Kahless - Michael Jan Friedman [80]
And now, he had returned to the main deck-only to see his comrades held at disruptor-point. Under the circumstances, the man’s reaction was understandable.
The captain sympathized.
But that didn’t mean he was going to stand there and present an easy target for the Klingon’s disrupter fire.
Ducking to his right, he watched the disruption beam pass him and strike a bulkhead, where it disintegrated a good part of the thing before its destructive energies wore themselves out.
That could have been me, Picard told himself. At the same time, he returned his adversary’s blast-crumpling the Klingon where he stood.
It might have ended then and there. However, their comrade’s entrance gave the stationkeepers the chance they’d been looking for. Or so it seemed to the captain, as the place turned into a chaotic mess of hurtling bodies and flailing limbs, not to mention the occasional errant disrupter beam.
“Watch out!” cried a familiar deep voice.
Before Picard could determine what he had to watch for, he saw Worf rush past him-in order to meet another Klingon head on. The human winced at the bone-jarring sound of their clash, and was only slightly relieved when he saw his officer had come out on top.
A disrupter beam sizzled by his ear. Turning, Picard aimed at the source of it and let fly with a beam of his own.
It hit a stationkeeper’s hand and knocked the pistol out of it. And before he could recover, Kahless slammed his fist into the Klingon’s jaw, sending him sprawling.
But before the captain could seek out another target, he felt something strike him in the back of the head. There was a moment or two that seemed very long, much too long, and then the floor rose up to meet him with a sickening impact.
Tasting blood, Picard turned his head to see what was going on. Something descended on him-something big and dark and powerful-looking. He was about to lash out at it with the heel of his foot when he realized it was Worf.
“Captain,” said his tactical officer, evincing obvious relief. “When I saw you go down, I was afraid they hadPicard waved away the suggestion. “The point is, they didn’t,” he said. With Worf’s help, he got to his feet and surveyed the place.
About half the stationkeepers were unconscious. The rest of them were gone without a trace. Fortunately, the station commander was among those who still remained.
With Kahless’s help, Kurn dragged the Klingon over to the main console and placed the commander’s hand on the appropriate padd-the customary Defense Force security bypass. Abruptly, the console lit up with a pattern of green and orange lights.
“Qapla”, was said Kahless, smiling.
“Qapla’ indeed,” agreed Kurn, as he set out to download the transmission records. It only took a minute or so, once they had access to the system. Had it been a Federation system, it wouldn’t even have taken that long.
“Your computer has the information?” the clone asked.
Worf’s brother nodded. “The transmission is complete.”
“Good,” said Kahless.
Lifting his disrupter pistol, he trained it on the console and fired. The thing was consumed in a matter of seconds.
“Now,” he declared, “these burden beasts will be unable to call for help when they come to.”
In fact, the “burden beasts” in question were already stirring. Picard looked at Kurn, who nodded once and worked the controls on his armband.
The captain drew his next breath on Kurn’s ship.
Kahless snorted, a sound of triumph. Worf eased himself into the pilot’s seat and brought the ship about as his brother went to the sensor panel.
Picard joined Kurn. “No sign of any transmission, I trust?”
Without looking up, Kurn shook his head. “None. And to my knowledge, there are no backup systems. Klingons are not enamored of redundancies.”
Except when it comes to parts of your anatomy, the captain thought, remembering how Worf’s biological redundancies had enabled him to walk again after his back had been broken. But as with so much else, he didn’t say it out