Gulliver's Fugitives - Keith Sharee [15]
“Open!” shouted Riker as they reached the farthest holodeck room.
The sound of hard footfalls reached their ears as the doors whooshed open. Riker pushed Troi in first, then followed, the doors hissing shut behind him. The room was empty.
Riker tabbed his communicator.
“Lieutenant Worf.”
“Worf here.”
“Where are you?”
“Bridge, sir.”
“The devices brought on board by the men from Rampart are weapons. Put the entire ship on alert. The captain has been taken hostage.”
There was a pause, then Riker could hear the alert klaxon.
“We are tracking the captain through his communicator,” said Worf. “He is unconscious. In the corridor outside your present location …
“Now his signal is moving. They are apparently taking him away, in the direction of transporter room four. The same transporter they beamed in on. Their other one-eyes are stored there, under guard by my men.”
“Worf, I just saw a one-eye kill two security officers before they had a chance to draw their phasers. I don’t want you to allow your men to endanger their own lives or the captain’s by attempting direct action before we understand what we’re up against.”
“Acknowledged.”
“All right, I’m coming to the bridge. Is the route clear?”
“Affirmative.”
Troi touched her communicator. “Worf, when we left the security men, I sensed one of them might be alive.”
“Checking … Timoshenko’s communicator indicates life signs.”
“Send a medical team but remember what I said about the one-eyes,” said Riker.
“Yes, sir.”
Riker and Troi silenced their communicators.
“Open,” said Riker.
The doors parted. Riker and Troi peered out, then hurried back up the corridor.
When they came upon Timoshenko and Frazer, Timoshenko was breathing stertorously. Frazer was already dead.
They knelt over Timoshenko.
Riker stared at his face. The security officer had reported aboard only a few months ago, but had already approached Riker as a fellow jazz musician. Timoshenko was a bass man. Riker had jammed with him on a wild jazz tune with the backing of a holodeck band, and suddenly, without knowing how, they’d hit a sound of pure spontaneity—their egos had stopped playing and some great unknown river of life had taken over. The holodeck computer seemed to have known the moment was special; it had started changing the chord progressions, jamming along with them, adding its own spontaneity. Riker had never known such a state and he’d played rapturously until his lips felt raw on the trombone mouthpiece. Afterward he’d asked the computer to make him a permanent copy of the session.
Troi cradled Timoshenko’s head. “Yuri, help is coming. Hang on.”
His eyes, their pupils unevenly dilated, looked at nothing.
“Can’t,” he said faintly.
She could feel life leaving him.
“Yuri. Thanks,” said Riker.
Riker and Troi waited, but there were no other breaths. They stood and looked down at the ruined body.
Worf’s voice crackled from Riker’s communicator.
“Commander Riker.”
“Riker here.”
“Sir, the one-eyes in the transporter room have overcome the guards we had on them. They’re moving through the corridors. I’ve shut security barriers throughout the ship. I suggest you and the counselor get to the bridge while it’s still safe. Take the turbolift aft of where you are now.”
“On our way.”
Chapter Five
SITTING ON THE BUNK in her quarters, Security Ensign Shikibu digested the bulletin Riker had just relayed to all crew. Human intruders and robotic devices infiltrating the ship. Already some fatalities among the crew. Orders were to shoot the devices, the one-eyes, if contact with them could not be avoided. Security personnel were asked to report to a staging area near the bridge.
Shikibu checked her phaser, then tied her long black hair into a ponytail. Her delicately arched eyebrows accented a face more appropriate in its elegance to the flowery, courtly games of tenth century Japan than to the Enterprise Security staff. Yet her equability in the face of danger, her absolute calm during the grimmest moments, were well known on the Enterprise.