Maker - Michael Jan Friedman [58]
Brakmaktin didn’t grace him with an answer. But as the Ubarrak waited for one, something bizarre happened. He and his fellow security officers turned their weapons away from the invader—and trained them on each other instead.
Nikolas saw what was going to happen and tried to warn the Ubarrak. But his words froze in his throat. Obviously, Brakmaktin didn’t want to hear them.
In any case, it was too late for a warning to make a difference. The Ubarrak were locked into position, looking down the barrels of each other’s weapons.
Their arms trembled as they tried to regain control of them. But it was useless. They couldn’t break Brakmaktin’s hold. They weren’t strong enough.
No one was.
Nikolas launched himself at Brakmaktin, trying to stop him—but it was like hitting a wall. Though the human recoiled in pain, the Nuyyad didn’t even seem to feel it.
All at once, the Ubarrak began to fire at each other. And of course, their aim was perfect, since it was actually Brakmaktin’s. In a heartbeat, they were all lying dead on the ground, blackened holes oozing in their chests.
At least he can’t do any more harm, Nikolas told himself. There’s no one else around to kill. Then Brakmaktin proved him wrong.
In the blink of an eye, they were standing in a different part of the city, a different plaza. And there the Ubarrak were only beginning to hear about the alien, judging by the groups into which they had clustered.
Brakmaktin gave them firsthand experience, creating a series of blue-energy storms in their midst. The Ubarrak who were touched by them jerked like puppets and slumped to the ground, and the rest of them began to run.
Nikolas wanted desperately to do something—but what? Out of frustration, he took a swing at Brakmaktin’s face. But before his blow could land, it was encased in the monster’s massive, four-fingered hand.
“You don’t need to do this!” Nikolas told him. “They’re not security officers—just let them go!”
Brakmaktin spared him a glance, so cold and distant that the human wasn’t sure his presence had registered at all. Then the Nuyyad flung him away like a rag doll.
Nikolas spun through the air, cringing at the prospect of landing. As fate would have it, he came down on a clump of corpses instead of something harder.
He didn’t look at their faces. He just dragged himself to his feet—precisely as Brakmaktin unleashed another blue-energy squall among the Ubarrak who were still in sight. They fell as the others had, twitching horribly as they died.
In the wake of all that death, there was a great, sad sigh of wind—and then silence. Brakmaktin stood in the center of it, amid more than a hundred corpses, the most perfect predator nature had ever devised.
Then he looked at the ground in front of him, extended his hand palm upward, and began to dig.
Chapter Fourteen
ONCE AGAIN, Picard gathered his officers and a few of his guests around his briefing room table. Last time, they had spoken in generalities about the approach they would take when they caught up with Brakmaktin.
That was before they had followed him to the brink of Ubarrak space. Now it was time to speak in specifics.
“I have met with my acting weapons officer,” said the captain, “and he believes we can strike effectively at Brakmaktin with phasers from a low orbit. The question is how vulnerable the Stargazer will be at that range.”
Dojjaron shook his head disapprovingly. “That is not the question at all.”
Picard looked at him. “Then what is?”
“The environment Brakmaktin creates will be a subterranean one—like the caverns in which his clan has given birth to generations of offspring.”
“In other words,” said Daniels, “your weapons won’t be able to reach him. But we can beam down a team that can.”
The captain frowned. “What if the composition of the planet’s crust prevents site-to-site transport?”
“Then our team will find another way,” said Serenity. “But they will get down there, I assure you.”
Picard tried to think of a third option