Marooned - Christie Golden [34]
Now, they were attacking.
The alien ships sprang to life. With a rapidity that belied their bulk and their apparent age, they spiraled gracefully, tumbling into attack formation and firing energy weapons upon the unsuspecting Voyager.
"Shields!" cried Chakotay, but Lieutenantmckay, covering for Tuvok, had already beaten him to it. The shields deflected the attack, though the ship rocked from the assault.
"I thought those ships were dead," Chakotay snapped at Kim. "Red alert!"
As the lights dimmed and redness pulsed through the bridge, Kim replied, "They were, sir. I mean, they are. I mean-there are still no life signs!"
Chakotay had a theory. "Ngyuen, retreat at full impulse."
"Aye, Commander!"
The ship hastened backwards and resumed its former position.
The lights in the three alien vessels died, like a candle that had been suddenly extinguished. They tumbled slowly, without control, to resume their former orbits. The trap had been reset; the vessels looked abandoned, aged, utterly nonthreatening.
Slowly, the adrenaline ceased to flood Chakotay's bloodstream and his heart rate subsided to its normal steady beat. Dimly, he was aware of the damp perspiration of alarm on his brow. He did not wipe it off; the gesture might alarm his crew. "Just as I thought," he said aloud, so that he might reassure the listening bridge crew. "Once we retreated a certain distance, the ships played dead again."
"They're sentinels," exclaimedmckay, his eyes lighting up with comprehension. "Someone doesn't want us to get too close."
"Mckay, are we still within firing range?"
"Aye, sir."
"Then let's fire on them now."
"Phasers at the ready, sir."
"Fire at will."
A red streak sliced through space. The ships again came to life with that disturbing unnaturalness, their shields protecting them from Voyager's fire and their own weapons system firing back.
"Hold fire."
Mckay obeyed. The ships fired one last volley, then abruptly died. Like a possum, back on Earth. Playing dead until they have to fight.
"So now we know," said Chakotay. "They'll fight when fired upon or when we get too close for someone's liking." Chakotay rose and walked closer to the screen, as if proximity would provide answers. "The question is, what are they guarding? Who put them up? Did Yashar install them to guard his pirate lair?"
He shook his head. "They look too old for that."
Other questions hung, unasked, in the air. Chakotay was grateful for the discreet silence. If they're sentinels, are they booby-trapped in some way? What will happen if we disable them-to us, and to the crew down on Mishkara? And how in the name of everything good can we possibly find them if something has gone wrong?
Chakotay had no idea. The minutes were ticking past, and the captain's shuttle was overdue. Grim thoughts of dark cells and torture, wreckage and bloody bodies filled his mind's eye. Even worse, thoughts of Janeway and Kes, smiling and content as they hung onto Aren Yashar's arms, made the cold sweat of apprehension sheen upon his tattooed brow.
Not Kes. Not Janeway. They had strong wills.
The doctor's words haunted him: Stockholm Syndrome is born of a very deep instinct. It could happen to anyone if the circumstances are right.
Kathryn, thought Chakotay, be all right. Please be all right.
"HELP ME UP," SNAPPED JANEWAY, IGNORING THE PAIN screaming through her battered body as Neelix and Bokk, one on each side, eased her upright. Janeway took a breath, composed herself, and made it unas sisted to the shuttlecraft door.
The plasma venting from the damaged nacelles obscured her vision at first. The misty greenness turned the shapes outside into hulking, looming fig ures. Janeway swallowed, using years of Federation training to combat a deeper, more primal response to the creatures that stood in eerie silence, waiting.
So must the gorillas have appeared to the first men to see them; so must the white-furred mugato have loomed in the imaginations and visions