Resistance - J.M. Dillard [86]
To her right was a bier, from which she had recently been resurrected. Mounds of the gelatinous substance—glinting opalescent mother-of-pearl in the light—still lay faintly quivering on the bed; some had spilled onto the deck, and a shining trail could be traced directly to the feet of the queen.
High above her, draped in shadow, was a vast cybernetic structure vaguely like the core of a ship’s engine. Faintly phosphorescent, it was the source of the pulsating green light. From it dangled dozens of long, slender black tubes that drifted, oddly sentient, like the stinging tendrils of a jellyfish at sea.
Indifferent to the intruders, a pair of drones fawned over her like courtiers. One knelt beside her as he slowly unhooked her from overhead tendrils; the other used a scanner to check the connections of the body’s self-sustaining tubing, which ran from the crown of her bare skull to her neck, back, and shoulders.
And Jean-Luc stood beside them. He was watching not the queen but the away team. He had seen them kill the drone guard and followed their every move.
Not Jean-Luc, Beverly corrected herself at once. She looked into his eyes—blank, emotionless, soulless—and knew they were the eyes of Locutus, the enemy. Jean-Luc had been eclipsed. She reined in the emotions that hit her at the sight and rested her hand on the hypospray attached to her belt—a reminder of why she had come.
“Captain Picard,” Worf murmured but fell silent at once.
Locutus looked away, at the courtier drones. Merely looked, but the drones immediately stopped what they were doing, as if they had heard a command, and left the queen’s side. They moved toward Locutus, who in turn stepped closer to the away team.
Worf raised his weapon and took aim at the queen. Beverly said nothing; it was his prerogative as commander to end this swiftly, if he deemed it best.
Yet in the instant before he fired, before Leary had managed to train her rifle on the others, Locutus reached to one side and grazed a control on the bulkhead.
A pale, glittering force field leaped in place around the queen—and the queen alone—leaving Locutus and the other drones to do battle with the intruders. It happened so swiftly that Worf could not stop himself: the beam from his rifle flared brilliantly, blindingly against the field, which absorbed the energy with a crackle.
Picard had known they were coming, Beverly realized. And Locutus had used that knowledge to prepare for them: the field looked to be Federation technology.
Locutus moved again, before Worf could retrain his weapon, catching an overhead tangle of snakelike tubing and propelling it forward. Still attached to the ceiling, it glided with serpentine speed at the away team. Beverly cried out, shielding her face as dozens of whips lashed against her, knocking her to the deck.
Somehow, Locutus’s harsh monotone penetrated the chaos.
“You will not escape. We have commanded all the others to wake to assist us in disarming you. And the queen will wake momentarily. You will be assimilated, and the Enterprise and those aboard her will be destroyed.”
Cut and bruised, Beverly fought back to her feet and thrashed her way free of the tangles. Worf, too, had risen and was lifting his weapon from the deck when they both glanced up at the sound of deliberate but rapid footsteps.
A half dozen drones appeared in the entryway. Worf reeled about and fired into their midst; as Beverly oriented herself, Leary appeared from the tangles, rifle blasting.
Locutus, in the meantime, had activated his prosthesis so that the saw blade was whirring; he and the two courtier-drones advanced on the Starfleet officers’ unprotected backs.
“Look out!” Beverly shouted beside them. And as