Survivors - Jean Lorrah [95]
They untangled themselves from their harness, grabbed their weapons, and ran for the flagship.
A military flyer sailed down on a strafing run.
Yar and Data dropped and fired-one of their shots must have hit the power generator, for the flyer exploded, showering them with fiery debris.
Data threw himself over Yar.
A flaming piece struck the android’s back, pushing his full weight down onto Yar. The way he moved, she forgot how heavy he was until times like now, when she thought her ribs would break-and might have, except that he scrambled up at once, throwing the debris aside.
His uniform was on fire!
“Roll!” Yar told him before he had realized it himself.
He didn’t question her-must have felt the continuing heat by then-and in seconds the fire was out.
Yar touched him. The material was scorched but, “It did not harm my skin,” he said.
“You won’t object if I check for myself later?”
“No. But now we must get to Rikan.”
Above them, the air battle continued. Yar let Data help her over the broken trees. Data, Worf, Vulcans she worked with-their physical strength was so much greater than hers that objections to such aid were absurd. Her human male colleagues had learned, though, not to offer unless she asked.
By the time they reached the downed flagship, two of its occupants had crawled out-neither one the warlord.
“Where’s Rikan?” Yar asked.
“Inside,” said one of the men. “He is injured, but not mortally. Trell can care for him.”
“I’ll go in,” she said.
The craft had landed on its side, one door inaccessible, the other now on top. Yar climbed up slippery aerodynamic planes not meant to be walked on, and slid into the tip-tilted cabin.
The lighting worked, but the control console was buckled inward and dead.
Rikan lay on what had been the side of the ship but was now floor, Trell bending over him.
“Rikan?” Yar asked. “How badly are you hurt?”
His helmet had been removed, and his companion was easing the armor away from his left leg.
Although he was pale, the warlord essayed a smile. “Natasha. It is nothing, a broken leg. In a long life, how many broken bones does a warrior suffer? It will heal.”
Trell cut away Rikan’s trouser leg. Yar saw no blood. It would be difficult to get him out of here, though.
Shots erupted outside. The shadow of another attacker sailed over them.
Yar turned, hitting her combadge. “Data?”
“A small flyer. I do not think it will come back against four guns-but there will be others.”
“We must get Rikan away from the ship,” she said. “It’s too easy a target.”
“I will help you.”
It took little effort for Data to get into the flyer, but he saw the problem immediately. “I can carry you out, sir,” he said to Rikan, “but not without risk of compounding that fracture. The break appears clean. I am programmed with all standard first aid techniques, and I have the strength to set it, but the pain-“
“I can stand the pain. Do it, Data, and then you can splint it by strapping the armor tight.”
Trell and Tasha held the old man’s shoulders. There was no way to ease his pain, but at least Data could make it quick. Rikan groaned and broke into cold sweat, but then lay panting. The unnatural bulge was gone, the leg in normal alignment. “Good job, Data,” Tasha said.
Trell and Data then put the armor back around the injured leg, strapping it with webbing from the seat restraints.
Rikan was so much taller than Data that the android could not carry the old man without his injured leg dangling painfully. Trell and Tasha helped to support it as they struggled to lift the warlord toward the door overhead.
Tasha’s combadge chirped, and she tapped it. “What’s going on down there?” came Adin’s voice.
“Rikan is injured. We’re trying to get him out,” she replied.
“I’ll have one