Three - Michael Jan Friedman [67]
Simenon served in that capacity for six and a half years despite constant overtures from other captains, obviously content to be a big fish in a little sea. Then the Onjata was decommissioned, forcing his hand.
He chose to go to the Stargazer, a spanking-new Constellation-class ship, instead of another old clunker. But he wound up serving with distinction there, first under a man named Ruhalter and later under Captain Picard. And that was all his file said about him.
Funny, Gerda Idun thought. She had expected to see [201] more superlatives. Complimentary as it was, Simenon’s file didn’t say he was the most brilliant engineer in the fleet.
And that’s what she needed him to be—the brightest, most resourceful, most innovative engineer anywhere around. The top of the line. So much depended on it ...
So very much.
But she wasn’t worried on that count. Joseph had told her what a brilliant fellow Simenon was, and others on the ship seemed to share his opinion.
No, Gerda Idun had been more concerned about quirks that might have turned up in the Gnalish’s medical history—quirks that might have proven stumbling blocks to her realizing her objective.
But she hadn’t discovered any. As far as she could tell, there was nothing to stop her—nothing at all.
Closing Wu’s file, she opened yet another one—Lieutenant Chiang’s. Then she closed her eyes as she went over what she had to do.
Chapter Seventeen
THIS TIME, Vigo let Echevarria peek around the corner. After all, she knew the place a lot better than he did.
When she pulled her head back, she told the weapons officers that there were four rebels standing guard outside the storage room. That meant there was something important within, something that needed to be guarded.
It was either the engineers or something equally valuable to the intruders. Prototypes of the tactical devices they had come to steal, perhaps.
In any case, it would be harder to surprise four than two. This could get messy, Vigo told himself.
“Hit them hard,” Echevarria whispered to them, “and don’t stop until you secure that room. Got it?”
The weapons officers all nodded. Then they waited [203] for Echevarria to make the first move—and went in right after her.
It was messy, all right—but mostly for the rebels. They were standing so close together, they had a difficult time firing back without hitting each other.
Vigo and Runj each cut down an intruder before the others began to return the favor. For a long, tense moment, the corridor was filled with slashing beams of lurid red light. Then another rebel fell, and the last one darted into the room rather than stand alone.
As Echevarria had enjoined them, they pelted down the hall to press their advantage—and it cost them. Three or four beams came slicing out of the doorway at once, forcing them to plaster themselves against the wall to their right.
Of the four of them, only Echevarria didn’t move quickly enough. Taking a blast to the shoulder, she flew into the left-hand wall and spilled to the floor. Vigo couldn’t tell if she was dead or alive, but her uniform was a smoking ruin where the beam had struck her.
He felt his jaw clench. If they remained where they were, any one of them could be next.
Rather than retreat or wait to be picked off, Vigo did the last thing his adversaries would expect. He ran down the corridor, went into a shoulder roll, and fired into the room.
By the time he came up again, he could see that his maneuver had dropped one of the rebels on the threshold. Better yet, the others had pulled back out of sight, giving Sebring and Runj a chance to advance.
Taking advantage of it, they pelted down the corridor [204] and launched themselves into the room. Still following Echevarria’s advice, Vigo went in after them.
It was another storage chamber, as Echevarria had indicated, but it was a lot bigger than the others and a lot more crowded with heavy metal supply containers. It was also seething with phaser fire, beam after crimson