Star Trek_ Resistance Part 11

"Aye, sir."

Worf closed the channel. Sara Nave, still working at the helm, kept her focus on the viewscreen, doing her best to dodge the volley of fire aimed in their direction.

He tapped his combadge again. "Doctor Crusher," he said, "report to the holding cell. We're beaming the captain there."

"Already on my way," she replied.

Worf turned to La Forge. "Shields?"

"Still holding," he reported.

For now, Worf thought as Nave took them out of the Borg's weapons range. It was a fine line she was dancing, keeping them out of the line of fire but within transporter range. It wasn't clear how long until the Borg's long-range weaponry would be active, but Worf sensed it wouldn't be long. Once the immediate threat seemed over, Nave allowed for a half turn in his direction. Her eyes were lit with an emotion-hope Worf might have called it had it not had such a dark edge to it.

"Lieutenant," he said, "you are acting chief of security." He paused. "For the moment, however, you are critically needed at the helm. Keep the ship's course completely random. We can't allow the captain to antic.i.p.ate the Enterprise's next move before we retrieve him."

He watched as the light went out of her, so that only the dark remained. "Yes, sir," she answered quietly and returned to her work.

As he turned to move toward the door, he caught T'Lana's defiant glare in his direction. If she had been of any other race, Worf would have sworn he saw a look of smugness as a reminder that she had antic.i.p.ated the worst. She said nothing as Worf swept past her to the turbolift, but the condemnation was still there. As if she was blaming him for what was happening.

By the time she arrived in the holding area, Beverly was numb. She had forced herself to be so, allowing herself to think only of what needed to be immediately done. She had prepared a hypo of nanites that would reverse Jean-Luc's transformation into a drone, and while she would inject him with it immediately-along with a strong sedative to prevent him from attacking-she intended to repair or replace the neutralizer chip as quickly as possible. It would immediately free Jean-Luc from the influence of the Collective so that she would not have to restrain him while the nanites did their work.

Worf and three armed security guards stood waiting for her beside the bed that had been placed in the cell. The Klingon's expression was one of fierce determination. Crusher didn't ask whether he intended to put any distance between the Enterprise and the Borg ship-especially after the attack-but she certainly didn't see any signs of retreat in his eyes.

He directed a single sharp glance at Beverly by way of acknowledgment. "Do you have a sedative ready, Doctor?"

Beverly silently produced the hypospray from the pocket of her lab coat and displayed it.

"Phasers on stun," Worf told the security team and raised his own; the four took aim at the empty bed. The Klingon tapped his combadge. "Ensign Luptowski...?"

"Ready, sir," the young voice replied. "The captain's communicator is disabled, but the signal from the transponder is clear."

"Beam him aboard."

As the transporter beam began to shimmer, Beverly braced herself. She would be prepared, she told herself, for the dull, inhuman look in Locutus's eyes.

But she was not prepared for what she saw.

The glimmering miasma of the beam cleared...but no one lay on the bed. Worf spoke into the air again. "Ensign? Was there a malfunction?"

"No, sir," Luptowski answered.

Beverly and Worf approached the bed. Beverly leaned in and reached a hand toward the three items that lay there, arranged in a neat row: the transponder she had placed in Jean-Luc's right temple; his communicator, mangled and scarred, as if someone had tried to saw it in half; and the neutralizer chip, marred by a single dark drop of blood.

She failed to touch them. A sudden roar, so loud she could not hear her own cry of pain and surprise, reverberated in her skull; a millisecond later, the deck pitched sideways. Her ribs struck the edge of the bed, her outstretched hand flattening against the now-empty bed. She was aware, in the chaos, of Worf beside her, struggling for purchase, his legs tangling briefly with hers.

The ship righted itself with a lurch. Beverly pushed herself up and scrambled across the platform to retrieve the items so freshly removed from Jean-Luc's person. As she did, Worf got to his feet and pressed his combadge.

"Worf to bridge!" Silence. Clutching the precious chips, Beverly turned toward the Klingon. Worf scowled and thumped his combadge again. "Worf to bridge! Commander La Forge, report!"

Silence again, and then static.

The blast blinded Nave and hurled her sideways from her chair onto the deck. She tried to draw in air and couldn't; her ribs responded with a sickening jolt of pain.

Don't panic, don't panic, just got the wind knocked out of you...

Her first instinct was to get back to her station, back to the conn. She blinked hard, but the strong afterimage left by the nova-bright blast faded only slightly; she had to feel for her chair and use it to pull herself up.

She let go a hitching cough, so painful it brought tears, then sucked in air in a rush.

It smelled of smoke and scorched circuits, and left her dizzied. "Counselor!" she shouted. "Commander La Forge!" The blast had affected her hearing as well; her voice sounded m.u.f.fled, distant. She stood an instant and listened carefully for a reply-and realized that the life-support alarm had been buzzing, low and harsh, all the while.

"Commander La Forge! Counselor!" The acrid air made her cough again. As her vision began slowly to clear, she saw the bridge through a film of smoke. It was dark except for the blinking consoles and the low-level emergency lights on the deck, which served as her guide. Eyes streaming, she staggered the few steps back to the conn and leaned heavily against it.

Weapons were off-line. The conn had gone off-line as well, but she doggedly kept punching controls until she managed to bring it up on manual. The ship had just started to drift; she set it back on its random course. At the instant she finished, the klaxon fell blessedly silent.

She heard a sudden spasm of coughing to her right. "Allen?" she called. Ensign John Allen was stationed at security communications. She glanced in his direction and saw his shadowy form bent over in his chair.

"I'm all right," Allen gasped, though he protectively cradled one arm. "My board is down." And then he let go a sound of pure amazement. "Good lord. Look..."

He was staring overhead. Nave followed his gaze and saw it: the narrow crack in the hull that revealed, beyond the mists of smoke and the faint glimmer of a force field, blackness and stars. It was, Nave thought absurdly, like staring up at a sliver of night sky.

"Hull breach requiring repair. Oxygen levels have dropped to substandard levels," the computer reported calmly. "Toxic particulate matter detected. Filtration systems off-line and in need of repair. Temporary evacuation required."

Someone behind her shifted and groaned. "Commander?" she called.

"I'm okay," Commander La Forge mumbled, but his tone-and the fact that he was still huddled on the deck beneath the engineering station-said otherwise. A waft of smoke rose from his console, which spewed red sparks and sizzled ominously.

"Take care of him," Nave said to the ensign.

"Aye, sir, I've got him," Allen said and rose stiffly.

But T'Lana was still unaccounted for. Nave scanned the area around the counselor's chair and saw, behind it and to its left, the Vulcan's still form, supine on the deck.

"Counselor." She knelt down at once. T'Lana was pale, motionless; her eyes were closed. There was a gash at her throat, just beneath her left jaw, and dark green liquid had spilled down her neck and soaked the shoulder of her uniform.

Nave reached out with an unsteady hand to feel for a pulse. At her touch, T'Lana's eyes snapped open.

"Counselor. You've been wounded." Instinctively, Nave pressed her combadge and said, "Sickbay."

T'Lana's lips parted; she struggled to speak.

"It's okay," Nave soothed, even as a voice filtered over the comm channel.

"Sickbay. Nurse Ojibwa here."

"This is the bridge. We need medics up here stat. I've got a Vulcan who's losing blood, and I think Commander La Forge is injured-"

"Sending them up now..."

Commander Worf's voice overrode Ojibwa's. "Worf to Nave. Lieutenant, what's happening on the bridge?"

"Hull breach, sir, conn is online, but we have wounded..." Nave looked down at the growing stain on T'Lana's uniform. The Vulcan's eyes were wide, her gaze distant. "Counselor!"

Nave reached for the wound and gently fingered it until she felt the small puncture, probably caused by a piece of shrapnel, she decided. She pressed her hand firmly against it until she felt certain she had stanched the flow. T'Lana's blood was feverishly warm.

"We're sending medics. Transfer control to auxiliary bridge. Evacuate as soon as you can. Worf out."

Nave absently touched her combadge, cutting off the channel. "Medics are coming!" she called to Allen. The ensign had helped Commander La Forge up into his chair; La Forge held a hand to his brow, dazed. One of his cybernetic eyes had gone ominously dark.

T'Lana tried again to speak. Nave studied her and saw something she had never before seen in a Vulcan's eyes: horror. The counselor could not quite manage a full whisper, but Nave watched her lips form the words.

Your face is black.

Nave was momentarily confused; she ran the back of her free hand across her forehead and glanced at it. "Soot," she said. "Don't worry, Counselor, it's just soot."

T'Lana struggled and formed another word. Leave.

"Not on your life," Nave said.

The Vulcan's chest hitched as she emitted a soft hiccup; a bubble of blood appeared on her lips, followed by a sudden rush that flowed down her chin and joined the stream on her neck. Her eyes rolled back until not much more than the whites were visible.

"d.a.m.n," Nave whispered. "Oh, d.a.m.n, Counselor, don't you dare. Don't you dare."

10.

IN SICKBAY, CRUSHER WITHDREW THE SURGICAL stimulator from Geordi La Forge's temple and watched with satisfaction as his left cybernetic eye flickered, then began to glow rea.s.suringly.

"Whew," La Forge said. He was sitting up on the diagnostic bed, looking much better than he had when Nave and Allen had arrived with him. He blinked and studied Beverly appreciatively. "Now that's more like it."

"Just some pressure on your optical circuit. That's what comes of hitting your head so hard."

La Forge rubbed his scalp ruefully. "Good thing I have such a thick skull."

Crusher could not quite bring herself to smile. She was operating numbly, mechanically now. She could not allow herself to feel, to think about anything other than the present moment, until Jean-Luc was finally back safe aboard the Enterprise.

Both she and Geordi glanced up as Worf entered, his customary scowl even grimmer than usual.

"So, Doc..." La Forge slid off the edge of the bed to his feet. "Can I go? I've got things to do."

Beverly gave a nod. "You're good."

Worf stepped in front of him. "Commander La Forge, Nelson reports that the bridge should be habitable within the hour. In the meantime, all operations are being run from the auxiliary bridge."

"Are we out of the cube's weapons range?" La Forge asked.

Worf gave a curt nod. "And we should soon be out of scanning range as well."

"We've abandoned the captain?" Beverly asked, trying to keep the accusation out of her voice but knowing she had failed.

"The damage to the ship is extensive," he explained. "There are several hull breaches in the saucer section. The docking bays are all inaccessible. Our shields are still down. The Borg have left us no options."

Worf and La Forge shared a grim look. Beverly understood all too well: Jean-Luc had left them with no options.

"So we just give up?" Beverly asked.

"That is what we were ordered to do," Worf acknowledged, but there was something behind his words, something other than defeat. Worf was handling the decision far better than he should have been. Beverly doubted he had any intention of leaving the captain behind.

As such, she decided to play along. "Before he left, the captain said that the Borg cube's engines would be online in less than seven hours." She paused. "That was two hours ago."

Geordi's tone was grim. "That gives us five hours."

"Four," she countered, "to be safe." It was hard not to hold her breath while waiting for Worf to react.

"Understood," Worf said. He paused and glanced at Crusher. She realized that he was waiting for La Forge to leave so that he could speak to her privately.

Geordi took the hint. "I'll be in engineering, then."

Worf nodded. "I'll be in touch with you shortly, Commander."

"Your report, Doctor?" Worf asked as Geordi left sickbay.

"Two dozen injured," she reported without emotion. "Ranging from minor to critical. I had to induce a coma in Ensign McGowan to preserve his higher brain functions." She stood in awkward silence with the Klingon a moment before finally breaking the silence. "If we continue out of the area..." she began.

"The captain did order us to do so," Worf said. She had guessed right: he had wanted to discuss precisely this matter. And given his uneasy relationship with the Vulcan counselor, he could hardly discuss it with her.

"But you know what would happen if we did," Beverly countered. She could not be neutral on the subject; she could not even try. She had worried earlier about questioning her professionalism, which led to where they were in this moment. She would not let appearances keep her from speaking her mind. She was a Starfleet officer, and Worf was now her commander. She would abide by his decision, but she would not shy away from the conversation this time.

Worf sighed. "The Borg's engines will come online. They will be able to attack and to pursue us and any other vessel or planet they choose." He paused a long moment; his gaze dropped as he uncomfortably shifted his weight. "I...made an error of judgment once before, because I followed my heart instead of my orders. My decision cost many lives." He looked up at her. "I do not want to make the same mistake again."

"I understand completely," Beverly responded. "But, in all honesty, this is not the same situation, Worf. It's true you're the captain's loyal friend-"

He began to speak, but Beverly waved him silent.

"I know, my heart is involved here, too," she said. "I want to save him more than anyone. But I think that, when the captain gave the order to leave him behind, he was thinking only of the good of the crew."

Worf gave a slow, thoughtful nod. "But I must consider the greater good. If we do not stop the Borg now..."

Beverly let the question hang in the air between them. At last, she asked quietly, "And if the ship can't handle another encounter?"

"We will have tried," Worf said. His gaze was confident now that he had made his decision. "I do not relish disobeying a direct order from the captain. But I have an idea of a way we can...circ.u.mvent his directive."

Beverly's lips broke into a grin.