Part 21 (1/2)

Oddly, Riker was smiling, too. Startled for a moment by the expression, Lotre hesitated at the blur that Riker became, gray and red suddenly close to him.

”By the Praetor-” Lotre gasped, and Riker was right there, backhanding him onto the deck.

Rage boiled deep without the Klingon. When he spoke he was sputtering with fury. ”How the devil are you so strong?”

Riker scooped up Loire's disrupter rifle and leveled it at him.

For a short moment Lotre actually felt defeated, his head pounding in anger. But the warm Federation phaser was still in his hand. He didn't look down at it, but his thumb found the setting control and leaned heavily on it. He fired, and a thin but powerful orange thread connected Riker with the weapon.

Riker howled as the beam swiped down into his weapon arm. Sizzling through flesh and bone, sealing the wound with the same heat that cut it, the rifle-with Riker's arm still attached-fell to the deck.

The Starfleeter collapsed in agony and rolled into the bulkhead.

Lotre scooped up the disrupter rifle. The Klingon checked the weapon's power cell and available state, and chucked it into ready position.

Gorlat approached from up the corridor, various scatered bodies, the stunned carca.s.ses of Starfleet security, littering his path.

He kicked one, for good measure and probably for personal pleasure.

”It is done,” he said.

Lotre looked down at Riker's shocky, quivering form and smirked. ”So is he.”

”Having a central armory is insane,” Gorlat snorted. ”We vaporized their store in a matter of minutes.”

Lotre moved to the next nearest Starfleeter and took his weapon. ”But you saved the power packs, correct? We can convert them for our own weapons.”

”Of course. This is not my first such mission.”

”It is your first Federation Battle Cruiser,” Lotre said, taking the next man's weapon, too, and handing it to his comrade.

Gorlat couldn't seem to argue with what Lotre said, so he merely grunted.

”It's time to bring the others.” Lotre pulled out a communicator and brought it to his lips. ”This is Lotre. Teams three through five, begin transport.”

Static crackled back at him and a small spike of apprehension raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

”Topor! Respond!”

Again, biting silence.

”Topor? Lormit? Anyone, respond!”

Nothing.

”We're being jammed, or they've been silenced at the source.”

Gorlat snarled. ”We cannot maintain control of this vessel with so few men. We were supposed to be the advance team to make sure they couldn't get their s.h.i.+elds back up, and to take out their armory without destroying the rest of the s.h.i.+p.”

Marching up the corridor, Lotre spat, ”I know the plan, Gorlat! It was a strategy of my own creation!”

”What do we do now?”

”Gather your team,” the Klingon said. ”We take the bridge, and find out what has happened to our s.h.i.+p.”

”The bridge will be heavily protected.”

”And we,” Lotre said indignantly, ”will be heavily armed.”