Resistance - J.M. Dillard [76]
Just as the away team neared the intersection of two catwalks, Nave saw them, approaching from the rear: six drones in pyramid formation, one in front, two in the second row, three in the last. They appeared out of the shadows as if materializing magically from the ether. They were all moving at speeds much faster than she had previously read in the reports. There was none of the lumbering that was typically associated with the hulking beings. They were fierce in their movements.
The lead drone wore a black optoscope that extended forward and rotated as it studied its prey; it caught Nave’s gaze with its single humanoid eye, its expression frighteningly blank. At the sight of her, it lifted a cybernetic arm, which terminated in razor-sharp fingers that opened and closed, a deadly bloom. It reached for her, its blades champing together like the teeth of a hungry predator, ready to strike.
“Six approaching from the rear!” Nave shouted.
She fired on the drone, peripherally aware that Chao had closed in on her right flank, Diasourakis her left.
The Borg with the blooming blades moved in first. Nave’s burst hit it squarely in the midsection. Like the first drone, this one buckled backward, then righted itself.
Nave fired a second time, a third, as Chao and Diasourakis followed suit; the dimness was lit by a rapid-fire series of dazzling blasts. She heard Worf’s shouted orders to Leary, followed by phaser fire behind her, and realized that the Borg had attacked on two fronts.
Chao and Diasourakis were emptying their weapons on the second and third drones, trying to bring them down. But like Nave’s, their targets stopped, rallied, then kept coming.
“Recalibrate weapons!” Nave yelled.
Somewhere behind her, Margaret Leary screamed.
Nave had no time to turn. The drone intended for her—its finger blades extended, clawing the air—was only two meters away.
But Leary’s cry was too similar to Lio’s; it filled her with murderous rage. She recalibrated with practiced swiftness, and the corner of her mouth tugged down as she fired. “I won’t let you win this time,” she said, her voice low, ragged.
The burst hit the drone in the gut, lifting it off its feet and propelling it backward. Nave stared through her scope and waited, but the creature did not rise; it lay on its back, the scorched black carapace smoldering.
Diasourakis had managed to take down his target, but Chao’s had adapted again. As she struggled to recalibrate in time, a drone came within arm’s reach, an instant away from striking. Nave and Diasourakis both fired on the drone, but it remained on its feet.
When it reached for Chao, Nave grabbed her arm.
“Retreat!” She pushed Chao to the left, onto the intersecting catwalk, giving them breathing room; Diasourakis followed.
Nave glanced over her shoulder. Behind Diasourakis, a cluster of drones—a black-and-white circle of flesh—had paused in the intersection of the two walkways, as if uncertain whom to pursue. Nave craned to look past them and caught a glimpse of Worf’s russet hair and massive shoulders, of Crusher’s and Leary’s pale faces, of a flash of blood. They had veered right as Nave and her party had veered left; the drones who had attacked from front and rear had now converged, separating them.
Nave turned back to face the enemy, at the same time recalibrating her weapon; Diasourakis and Chao, shoulder to shoulder, did the same. As she moved, Nave took a quick head count: seven drones. Seven to six—almost even odds.
“Let’s rejoin the others,” she said. “Fire.”
The darkness filled with dazzling light; a pair of bright bursts came from the opposite side as Worf and Leary attacked.
One drone dropped, then another; a third staggered, then slowly righted itself. Along with Diasourakis and Chao, Nave kept firing but slowly became aware that no further blasts were coming from Worf and Leary.
She thought of the flash of red she had