Death in Winter - Michael Jan Friedman [66]
Beverly was about to remark on the problem when her companion pulled his protective garment up and drew something else out of his tunic-a device no bigger than his fingernail. Depressing one of the studs on its face, he turned to the door.
Nothing happened.
The centurion pressed the stud again. Still nothing. But his expression didn’t change. He just kept pushing, looking at the door, and pushing again.
Beverly couldn’t believe it.
The whole way here, she had managed to endure the cold because she was generating heat with her exertions. Now that she had stopped, she could feel the storm reaching into her, weakening her. If she remained in place much longer, she would grow sleepy and finally succumb.
“Is there another way in?” she asked.
“None,” said her companion.
“We could use our disruptors,” she noted.
“We could,” he agreed. “But then the cold would follow us in. And Sela’s centurions as well, if their sensors take note of our disruptor fire.”
All right then, the doctor thought. No disruptors.
But they couldn’t just stand there pressing her companion’s device. That wasn’t an option either.
Finally, just as Beverly was starting to conclude that the thing wasn’t working, or that the door had frozen into place, she heard a creak and the slab of wood swung inward. Without a moment’s hesitation, she and her companion moved inside.
A blast of snow followed them into a foyer and scattered itself over a black marble floor. Then the door closed behind them, sealing them off from the weather.
The silence was almost shocking after the clamor of the storm. Beverly pulled her hood back and basked in it.
And it felt even better to be out of the cold. As she rubbed her hands together to get the feeling back into them, she followed her companion into a much larger room, which had cascades of wooden seats descending from its gray stone walls.
“What is this place?” she asked.
“It used to be a government hall,” her companion informed her, removing his hood and then his gloves. “But the Kevrata haven’t been allowed to assemble here since the beginning of the occupation. And when Commander Sela arrived, she posted notice that anyone seen congregating anywhere would be imprisoned.”
“Naturally,” said Beverly. “That’s what all tyrants do.”
Her benefactor shot her a smile to acknowledge her comment. But it was a guarded smile, typical of what she had come to expect from his people. Romulans always reserved a part of themselves, even when they weren’t risking their lives by betraying their superior.
She explored the place some more, leaving the centurion behind. “What made you decide to help the Kevrata?” she asked.
He didn’t answer. All Beverly heard was a slithering noise, like a blacksnake making its way through the loose dirt of the Arvadan hills.
Turning around, she found herself looking down the barrel of her companion’s disruptor.
Beverly looked up at him. “What’s this?”
“What does it look like?” he asked.
She shook her head in mock reproach. “You mean you weren’t just helping me out of the goodness of your heart?”
“No Romulan would.”
“Then why bother freeing me from my cell?”
He chuckled dryly. “I needed to make sure Commander Sela didn’t profit from your capture.”
An internecine conflict, then. Between Sela and who else? And what’s at stake? “Why is that important to you?”
The Romulan didn’t say.
“So what now? You’re just going to kill me?”
“I am afraid so,” he confirmed. He adjusted his disruptor to its most powerful setting-one that wouldn’t leave a trace of her. “Nothing personal, you understand.”
The doctor gauged the distance between them. She would be taking a chance if she tried to rush him, considering his superior strength and the prowess he had demonstrated as a fighter. But what did she have to lose?
Beverly was about to spring at the Romulan when she noticed something-and realized she might have a better card in her hand after all.
“When did you get those lesions?” she asked.
Her companion looked at