Kobayashi Maru - Michael A. Martin [112]
Trip watched him begin squeezing the trigger with exaggerated, excruciating slowness.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Monday, July 21, 2155 Qam-Chee, the First City, QonoS
S OMETIME DURING THE LAST INSTANT of life he expected to experience, Jonathan Archer made a decision: He simply wasnt going to stop fighting.
Even as Krells batleth blade descended toward his head, Archer brought his own weapon to bear in front of his face, one hand on the traditional grip, the other grasping the outer blade.
The tip of Krells batleth sliced through the gap between the outer and inner blade of Archers weapon, becoming trapped there, wedged mere inches from Archers face. He grimaced, ignoring the pain in his punctured side, ignoring the blood that slickened the outer blade beneath his lacerated fingers, and twisted with every ounce of strength he still possessed.
Krells blade suddenly torqued to the side, and he grunted in anger as one of his hands lost its grip.
Archer kicked upward with his boot, connecting hard with the Klingons crotch. He knew it was a dirty tactic, but he was already long past observing the Marquess of Queensberry rules.
Krell shouted in commingled pain and rage, his other hands grip loosening on his batleth just enough to enable Archer to twist the interlocked blades even further, until the combination of leverage, momentum, and muscle pulled the weapon entirely out of the admirals grasp. Archer quickly threw the two still conjoined weapons as far across the cavern as he could, then rolled even as Krell moved to tackle him.
Scrambling to get his feet back under him, Archer lunged forward, grabbing Krells long hair and pulling it hard so as to ratchet the Klingons head violently to one side. He quickly slammed the palm of his hand into Krells eye socket, then backed away as the Klingon flailed his arms, apparently disoriented.
Then Archer saw that Krell was headed directly toward the fallen weapons, and dashed toward him to keep him from grabbing the mutually jammed blades. The Klingon crouched, sweeping his foot out and connecting with Archers ribs. At least one rib broke with a sickening crack.
Now it was Archers turn to scream as he staggered back and crashed against a stalagmite. The impact knocked Archer painfully onto his belly, and the Klingon instantly leaped onto his back, his knobby hand clawing at Archers face. Krell dug his fingers into the captains mouth and pulled at his cheek, as if he meant to rip his face off entirely.
Archer rolled forward, flipping the Klingon over his back, praying that the momentum would make Krell let go of his cheek without major trauma. Krell toppled over the top of him, crashing back against another rocky outcropping. This one, however, was evidently less durable than the one Archer had just struck; it exploded into a spray of dirty powder and chunks of porous rock from the impact.
Moving toward the entangled batleth s, Archer saw Krell scrambling back to him again, swinging his huge right arm in a haymaker punch. Archer sidestepped and ducked, then planted both feet and caught the Klingons arm as it passed him by millimeters. Archer pulled the arm forward and down very quickly, using the Klingons own momentum to unbalance and topple him. The simple judo move flipped Krell over, and the admirals shoulder made an unpleasant-sounding pop as his body slammed into the rocky floor.
Archer stepped toward the batleth s again, but Krell scissored his legs out, catching Archers foot. He fell to the dirt, his fingers scrabbling against the ground only centimeters from the fallen blades.
Krell stood up, his right arm hanging limply at his side, his face caked in purplish blood and mud. He swayed unsteadily for a moment, then moved again toward the weapons.
Once again, Archer turned his opponents own movement against him, though this time he kicked at the back of Krells knees. One of them blew outward, a shattered shinbone tearing open the Klingons pants in a spray of purple.