The Sky's the Limit - Marco Palmieri [157]
“Sounds like my kind of guy.”
“He wrote that the Fabrini had a very clear protocol for medical emergencies: first assure that the patient doesn’t get any worse, then try to make the patient better. Between that and their artificial intelligence capabilities, this emergency room must have been set up to implement the first part of that protocol.”
Riker noticed for the first time his phaser on the floor near him. He picked it up and checked it. “My phaser’s dead.” Riker smiled. “Deader than me, at least. What happened to it?”
Beverly checked her own phaser for the first time and found that it, too, was not working. “I think that’s my fault. When we first arrived and managed to turn on the lights, I think I activated the entire medical facility. Along with standard sterile fields, it must have some sort of weapons deactivation field.”
“But the Tellarite shot me.”
Beverly looked puzzled, then almost annoyed, as if she didn’t like her theories being proved wrong. She knelt next to Riker and flipped open her medical tricorder. When she finished scanning him, she showed him the display. “I don’t know what he used on you. There’s a residual energy around the area of your wound that doesn’t resemble any known weapon signature. It looks more like the aftereffects of a transporter.”
“It wasn’t a weapon,” Riker said. He stroked his beard and remembered something Captain Picard had told him once. For the first time in a while, Riker actually felt glad for paying attention to one of Captain Picard’s archaeology talks.
“It was a catalog gu…No, a cargo gun.”
“A what?”
“A cargo gun. It’s a kind of a short-range, portable transporter focused through a gun barrel. I’ve heard about them, but I’ve never seen one before…well, before now, I guess. They’re used by scavengers and some less-reputable archaeologists. Say you’re out picking through some ruins alone. You can’t carry a heavy statue by yourself, but you can beam it into a buffer carried in a backpack and keep it there until you can rematerialize it somewhere else.”
“But wouldn’t keeping anything in a transporter buffer like that risk pattern degradation? The statue might not come out intact.”
“Like I said: scavengers and disreputable archaeologists.”
Beverly started to say something, then stopped and stared at his wound. There was an expression of concern on her face, but Riker couldn’t tell if she was thinking of her patient or her friend. Eventually, she looked up and continued. “So you’re saying he beamed out your heart?”
“A cargo gun needs time to scan its target. The Tellarite was surprised. He didn’t have time for a full scan, so he just aimed and pulled the trigger.” Riker looked at the hole in his chest. “Then ran away with a chunk of me, it seems.”
“Why?” Beverly asked, looking at the doors the Tellarite used to exit the facility.
It wasn’t difficult for Riker to follow Beverly’s chain of thought as she looked at the door that led to the outside; she wasn’t asking why did the Tellarite shoot. “He’s probably alone. And scared. He just killed a Starfleet officer. He wanted to get out of here before any other Starfleet personnel that might be around found him.”
Riker noticed that the pain in his chest had started to subside. He decided to test himself and slowly, unsteadily got to his feet. Beverly leaned in to restrain him, but he waved her off. The fog of shock was giving way to anger now.
Beverly shot to her feet. “Will, stop!” She waved her tricorder over his chest wound.
“What is it, Doctor?”
“There’s an indicator light on the device. And it’s dimming as you walk. Hold on…” Beverly consulted her tricorder display. “Will, that lifesaving machine has a finite amount of power in it. When you move, you’re using it up faster.”
“So how much power does it have?” Riker realized what he was asking. “How much time do I have?”
Beverly looked at Riker and tried to muster her most calming look.