Death in Winter - Michael Jan Friedman [18]
The next time Sela turned up was on Romulus, where she was engineering an invasion of Vulcan under cover of a “reunification” initiative. Fortunately for Vulcan and the rest of the Federation, the scheme was stymied by Captain Picard, Data, and the legendary Ambassador Spock.
Despite such setbacks, Sela was one of the craftiest and most dangerous individuals Crusher and her colleagues had ever encountered. If the woman was there in the tavern, it meant two things: first, that the Romulan praetor suspected Federation intervention on Kevratas and had dispatched Sela to deal with it; and second, that the Romulans had somehow gotten wind of Beverly’s meeting with the Kevrata.
Sela looked around the tavern, her eyes like tiny, hungry predators. “There is an offworlder among you,” she barked. “Give him to me and none of you will be punished. Try to protect him and you will have occasion to regret it.”
Him, Beverly thought. So she doesn’t know everything.
No one in the tavern responded to Sela’s demand. But then, most of the Kevrata didn’t know of Beverly’s presence there.
Sela looked around a moment more. Then she said, “Very well,” and trained her disruptor on a tavern patron at random.
There was a flash of pale-green energy and the Kevrata went hurtling backward out of his chair. He was dead before he hit the floor, a plume of oily, dark smoke rising from a wet black hole in his chest.
Sela’s voice cut through the sudden tide of fear and dismay. “The offworlder-now.”
Beverly felt the weight of a hand on her forearm and turned to the Kevrata in the black coat. With his other hand, he was poking a furred thumb in the direction of the door by which he had entered. And his comrade’s fingers were inching inside his coat for something-a weapon, no doubt.
They wanted her to go while they stayed and covered her escape. She hated the idea of accepting their offer, but what choice did she have? As the only person on Kevratas who could stop the plague, she had to do what she could to preserve herself.
And that included letting others die so she could survive.
Of course, there would be Romulan centurions posted outside the tavern-Beverly was certain of it. Otherwise, those who had entered with Sela would have moved immediately to block the exits.
Taking a deep breath, she shot her companions a look of gratitude. Then she grasped the edge of the table, coiled, and launched herself over it.
Her foot caught something as she shot between the two Kevrata, but it was only for a fraction of a second. Then she was bolting for the door, a green energy beam sizzling over her shoulder and striking the wall ahead of her.
Beverly heard a cacophony of voices, and knew by the savage strobe of green light on the wall that her friends were returning the Romulans’ fire. But she didn’t stay in the tavern long enough to see the results. She swung the door open, taking a stinging blast of snow in the face, and lurched into the storm-choked street.
At the same time, she pulled out the smuggled phaser concealed beneath her coat. Squinting against the stinging, white lash of the weather, she looked for a target-and didn’t find any.
Suddenly Beverly caught something out of the corner of her eye. She whirled in time to see the flash of a green energy beam-but it shot past her, missing its target.
She returned fire, her ruby phaser beam turning the snow the color of human blood. Then, her heart pumping, she pelted through the drifts in the opposite direction, hoping the storm would give her a chance to get away.
The snow was deep in spots and Beverly’s boots were big, clumsy things, and she couldn’t help anticipating a disruptor bolt between her shoulder blades. But she was in good shape and she had the urgency of fear driving her forward, and every plunging stride down