Section 31_ Rogue - Andy Mangels [64]
“Commander Roget, one of those guards is cut up pretty badly,” the Tellarite told his superior. “He needs medical attention.”
“All right, Doctor,” Roget said. “But make it fast.”
Zweller spoke up. “Commander, the guard’s pride is the only thing that got hurt.”
“How would you know?” the Tellarite asked Zweller truculently. Riker assumed that the doctor was unaware of the commander’s alliance with the rebels.
“We have to get out of sight,” one of Slayton’s other officers said.
Roget looked convinced. Hefting a thick-bladed sword, he said, “Okay, then. We leave now.”
“Exactly how are we supposed to get off this base?” snorted the Tellarite. His piglike eyes narrowed as his gaze fell on Riker and Troi. “And who are our new friends?”
Riker and Troi stepped forward and exchanged brief introductions with the Slayton’s officers.
Looking impatient, Zweller handed a newly confiscated particle weapon to Roget and gave a second one to Riker. “With all due respect, let’s save the pleasantries for the debriefing. Right now, I need everybody to follow me to the hangar.”
Roget turned toward the Tellarite. “Gomp, stay up front with Commander Zweller. If you smell anyone coming, give us a shout.”
Gomp nodded, his porcine nose twitching as he sampled the dank subterranean air. Then he inhaled sharply and issued a very loud, very moist sneeze. Someone behind Riker said “Gesundheit.”
Zweller and Gomp took the point, and Riker fell into step a few paces behind them, his disruptor pistol ready. Farther back, Troi helped support an injured but ambulatory woman-Xenoanthropologist Kurlan-while Tuohy, the planetary scientist, assisted Engineer Hearn, who was moving with a very noticeable limp. Roget watched for trouble from the rear.
“Hold it,” Gomp hissed, his flat nose snuffling loudly. Everyone stopped. “I think I smell-“
About ten meters ahead, a broad intersection suddenly began filling up with Chiarosans, some carrying blades, others clutching disruptors and phasers.
Riker saw that Grelun was standing at the forefront, a curved sword in each of his massive hands. The scowl on the Chiarosan leader’s dark, saturnine face seemed to lower the room’s temperature by five full degrees.
“-trouble,” Gomp finished, almost inaudibly.
The hull of the Kepler banged and shuddered. Picard half-expected to be blown out of the cockpit and into the ionized darkness, but the shuttle somehow remained in one piece.
The tactical display fluttered, but not because of the atmospheric static. The system itself had apparently taken damage and was beginning to fail. Despite that, he could still make out the intermittent image of three Chiarosan attack ships. The pursuing vessels continued firing while Picard coaxed the Kepler into evasive loops that threatened to tear the small craft apart.
“Why aren’t we returning fire?” Crusher said, her voice carrying a carefully controlled edge of fear.
He had to shout to be heard over the roar of the turbulent atmosphere and the discharge of the Chiarosan weapons. “We can’t spare the power. We need it for the transporter and the structural integrity field.” If the latter system were to fail, the shuttle would quickly become thousands of dinnerplate-size pieces, spread across hundreds of square kilometers of the frigid Nightside.
“We’re going to abandon ship?” Crusher asked.
“There’s no other choice. We’ve taken too much damage to outrun our attackers. And we’ll never reach orbit in this condition.”
The doctor calmly eyed a readout on her console. “Jean-Luc, at these power levels, we’ll never be able to transport together. Only one at a time.”
Picard nodded curtly. “The rebel base is in transporter range again. Beam yourself down first. I’ll join you as soon as I can. And no arguments.”
Though Crusher looked unhappy about her orders, she began trying to