Ship of the Line - Diane Carey [114]
Riker hurried through the ship to a door with a plate announcing BATTLE BRIDGE. Inside, he knew, were seven more of Kozara’s crew, trying to figure out the master systems displays. Riker didn’t know what Kozara had in mind for the battle bridge, but he meant to stop it. Possibly separate the sections, and have effectively two ships, one jam-packed with antimatter power and heavy weapons.
Heading toward Cardassia Prime … if not to gain back his honor, then to start a war and at least have some kind of legacy.
“Or deny this ship a legacy,” Riker suddenly murmured. “That’s it …”
Pausing briefly under the weight of that realization, he shook himself back to purposes and stepped close to the battle bridge entrance. The door sensor picked up his proximity and the door slid open.
He found himself staring at all six of the Klingons, all at once.
Then he looked down the corridor at nothing and shouted, “All hands, run for it!”
Instantly he took off in that same direction, as if chasing a whole team of Rikers on the loose. Wouldn’t do any good if only two Klingons chased him.
A shout in Klingon rocketed down the corridor after him, punctuated by the pounding of hard-soled boots. He glanced over his shoulder as he rounded a corner—six … all seven were following!
Bateson had been right about them—instead of two or three following Riker, all seven were going after the glory, competing with each other, not thinking about how to efficiently cooperate.
Without body armor or the natural bulk of a Klingon, Riker was quicker. He managed to outpace them by about ten meters. Ahead of him was another curve. Instead of rounding that curve, he ducked into the crew’s quarters straight ahead, just before the curve, and stood there in the doorway, with both feet inside. The Klingons could see him.
And he could see the fury in their eyes. A shiver raced down his spine.
“Hope this works,” he gasped, and hit his combadge. “Now!”
A sickening tuck made his stomach roll. His feet were all right, inside the crew’s quarters, but the upper half of his body still stuck out into the corridor and was washed with the adjusted gravity. Instantly all seven of the Klingons lost their balance and slammed hard into the starboard wall. Completely disoriented, they couldn’t find the deck anymore. Some were trying to climb the wall. Their feet scratched on the short-napped carpet.
Riker hit his badge again. “Stage two, now!”
A few seconds passed, and for a moment he thought Scotty might’ve failed.
Then a glossy crust began forming over the carpet—frost!
The deck crackled, turned hoary white, and iced up like a skating rink. An instant later, Riker felt another wash of gravity changing, this time to pitch the whole corridor downward on one end.
As if riding a water slide, the seven Klingons howled and scratched, but couldn’t stop their “fall.” Scraping down the icy surface of the corridor, they swiped toward Riker, their faces plastered with astonishment and disorientation.
“Welcome aboard!” Riker called as the first one flashed past him, then the second.
Whoosh—whoosh—Squalling in rage, the third and fourth Klingons came by even faster, their legs ridiculously tangled. The fifth Klingon managed to catch the doorframe of Riker’s cubbyhole and hung on, clawing at Riker’s legs as if hanging from a cliff’s face, and for a hideous second almost climbed inside. The Klingon’s teeth were gnashing, hoping to get a bite out of Riker’s ankle.
“Can’t have that,” Riker said simply, and assisted his friend with a kick in the nose.
Raging, the Klingon flew off down the “hill” with his crewmates, followed by the sixth and seventh Klingons, who were trying to climb each other, as if that would work.
Riker leaned as far out as he dared, his head spinning with the pull of gravity in the wrong direction, and looked down toward the end of the corridor. There stood Captain Bateson in the doorway of another quarters, throwing loading netting over each Klingon that arrived in the room. Dizzy and as turned