Pathways - Jeri Taylor [134]
He swiftly checked the ship’s systems and realized they were in worse shape than he’d thought. The comm was down completely, weapons were off line, propulsion showed thrusters only, and life-support was minimal. He turned toward Chakotay and was relieved to see Torres sitting up now, holding her head.
“We’ve taken a lot of damage,” he reported tersely, running down the dead and failing systems. Chakotay nodded, arm around Torres, who looked dazed. Suddenly another figure rushed onto the cramped bridge, breathless and urgent.
“Are you all right?” The concern in her voice was palpable, but Tom was aware she spoke only to Chakotay. She was Bajoran, and her name was Seska. He hadn’t felt good about that one from the moment he set foot on the Liberty, and had not even bothered flirting with her.
Now Seska witnessed the tableau in front of her— Chakotay kneeling protectively next to B’Elanna, arm around her supportively—and she stiffened perceptibly. Tom was instantly aware of powerful feelings of possession and jealousy from Seska, feelings she immediately suppressed and replaced with concern. It was a brief moment, but a chilling one.
“B’Elanna has a head wound—maybe a concussion,” said Chakotay.
“I’ll get the med kit,” replied Seska immediately, and disappeared again. Chakotay turned to Yuri Terikof, their navigator.
“There’s a colony on Selka that’s sympathetic to us. Take the shuttle and tell them we need help.”
Tom was out of his seat immediately. “I’ll do it,” he blurted, and headed for the exit, but Chakotay put out a restraining hand.
“I told Yuri to go,” he said quietly. Tom held his look steadily.
“Pardon my frankness, but it’ll take a better pilot than Yuri to get through the debris of those Cardassian ships. Your only chance is to let me do it.”
Chakotay hesitated, and Tom realized with a sinking feeling that his captain didn’t trust him. “I’ll do it,” he promised. “I’ll get through and I’ll bring help.”
“If you run out on us, I swear I’ll hunt you down,” Chakotay said, then jerked his head toward the portal, tacitly giving the order.
As Tom exited the compartment, he caught a brief glimpse of Torres, face wet with blood, eyes black and unyielding, and determined that he’d do whatever he could to bring help for her, then quickly squelched the thought. It had made him unaccountably fearful, and he didn’t like the sensation.
He launched the shuttle and weaved his way through the debris of the two Cardassian ships until he was in clear space, then set a course for Selka and jumped to warp speed. With luck, he’d have help on the way within hours.
Two hours later he detected the approaching Starfleet vessel and realized it was coming to investigate the massive explosions that had taken place in the demilitarized zone. It would discover the wreckage of the Cardassian ships and, hovering nearby, helpless, Chakotay’s wounded craft. Starfleet considered the Maquis little more than outlaws, and would undoubtedly bring Chakotay and his crew before a tribunal.
The Starfleet ship hailed him.
“U.S.S. Bradbury to unidentified shuttle. Please respond.” The disembodied voice over his comm system reverberated slightly, giving it a faintly mystical quality. Tom’s mind began to churn. The hail presented him with options, the most appealing of which was to pass himself off as a colonist of the zone, ignorant of any recent battle with the Cardassians. He was near enough to Selka that it was a plausible story. He could be quaffing an ale that very evening in a friendly bar, arms around a supple and eager playmate.
“U.S.S. Bradbury to unidentified shuttle. Respond or we will take you in tow.”
Once, a lie had come easily to him. He had looked Admiral Brand in the eye and, with voice unquavering, placed the blame for the asteroid disaster on Bruno Katajavuori. But the price he had paid was too great.
He punched a control to open the comm, carving his mind into halves as he spoke to the Bradbury while simultaneously entering a complex series of instructions into his console.
“This is Tom Piper, piloting the