Marooned - Christie Golden [67]
She sensed rather than saw Tuvok behind her, his back to hers, using his own phaser. More Xians fell. But they kept coming, as if they were of infinite number. No wonder Grrua had spoken of them with such fear and loathing.
Three phasers firing at once were doing a good job of slowing them. Out of her range of vision, she heard Hrrrl snarling and fighting his own, more brutal, battle with his peoples' worst enemy.
Still, some made it through. Out of the corner of her eye, the captain saw one of them reach Tom. She whirled, took aim, and fired. The Xian crumpled, but Tom fell with him. Janeway felt a surge of worrysomething was not right with Paris, she knew it-but there was no time to check on him, no time to do anything but aim and fire, aim and fire, as wave after wave of troll-faced monstrosities kept coming. The sounds were awful, and Janeway fought to tune them out, to keep her concentration. The Xian scream of anger, Hrrri's enraged bellows, Torres's defiant cry in Klingon, and someone else off to the right shrieking in dreadful agony.
In a language she understood. It was one of her crew.
She half turned, distracted despite herself, and only barely got an arm up in time to block the blow of a heavy club. Instinctively she rolled with the movement, landing on the earth hard but getting her legs underneath her and springing up again almost immediately. The Xian was not expecting the maneuver, and his forward motion carried him a few steps before he could recover and stop. Torres was there, lacing her fingers together and bringing them down hard on the back of the creature's neck. The blow knocked it to its knees, and Tuvok's phaser sang.
Janeway found her own weapon, and made a full circle, ready for the next attack. But it didn't come. It seemed that the Xians had finally had enough.
"Captain!" The voice belonged to Paris, ragged, raw with the sharp edge of fear to it. "Bokk-"
She flashed her wristlight about in the direction of his voice. He looked terrible. He was bloody and pale and looked as though he was about to collapse any moment. She turned the light in the direction in which he pointed, but found only a dark patch of sand. Frowning, she tried to catch her breath as she stepped toward it.
Paris's hand on her arm was as unexpected as it was violent. "No! Don't go near it! Quicksand!"
"Quicksand?" asked Torres, coming up behind them.
"A bed of soft sand, saturated with water." It was Tuvok's voice, calm and soothing. "It tends to engulf unwary creatures.
"Like Bokk," said Janeway softly. She shone her light about, searching for something, anything, that would show a trace of the Bolian. But the surface appeared utterly undisturbed. "We should try to retrieve his body if we can."
"No!" It was Paris again, panicky, frightened. His face shone greasy with sweat in the light. "It's more than quicksand, it's alive!"
Janeway studied him carefully. "Are you certain, Tom?"
He thrust out his arm for her to examine. "It made a tentacle out of itself and tried to pull me in. Look."
His uniform had burned away and there was a nasty red welt on the skin. Janeway felt a quick jolt of nauseated horror as she realized exactly how poor Bokk had died.
No time to dwell on that. "Tomes, you've got the medikit. Start working on Tom's arm right away. Anyone else injured?" she asked briskly.
Torres, rummaging in her pack, glanced down at her thigh. It was cut and bleeding. "This isn't too bad. I'll clean it up after I take care of the lieutenant." Her voice shook a little, but the set of her jaw was stubborn.
Janeway did a quick head count. Tom, Tuvok, Torres, herself "Damn it. Hrrrl's gone. Tuvok, you're in charge. I'm going to go look for him." She checked her phaser, then headed out into the darkness.
Janeway hadn't gone far before the sweep of her wristlight revealed a furry lump. She hastened up to it, fearing the worst, but then Hrrrl groaned.
"Hrrri, are you injured?"
"No,"