intention of merely stunning his adversaries.
Spock was about to remark on Skrasis’s accuracy when he saw the man’s expression begin to change. Too late, he realized why.
He whirled to face the crowd ahead of them, where a single Romulan was separating himself from his companions. A Romulan with a disruptor in his hand, who was obviously no citizen but a guard planted there for security purposes.
A spy—just like Skrasis.
The Vulcan had no time to react—to fall to the ground or otherwise avoid the blast. All he had time for was to steel himself against it.
But before it could come, Spock felt a weight slam into him. It propelled him forward out of danger—so when the blinding flash of the disruptor beam reached out for him, it missed.
Still, it hit something. Or someone.
Even as the Vulcan hit the ground, he was turning back to see who had saved him. To his horror, it was Skrasis.
In the background, Spock sensed a great many things. He heard screams of agony and shouts of triumph. He glimpsed running, and strife, and the firing of eerie blue beams.
But all that was secondary right now. His entire universe had narrowed its focus to the man writhing at his feet, his tunic partially burned away to reveal a bloody horror of a wound.
He would not let Skrasis die, he thought, as he knelt beside his student. He would not.
“The pain—” groaned the Romulan.
“Is a distraction,” Spock whispered to him. “Nothing more.” He placed a reassuring hand on the youth’s shoulder.
Looking up, the Vulcan saw that the rebels’ fortunes had taken a turn for the worse. Frightened by the sudden appearance of the guard in citizen’s clothing, the unificationists had retreated back toward the center of the courtyard.
And the guard himself was now walking toward them warily, his disruptor pistol aimed squarely at Spock.
The Vulcan sighed. He had dropped his own weapon in his haste to help his student—and it would not be wise to attempt to recover it under such circumstances. He would almost certainly perish in the attempt.
“We have failed,” Skrasis gasped.
“Yes,” Spock agreed. Just as Belan