Star Trek_ A Choice of Catastrophes - Michael Schuster [75]
If Kirk fired the phaser on a high setting while touching the Farrezzi, he’d be stunned too, but as he dialed the power down, the injured slaver hit him on the upper arm, making him drop the phaser.
Kirk reached for it, and when he finally had his fingers clasped around it, fired.
The alien let go of him, unconscious. Kirk took a couple of deep breaths.
Celebration would have to wait. First he had to find his two men.
When Scotty woke up, he felt like he’d been hit by a caber. His legs wouldn’t move, his head was fuzzy, and breathing was painful. Even worse, he had only the vaguest idea what had happened.
He tried to sit up. The pain told him he should reconsider. All right, then. Best to find out more.
“Hello?” he said. “Anybody there?”
From the corner of his eye, he saw a shadow move somewhere off to his left. With everything so blurred and out of focus, it was impossible to say who it was. The person was wearing a blue uniform.
“Don’t get up,” a male voice said. “You’re not ready for that yet. Let me do my job first.” Doctor M’Benga.
“Doc, I dinna remember much of what happened.”
“That’s only natural,” M’Benga said. “You suffered a concussion, coupled with numerous fractures to bones in your legs. Memory loss is the least of your worries.”
“Thanks for your concern, Doc.” The little Scott could see told him he was in the Hofstadter. Despite his blurry vision, there was no mistaking the repositioned power nodes of a G-class. “So, what happened?” he asked.
“We were attacked.”
“What?” Despite everything, Scotty was sure he’d remember an attack. “How—” A loud rumble interrupted him. Everything shook. “It sounds like the world’s ending.”
“Right now, we’re dodging three fighter craft as we try to find a gap in the storm pattern so we can get up into space,” M’Benga said. “Mister Spock says that before they located us, they flew all over the city, taking random shots. That’s what got the roof.”
“Well, I need to get up there!” shouted Scotty. He had to do something.
“Mister Scott,” Spock’s voice interjected, coming from the shuttle’s bow, “we are aware of the situation’s requirements. I suggest you let Doctor M’Benga take care of you.”
“What’s the problem?” asked Scotty. “Why canna we get up above the clouds?”
“The problem is twofold,” replied Spock. “The Columbus’s phasers are still inoperative, and the Hofstadter’s shields are still impaired.” Scotty could hear the whine of phasers.
“What?” That didn’t make any sense. “I fixed the shields. My countermeasures—”
“—were an effective remedy,” interrupted Spock, “and are contributing to our shield strength. Unfortunately, the intensity of the interference continues to increase.”
Scotty sighed. There was just no winning. Three enemy craft and two shuttles, both of which were impaired—it would be nearly impossible to get through any gap in the cloud cover. One fighter could harass each shuttle while the third could block off any escape route. “Are Rawlins and Seven Deers going to make it?” he asked the doctor.
“Seven Deers is fit for duty. Her temple was just grazed, thankfully. But it’s Rawlins and you that I’m worried about. I’m doing the best I can with what I have, but what I really need is a fully equipped sickbay.” The deck rumbled, some of the energy of the Farrezzi weapons reaching the shuttle through its weakened shields.
“Doc, is there something you’re not telling me? What’s wrong with me?”
“Commander Scott, when the ceiling fell on you, your legs were very badly injured. Most of your bones from the femur on down are broken, a lot of tendons are torn. Your knees… I’ll have to rebuild them.”
Scotty tried to take in what M’Benga had said. Why wasn’t he feeling any pain? M’Benga must have shot him full of suppressant—a staggering amount. No wonder he was feeling woozy.
Another rumble, much stronger this time. “How are