The Good That Men Do - Andy Mangels [127]
Something had gone badly amiss with the little scout ship’s overtaxed engines, and she had consequently dropped out of warp.
And the vessel that pursued them was closing very rapidly.
Trip knew with the certainty of gravity that he had a scant handful of minutes to fix the problem, if he was to have a prayer of getting the old man out of Romulan space. After that, Ehrehin and his vast store of knowledge and expertise would fall back into Valdore’s hands. Trip knew that his own death would become reality rather than ruse very shortly thereafter.
And no one would remain alive to warn the Coridanites that the gates of whatever hell they might believe in were about to swing wide open.
Thirty-Nine
Friday, February 21, 2155
Romulan Transport Vessel T'lluadh
DECURION TAITH SAW A DIM but definite shape moving furtively toward him through the darkened passageway. With but a moment’s hesitation, he raised his disruptor and fired directly toward what was now clearly discernible as an armed, uniformed alien. He felt certain that he had never seen this species before, despite the creature’s superficial resemblance- it possessed a head, a torso, and one pair each of both arms and legs- to the overall shape of a male Romulan.
The initial shot apparently missed. Holding his weapon before him with both hands, Taith fired a second time, and the bright, sizzling beam struck the creature almost directly in its center of mass, forcing it backward as though it had been kicked by a wild hlai from the Chula wilderness. Wreathed in flames, the figure crumpled heavily onto the deck in a lumpen heap. Moving cautiously, Taith approached the fallen creature, hoping to examine it a bit more closely and make certain that he really had neutralized the threat it posed.
He cried out in anguish when he suddenly realized that the dead form that lay before him was not, in fact, the corpse of an alien interloper.
It was Centurion Rhai, whose still and lifeless chest was now a charred, bloody ruin.
He heard several other volleys of disruptor fire originating from different areas of the ship, each of them ending abruptly, and each punctuated by the all-too-brief silences that preceded the next salvo. Then the barrages ceased, and the entire ship was suddenly wreathed in a tomb-like silence.
Taith couldn’t look away from his commanding officer’s vacant, staring eyes. A feeling of despair more profound than any he had ever experienced before engulfed his every sense, swamping his soul as though it were the flood plain of the Great River Apnex.
Weeping, he raised his disruptor, placed its muzzle firmly against the base of his chin, and squeezed the trigger.
Theras wept like a disconsolate child after the echoes of the final blasts died away.
Shran could see the Aenar’s tears glistening even in the near darkness of the Romulan vessel’s narrow passageway. The sound of the other man’s sobs was sorely trying what little remained of his patience.
“Well, did it work?” Shran asked, addressing the entire team through his suit’s com system. The psionic bond he shared with Jhamel suddenly stretched taut, then sounded such a deep note of grief within his mind as to inform Shran that his question had been unnecessary.
I need to know for sure, Shran thought. We can’t risk exposing ourselves to their weapons again until I do.
“Give him a moment, Shran,” said Reed, who was standing at Theras’s other side. “Can’t you see he’s been traumatized by what you’ve asked him to do? He’s a pacifist, for pity’s sake.”
Shran took a step toward Reed, his fists clenched and his antennae thrusting aggressively toward his faceplate like enraged eels from one of the Zhevra continent’s cold and brackish lakes. “Don’t remind me, Lieutenant.”
“Gentlemen, I suggest you both give Theras a moment of quiet to enable him to collect his thoughts,” T’Pol said in an infuriatingly calm, reasonable tone, a mannerism that vividly reminded Shran why his people distrusted hers so viscerally.
Just before Shran succumbed to a nearly