Serpents Among the Ruins

by David R. George III

  “I’ve got to get some equipment from main engineering,” she told him.

  “Ah…I think Lieutenant Elvia wanted us to remain together,” he said.

  “Rennis, I’ve discovered modifications to the helm and navigation systems,” she said. “I need to find out exactly what’s been done, and then try to undo it.”

  “All right,” he said. “But when you…” His voice trailed off, and she saw him look over her shoulder in confusion. She turned and followed his gaze down the corridor. A Romulan officer, small in stature, marched in their direction. T’Sil did not recognize her. That was not unusual in itself—Tomed normally carried hundreds of crew—but the woman wore the dark blue sash that denoted engineering, and T’Sil doubted that there was an engineer aboard whom she didn’t know—particularly an officer.

  T’Sil looked at Valin. She saw him begin to raise his weapon, and she realized that he must have come to the same conclusion as she had. The shriek of a disruptor suddenly filled the corridor, confusing T’Sil for a moment, because Valin had not yet aimed his weapon. But then a flash of electric-blue light surged past her, and Valin flew from his feet, sailing backward several meters. He landed with a dull thud, his arms and legs askew, his disruptor skittering along the deck beyond him.

  T’Sil turned to face the unfamiliar officer, who now held a weapon in her hand. The woman came abreast of the open hatchway and peered inside, momentarily pointing her disruptor in that direction. T’Sil took that instant to reach for her own weapon. She had actually raised it up to fire by the time the wail of a disruptor blared once more. T’Sil had just enough time to register the visual sensation of brilliant blue light before she hurtled backward herself.

  And then blackness took her.

  Vaughn ran toward the large, reinforced doors at an angle, cutting diagonally across the corridor. They opened at his approach, and he sprinted into Tomed’s shuttlebay, his disruptor held out before him. He scanned the room with his eyes as he moved, searching for any of the Romulans who had remained aboard after the rest of the crew had abandoned ship. Of those six, none had been near the shuttlebay when Commander Gravenor had executed her sensor sweep in the equipment junction, but Vaughn could not afford to assume that nothing had changed since then. In fact, with Tomed’s external communications down, the comm systems in the shuttles seemed an alternative to which the Romulans could reasonably be expected to turn.

  When he reached the lateral bulkhead without seeing anybody, Vaughn stopped and surveyed his surroundings. The shuttlebay stood two decks tall, with an observation platform overlooking the landing stage on either side. A control room sat behind a transparent wall on the near platform.

  The facility housed four full-sized shuttles, he saw, along with twice as many smaller craft. The two-person pods probably functioned as maintenance vehicles, allowing Tomed’s crew to perform inspection and repair of the ship’s hull and exterior equipment. Boxy, with viewing ports in their curved fore and aft bulkheads, the simple, basic pods did not interest Vaughn. Although speculative as to whether or not a shuttle could survive the end of the mission, simulations had demonstrated conclusively that the pods could not.

  Vaughn started toward the outer bulkhead, heading for the great clamshell doors that separated the shuttlebay from the unforgiving vacuum of space. He studied the vessels as he walked, still alert for the presence of any Romulans. In contrast to the pods, the shuttles had been designed not only to satisfy function, but to complement the distinctive bird-of-prey style of the Romulan fleet. The long, sleek hull, colored the characteristic grayish green of most Romulan vessels, tapered to a point in front of the forward viewing port, an effect evocative of a beak. The small-scale warp nacelles, capable of achieving warp two, sat atop graceful, arcing pylons that swept upward from the main body, like the wings of a bird swooping down from flight.

  Satisfied that he was alone in the bay, Vaughn went to the shuttle nearest the outer doors. He read the name of the craft—Liss Riehn—printed beside the door in deep-red characters barely visible on the dark hull. The words translated as Blood Hawk.

  Vaughn jabbed at a small panel beneath the name, and it opened with a click, swinging upward to reveal a control pad beneath. He studied it briefly, then reached up and worked the controls. A mechanical hum emanated from the craft, and a door appeared in the hull, pushing into the cabin and then sliding away to the left. Within, overhead lighting came on automatically.

  He stepped up into Liss Riehn. The cabin ran the length of the shuttle, with no interior bulkheads providing any separate compartments. Two chairs sat before forward control panels, with two more chairs behind those. Benches had been built into the side bulkheads, accommodating perhaps another ten or twelve passengers. The cabin narrowed aft, with a short corridor reaching to a rear viewing port, set between two equipment columns in the corners there. One item that Vaughn did not see, but that he and the others had hoped to, was an emergency transporter.

  Swapping his disruptor for the small case of tools hanging from the waist of his uniform, he moved to the forward stations. He set the case down there and examined the panels, scanning them once quickly, and then more carefully on a second pass. Confirming his observation, he found no transporter controls.

  Wonderful, Vaughn thought. Just when I was starting to think this wouldn’t get any harder.

  He strode to the rear of the cabin, to one of the two equipment columns. Vaughn pulled open a door that reached from the deck to the ceiling, exposing a maze of circuitry. He started at the top and followed it down, searching for what he needed. Not finding it, he moved to the second equipment column, looking out through the aft viewing port as he did so. The sight of the shuttlebay doors stopped him.

  Eventually, those doors would have to be opened. The shuttle possessed only minimal armaments, he knew, probably insufficient to penetrate any section of the hull. But even with more powerful weapons, the special ops team could not simply blast through the doors; leaving them open would go unnoticed, but shooting a hole in them would produce a readily detectable energy signature, not to mention questions without satisfactory answers.

  Vaughn returned to the forward stations and looked for the controls that would open up the shuttlebay, leaving only a forcefield between the landing stage and space. The original plan had called for the doors to be opened later, but it had also counted on the entire crew abandoning Tomed. With six Romulans still aboard, Vaughn felt that he could not risk waiting to open the doors, when he could potentially find his efforts blocked, without even the few minutes he would require to counteract the Romulan resistance.

  The controls extended across the top of the port-side station, but Vaughn realized that he would not be able to lock the doors open from here. To prevent the Romulans from overriding his commands, he would have to reroute and reprogram the main panel in the shuttlebay control room. It would be a relatively simple matter to accomplish, but he needed to do it now.

  Drawing his disruptor again, Vaughn stepped down out of Liss Riehn and jogged over to one of the two ladders that led to the nearer observation platform. He climbed at a brisk pace, heading for the control room once he had alighted. Inside, the landing stage and its dozen craft spread out before him on the other side of the transparent wall.

  Vaughn set his disruptor down and examined the panel there. Only a few systems could be operated from this location, he saw: shuttlebay environmental control, forcefield, homing beacon, tractor beam, and the clamshell doors. As quickly as he could, he reprogrammed the OPEN/CLOSE controls, then pulled the panel up and removed the circuitry that would allow them to be operated from another location on the ship. He considered modifying the other controls for the other systems, but did not want to take the time to do so. No matter how much he had trained for this mission, he could not be sure how long it would actually take him to complete his assigned tasks here in the shuttlebay.

  Vaughn worked the modified panel, then peered out from the control room. In the cente
r of the clamshell doors, a dark line appeared, reaching from the top of the shuttlebay down to the decking. As he watched, the line widened. The two great doors folded into themselves, leaving only the forcefield in place, its functioning marked by a lighted blue ring rimming the opening. Stars became visible, seeming to stretch out into slender segments as Tomed passed them, a result of the warp effect.

  Not waiting for the doors to open completely, Vaughn retrieved his disruptor and exited the control room. He glanced around at the landing stage below, then started back down the ladder. He had descended two-thirds of the way when he felt as though he’d been struck by something along the entire side of his body, from head to foot. The disruptor flew from his grasp as his hands tightened about the ladder. Air gusted past him. He looked toward the doors, which continued to open, but he saw that the forcefield had been deactivated, the blue ring signaling its operation now inert.

  As the atmosphere in the shuttlebay rushed out into space, Vaughn felt his Romulan scanner pull free of his uniform. He dropped a hand from the ladder and reached for the sensor veil at his waist. He grabbed the small device, not wanting to risk losing it, then hooked his arm around a rung of the ladder. Staying focused, he turned away from the doors and inhaled deeply. Seconds passed as he waited out the storm, his hand and arm holding securely to the ladder.

  Finally, the atmosphere in the shuttlebay had emptied completely into space. Vaughn glanced down to judge his height above the landing stage, then loosed his grip on the ladder and dropped the rest of the way. He bent at the knees as he landed, absorbing the impact, then raced for Liss Riehn. He climbed inside and moved to the forward stations, where he operated the controls for the shuttle door and life-support. He felt the vibrations of the door as it closed, but he could not hear it in the absence of a medium to carry the sound to his ears. An indicator on the starboard panel began to glow, a bar of light rising through different colors as it measured the atmosphere pouring into the cabin. When it peaked, Vaughn exhaled and gasped for air. He took several fast, deep breaths, then worked to slow his respiration to a normal rate.

  Obviously, the Romulans knew that he was here in the shuttlebay—or at least that he had been here. They had no doubt monitored the clamshell doors opening, and when they’d been unable to override, they’d chosen to drop the forcefield instead. They probably hoped that he’d been blown out into space, but he guessed that they would not take that hope for granted. Soon, he would have company.

  Vaughn identified the controls for the shuttle’s passive sensors and activated them. Then he picked up his tools—still sitting atop one of the forward stations—and returned to the equipment columns at the rear of the cabin. He opened the second one and searched again for the system he needed, eventually locating the craft’s deflectors.

  While he awaited the Romulans, he set to work.

  As Harriman waited, preparing himself for battle, his thoughts drifted to Amina. Death did not scare him, but the prospect of never again seeing the woman he loved did. He also knew that thinking of her in this situation would not improve his chances for survival. With an effort, he left his emotions behind and concentrated on the task at hand.

  He scrutinized the display of his tricorder, measuring the gait of the approaching Romulan. Strangely, they did not move as swiftly as he would have expected in these circumstances; they didn’t run or even trot, but seemed to walk at a normal, unhurried pace. Harriman wondered for a moment if they might actually be heading elsewhere, but then they turned in to the corridor leading here to the transporter room.

  They’re being cautious, he thought. No, not cautious; tentative. Harriman recalled that the six Romulan crewmembers left aboard had been divided between the bridge and engineering, perhaps indicating the absence of any of Tomed’s security officers. If so, then his chances of surviving the coming encounter might have improved significantly.

  Glancing up from his tricorder, Harriman ensured the high power setting of his phaser. Then, leaning back against the bulkhead, he let himself slide down to the deck, minimizing his profile as a target. He reached out and rested the side of his forearm atop his raised knee, steadying his aim as he pointed the phaser across the room at the doors. The tricorder showed the Romulan only a few strides away now.

  Harriman waited tensely, anticipating the precise moment to take action, attempting to time his attack effectively. In the corridor, the tricorder told him, the Romulan neared. Three steps away, two steps—

  The Romulan stopped before reaching the doors, moving close against the bulkhead just outside the transporter room. Harriman guessed that they would operate the doors manually, opening them without stepping in front of them and becoming a target.

  Harriman fired, his index finger squeezing the pressure-sensitive firing plate of his phaser. A concentrated shaft of red fire leaped from the emitter crystal, slicing through the still air of the transporter room. Accompanied by a high-pitched whine, the beam struck the closed doors halfway up, along the line where they met. They absorbed the powerful phased energy for only an instant before blasting apart.

  The sound of the explosion filled the transporter room. Harriman continued to fire for several seconds as smoke and dust emerged from the disrupted matter of the doors. He concentrated on the rolling, gray swirls, searching for the darker colors of a Romulan uniform moving within. But the clouds spread thickly into the room, obscuring his view.

  Harriman released the firing plate of his phaser and immediately rolled to his left, into the corner. He came up to a sitting position and raised his weapon again, taking aim in the direction of the doorway. He fired five short blasts, high and low, left, right, and center.

  The room quieted with the screech of his phaser at least momentarily silenced. Tiny specks of debris floated down onto the deck, producing a sound like the gentle tapping of a light rain. The soft, almost peaceful noise provided a vivid contrast to the blare of his weapon and the concussion of the explosion.

  Harriman waited, unmoving, his eyes seeking the enemy. Time seemed to slow as the seconds passed. He kept his phaser trained on the doorway, but he neither saw nor heard any indication of his Romulan adversary.

  Finally, he risked a look at his tricorder. He raised the device and studied its readouts. In the corridor outside the transporter room, in the surrounding sections of this deck, there were no Romulan life signs.

  Harriman attached his tricorder to the belt of his uniform, then rose to his feet. Covering his mouth with his free hand to guard against the smoke and dust, he started forward. He did not take his gaze from the direction of the doorway, and he did not lower his phaser.

  At the threshold separating the transporter room from the corridor, Harriman removed his hand from his face and waved at the clouds. As the air shifted, he spotted a narrow, mangled section of one door, its ragged edge reaching up less than a meter from the deck, rising at an angle to where it met the jamb. The rest of the doors had been destroyed.

  Out of his long-ingrained training, Harriman dashed into the corridor. He spun around as he moved, bringing his weapon to bear on the last location the tricorder had shown the Romulan to be. Harriman reached the far wall and braced himself against it. Beside him, a fist-sized triangular slice of a door jutted from the bulkhead, evidence of the force of the blast.

  Nothing moved in the corridor but the swells of smoke and dust. As the billows waned, the bits of debris settling, a shape became visible on the deck: a boot, recognizable as a component of a Romulan Imperial Fleet uniform. It was empty.

  His phaser still held out before him, Harriman pushed away from the bulkhead and walked slowly forward. He stepped past the boot, wading through the thinning clouds. A stockinged foot appeared, and as Harriman squatted down beside it, the rest of the body to which it belonged appeared too. Thrown onto her back, a Romulan woman—an engineer, according to the blue sash adorning her uniform—stared unseeing at the ceiling of the corridor. A chunk of flesh had been torn from the side of her face,
a wide trail of green blood reaching down from the wound to where it had pooled on the deck. On her right side, a section of the door had cut through the upper portion of her torso, from front to back. Patches of her sallow skin showed through her shredded uniform. Blood had splattered everywhere.

  A hollow feeling twisted through Harriman’s gut. This wasn’t supposed to happen, he thought, echoing his words to Sulu after the unexpected injuries to the crew of Ad Astra—and the probably mortal wounds to his father. Harriman had devised this plan, and had then fought—with his father and others—for its particulars. The death of a Romulan officer—or even the deaths of many—would not impact the outcome of the mission at all, but Harriman had contrived to avoid killing. What morality would there be, he had argued, in killing to avoid war? The certain murder of one could not be mitigated by the anticipated deaths of billions.

  He reached forward and rested the tips of two fingers against the neck of the woman. He felt no pulse, the vital throbbing of her heart—two hundred forty beats per minute for the average Romulan—now stilled. I’m sorry, he thought.

  But he had no time to mourn, he knew. He could not reverse what had happened, but he could try to make sure that the price that had been paid actually obtained something of value. He had to complete the mission.

  Harriman peered around the corridor, the dust and smoke now reduced to a haze. A couple of meters beyond the Romulan engineer, he saw what he had been looking for, resting in the right angle formed by the bulkhead and the deck: a disruptor, which the woman had obviously been carrying. He stood up and walked over to it. He retrieved the weapon and verified that it still functioned, then hooked it onto his uniform belt.

  Allowing himself a final moment of anguish, Harriman looked back down at the dead woman. Then he let the emotion go, and turned toward a future he still hoped to shape for the better. But with or without his efforts, whether he succeeded or failed, he knew that future would arrive very soon.