Myriad Universes 02_ Echoes and Refractions - Keith R. A. DeCandido [43]
The Klingon did so, his mouth standing agape at what was transpiring.
“What?” Chekov said. “You never heard the ancient Russian legend of the Trojan Horse?”
The Klingon shook his head.
“Ah, vell…Forgive me, but I need to stun you now.”
And he did.
On the bridge of the Katai, Kruge impatiently drummed his fingers on the armrests of his chair. “What the khest is taking so long?” He punched the control to activate the intercom. “Transporter room! What is your status?”
No response.
“My lord!” Maltz shouted from the operations station. “Our transporter was just activated!”
“What?!” Kruge shouted, jumping down from his seat. “How is that possible? I ordered the shields raised!”
“They are, sir! No one can beam here from the outside,” Maltz explained. “But our own transporter can still beam things onto the ship through the modulations in our shield frequency.”
“Sir!” another officer interrupted. “I’m reading three…no, four intruders on board!”
“Ghuy’cha’!!!” Kruge bellowed. “Remodulate the shields! I don’t want anything else beamed onto this ship! You three!” He indicated the guards nearest the bridge entrance. “Intercept the intruders. The rest of you, secure the bridge!” He slammed his fist onto the intercom panel. “And brig! Kill the remaining hostage! NOW!!!”
The three guards quickly drew their disruptors and exited through the rear doors of the bridge, which opened into the long access corridor spanning the entire length of the hull.
“Down there!” the lead Kingon shouted, pointing ahead toward the aft end of the vessel. One of the intruders-a middle-aged human, by the looks of him-had just rounded the corner to the right at the far end and descended down the stairwell to the lower deck. The three guards rushed past the transporter room on the starboard side in hurried pursuit of their target. As they crossed the threshold into the main hull, shots rang out behind them, and two of the guards crumpled onto the walkway. The third guard turned just in time to see an Andorian and a darker-haired human, having just emerged from the transporter room into the corridor, fire the shots that sent his vision plummeting into darkness.
“Kill the remaining hostage! NOW!”
Kruge’s words sent chills through Kirk’s spine as they echoed through the hull of the Katai. The Starfleet admiral was now a desperate father, and he was wasting no time. From the instant he materialized on the Klingon transporter pad alongside Thelin and Sulu, he made a mad dash down the corridor to the stairway at the aft end of the ship.
Kirk flew down the steps to the lower level, his phaser in his right hand, his left hand steadying his descent. Upon reaching the floor of the lower deck, he gripped the end of the rail and spun himself around, using his momentum to propel himself down the short corridor to the brig. Without warning, the heat of a disruptor blast singed the hair above his ear and impacted the staircase behind him with a crack and the hiss of superheated metal. He dropped to one knee and rolled over, coming up to a sitting position with his phaser at the ready, firing. The guard at the door to the brig toppled forward.
With a nimbleness he didn’t know he still possessed, he leaped over the guard’s prone form and into the brig. The forcefield at the entrance to the cell was disarmed, and inside the cell stood the lone remaining guard-his left arm wrapped around David’s neck, his right hand holding a disruptor against David’s temple.
Kirk froze, horrified at the sight of his son. His face still showed signs of bruising from the torture inflicted upon him weeks earlier. His clothes were still stained and matted with dried blood. And his left arm still ended at the wrist in a grisly cauterized stump.
“Drop your weapon or he dies,” the Klingon ordered.
Staring helplessly at the weapon aimed at his son’s head, he did as he was told.
“Kick it over here.”