Requiem - Michael Jan Friedman [91]
The other man frowned. “Keep him alive, Bones. I want to know what’s been happening here.”
Harold felt a pressure against his arm and heard a hiss. The doctor had given him something for the pain, he realized. He could feel himself getting woozy.
That’s when the Vulcan spoke up. “Getting another life reading, Captain.”
The goldshirt stood. “Survivors?”
“Not survivors,” the science officer corrected. “Not warm-blooded. Living creatures. But not human.”
Harold could have told them that. He had seen the lizard-beings. He knew that they were anything but human.
“Where?” asked the captain.
The Vulcan consulted his instrument. “Azimuth ninety-three degrees, range one-five-zero-seven yards.”
Nodding, the captain directed the redshirted security officer to move forward, to take a look around. The man’s name was Hurlihy, apparently. Doing as he was told, he seemed to catch a glimpse of something in the distance.
Harold tried to tell him to get down, to watch out for the lizard men’s disruptors. But he couldn’t get the words out, just a rasping sound that barely got even the doctor’s attention.
“Calm down, son,” said the medical man. “Conserve your strength.”
“Captain,” said Hurlihy, “I see something… .”
Suddenly, he was caught in a greenish aura. Turning the color of blood under the glow, the security officer grimaced and disappeared.
“My God,” breathed the doctor.
Then the ground around them erupted with bomb blasts. The captain opened his communicator. “Kirk to Enterprise. Lock on transporters. Beam us up.”
Harold couldn’t hear the response, but there seemed to be a problem. And then he realized what it was: the invaders’ ship. It would be up there in orbit somewhere, attacking the Federation vessel, forcing whoever was in charge to defend himself.
“Keep those screens up,” commanded the one called Kirk. “Fire all phasers.”
There was a moment of silence, during which even the invaders’ bombs stopped falling. Then the captain spoke again, as if in response to some new information.
“Take all action necessary to protect the ship,” insisted the captain. “We’ll hold out here.”
Harold heaved a sigh. It still wasn’t over, was it? Maybe it would never be over. Maybe it would be like this from now on, now that the lizard-beings had shown up.
“Keep those screens up,” shouted the goldshirt. “Worry about us when the ship is safe. Kirk out.”
Abruptly, the bombs started falling again—started shaking the ground with their thunder. Geysers of fire and black smoke shot up all around them.
The captain shook his head. “If they lower those screens to beam us up,” he told the Vulcan, “they’ll be open to phaser attack.”
The other man nodded. “We are hopelessly out-numbered here, Captain. With those disruptors versus our hand phasers …”
Kirk waved away the Vulcan’s pessimism. “We’re stuck with it, Mr. Spock. We’ll have to make do with what we’ve got.” Turning to look back at Harold, he gestured for the doctor and two others to pick him up. Then, together, they headed for the shelter of the still-intact residence structure—the place where the survivor had just come from.
Bombs shattered the air all around them. Despite the painkiller, Harold could feel the heat of their blasts on his tortured flesh. And being moved this way awakened new agonies inside him. But if the alternative was to be torn apart by the invaders’ barrage, he would endure whatever he had to.
The captain turned to a couple of his officers. “Kelowitz, Lang … flank out. Lay down fire on the coordinates Mr. Spock gave you.” And then, as they departed: “Even if you don’t see them, keep your heads down.”
Turning to the Vulcan, he noted: “We’re helpless down here. And the Enterprise …”
The response was meant to reassure him. “Mr. Sulu is an experienced combat officer, Captain.”
But the man called Kirk shook his head. “It’s my ship, Mr. Spock. I should be there.” He cursed their fate. “We can’t even get at them.”
“Nor can they at us, at the moment,” replied the science officer. “Not unless they