Death in Winter - Michael Jan Friedman [63]
She was a commander in Starfleet and an experienced if not exactly accomplished combatant. It didn’t make sense for her to stand by a second time-especially when the odds were so heavily stacked against them.
The centurion looked into Beverly’s eyes for a moment, as if to gauge the depth of the resolve he saw there. Finally, he nodded. Then, removing his disruptor from his hip holster with his right hand, he used his left to count down: One. Two…
Three.
Without a hint of hesitation, he went charging into the room. And Beverly, her weapon clenched in her fist, dove right in after him.
She saw instantly why her benefactor had drawn his disruptor, though an energy discharge would almost certainly set off an alarm. The room was too big for hand-to-hand combat, their opponents too scattered. And their goal, an enormous set of wooden doors at the far end of the chamber, was too far away.
Fortunately, they had the advantage of surprise. The Romulans in the room-as many as seven of them, the doctor estimated-might have expected an attack from the Kevrata outside the building, but never from within.
Before they could react, Beverly and her companion had blasted two of them off their feet. As the rest groped for their disruptor pistols, the intruders took down a couple more of them. Then the confrontation turned into bedlam, a wild, flashing web of fire and return fire.
It turned out that the doctor’s companion was as good a marksman as he was a close-quarters fighter. As Beverly struggled to keep her adversaries in sight, her ally sent two more of his colleagues crashing into walls.
When Beverly cut down a Romulan running for the door, there was just one guard left standing. He managed to squeeze off only a single errant shot before an energy bolt folded him in two.
That left the wooden doors conveniently unguarded. And on their far side was freedom, if the sparkle of snow in the crack between them was any indication.
But Beverly wasn’t dressed for the frigid Kevratan weather, and neither was her companion. She couldn’t imagine them getting far before the cold seeped into their bones and they fell victim to irreversible hypothermia.
She was about to mention this when the centurion reached into his chain-mail tunic and produced something square and white. Saying, “Put this on,” he tossed it to her.
As it flew through the air, it unfolded a little. Once Beverly had it in her hands, she saw it was a garment of some kind, compressed for ease of concealment.
Finding a hooded hole for her head, she slipped the garment on. Mercifully, it reached all the way down to her knees, with a belt that could be tightened at the waist. While it didn’t do anything for her feet, it did have glove-like appendages for her hands.
Her companion had a second such garment for himself. Pulling it on, he motioned toward the doors. They attacked the task together, sliding a black metal bolt aside and then pushing one of the doors as hard as they could.
The thing was heavy, making them work. And when it finally swung open, it gave them a faceful of snow for their trouble. Brushing it out of her eyes with her free hand, Beverly tried to get a glimpse of what was ahead of them.
All she could see was blowing whiteness. But at least there weren’t any guards out there.
Her benefactor leaned close to her, close enough to be heard over the hooting of the wind. “Stay with me,” he barked. Then he showed her his arm and pointed to it.
She got the message. They were all in white-an advantage when it came to their escape. But if she let him get too far ahead of her, she would lose sight of him.
“I will,” Beverly assured him.
She had barely gotten the words out when a shaft of green fury pierced the air between them. Recoiling from it, she almost fell on the slippery surface underfoot. But with an effort she righted herself and peered back into the building to see the centurion who had unleashed the beam.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only one in the chamber. As others poured in and discovered the prone forms of their colleagues,