Planet X - Michael Jan Friedman [63]
Turning to the Klingon, the officer shrugged. “The field is everywhere, sir. There doesn’t seem to be any way out.”
“Now that’s where ye’re wrong, lad,” said Banshee. He eyed the barrier in front of them as if it were a living adversary, standing between him and his fallen comrade. “There’s always a way out.”
Throwing his redhaired head back and opening his mouth, he unleashed a high-pitched shriek. The force field sizzled and sputtered at the point where his sonic blast made contact with it, but remained stable otherwise. And when the mutant stopped shrieking, the barrier looked no different than when he had begun.
What was worse, Worf could hear the hiss of air as it began to leave their prison. The Draa’kon intended to suffocate them, all right. He clenched his teeth, wishing he had guessed wrong for a change.
“Wait a minute,” said Banshee. He regarded the Klingon. “What if we were t’ work together? My sonic blast and yer phaser, in th’ same wee spot? Maybe we could find a ventilation shaft or somethin’.”
It wouldn’t hurt to try, Worf told himself. He reset his weapon and aimed it at the bulkhead, just to the left of the barrier. “Here,” he decided.
“Whatever ye say,” the mutant replied.
Again, he unleashed a blast, forcing the field to de-solidify in that one particular spot. A moment later, the Klingon fired his phaser right into the heart of Banshee’s handiwork.
And it did the trick.
The phaser beam cut through the barrier and dug a hole in the metal bulkhead beneath it. But before long, the mutant had to stop and take a breath.
“It’s th’ blessed oxygen,” he gasped. “We’re losin’ it, Worf.”
The Klingon could hardly disagree. He was getting lightheaded, weak in the knees, and he was by far the hardiest of them.
“We must try it again,” he told Banshee.
The mutant nodded, gathered his resources and delivered another blast in the same spot. As before, the barrier grew muddled. And as before, Worf applied his phaser beam to the center of it.
This time, they dug even deeper, exposing circuitry and power conduits. But eventually, Banshee had to stop, plant his hands on his knees and suck down a breath. And the oxygen was still running out of their enclosure.
Ditko and Kirby sat down to save their strength. But the mutant and the Klingon didn’t have that luxury.
“We don’t have much time left,” Worf wheezed, knowing it was an understatement.
Banshee eyed him. “One more time, then,” he panted, “with feelin’, now.” And he directed yet another sonic blast at the bulkhead.
At the same time, Worf activated his phaser. Thanks to the mutant’s valiant effort, it probed beyond circuitry and power conduits, delving deeper and deeper with each passing moment.
Banshee screamed a scream of defiance, as if he were daring the Draa’kon’s trap to beat them. He dripped perspiration and turned a dangerously dark shade of red, but he refused to give up. And he kept screaming until his eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped to the deck, half-unconscious.
When the mutant’s sonic blast stopped, the Klingon’s phaser beam became useless against the barrier. Worf muttered a curse and sank to his knees, hating the idea of defeat even more than he hated the idea of death—though both of them seemed unavoidable at that point.
Suddenly, there was a massive pop and the Klingon felt a breeze wash over him. Wondering how that could be, he looked at the barrier ahead of them and saw that it was gone.
But how … ?
And then it came to him. The energy field had to have been projected from somewhere in the bulkhead. Their digging must have damaged one of the projectors.
Taking deep, laborious breaths, Banshee rose to his knees beside Worf. Then he staggered to his feet and lurched forward until he was able to sink beside Archangel and check his vital signs.
“The lad’s alive,” the mutant said of his teammate, “but his breathin’ is shallow, and I d’ nae think his color’s all it should be.”
By then, Ditko and Kirby were on their feet as well, shrugging off the effects like