Resistance - J.M. Dillard [91]
Yet, in the fleeting second that Worf let go of the thick prosthetic arm, it went suddenly limp and fell to hang at the drone’s side. Astonished, the Klingon let go of his grip, thinking that he had somehow managed to kill first.
He pushed himself free and rose to find that Locutus was still standing. He was not dead, merely immobile. Hopeful, Worf glanced quickly in the direction of the force field. Behind it, the queen was motionless, her head bowed.
Beside her, Doctor Crusher lay, just as lifeless and unmoving on the deck.
Worf called out to her. “Doctor Crusher! Can you hear me?”
There was no response.
Worf went immediately to the force field control; a hum, and the field disappeared. He then moved, unsteadily, to Crusher’s side. She was breathing. It was shallow but steady. Worf found the medkit, stripped it from Crusher’s leg, and opened it to find a scanner. He ran it over the doctor, then looked at the readout in dismay. Her throat had been crushed.
Finally, there was merciful silence. The pain was still there, but the noise had ceased. She wanted to sleep. But in the back of her mind, Beverly knew that she could not do that. To sleep meant to die. Although, at the moment, either would be preferable to the pain.
She barely felt the press of metal against her neck as the world returned around her in a sudden rush. Beverly came to with a cough, then immediately put a hand to her aching throat. For an instant, she was disoriented, half thinking she was in bed, in the captain’s quarters—in their quarters—and then she started, remembering the queen, and opened her eyes.
Worf was standing over her with a medical stimulator in her hand. He was wan and weak looking, but alive. “How are you feeling, Doctor?”
Beverly pushed herself to sitting, grimacing at the stab of pain in her right wrist, then squeezed her eyes shut at the wave of dizziness. She was having trouble speaking.
Worf put a steadying hand on her shoulder. “It is going to take you a while to mend completely. Your wrist is not yet thoroughly knitted. I had to spend most of the time on your throat.”
Beverly gave another cough, then said, “The queen…”
“Dead,” Worf said, nodding at a point beyond Beverly’s left shoulder. “It was quite impressive.”
Beverly turned her head—gingerly, carefully—and followed Worf’s gaze.
Standing motionless atop her black prosthetic body, the queen slumped, face toward the deck, her eyes lifeless and empty. Beverly gasped at the profile: every distinctive, identifying feature—the full lips, the feminine curve of the jaw and neck, the sharp nose, the upward slanting eyes—had been washed away, blunted so that it was now completely androgynous. Beverly gave a faint victorious smile.
She turned back to Worf and said suddenly, “Jean-Luc…”
“There.” Worf pointed to where the captain stood, silent and still as the queen.
“Is he—?”
“Alive,” Worf said. “But in hibernation. I believe all of the Borg have gone into their sleeping state.”
Beverly tried to stand up but failed. “I need samples of the drones’ DNA so that we can prevent the mechanism that allows them to create a new queen…”
“You need to rest,” Worf said.
She frowned. “I don’t think so. Hand me my medkit.”
Worf considered the request for a moment, then complied. “I need to locate the control for the damping field so that we can use our communicators to locate the rest of the away team and contact the Enterprise.” He helped her to her feet before moving to the console.
Beverly nodded that she understood, then rifled through her medkit where she found the hypo and collected a sample from the nearest drone.
“I think I’ve brought down the damping field,” Worf said as he pressed his combadge. “Worf to security team.”
“This is Chao,” a relieved voice replied, though Beverly could hear a strain in it as well. “The rest of the team is…gone.”
“Understood,” Worf said, simply. “Stand by to beam out.”
Worf then contacted the Enterprise, where Nelson reported from the auxiliary bridge that they were ready to drop the cloak and