Enigma - Michael Jan Friedman [63]
But as it turned out, his all-clear was premature. A green energy beam came out of nowhere, hitting Chen in the shoulder and spinning him around—but leaving McAteer unscathed.
Damn, thought Ben Zoma. There were only supposed to be two of them in here.
“Back there!” Paris barked, pointing to the second craft.
Ben Zoma wished he had the luxury of deploying everyone to eliminate the threat—but he didn’t. “Horombo, Garner!” he said. “Get that message off!”
Neither of them hesitated for even a second. Knowing he could put them out of his mind, the first officer concentrated on the alien who had nailed Chen.
The rest of the team was already going after him. Ben Zoma took the long way around the first craft, hoping to surprise the alien. But as he came in sight of his target, he saw someone else’s beam take him out.
And a moment later, Ben Zoma saw whose it was, as McAteer knelt beside the alien to make sure he was unconscious. Taking note of Ben Zoma, the admiral looked up at him, and Ben Zoma saw the pride in his eyes.
He had contributed. He had made himself useful. He had proven that he could still do the job.
Ben Zoma was happy for him, despite his problems with the man. However, he had more urgent matters to deal with. He needed to know what kind of progress Horombo and Garner were making.
He was circumnavigating the alien craft to find out when he heard a hiss—the sound the bay doors had made earlier. It seemed they had finally drawn someone’s attention.
“We’ve got company!” he cried out.
A moment later, he caught sight of the opposition—and his heart sank. There were at least a dozen of the aliens, their weapons ablaze with green energy as they swarmed into the bay. And there were more in the corridor, waiting at the edges of the entrance.
We’re not getting out of here, Ben Zoma told himself, the reality of it tightening his throat.
But they could still complete their mission. They just had to buy Horombo and Garner some time. And we will, he vowed.
Homing in on an alien, the first officer squeezed his trigger and bowled him off his feet. But as he took aim at a second one, he heard a cry to his left—and saw McAteer crumple, his phaser falling from his fingers.
Gritting his teeth, Ben Zoma turned back to the enemy and fired again. His burst was returned threefold, one of the beams missing his face by inches.
Ben Zoma plastered his back against the ship and took a breath. No one said this would be easy.
Then he poked his head out again and squeezed off shot after shot, not even bothering to follow their results. He just wanted to keep the aliens from going after Horombo and Garner.
And for what seemed like a long time, he did. Not just him, but whoever on his team was still firing along with him, filling the bay with a barrage of ruddy light almost as insistent as the enemy’s green one.
Then the situation went downhill—in a hurry. The other red beams were silenced, leaving Ben Zoma’s the only one. And there were so many of the aliens, he couldn’t hold them off all by himself.
Come on, he thought. Get that message out.
As if in answer to his imperative, he saw a beam strike the aliens from the other side of the small craft. It gave them something else to think about besides Ben Zoma. Then came another beam, and another, to which the first officer added some of his own.
It wouldn’t make a difference, in the long run. They couldn’t take down enough of the aliens to make good their escape.
But the unseen assistance told Ben Zoma something—that Garner and Horombo had sent what they hoped to send. Otherwise, they would still be in the ship, coaxing cooperation out of the aliens’ com board.
In a matter of minutes, the transmission would reach a Federation relay beacon, which would boost the signal and send it on. Then it would find another beacon, and another, until at last it reached a starbase.
The com officer there would take a moment to decode it—and when he did,