Death in Winter - Michael Jan Friedman [62]
By the time the doctor went through the open doorway, her benefactor was a third of the way down the corridor. Her heart pounding, she did her best to keep up with him on legs that hadn’t been stretched in too long.
No one stood in their way as they reached the end of the corridor. And no one intervened as they negotiated the next corridor, which doglegged off the first.
Beverly was incredulous. There was a Romulan garrison in this building, with who-knew-how-many centurions. And yet it seemed they were about to walk out without a fight.
Until they neared the end of the second corridor and heard voices. There were Romulans around the bend-more than one for certain, and maybe as many as three or four.
Beverly looked to her companion, wondering what he would do. He seemed strangely calm, despite the considerable peril into which he had placed himself.
She wished she could say the same. Her blood was pounding so loudly in her ears she could barely hear anything else.
Gesturing for Beverly to stay back, her companion seemed to gather himself. Then he swung around the corner, launching himself into the midst of his fellow centurions.
The doctor trusted her unexpected friend, but she couldn’t do as he had requested. Needing to get a sense of what was happening, she poked her head past the corner of the rough, stone wall.
What she saw was an antechamber with five violently clashing centurions. Unfortunately, her benefactor was surrounded by the other four.
At first, Crusher thought she and her ally were done for, and likewise her chances of escape. Then he showed her that he was as skilled a fighter as she had ever seen.
As she watched, amazed, he slammed one of his adversaries into a wall face-first. Then he ducked a blow from a second and sent a third one reeling with a kick to the chest.
Over the years, the doctor had been exposed to several kinds of martial arts-a couple of them under Worf’s tutelage-and in her companion’s repertoire she detected elements of all of them. Clearly, this was an individual who had studied widely, well beyond the boundaries of the Empire.
Each blow he landed was precise and eminently effective, each evasive maneuver smooth and economical. Before long he had leveled all four of his opponents, each of whom seemed as surprised by his prowess as Beverly was.
The moment the last of the centurions hit the floor, the doctor’s benefactor looked back in her direction-and scowled. After all, he had gestured for her to hang back.
But he didn’t take the time to scold her. All he said was, “Come,” and crossed the antechamber in the direction of a high, arched doorway.
Beverly followed him. But as she picked her way among the unconscious forms of the guards, she saw one of them open his eyes and look up at her.
There was no time to stop him from grabbing his disruptor. It was too close at hand, right there on the floor beside him. And there was even less time for her to warn her benefactor.
So Beverly did the only thing she could do. She took a quick step and launched her booted toe into the guard’s jaw. It snapped his head around, not hard enough to break his neck but more than hard enough to knock him out again.
Her companion must have heard the impact, because he stopped and looked back over his shoulder. But he didn’t congratulate her. He just turned and kept going, with the obvious expectation that she would fall in behind him.
Which Beverly did. Having gotten this far, it would have been the height of foolishness-not to mention ingratitude-to do anything else. But first she knelt and picked up an ownerless disruptor, just in case.
The centurion paused just before the arched doorway, then slipped through it. The doctor went after him and found herself in a narrow, high-ceilinged corridor, which led to yet another arched doorway.
Beyond it there were other voices. More of them than before, Beverly thought. As she caught up with her benefactor, he made another sign for her to stay back. But this time she grabbed his arm, and when he turned