Double Helix 03_ Red Sector - Diane Carey [8]
Now the rest of the protesters were giving the fighters a wider berth, and turned instead on the jogging queue of embassy personnel and their six Starfleet guards trying to wend through the pockets of stenchy flame.
A fist shook in his face-and Stiles rammed his rifle butt into somebody’s chest. Mudballs slogged through the line, striking the civilians. One caught Moose in the helmet. He staggered, but got back in line before Stiles could react.
Crack!-a molotov bottle smashed in front of the ambassador. New flames broke out, flooding the bricks, dividing Spock, Stiles, and one woman from the rest of the line. Spock instantly veered sideways, caught the woman in front of him, and steered her around the flames and back behind Moose’s protective form.
“Oak Squad!” Stiles shouted over the noise. “Phasers on stun, fire at will!”
He didn’t know whether or not they heard him until White and Perraton opened fire on a group of protesters blocking the way to the coach. The rifles blanketed the area with a red bulb of energy, and the rioters went down in a heap.
“Wish we could just toast’em,” Stiles grumbled, tactlessly boiling with contempt for this civil unrest. Why couldn’t they just follow rules and stick within the law? Why’d they have to cause trouble? “Stiles Oak-One! Ramp!”
The coach’s automatic ramp opened before them with a whine. Perraton led the frantic evacuees right to it, then angled to one side and shouted warnings to the crowd as the diplomatic people clomped up the ramp. Luckily nobody had to yell at them to stay in line. They were perfectly satisfied running for the cover offered by the coach’s maw. Just as the middle of the line was swallowed by the coach, Jeremy White veered away from the queue to drive back the stone herd of angry teenagers that had harassed them on the way in. Now those teenagers were armed with iron bars-and the bars were red hot. White held back on firing his weapon, instead using it to bash away the iron bars threatening him. “Jeremy!” Stiles called. “Stun ‘era!”
But White couldn’t get enough room to turn his phaser rifle barrel down and take aim. He tried twice, and each time was pummeled by a hot iron bar-the teenagers were too close, surrounding him so he couldn’t move forward or back. If he tried to stun them at hand-to-hand range, he’d end up stunning himself too. And White was getting angry. Stiles could hear his furious grunts and barks as adrenaline took over and defensive/offensive training got a grip on him. Step by step he drove the teenagers back, inch by inch, but not enough for rifle stun. And they were hitting him with their hot bars until his protective padding smoked and sparked.
“On board, on board? Stiles shouted to the civilians. He couldn’t help White until these people were all present and accounted for in the safety of the coach. When Ambassador Spock was finally on the ramp, Stiles wheeled around, jumped off the footboard, and rammed through the enraged teenagers. He drove one of them to the ground, then rammed his rifle butt into the ribs of another, until he could see White’s scratched helmet and smell the burning padding of his uniform. “Jeremy ! You’re covered ! About face !”
White tried to turn, but was caught in the neck by a vicious blow and tumbled to the brick at Stiles’s feet. Stiles stepped over him, aimed his rifle, and fired.
A burst of bright energy engulfed four of the teenagers, so close that Stiles felt his skin go numb even under the protective gear.
“Get up!” he ordered, kicking White uncharitably. “On your feet! Board the ship!”
White rolled out from under him, possessing the presence of mind to keep a grip on his weapon, because they