Enigma - Michael Jan Friedman [25]
The captain took aim at one of the aliens and brought the beggar down, and Sasaki dealt a second one a glancing blow to the shoulder. But a moment later, O’Connor was slammed into a bulkhead, the victim of an enemy blast.
Greenbriar fired into the invader’s midst while he still could—but before he could tell if he had hit anything, they were on top of him, overpowering him.
The captain used what he knew of hand-to-hand tactics, but the aliens’ weight pinned him to the deck, and their helmets made it difficult to hurt them. Meanwhile, he had no such protection. While one of the bastards held him down, another one bludgeoned him with the barrel of his weapon.
Greenbriar felt as if he were falling end over end, the taste of blood thick in his mouth. Then, all at once, he regained control of his senses.
But it came with the knowledge that a second blow would be following the first. If you don’t succeed at first, try again. The captain braced himself for the impact, clenched his jaw against it. But it never came.
Opening his eyes, he saw a corridor choked with bodies, only some of them those of his crewmen. And there were other crewmen kneeling among them, still alert and alive.
“Are you all right, sir?” one of them asked. It was Grolsch, one of the security officers who had arrived weeks earlier. “Do you understand me, sir?”
“Hell, yes.” Greenbriar propped himself up and looked for his phaser. He found one nearby, though it could as easily have been O’Connor’s or Sasaki’s. Laying claim to it, he dragged himself to his feet and faced Grolsch on rubbery knees.
“Report,” he demanded.
“They’re all over the place,” said the security officer. “And more are appearing all the time.”
As if to lend emphasis to Grolsch’s contention, Greenbriar heard the thud of heavy footfalls from somewhere down the corridor. He saw Grolsch and his fellow survivors exchange looks.
“Sounds like too many,” said one of them.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” said the other.
Grolsch turned to Greenbriar. “Sir?”
It was then that the captain realized he wasn’t going to win this one. The odds were stacked too high against him. It was just a matter of time before the aliens overran his ship.
The realization changed things. He no longer hoped to contain the invaders. His goal now was to get a message out to Starfleet—to let them know what had happened to the Cochise, so they could formulate some kind of plan.
Because if the aliens could do this to his ship, they could do it to a hundred others.
“Well,” said Urajel, “you were right.”
Bender was accompanying her friend to engineering before she herself reported to the science section. “You mean about Ulelo,” she said.
“Yes,” said Urajel, her Andorian antennae bending forward. “You said he couldn’t have committed the crimes of which he was accused. And as it turns out, he didn’t.”
“He just thought he did,” said Bender, unable to keep a sigh out of her voice.
Urajel tilted her head to get a better look at the science officer. “Aren’t you happy about that?”
“Happy that he’s insane?” Bender asked.
The engineer dismissed the idea. “Happy that he hasn’t transmitted our specs to anyone.”
Bender swore beneath her breath. “I’m happy for us, sure. We’re safe and secure. But what about Ulelo?”
The science officer wasn’t sure which bothered her more—the fact that her friend was psychologically impaired, or the fact that she hadn’t had the sensitivity to perceive it.
Maybe a little of both, she decided.
It killed Bender to know that Ulelo was sitting in the brig at that moment, as lost as a little child. He had seemed so capable to her, so comfortable in her company. A little reserved, maybe—more so than she remembered from their Academy days—but lots of people were like that.
She wished someone would tell her that Ulelo was going to be all right. However, she knew that might not