Resistance - J.M. Dillard [81]
“Interesting,” Worf said.
Beverly checked Leary’s wound; the dermis was starting to knit together nicely, enough to check any further bleeding. “You’re good for now,” she told her patient.
Leary got at once to her feet and turned to Worf. “I’m ready for action, sir. I know we don’t have much time…”
“Good,” the Klingon said. “We will head back toward the queen’s chamber. There are only three of us and there are no doubt several drones guarding the queen. We will have to create a distraction so that Doctor Crusher can administer the hypospray that will deactivate the queen.”
“What if I’m the distraction?” Beverly asked.
Worf turned sharply to look at her, but his expression was faintly pleased; he had, she realized, been thinking of suggesting it. “It could work,” he said.
Leary wasn’t following. Slightly aghast, she looked from Worf to Crusher. “But the doctor…”
Beverly gave a tight little smile. “The Borg may be moving faster, but they still don’t run,” she said. “But I sure can.”
13
“HE FELL.”
Sandra Chao’s voice, soft yet ragged, filtered up to Nave and echoed in the wide, empty shaft. Nave closed her eyes and pressed her forehead hard against her knuckles as she clung to the metal rung. At least Diasourakis’s scream had stopped reverberating.
“He—” Chao broke off and took a few seconds to gather herself before continuing. “It was hard for me to see. When you fired…the Borg fell, I think, and knocked Greg off the ladder.”
Nave kept her eyes closed a long moment. When she was able, she opened them and raised her face. Overhead, there was no sign that anyone else had followed. “Let’s keep going,” she told Chao. “Two more landings, then we’ll see where we are.”
They continued down in miserable silence. They passed another landing; then, as Chao neared the second, she reached out carefully, caught hold of a guardrail, and pulled herself onto the landing. Her boots clattered against the metal. “I think it’d be best if you waited, sir,” she called to Nave, then cautiously opened the hatch and peered beyond it.
She looked back at Nave. “It’s all right. The corridor’s empty.”
The landing was large enough only for one. Chao stepped through the open hatch, then turned and waited.
Nave reached for the guardrail above the landing and made the mistake of glancing down at the fathomless drop; she jerked her gaze up sharply and instead focused on Chao, who stood on the other side of the hatch, offering her hand.
Using the guardrail, Nave swung herself over and came down hard, on both feet, on the landing. Chao helped her climb through the hatch; both women paused to study their surroundings. The deck was similar to the one above, except that there were no drones within sight.
Nave hit her combadge. “Nave to Worf…” She let go a sound of disgust. “It’s dead.”
Chao tried hers, with the same result. “They must all know we’re here.”
Nave raised her face to study the outer bulkheads, trying to figure out the ship’s skeleton in hopes of finding another shaft that would take them back up to the queen’s chamber and, with luck, the rest of the away team.
“It’s not your fault,” Chao said suddenly, softly.
Nave scowled down at her.
“About Greg. You were trying to save him. It wasn’t your fault, the way it happened.”
Nave averted her gaze and shrugged. Chao was wrong; it was her fault. The shot from her rifle had hit the Borg—who struck Diasourakis when it fell. And Greg had fallen such a horribly long way that his body had to have been completely shattered—too damaged for human medicine or even Borg technology to repair. He was utterly, irrevocably gone. But there was no point in arguing about her innocence or guilt with Chao.
“There’s nothing either of us can do about it,” she said shortly, then let go a breath and looked back at Chao. “We can only get back up, to the queen’s chamber, and do what we’re here to do.”
“Aye, sir.”
Nave stared up at the distant bulkheads again and finally saw