Enigma - Michael Jan Friedman [61]
Pulling a hypospray out of his pack, Greyhorse punched in a formula and held the device against Ulelo’s neck. Then he released the hypospray’s content into his patient’s carotid artery.
The medication shouldn’t have taken more than a moment to start working. But after three or four seconds, the doctor didn’t notice any effect.
Some people were more resistant to certain drugs than others, but Greyhorse had called for a rather large dose. Frowning, he programmed a different formula into the hypospray and applied it again to Ulelo’s neck.
This time, it had the desired effect. The twitching stopped and Ulelo slumped peacefully in the doctor’s arms.
Joseph breathed a sigh of relief. “I don’t remember seeing anything about seizures in Ulelo’s file.”
“That’s because there was nothing there,” said Greyhorse. “He had no record of seizures.” Until now.
“Will he be okay here in the brig?” Joseph asked.
The doctor shook his head. “I wouldn’t chance it. He’ll have to be moved to sickbay.”
“That’ll require the captain’s authorization,” said Pierzynski.
Greyhorse shot a look at him. “Then get it.”
Nikolas had spent his fair share of time in the Stargazer’s Jefferies tubes, and never thought much of the experience. But then, he hadn’t seen the access tubes in the Iktoj’ni.
“You know,” he told Locklear as they descended a ladder built into the side of the tube, “it’s a good thing I didn’t have a big lunch. Otherwise, I might not fit.”
“I thought you Starfleet types never complained,” said Locklear.
“Who’s complaining? I’m just making an observation.”
“Just four or five more rungs,” said Locklear, who was leading the way down. “I can see the problem from here.”
They had been sent to repair a break in the internal sensor network—something that just never happened on a starship. But then, vessels like the Stargazer used new parts, not whatever the captain could get a deal on.
“Okay,” said Locklear, “I’m there. Pass the—”
“Don’t tell me,” said Nikolas, “I know.” He had become as conversant with the Iktoj’ni’s tool kits as anyone in the time he had spent on board.
Taking the leathery black bag off his shoulder, he pulled it open and selected the required device. Then he handed it down to his friend.
“Thanks,” said Locklear.
“Hey,” said Nikolas, “don’t mention it.”
“You know,” said Locklear, working on the sensor break, “you never told me what made you decide to leave Starfleet.”
“Didn’t I?” said Nikolas.
“Nope. But I’ve got my suspicions.”
“Do tell.”
“It was a girl, wasn’t it? It’s always a girl.”
Nikolas didn’t deny it.
“You met her on the Stargazer?”
Nikolas sighed—giving his friend all the answer he needed.
“What happened to her?”
“She disappeared.” It was no more than the truth.
Locklear looked up at him. “She got a transfer?”
“I suppose you could say that.”
Suddenly, Nikolas felt the ladder jerk beneath his feet. It was a disconcerting feeling, to say the least. Unfortunately, it wasn’t an unfamiliar one. He recalled it all too vividly from the time he spent in Starfleet.
“What was that?” Locklear asked.
Before he got all the words out, Nikolas felt a second jolt. And then a third.
“We’re under attack,” he said.
“You sure?” asked Locklear, who as a merchant crewman had never had the gut-churning pleasure of being pounded by an enemy’s weapons batteries.
“I’m sure,” said Nikolas.
That was when the lights went out in the tube. A moment later, they were replaced with the lurid red glow of emergency strips.
Locklear cursed. “We had to stay on course, didn’t we? The captain and her precious schedule…”
“Forget that now,” said Nikolas.
It occurred to him that they were a little too close to the Iktoj’ni’s weapons ports. Those were often the first targets in an encounter.
“Come on,” he told Locklear, and headed back up the tube.
“Where are we going?” his friend asked him.
Nikolas considered the question as he climbed. “Up to the bridge,