by Greg Cox
Leading the way, while his partner, Ensign Michelle Robbins, guarded the party’s rear, he fired a blue stun beam into the crossways just to provoke a response from any lurking Orions. When nobody fired back, he glanced back over his shoulder and nodded at Scotty and the others. “All right. After me.”
But before he could step all the way into the intersection, an entire cadre of Orions beamed into existence right in front of them, blocking their path. The newly arrived raiders began firing their disruptors even as they materialized, shooting wildly in every direction just to be safe. An emerald beam sizzled past Scotty’s head; he knew better than to think that the pirates’ firearms were set on stun. Chances were, the pistols would reduce them to atoms.
That was too close for comfort, he thought.
Bloodshot green eyes spotted the humans. “Feoje!” a nameless raider barked in Orion, making Scotty wonder what had become of the universal translator. The armed intruder, who smelled as though he hadn’t bathed since the first Romulan War, pointed energetically at the Starfleet quartet. “Sycun zi!”
Pierce dropped the observant pirate with a blast from his rifle, but not before the stunned Orion alerted his partners in plunder. The other raiders spun around to confront Seven and her escorts. Thinking fast, Scotty dashed over to a control panel mounted on the wall right before the intersection. He jabbed a blinking red button with one hand, while hauling Pierce backward with the other. A shimmering energy field buzzed into place, almost slicing off the security officer’s toes. Cut off from their targets, the Orions swore furiously on the other side of the barrier. Disruptor beams ricocheted off the force field, producing bright actinic flashes. A foolhardy raider threw himself against the wall. A high-voltage shock taught him the error of his ways. The other pirates contented themselves with blasting away at the field, trying to disrupt it through sheer firepower. Visible distortions in the energy lattice testified to the effectiveness of the barrage. “Niog velf pekkaly!”
Scotty thought it best not to stick around. “All right. Not that way, then.”
Unintelligible curses, no doubt defaming the humans’ ancestry, evolution, and reproductive propensities, chased after Scotty and the others as they retreated back in the direction they had come. Robbins found herself leading the way. She glanced back at Scotty.
“Which way now, sir?”
Scotty knew the ship’s nooks and crannies as well as the back alleys of Glasgow. Alas, he couldn’t think of a quick route to the shuttlebay that didn’t lead them right back toward the Orions, which left them with only one other option. “Seems we need to take a wee detour.”
Seven seemed to read his mind. “The transporters?”
“Where else?” he replied. Intraship beaming was a risky business, not to be undertaken lightly, but they had run out of viable alternatives. “I’ll get ye to that shuttle even if I have to beam ye directly into the driver’s seat!”
He quickly charted the best route in his mind. The ship’s primary transporter room was several decks above them, where the bulk of the fighting seemed to be concentrated, but maybe the cargo transporters on Level 19 would be easier to get to? They were generally used to beam large loads directly into the cargo storage facility, but there was no reason they couldn’t transport a couple of items of human baggage in a pinch. Circling back the way they’d come, they headed toward an emergency stairwell that was too many meters away for Scotty’s peace of mind. He wanted to slow down and get his bearings, but that wasn’t a good idea; raucous whoops, coming from the blocked intersection, made it clear that the Orions had finally blasted their way through the force field and were right behind them. Scotty exhaled a sigh of relief as he finally spotted the sealed entrance to the stairwell about halfway down the corridor before them. Thinking ahead, he tried to figure out the best way to bar the door behind them.
Maybe by wielding it shut with the phaser rifles?
A command authorization keycode unsealed the door guarding the stairwell, which was intended for use when the turbolifts were inoperative. It slid open to reveal a spiral stairway leading down to lower decks. “All clear!” Robbins announced after poking her head and the muzzle of her rifle past the entrance. Scotty shoved Seven in after her and was just about to follow when a blistering crossfire erupted in the corridor. He and Pierce abruptly found themselves caught between the Orions at one end of the hall and Starfleet defenders at the others. Crisscrossing beams shot up and down the corridor like a First Contact Day fireworks display. Scotty ducked his head to keep from being scalped by the sizzling energy discharges.
“In, laddie!” he prodded Pierce. “Step lively!”
The other man moved quickly, but not fast enough. An azure bolt of friendly fire grazed his leg, numbing it from the hip down. He collapsed at the foot of the door, unable to support his own weight. A pained grimace hinted at his discomfort, but nary a groan slipped past his gritted teeth. He kept a tight grip on his phaser rifle.
Blast it all, Scotty thought. We cannae catch a break.
Attaching his own phaser to his belt, he grabbed Pierce beneath the shoulders and dragged him out of the crossfire into the stairwell. Deflected energy beams, both blue and green, bounced off the doorframe, bright enough and close enough to make Scotty’s eyes hurt. Sparks sprayed off the metal frame.
“Pierce!” his crewmate exclaimed. “You’re hit!”
“Nothing serious,” he grunted. Cradling his rifle in his lap, he took hold of his stunned leg and yanked it out of the way of the door, which slid back into place behind them. Scotty hastily sealed it from the inside, changing the security code for good measure. Robbins tried to help Pierce to his feet, but he shrugged her off. “Leave me. I’ll just slow you down.” Bracing his legs against the opposite side of the tube, he aimed his rifle at the door. “I’ll hold them off for as long as I can.”
Robbins tugged on his arm. “Forget it, Pierce. We’re not leaving you.”
“Come now, laddie,” Scotty said. “Don’t be a hero.”
Pierce didn’t budge. “It’s not about being a hero. It’s about looking out for the future.” He glanced down over at Seven. “Isn’t that right?”
“You are correct,” she stated, “although I wish you were not. Speed is of the essence.”
Scotty faced reality. He didn’t want to abandon the wounded crewman, but getting Seven off the Enterprise took priority. “That it is,” he conceded. “You do what you need to do, Ensign.” He took a moment to communicate Pierce’s location and status to the bridge; with luck, an Enterprise security team could get to Pierce before the Orions did. “I owe ye a drink when this is all over.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” Pierce promised. He patted his inert leg. “Figure this is worth some bootleg Romulan ale at least.”
Scotty rolled his eyes at the youth’s taste in spirits. To his mind, no unearthly blue concoction could compare to a good Scotch, but he held his tongue. Robbins reluctantly stepped away from her fellow officer. “You had better not get yourself killed, Pierce, because I am so not working your shifts if you do.”
He waved her away. “Go on, get out of here.”
Scotty could still hear the firefight raging on the other side of the door as he, Seven, and Robbins clambered down to Level 19. They cautiously emerged from the stairwell into a hallway, only to hear yet another band of Orions raising havoc just around the corner. “Bloody hell,” Scotty muttered. The noxious cutthroats seemed to be infesting the entire ship. “They’re spreading like tribbles.”
And between them and the cargo transporters. Of course.
Twenty-five
“Osphai!” an Orion shouted as he rounded the corner and caught sight of Scotty and the others. He hollered sharply to his compatriots. “Yrhan chark ayalo!”
Scotty was forced to improvise again. “Back down the stairs! Keep on going!”
The fugitive trio rushed back into the stairwell. Scotty slammed the door shut behind them, but he doubted that it would hold back
the raiders for long. He had no way of knowing if the pirates had spotted Seven, but he had to assume the worst. They scrambled down the steps to the next available exit, which just happened to lead to the ship’s sprawling gymnasium.
Intended to keep the crew fit on long treks through space, the gym was two decks high and large enough to accommodate a variety of strenuous activities. Separate compartments boasted weight-lifting apparatus, stationary bikes, spas, saunas, padded exercise mats, adjustable climbing walls, obstacle courses, trampolines, fencing equipment, racketball courts, circular zero-g treadmills, and just about anything else Starfleet figured would keep the crew in fighting trim. Scotty couldn’t remember the last time he’d set foot in the place. Curling up with a stiff drink and a stack of engineering manuals was sufficient recreation to his way of thinking.
I get enough exercise climbing Jefferies tubes, dodging disruptor blasts, and holding this ship together, thank ye very much!
Scotty figured that they could try to cut through the gym to ditch their pursuers, while searching for another route to the transporters. “Any port in a storm,” he muttered. “Just as long as nobody expects me to do any bloody chin-ups.”
“I doubt that will be necessary,” Seven said dryly.
Needless to say, the gym was empty at the moment. No guards had been deployed to defend the exercise equipment, which wasn’t exactly essential to control of the ship. Nevertheless, Scotty heard the rambunctious Orions heading their way. Angry fists pounded at the sealed entrance to the gym. They would be blasting away at the lock next.
“The Orions are persistent,” Seven observed.
That’s one way to put it, Scotty thought. “Or just plain greedy.”
Looking about for a convenient escape route, Scotty wished that he was a wee bit more familiar with the layout of the gym. Had they remodeled the place since the last time he’d wandered in by mistake? He scowled in frustration. If this had been the engine room, he could’ve found his way around blindfolded.
“Er, give me a moment to reconnoiter.”
Ensign Robbins came to his rescue. “I have an idea. Follow me.”
She was a trim, energetic lass with freckles and short brown hair. She led them past an array of balance beams and gymnastic horses to the last place Scotty would have ever thought of: the women’s locker room. He couldn’t resist glancing around as they hurried past the empty dressing rooms and shower stalls. Open lockers and discarded towels hinted at the speed with which assorted female crew members had reported to their posts once the red alert sounded. Scott felt as though he was exploring an undiscovered country.
Moving stealthily, they exited the locker room, which opened up onto the ship’s Olympic-sized swimming pool. Clear blue water reflected the overhead lights, casting rippling shadows on the walls of the spacious chamber. A high ceiling provided plenty of room for diving boards of various altitudes. The bottom of the deep end boasted a furnished lounge area for the ship’s more amphibious crew members and guests. Smaller, satellite pools had adjustable temperature and salinity controls. The pool could also be frozen to allow for ice sports.
Scotty heard Orions converging on the pool area from opposite ends. The bright lights left him feeling uncomfortably exposed. He ran over to the nearest control panel. “Computer, dim lights!”
The voice-activated system responded instantly, throwing the pool into murky shadows. Harsh voices and pounding boots blocked their escape in every direction. Scotty gazed into the pellucid depths of the pool. Water lapped against its tiled sides. He sighed in resignation.
“Over the side,” he whispered. “Into the water.”
Seven and Robbins descended into the pool, disappearing beneath the surface. Scotty waited until they were fully submerged before taking a deep breath and sliding into the water himself, being careful not to make too much of a splash. Cool water chilled his sweaty skin and soaked his uniform. Sodden fabric and heavy boots weighed him down as he sank deeper and deeper. He grabbed a rung on a metal ladder to keep from bobbing to the surface. Looking around beneath the water, he spotted his companions holding their breaths nearby. Robbins’s brown hair rustled like a sea anemone atop her head, while Seven’s tight blond ’do remained more or less in place, as did her cool, focused expression. Tiny bubbles escaped their lips and nostrils. He hoped that wouldn’t be enough to give them away.
How good were Orion eyes anyway?
They had gotten into the pool just in the nick of time. Three meters of water muffled but did not eliminate the sound of two packs of Orions meeting alongside the pool. The raiders greeted each other raucously, while boasting of their exploits. Scotty couldn’t make out a word, but he’d run into enough barroom braggarts to recognize the tone. They were probably each claiming to have singlehandedly licked an entire deck of Enterprise crew members—and with their bare hands, no less!
With luck, the Orions would be too busy trading tall tales to look closely into the pool. After all, who would expect a time traveler from the future to be hiding out in a gym of all places, let alone at the bottom of a pool? Chances were, the pirates would soon move on to more promising hunting grounds. Where was the profit and glory in plundering a swimming pool? And as far as Scotty knew, Orions were not aquatic.
But will they leave ’fore we run out of air?
Scotty’s cheeks were already bulging like a Drofoxian blowfish. Bubbles slipped past his lips no matter how hard he tried to hold on to his last breath. He gazed longingly upward, vaguely glimpsing the shadowy figures of the Orions. His lungs ached. White knuckles clung to the underwater rung as he fought an increasingly insistent urge to kick toward the surface. This was like being trapped on a Class-N planet without a proper environment suit. He was on the verge of drowning.
Get going, ye loud-mouth renegades, he silently railed at the Orions, who seemed in no hurry to vacate the premises. Share your inglorious war stories elsewhere!
A finger tapped him on the chest. Robbins got his attention as she fished a compact plastic rebreather from a pouch on her flak jacket. She cupped the translucent mask over her own mouth, took a deep breath, then passed it on to Scotty. He took hold of it eagerly, grateful for her foresight. He pressed it to his lips. Molecular processors instantly converted exhaled carbon dioxide back into oxygen, which he sucked down hungrily. The recycled air was perhaps the sweetest he’d ever breathed.
He couldn’t be greedy, however. Since Robbins apparently only had one rebreather on her person, he quickly passed it over to Seven, who waited for it patiently, almost as though her lungs were more efficient than an ordinary human’s of the twenty-third century. Still, she did not refuse the lifesaving breathing apparatus.
The fresh oxygen quieted Scotty’s lungs, allowing him to bide his time until the rebreather came his way again. By the time Robbins took another breath, however, he was already running out of air once more. Hanging on to the ladder with one hand, he reached for the portable device a little too hastily. The rebreather slipped from his fingers, sinking to the bottom of the pool.
Bollocks, Scotty thought. Mortified, he looked sheepishly at Robbins and Seven before diving after the lost gadget. He had to kick softly to avoid disturbing the placid surface of the pool. The deeper he swam, the more he craved the precious breath he had literally let slip between his fingers. Why the hell couldn’t he have dropped the bloody thing after he’d sucked down some more air?
His frantic eyes searched the deep end of the pool. Inflatable lounge furniture, filled with heavier-than-water gases, was anchored to the floor for the convenience of water-breathing passengers and crew. Scotty didn’t see the missing rebreather lying on the bottom anywhere. Could it have fallen on or under the submerged furniture? Sinking to the bottom, he groped beneath an underwater coffee table, his desperate fingers finding nothing, even as, nearby, Robbins overturned a comfy bean bag chair and Seven methodically inspected the corners of the pool. The well-furnished lounge didn’t make finding the rebreather any easier.
>
Blast it, he thought. Where are ye, you slippery doohickey?
Lack of air made it hard to concentrate on what he was doing. Bulging cheeks filled with stale carbon dioxide. The surface of the pool and the blessed air above it seemed as far away as the Galactic Barrier. He glanced over at Robbins, hoping against hope that she was having better luck than he was, but she shook her head in defeat. Her bulging cheeks looked like a chipmunk’s. Seven appeared in a bad way, too.
Abandoning the coffee table, he rummaged amidst the cushions of a waterproof couch. It was worth a shot; in his experience, seat cushions exerted a gravitational pull directly proportional to the value of the object being sought. He sometimes joked about submitting a paper on the subject to the Interplanetary Journal of Theoretical Physics. Now his life and that of his imperiled comrades depended on a practical test of that hypothesis.
It has to be there, he thought. It’s got to be.
Soggy fingers fished between the cushions. At first, they found nothing but water, but then they closed on a piece of flexible plastic.
Yes!
He would’ve gasped in joy if that wouldn’t have entailed drowning. Instead he yanked the rebreather from its devilish hiding place and waved it before his companions’ eyes. Holding the device to his lips, he helped himself to a couple lungfuls of recycled oxygen.
Maybe I should submit that article after all. . . .
The air gave him the means to swim over to Robbins and Seven and share the rebreather with them. Minutes passed as they discreetly handed the device back and forth while waiting for the Orions to depart. The coolness of the pool seeped into Scotty’s bones, causing him to shiver. His boots filled up with water, dragging him down. Seven adjusted her backpack, while Robbins hung on to her phaser rifle. Scotty prayed the Orions weren’t in the mood for a quick dip.
