Planet X - Michael Jan Friedman [61]
Archangel was no exception. As usual, he was scouting up ahead, out of sight of the away team, though it made him more vulnerable than the rest of them. If not for his uncanny speed in close quarters, the mutant’s pinions would have been clipped a long time ago.
Abruptly, the winged man came hurtling around the corner at them. Worf tensed. To this point, Archangel’s retreats had meant a firefight was in the offing. But something about the mutant’s expression made the Klingon suspect otherwise.
“We made it,” Archangel told him. Alighting in front of them, he jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Their engine room is just around the bend.”
Encouraged, Worf picked up the pace. When he got to the juncture, he peeked around the corner at the corridor to his right.
It was empty. But the Klingon could see a grey, heavy-looking archway at the end of it, and beyond the archway there was something that looked very much like an engine room.
“You see?” asked Archangel.
Worf nodded. “I see.”
He considered the contingent of armed guards that stood just inside the arch, illuminated by the glare from unseen light sources. The Klingon estimated that there were half a dozen of the Draa’kon. And, of course, there would be engineers and such further within, who might also have access to weapons in an emergency.
Worf turned to Ditko and Kirby. “It will be up to you,” he said, “to disable the power transfer mechanisms. Though I do not know for certain, I imagine they will be similar to those you have seen on the Enterprise.”
The security officers nodded and rechecked their phasers.
“And what’re we t’ do?” asked Banshee. “In other words, you, me, and our wee friend with th’ wings on his back?”
The Klingon grunted. “We will fight.”
The mutant smiled. “Sounds like a plan.”
Peeking into the corridor again, Worf raised his left hand—a signal for everyone to get ready. A couple of seconds later, he let it drop. Then he charged down the passageway, phaser held before him.
It took a moment or two for the Draa’kon to realize they were under attack. The two nearest guards whirled and took aim at the away team, their shots burning streaks in the bulkheads on either side of the Klingon.
Then it was the intruders’ turn. Worf sent one of the guards flying with a ruby-red phaser burst, and Archangel swept the other one’s feet out from under him. Two more Draa’kon stepped up to take their places, but Banshee opened his mouth and knocked them senseless.
Chaos erupted as the away team spilled into the cavernous, grey engine room. Green and crimson beams leaped back and forth, the faces of friend and foe alike illuminated in the crossfire.
The Klingon rolled to elude a point-blank blast and cut down his adversary with one of his own. A moment later, he saw his winged ally drive a Draa’kon into a bulkhead face first, then twist up and back along the ceiling to set his sights on another victim.
Banshee was driven to his knees by a two-handed blow from behind. But before his assailant could finish him off, Kirby skewered the Draa’kon with a well-placed phaser beam.
And so it went.
The engine room echoed wildly with their bellows and their grunts, with the thud of bodies hitting each other and then hitting the deck. Worf fired, ducked, and fired again, trying desperately to make out his adversaries in the midst of flickering chaos.
Finally, he saw a sizable flash out of the corner of his eye, and knew by that sign that either Ditko or Kirby had gotten to the power transfer mechanisms. As circuitry sputtered and plasma conduits exploded, the Klingon collapsed another Draa’kon with a phaser shot to his midsection. Then he gestured for his team to withdraw from the engine room.
Laying down cover fire, Worf watched Ditko and Kirby race him to the exit. Banshee joined them a moment later. Last of all came Archangel, half his face bathed in blood from a cut to his temple.
Still, they were all alive, all in one piece. It was the best the Klingon could have hoped