String Theory_ Cohesion (Book 1) - Jeffrey Lang [67]
The first figure stopped less than a meter away. B’Elanna could hear his heavy breathing—climbing down a ladder with a heavy rifle must be difficult—and caught whiffs of wet hair, some kind of machine oil, and the ozone tang of an old, overtaxed power pack. Some kind of energy weapon, B’Elanna figured. Probably unreliable as hell, hard to use, and so poorly shielded the guy who’s carrying it is already dying of cancer, but just as effective as a phaser in its way. The rest of the gang stopped short, obviously not wanting to crowd the boss too much or get too near the aliens.
The boss said, “You’ll answer questions now.”
Seven, predictably, spoke up before B’Elanna could say a word. “We have nothing to hide. There has been some kind of mistake. We are here to help.”
They have the combadges, B’Elanna thought. One piece of good news, anyway. Feeling she had to add something so she wouldn’t be excluded from the conversation, B’Elanna added, “Someone is going to be really ticked off that you stopped us.”
Behind the boss, B’Elanna heard the other Monorhans burst out in astounded chatter. “It works!” one said. “Amazing!” another replied. “Are they speaking the same language or does each of them have their own and they use the device to communicate?”
They don’t talk like kidnappers or thugs, B’Elanna thought. Who the hell are these people?
“Quiet,” the boss snapped, and the gaggle of commentators grew quiet. “Who are you? Who do you think you are helping and why did you break into this facility? Where do you come from, that you don’t know about private property?”
Seven said, “Lieutenant, would you like to answer? The captain said you were in command.”
Surprised but pleased, B’Elanna said, “My name is B’Elanna Torres. My companion is called Seven of Nine. We’re from a vessel named Voyager. As you may have surmised, we’re not from around here.”
“Thank you for crediting us with rudimentary observational ability.” The boss made a clicking sound that B’Elanna interpreted as laughter. “Where is your ship, B’Elanna Torres? Why are you here alone? Please try to be brief, for I fear we may not have much time together.”
What does he mean by that? B’Elanna wondered. Partly to relieve a cramp and partly to play for time, she adjusted her legs. This boss doesn’t sound quite as threatening as he did a moment ago. Deciding that honesty was the best policy, she said, “We’re here because your Emergency Council asked us to come help with the shields that protect your cities. We know a lot about shielding technology where we come from, and my commanding officer decided we should try to do something while they investigated the star that is creating all the radiation. You do know that, don’t you?”
One of the mob behind the boss let go of a sharp exhalation and said, “Of course we know.”
“No offense meant,” B’Elanna said. “I just need to know who I’m…who we’re dealing with.”
“Be quiet, Bria,” the boss said. “We agreed I’d do the talking.”
“Sorry. Right,” Bria said apologetically. “Carry on.”
Less and less like thugs all the time. “So, to continue,” B’Elanna said, “we were on our way to a city—did we ever get its name, Seven?”
“No.”
“The city to the north of here, anyway, when this energy wave bounced us out of the sky. Our ship—a shuttle—landed a little way from here and we decided that we would attempt to figure out where the wave came from.”
“Why didn’t you just go back to your vessel in orbit?” the boss asked.
“The shuttle was damaged in the crash and something happened to Voyager. We can’t contact her and we think you might know something about that.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because your machine—the one we were looking at—had an image of Voyager in its databank.”
A new voice—a high-pitched, fast talker—spoke up. “Kill them now!”
“Hey!” B’Elanna said. “We’re here to help! Why