Three - Michael Jan Friedman [72]
“I can’t,” she told him. “My people are depending on me to complete my mission.”
“Shouldn’t Simenon have a say in this?”
Gerda Idun frowned. “Unfortunately, that’s not possible.”
Nikolas smiled sadly. “I wish like hell it was me you needed. I’d go in a second—I think you know that. But I can’t let you take Simenon.”
For just a moment, her gaze softened and she said, “I didn’t think you would.” Then she squeezed the trigger on her phaser pistol.
He had been expecting it, so he was able to avoid the full impact of the beam. Still, it spun him around and sent him crashing into the bulkhead.
When Nikolas finally forced his eyes open, the taste of blood thick and metallic in his mouth, he saw Gerda Idun making her way to the transporter platform. And she was pulling Simenon across the deck.
[217] His body sore and leaden from the punishment it had taken, it was hard for Nikolas to move even his hand. Still, he managed it—and reached for the combadge on his chest.
But it was gone.
Obviously, Gerda Idun had anticipated his using it and taken it away. “Captain Picard,” he croaked hoarsely, hoping to access the intercom grid.
“Don’t bother,” Gerda Idun said as she deposited the Gnalish on the pad. “I’ve deactivated it.”
But she hadn’t locked the transporter room doors, the ensign realized, because that required a security override—and she obviously hadn’t been able to acquire one.
So there was still a possibility of someone stopping Gerda Idun. But it wouldn’t be Nikolas—not anymore.
All too quickly, Picard’s combat strategy became a good news-bad news situation.
The good news was that the Stargazer was knocking off the Coordinator’s Satellites left and right—having already dimmed the lights in four of the seven. The bad news was that as the ranks of the surviving Satellites thinned, it gave the Independent a chance to join the fray.
And it capitalized on that chance by delivering a vicious broadside—one that shook the teeth in the captain’s head and poked a hole in a plasma conduit.
Picard did his best to ignore the sudden spurt of superhot gases. “Target the Independent ship and fire!” he called to Paris.
Twin energy beams erupted from their phaser banks and raked the Balduk vessel. But while the Federation [218] ship was occupied with the Independent, the remaining Satellites swooped in and delivered blow after unanswered blow.
“Shields down forty-four percent!” Gerda announced as the deck bucked beneath their feet.
The captain held onto his armrests. So much for getting closer to the anomaly. “Evasive maneuvers!”
Idun took them through a series of dips and twists and ascents, but the Satellites were hard to shake. And every time the Stargazer flicked them off with her phasers, the Independent rocked her with another volley.
“Shields down sixty-eight percent!” Gerda reported with a bit more urgency in her voice.
An aft console burst into flame, requiring an officer to douse it with a fire extinguisher.
“Damage to Decks Three, Four, and Five!” said Paxton.
Picard’s teeth ground together. Their ploy had worked, but only to a point.
A more cautious commander would likely have withdrawn then and there. But at the rate the anomaly was shrinking, Picard wouldn’t get another chance.
It was now or never.
Nikolas bit his lip as he watched Gerda Idun return to the transporter console. He couldn’t make himself get up off the floor, but he could still get a few words out.
Was it possible to talk Gerda Idun out of what she was doing? He doubted it. She looked altogether too determined, too committed to her course.
Maybe he could distract her, then. Make her think [219] about something else. He didn’t know what good it would do, but it was better than doing nothing.
“What do you need Simenon for?” Nikolas gasped.
Gerda Idun inspected something on Refsland’s transporter console—the sensor monitor, maybe, to check the status of the anomaly. Then she looked up at him, her jaw set, her features devoid of emotion.
“I’m from another universe,” she told him, “just as I said. But despite what I told your captain,