The Sky's the Limit - Marco Palmieri [25]
Panting and feeling the ache of stressed muscles as she fought to bring her breathing back under control, Yar could only stand with her hands on her knees, gripping the huge ugly knife that still dripped with the blood of her adversary. The urge to kill the now helpless Malir was all but overpowering. For the briefest of moments, as she looked upon him and noted his chest rising and falling in a weak rhythm, she saw not a Cardassian soldier but rather one of the countless thugs and tormentors who had pursued her throughout her tortured youth. She had fought several such enemies on Turkana IV, and her memories were haunted by those few instances where she had been forced to kill in defense of her own life.
No, she reminded herself. This isn’t that place, and you’re not that frightened girl anymore. While it would be so easy to finish Malir, and though she might even be able to rationalize that act after a fashion, Tasha Yar knew that there was at least one person who would never approve, one whose opinion and judgment mattered more to her than those of anyone else in her entire life. Were she to obey every primal instinct currently screaming for vengeance, she was certain she would never again be able to look Jean-Luc Picard in the eye. What would he expect from her, here and now?
Yar sighed as she loosened her grip on Malir’s knife, the clatter it made against the deck echoing across the Kovmar’s hangar bay.
For the first time in uncounted hours, Crusher allowed the tension to flee her tired muscles, slumping in her seat and making no attempt to keep her worn body from rocking along with the maneuvering of the Jefferies as Yar piloted the craft out of the Kovmar’s landing bay and into open space.
“I hope this isn’t the last time we meet, Beverly,” said the image of Ialona Daret as displayed on the helm’s central viewer. “And when we do, let us both hope it is to celebrate peace between our people.”
“I’m looking forward to that, Ialona,” Crusher said, offering a weary smile. “Thank you again, for everything.”
On the viewer, Daret nodded. “And to you, and Lieutenant Yar. Thanks to you both, Gul Edal will likely make a full recovery, as will Glinn Malir.”
Crusher nodded at the prognosis. Though bedridden and weakened from his ordeal, the Kovmar’s commander had already dispatched his own thanks to Crusher and Yar. Although brief, Malir’s failed mutiny attempt had resulted in several dozen injuries and claimed three lives on board the Cardassian ship. Crusher and Yar both had assisted Daret in the treatment of the wounded.
“Until that time comes, then,” Daret said, nodding, “safe journey, my friends.”
“And to you, Ialona,” Crusher replied before the communication ended. A moment later, the stars before them stretched to multicolored streaks and Crusher felt a shift in the deck beneath her feet as Yar accelerated the Jefferies to warp speed.
Turning in her seat, the doctor studied the portable monitor that relayed to her the status of the three stasis units, each bearing its precious cargo. Crusher, with Daret’s help, had succeeded in stabilizing all three patients for transport until they could receive extensive treatment at a Starfleet medical facility. Commander Spires would receive bionic transplants for the limbs he had lost, but it appeared that Ensign Weglash’s lungs would heal on their own and not require replacement. T’Lan would likely have the hardest road to recovery, though Crusher was thankful that extensive brain damage had been avoided.
For the moment at least, there was nothing else Crusher could do except close her eyes and rest.
Who’d have thought this damned chair could feel so comfortable?
From her left, she heard Yar say, “Still with me, Doctor?”
“Barely, but yes,” Crusher replied, not bothering to open her eyes. “And, you know you can call me Beverly, right?”
“Well, Beverly,” Yar said, and this time the doctor heard the humor in her voice, “the Enterprise has been allowed into Cardassian space, thanks to our new friends back there, so we’ll have a