Enigma - Michael Jan Friedman [27]
The captain had been in the turbolift for less than thirty seconds when the control readout told him he had reached his destination. He took a deep breath, waited until the doors slid apart, and stuck his head out.
No sign of an invader in either direction. So far, so good.
Edging out into the corridor, Greenbriar moved briskly in the direction of his quarters. As before, the curve of the passage cried out for caution. However, time was his enemy. There was no doubt that the invaders would catch him eventually. He just needed to get his message off first.
With every step he took, he expected to find an adversary lying in wait for him. But he didn’t see any. Unbelievably, it looked like he would reach his quarters uncontested.
As the captain’s door appeared around the bend of the corridor, there was still no one in sight—neither an invader nor one of his own crewmen. It was too good to be true.
Placing his hand over the metal security plate on the bulkhead, he triggered the mechanism that would give him access to his quarters. As his door slid aside, he took a last look in either direction.
Still no one, Greenbriar reflected. Remarkably enough, his luck was holding.
Entering his quarters, he waited until the door had whispered closed behind him. Then he went to his computer terminal, put away his phaser, and began telling the story of how the aliens had taken his ship.
He was almost finished when he saw a gob of reflected light appear on his monitor screen. His heart pumping, he grabbed his phaser and whirled about.
It was the same bright, white glow the captain had seen on the bridge. And in its midst, there were the same sort of shapes, taking on definition more swiftly than he would have liked.
Grabbing his phaser, he pointed it at the glow and began firing. At first his beams passed through the invaders, because they weren’t substantial enough to absorb the impacts. But when they turned material, Greenbriar started to get results.
The first one doubled over and collapsed. The second went lurching into a bulkhead. And the third, who actually managed to get an errant shot off, nearly had his head wrenched from his shoulders.
Three up, three down. The captain would have been satisfied with the outcome if he hadn’t seen the beginnings of another glow hovering beyond his monitor.
This time, he didn’t fire into it—not right away. He made use of the few seconds he had left to finish his account, including as many details as he could. Only after he depressed the stud that would send it off did he grasp his phaser again and look up.
By then, the invaders were material enough to fire at him. Ducking, Greenbriar saw his terminal explode in a spasm of directed energy. Then he squeezed off a shot of his own, punching the nearest alien in the ribs.
He hit the next one too, taking his feet out from under him. But he missed the third one—and the alien didn’t give the captain a second chance.
The invader’s energy blast nailed him square in the solar plexus, feeling like a bolt of hot, heavy metal. It drove all the air from his lungs, leaving him gasping for breath, though somehow he managed to keep from losing consciousness.
At least for the moment. But as his vision cleared, he saw the alien take aim at him a second time.
Bastard, he thought.
Then Greenbriar felt the kick of the invader’s beam, and fell headlong into a cold, black pit.
Chapter Seven
PICARD SAT BACK in his center seat and considered the yellow-orange disk of Delta Campara on his viewscreen.
“We’re getting some impressive readings,” said Wu, who had come to stand at his side.
“No doubt,” the captain replied. “It is, after all, one of the larger Cepheid variables in Federation space.”
“With some spectacular prominences,” Wu added.
“Yes. Quite spectacular.” He frowned. “I don’t suppose they are appreciatively different from the prominences observed by Captain Crajjik twenty-five years ago?”
The second officer hesitated. “We’ve only been studying Delta Campara for a few hours.”
“Six,” said Picard. “And thirteen minutes. And have