Reunion - Michael Jan Friedman [49]
Never mind the fact that she might be a victim herself by then. She was a doctor, damn it!
Zzt—
She dropped flat against the deck as another ruby bolt sliced across the corridor-not more than a foot above her head. By its light, she saw the shape of the fallen figure before her. Cadwallader.
Crusher couldn’t tell how badly the woman was hurt, but the way she just lay there wasn’t encouraging. As the darkness closed down again, the doctor snaked forward comfar enough to close her fingers around Cadwallader’s shoulder.
Suddenly, the corridor echoed with distant voices. Faraway lights cast grotesque shadows, and Crusher had an all-too-vague impression of the killer as he-or she-disappeared around the curve. Morgen-visible also now-took off in pursuit, as the Starfleet captain in him gave way to the Daa’Vit hunter. She called after him, to remind him that the killer was still armed and had the advantage over him. He seemed not to hear. Turning her attention back to her patient, the doctor noted gratefully that Cadwallader was still breathing. Her face was a mask of pain and the entire right side of her tunic was already crimson, but there was still hope for her. She tapped her communicator. “This is Dr. Crusher. I need a trauma team on deck seventeen-now. was Stripping off her lab coat, she tucked it under Cadwallader and up around her shoulder. Then she pressed down hard, in an attempt to staunch the flow of blood. The phaser emission had stabbed right through the woman, and the hole in her back was worse than the entry wound-but with any luck the weapon had been set on narrow aperture. Cadwallader moaned, her eye-“lids fluttering.
Come on, Crusher exhorted inwardly, as the security team bounded past her after Morgen and the assassin. Come on, before she bleeds to death…
As the captain strode into the specially blocked off critical care area, Crusher and Morgen were there wait-+ for him. Cadwallader, he noted with some relief, was well enough to turn her head a bit in recognition of his approach:
The doctor looked worn out herself, but she managed a smile. The message was clear; in time, Cadwallader would be all right. Picard nodded gratefully to her. Then he looked down at his former communications officer. She was pale—terribly pale-but her eyes were as warm and vibrant as ever. Her hand lay on top of the thermal blanket; he took it, squeezed it. Cadwallader squeezed back, surprising him.
“She’s tougher than she looks,” Morgen observed. The captain grunted his assent, replacing the woman’s hand on the blanket, then looked up at the Daa’Vit.. “What happened?” he asked, the cold, flat calmness of his voice belying the anger that raged inside him. “We were assaulted in a corridor during the power outage,” Morgen explained. “A single assailant with a
phaser. Adjusted to setting six, if the holes in the bulkhead are any indication.”
“Setting six?” repeated Picard. “But-was
“I know,” said the Daa’Vit. “Our killer must have disabled the communications module in the phaser so it couldn’t talk with the ship’s computer.”
“The phaser didn’t know it was on the ship,” Beverly expanded. “So it didn’t restrict itself to setting five.” “Then you recovered the weapon?”
“Unfortunately, no,” the doctor said. “At least, not yet. Worf is looking for it now; I’m just speculating.” The captain frowned. “And you couldn’t tell who it was? Not at all?” Morgen shook his head. “It was too dark, and we were blinded by the phaserlight. After the security team scared him-or her-off, I tried to follow. But as I said, it was dark. And our assailant knew how to go quietly.”
Picard gazed at Cadwallader again. “You say Mr. Worf is investigating?”
Crusher nodded. “He mentioned something about blocking off the area-so he could keep what happened from becoming common knowledge.”
“I see,” the captain said. “In that case, I’ll be on deck seventeen if you need me.” He looked down at Cadwallader again, managing a smile. “You do everything the doctor tells you,” he advised.