Requiem - Michael Jan Friedman [85]
That’s when he heard the hum change again—assuming that awful, warning timbre that had saved his life before. Gritting his teeth, he dug his heels in and hauled for all he was worth.
Both he and Commander La Forge shot backward into the corridor. The hatch, as dark and deadly as ever, met the deck just inches below the commander’s feet.
Barclay took a deep, tremulous breath and let it out. Unfortunately, there was no time for self-congratulations. He had to get La Forge to the airlock before the station self-destructed.
Chapter Ten
FOR THE FIRST TIME in several long minutes, there was silence. In its way, it was even harder to bear than the sounds of destruction that the Gorn had inflicted on them. Made uneasy by the respite, Picard lifted his head and peered out of the ruined shell of the administration building.
The invaders were still out there, of course, their scaly hides glittering in the sun. Not as many as before, thanks to the colonists’ marksmanship. But they comprised a formidable assault force nonetheless.
It appeared to the captain that they were organizing for another push. A final push, by all indications. Then again, he had thought their last push would be the final one, and the humans had somehow managed to stave them off.
Glancing back over his shoulder, Picard counted twelve people, besides himself. Twelve of the fifty or more who had emerged from their bunkers to give the Gorn a fight—and without question, they had accomplished that. But the cost …
The captain had seen each colonist fall, had marked each death with an acute attention to its details. He had done this not out of any morbid fascination with death, but rather to give each tragedy meaning, at least in his own mind. Perhaps he would not make it back to the future, but for now—until he himself perished in a furnace-blast of green fire—he would memorize the events of this dark and grisly day.
Why bother? Because, like the deaths themselves, it meant something. The gesture was worth making for its own sake, regardless of any connection with history or value systems or civilizations. In the end, Picard thought, perhaps that was all there was to the phenomenon they called “life”: a series of gestures, all of them ultimately futile, all of them powerless to make a chink in the armor of the inevitable.
The captain sighed. If he could stop it all right here, freeze time so that he and his comrades would go on staring at the invaders across a wide, dirt plaza forever and ever, he would make it so. He would spend eternity with these people at his side, their hearts pumping with fear, their eyes blazing with defiance.
He frowned. If only. If he could have prevented this while there was still time. If he could have defied the Prime Directive and found a way to forestall this massacre … to save her … to save Julia …
“Yes, Jean-Luc?”
Picard smiled as she nudged a bit closer to him. “Nothing,” he told her. “I was just thinking. I didn’t mean to do it out loud.”
She chuckled dryly. “It figures. I find a man who thinks of me even when he’s looking down Death’s ugly maw—and we’re both going to die before I can take advantage of it.”
There was only the slightest catch in her voice. She was a brave woman. A very brave woman. And like her, he wished they could have met in a better time and place.
“Hill,” growled Travers, from the recesses of what remained of their shelter.
The captain looked back and saw the commodore extending a phaser rifle in his direction. Without questioning, he took it.
Travers felt compelled to explain, however. “It was Schmitter’s,” he noted. “He won’t be needing it anymore.”
Following the commodore’s glance, Picard saw the spot that Schmitter had occupied until sometime during the last wave of attack. There was nothing left of the man but a charred stain on the floor.
One thing about the invaders’ disruptor blasts—they didn’t leave any