Death in Winter - Michael Jan Friedman [45]
Joining the broad, moving flow of Kevrata, Kito pressed closer to a fellow in a black and red robe. “Is there any way we can liberate this physician?”
A gust of wind tore away most of the fellow’s response. However, Kito caught enough of it to understand.
The mob was on its way now to the wrought-iron gates of the Romulan compound, where it would demand the physician’s release. Not that it would do them any good. If the Romulans had meant to take the Kevrata’s misery into account, they would have done so a long time ago, when the plague claimed its first victims.
Still, it was better than doing nothing. That way lay only despair and slow death.
So Kito added his indignation to that of the others and moved with them through the snow-choked thoroughfares of the city, crying out against the tyranny of the Romulans until his throat was raw. And though it was difficult to see much of anything in the swirling chaos of the storm, he could tell by the buildings they passed that they were getting closer to the oppressors’ compound.
They had only two streets to go when the female in front of Kito fell and nearly tripped him in the process. Helping her to her feet, Kito caught a glimpse of her face under her hood.
It was ravaged by the plague, the black flesh beneath her fur stippled with tiny bumps. Kito didn’t know where she had found the strength to come even this far.
Part of him wanted to run, to escape the fate that had overcome the female, because the plague was highly contagious. But there was no escape. Every Kevrata in the city had been exposed many times over. It was just a question of how long Kito had until his immune system succumbed.
As he thought that, something moved overhead-a shadow, blotting out even the faint light descending through the filter of the storm. Then Kito heard the moan of an engine, growing louder as the shadow grew denser and more distinct.
And someone yelled, “Romulans!”
A hovercraft, Kito thought, his blood pumping hard through his veins. He had seen its kind before, moving through the air above the city like a slow, patient predator.
It was equipped with disruptor cannons. He had heard they could reduce a living being to a soup of burning flesh, though he had never seen it. But he had also never seen a hovercraft confront a crowd so large and defiant.
Kito couldn’t have been the only one who noticed the danger overhead. But the crowd didn’t do anything to get away from it. It just kept moving in the direction of the Romulans’ compound, caught up in its own momentum.
And then everyone knew the craft was overhead, because it started firing disruptor bolts into the crowd.
Suddenly, death was wading among the Kevrata on long legs of green fire, grinding victim after victim under its heels. There were shouts of astonishment and horror, and the river of Kevrata eddied violently in confusion.
Kito reached for the female who had fallen, hoping to get her back on her feet. But before he could get ahold of her he was forced backward, pushed that way by the fleeing mob. And amid cries of fear, some of them regrettably his own, he was swept in a direction he could neither predict nor control.
Somewhere along the line, he realized there was more than one hovercraft-as many as three, perhaps. Not that it mattered. One was enough to get the Romulans’ message across.
Kito spun and struggled to maintain his balance, knowing that if he fell he would be crushed beneath the boots of his neighbors. But at the same time he couldn’t help tracking the progress of the Romulan craft, their beams stitching death from one end of the square to the other.
The smell of burning fur filled Kito’s nostrils, sickening him, making him want to empty his stomach into the wet, churned snow. However, he blocked out the stench and kept moving with the crowd-because if he failed to do so, he wouldn’t have to worry about the plague taking his life.
Finally, Kito felt the pressure of his people’s bodies begin to fall away from him. He could see past a hundred hooded heads that the crowd was dispersing, releasing itself