Crossover - Michael Jan Friedman [93]
Unfortunately he was no surgeon. A scientist, yes. And more recently a diplomat. But never a physician.
The human portion of Spock was filled with annoyance. Of all the times to be without Leonard McCoy …
Commander Hajak shifted in the center seat and glanced back over his shoulder. This would not be a pleasant scene, he told himself.
As Eragian emerged onto the bridge of the Vengeance, his face was a dark and dangerous green, and his eyes were bulging under disheveled locks. Looking angry enough to strangle the first person who spoke to him, he spat out a string of curses that would have burned the ears of the toughest old centurion.
As a result, Hajak didn’t speak to him. He merely stood and turned in the proconsul’s direction, ready to respond to the man’s wishes with as much alacrity as he could muster.
“My entire escort,” Eragian growled, his voice hoarse with all the shouting he’d done for a transport. “And Lennex as well. Dead, at the hand of Tharrus’s mongrels. I was lucky to get out of there alive!”
True enough, thought Hajak. His transporter operator had found it nearly impossible to pick out the proconsul, what with bodies and directed-energy beams flying everywhere, and no subspace broadcast to guide them.
It was only when a distraction presented itself at the far end of the courtyard that they’d been able to identify Eragian and extract him.
As for Lennex, the commander felt no personal loss on that count. He had never liked the Tal Shiar. But then, he supposed, the Tal Shiar were not recruited for their congeniality.
The proconsul suddenly pointed a finger at Hajak. “Start transporting Tharrus’s men into our cargo hold. Quickly—before they kill the Vulcan!”
The commander frowned. “All of them, Your Eminence?”
“All of them,” Eragian rasped. “Do it now!”
“As you wish,” replied Hajak. Turning to his second in command, he said, “See to it the proconsul’s orders are carried out immediately. I do not want a single guard left standing down there. And bring up Tharrus as well, while you are at it.”
The man nodded. “Right away, Commander.”
But as he left the bridge, Hajak’s sensor officer called out. “Commander, our instruments have picked up a transporter beam. And it did not originate from this vessel—or either of the others.”
“Then where did it originate?” he snapped, crossing the bridge to join the woman at her station.
She pointed to one of her monitors. “This quarter, sir. I was unable to pinpoint exact coordinates.”
Hajak looked at her. “A vessel under cloak?” he muttered. There was no other explanation, he remarked inwardly.
“But who could it be?” railed Eragian. “And what were they doing here, lurking around unbeknownst to me?”
The commander shook his head. What in the name of the homeworld was going on here?
“Gods,” bellowed the proconsul, crossing the bridge. Grabbing hold of the sensor officer’s tunic near her shoulder, he twisted and half-lifted her out of her seat until his face was mere inches from her own. “That could have been Spock they transported!”
Hajak glared at the proconsul. No matter what had happened to him or his watchdog, he couldn’t allow his officers to be manhandled in such a manner.
It took Eragian a moment or two to realize why he wasn’t getting any response. Finally, he released the woman.
Only then did Hajak peer over her shoulder at her instruments. “Keep a watch, Andarica. See if you can detect another transport. And in the meantime, review your sensor logs. If a transport took place, the ship that effected it must have dropped its cloak for a fraction of a second.”
The woman nodded. “Of course, Commander.”
As she turned back to her duties, Hajak again confronted the proconsul. “It will take time to locate the transporter device,” he explained calmly.
“How long?” Eragian demanded.
“I cannot say,” the commander told him. “They may not