Three - Michael Jan Friedman [68]
Vigo squeezed off a burst as he dove for cover behind the nearest cluster of containers. Then he poked his head out and tried to get a sense of the rebels’ positions.
It seemed to him there were at least six of them, probably more. Obviously, they hadn’t had any tactical training, because they had allowed themselves to be cut off from the door—their only means of escape.
Also, the rebels seemed to have gathered into two distinct groups—one in each of the room’s back corners. That made it easier for Vigo to deal with them.
It also presented him with an opportunity—because there was a tall stack of containers in the back left corner, just behind where the rebels seemed to be hiding.
A directed-energy poke in the right place and that heavy metal stack might be encouraged to topple. And if it did, it would topple on the rebels.
Sebring and Runj, who were hunched behind a collection of containers off to his left, might have seen the possibility too. But it didn’t matter. Only Vigo had the angle.
He waited for a respite in the storm of red fury coming from the rebels. Then he raised himself high enough to look over the tops of the containers in front of him, took aim, and fired a beam across the room.
It was answered instantly with another barrage, [205] forcing him to duck again. But Vigo’s beam had done its work, knocking one of the lower containers askew.
A moment later, he heard cries of surprise and apprehension as the other containers in the stack came crashing down.
Vigo ventured a look in that direction and saw that it was quiet. No phaser beams stabbing at him, no glimpses of movement. Apparently, his maneuver had worked—leaving only one nest of rebels to contend with.
Then—perhaps out of fear that the weapons officers would try the same thing on them—two other rebels darted from cover and tried to make a break for it.
Vigo fired, but failed to stop them. Fortunately, either Runj or Sebring had better aim, because one of the rebels was knocked off his feet.
But the other one made it through the open doorway. As it happened, he was the most dangerous one, the one they could least afford to overlook.
Kovajo, Vigo thought.
The rebel leader was fast, and he hadn’t been battered the way the weapons officer had been battered. But Vigo wasn’t about to let that difference deter him.
Swinging out into the corridor, he fired at Kovajo’s retreating figure—and missed. But in avoiding the blast, the rebel stumbled and went sprawling.
Certain that he had Kovajo where he wanted him, Vigo extended his weapon and pressed the trigger again. But nothing happened. No narrow red beam, powerful enough to stun the rebel leader unconscious. Not even a spurt of energy.
Nothing.
[206] Either the phaser had malfunctioned or it was out of power—Vigo didn’t care which. All he knew was that Sebring and Runj were still exchanging blasts with the rebels in the storage room, and he couldn’t let Kovajo get away.
Putting his head down, he charged down the corridor and went flying in Kovajo’s direction. The rebel whirled and got a shot off, but all it did was plow a long, black furrow in one of the walls.
Then Vigo was on top of him. But as he landed, Kovajo smashed him in the face with his phaser.
Though it stunned the weapons officer, he couldn’t let Kovajo get the upper hand—not while there was still a working phaser in it. Grabbing the rebel’s weapon, Vigo tried to twist it out of his grasp.
As they struggled, the phaser went off—and gouged a dark, fuming hole in the ceiling above them. Vigo gritted his teeth as he tried to make sure the next hole wasn’t in him.
“You can’t win,” Kovajo told him. “You’re soft, just like the rest of your kind.”
Determined to prove him wrong, Vigo found some leverage and pried the phaser free. It went skittering down the corridor where neither of them could reach it.
With a cry of rage, Kovajo pulled his fist back and drove it into Vigo’s chin, snapping his head back. Then the rebel followed with another blow, and another.
“You’re weak,” he insisted with a snarl. “Used to