Planet X - Michael Jan Friedman [89]
Nonetheless, he used them effectively. Before the Implementor’s eyes, the yellow-and-blue one slashed Ettojh’s disruptor from his grasp and delivered a savage kick to his midsection.
Isadjo’s helmsman took advantage of the moment to fire, but the invader ducked and evaded the blast. Then he leaped on the Draa’kon like a ravening beast, sending him slamming into a bulkhead with skull-rattling force.
As the helmsman slumped to the deck, Ettojh tried to grasp the intruder from behind. That too proved to be a mistake, as the yellow-and-blue one flipped Ettojh over his back.
Before Isadjo’s second could get to his feet, the invader was on the move again. The Implementor saw a rib-cracking kick, followed by a backhanded swipe of the masked one’s claws, and Ettojh went skidding limply across the deck.
Then the invader turned to Isadjo himself. “Hey,” he said, “I’ll bet you’re the creepy crawler in charge. I mean, you are the biggest, fattest guy around.”
Isadjo trained his weapon on the madman and sent a bolt of green fury at him. A moment later, the masked one was gone, enveloped again by the billowing gas cloud.
There, thought the Implementor. That would teach him to take the Draa’kon lightly.
Suddenly, the invader came flying out of the cloud at him, all feet and claws and savage grin. There was no time to run, no time to fire again. There wasn’t even time for Isadjo to brace himself as the enemy’s boot heel smashed him right between the eyes.
Captain Picard eyed the image of the Connharakt on his viewscreen, waiting for a sign.
“The Onizuka is entering Shuttle Bay One,” Rager reported. “And the Voltaire is hailing us.”
“What’s the Voltaire’s position?” asked Picard.
“Off the port bow,” said Rager, “at a distance of half-a-million miles.”
“Open a channel,” the captain instructed her.
It was Worf’s voice that came to them. “How can we help?” he asked.
Picard explained the situation. “Right now,” he concluded, “the best any of us can do is stand by.”
The Klingon didn’t like the idea, but he bowed to it. “Standing by,” he agreed.
Almost a minute went by. The captain took a breath, let it out.
Then he heard a small exclamation from Suttles at tactical. “Sir,” said the ensign, “I have an audio message from the Connharakt.”
The captain frowned, preparing himself for anything. “Put it through,” he responded.
For a heartbeat, there was silence. Then Picard heard a familiar voice.
“Captain,” it said, “this is Counselor Troi. I’m happy to tell you we have taken control of the Connharakt.”
Picard looked at Rager, then at Yeowell. “Taken control?” he repeated, savoring the moment.
“That’s correct, sir. High Implementor Isadjo and his bridge officers put up quite a fight, but in the end they were no match for us. Wolverine was particularly persuasive in that regard.”
“I see,” said the captain, supressing a smile. “May I assume, then, that the Connharakt will no longer be attempting to split us like an overripe melon?”
He could imagine the counselor grinning at his gallows humor. “You may indeed make that assumption, sir.”
Picard nodded. Once in a while, one of his officers performed a feat that simply astounded him. This was one of those feats.
“Good work,” he told Troi.
The answer had an undercurrent of pride in it—and fatigue as well. “Thank you, sir.”
Chapter Thirty-two
PICARD TOOK NOTE of the tricorder in his chief medical officer’s hand as he followed her through the interlocking doors of Holodeck Two. When the doors closed behind them, he found himself in a large, well-lit room with the stark, sterile appearance of a laboratory.
At the far end of the room, hovering in some kind of antigravity unit, a man was peering into a microscope. Taking note of his visitors’ entrance, he looked up from his work.
“Dr. Crusher,” Xavier said, his voice calm and commanding at the same time. “I’ve been wondering when you would return.”
Then he turned his gaze on the captain, and a flicker of something like amusement crossed his features. Nor was