Planet X - Michael Jan Friedman [72]
“Himmel,” came a cry from the pile of debris on his right.
Turning, he saw that it had come from Nightcrawler. “What is it?” the android asked the mutant.
“We’re not getting anywhere this way,” said Nightcrawler. “And if we run out of ammunition before they do …”
He didn’t have to finish his sentence. Data knew well enough what would transpire at that point. He and his comrades would be forced to withdraw, leaving the transformed at the mercy of the Draa’kon.
To the android, that wasn’t a viable option.
“How are you feeling?” he asked the mutant.
Nightcrawler looked at him, his golden eyes locked on Data’s. “Not as bad as I thought I would after that jump to the Draa’kon ship.” His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why do you ask?”
The android smiled. “I believe you know why. It might save some lives if we can get into that building and spirit the transformed out of it.”
The mutant took a breath and let it out. “You ask a lot of me, my friend. It’s a good thing I like you.”
“Then you will do it?” Data pressed.
“Have I a choice?” Nightcrawler asked in return.
The android regarded him for a moment. “That is a rhetorical question,” he concluded.
Covering the distance in a single bound, the mutant was beside him.
Unfortunately, the debris didn’t offer sufficient cover for both of them. “Stay down,” Data advised him, putting a firm hand on the mutant’s shoulder.
“Don’t distract me,” came the reply. “When I’m tired, I need to concentrate even harder.”
The android studied Nightcrawler’s face, watching as his companion composed himself. After all, Data’s positronic brain allowed him to catch nuances the human mind could not.
Still, he failed to pin down the precise moment at which the mutant effected the teleport. He simply came to the abrupt realization that he was no longer outside the beleaguered building, looking in. He was inside it. So was Nightcrawler. And they were standing in the midst of the transformed who had hidden themselves there.
“Someone’s here!” cried one of the transformed.
“Please do not be alarmed,” Data said calmly. “I assure you, we are not here to hurt you. In fact—”
“Liar!” shouted another of the youths.
“No!” the mutant yelled back. “We’re not with the Draa’kon. We’re—”
Before he could finish his disclaimer, the air around his head turned into a solid crystal. Unable to breathe, the already weakened Nightcrawler fell to the ground, his eyes staring and filled with horror.
The android knelt and took the crystal in his hands, hoping he could break it without harming his friend. But before he could make the attempt, someone raised her fist and pierced him with a bolt of charged plasma.
Data writhed uncontrollably, flopping around as if he had lost control of his limbs. And of course, he had.
His artificial body had always enabled him to tolerate a considerable degree of physical punishment. But when it came to a high-powered plasma charge, he was as vulnerable as anyone else.
“You do not … understand,” the android told the transformed, trying to make their faces stop swimming in front of him. “We are not … not your enemies. We came here to … to offer …”
Before he could finish, he shut down.
Chapter Twenty-six
DR. CRUSHER ENTERED the holodeck and saw what she had created. It was a large room with hardwood walls and furnishings, where tall windows framed in heavy, red velvet drapes let in shafts of moonlight.
The place spoke eloquently of comfort and old-fashioned charm, not unlike her grandmother’s house in the Caldos Colony. Comfort and charm and a quiet, stolid strength.
Here, a potted plant lent grace to an otherwise bare corner. There, an Oriental vase contributed a delicate beauty. And still elsewhere, a brick fireplace held the glow of burning embers.
Caught in that glow was a heavy, mahogany desk, the darkened computer monitor that sat