“We’re detecting multiple transporter signatures, Mahmud,”said the anguished voice of Captain Okagawa. “Take cover, and do whatever you have to do to defend yourself. We’re on our way!”
“Acknowledged,” al-Khaled replied, skidding to a halt in the winding tunnel as he saw the first flashes of transporter beams, immediately noting that they were unlike any Starfleet transporter he had ever used.
“Intruder alert!” he called out, his voice echoing down the winding tunnel as six columns of fiery red transporter energy appeared less than ten meters in front of him, coalescing into humanoid figures far too tall and muscular to be humans. Al-Khaled heard his warning repeated by other members of the landing party as the figures took on substance, and he recognized them as Klingon warriors, each brandishing a disruptor pistol.
Al-Khaled aimed his phaser and waited until the transport cycle completed before he fired.
The single blue beam lanced across the open space, catching the Klingon at the front of the group full in the chest. The warrior staggered beneath the force of the attack, crumpling and falling unconscious to the tunnel’s rock floor. Al-Khaled fired again, backpedaling the way he had come as the remaining five Klingons aimed their own weapons at him. His second shot missed, punching into the stone wall behind one of the Klingons, but by now, they had sighted on him and were firing. A hell storm of disruptor energy flooded the tunnel as al-Khaled dashed around a bend, finding temporary cover out of his adversaries’ line of sight. Continuing to move and with his communicator still in his other hand, he keyed a control on the device and held it up once more. “Al-Khaled to landing party. Intruder alert. Klingons have entered the complex. Take appropriate defensive measures, and wait for the evacuation signal.”
A disruptor bolt tore into the rock behind his head, and al-Khaled ducked, looking over his shoulder to see the first of the Klingon soldiers rounding the bend several meters behind him. Recalling the layout of the underground complex, he knew that he was perhaps fifty meters from the main chamber, where Ming Xiong, the Tholian Nezrene, and other members of the landing party had spent the majority of their time working with centuries-old Shedai equipment. The large number of people working in that area and the activity taking place there would draw no small amount of attention, but al-Khaled saw no reason to lead his pursuers in that direction. He might be able to divert the Klingons, perhaps even buy his companions some extra time to secure the valuable research they were performing and ready their defense until they could be beamed to safety by the Lovell.
Another disruptor bolt struck the smooth wall to his left, and al-Khaled dodged to his right. Several meters ahead of him, an opening beckoned. He remembered that it was some kind of anteroom, empty of anything distinguishing as far as Shedai technology was concerned but offering another path toward the chamber in which Xiong and the others should be.
Whatever you’re going to do, do it now.
Stopping his headlong flight down the tunnel, al-Khaled turned and fired his phaser back the way he had come. He was not really trying to hit any of the Klingons but instead wanted to make them halt their pursuit and seek cover. He pressed the phaser’s firing stud again and again, unleashing a torrent of energy down the tunnel. Shadows flitted against the walls, indicating frantic movement as his pursuers stopped and threw themselves aside to avoid being hit.
You can’t win a standoff,his mind chided him. Do something.
Without really thinking about it, al-Khaled adjusted his phaser’s power setting before aiming the weapon at a spot along the tunnel’s roof several meters in front of him. When he fired this time, a thinner, more vibrant beam spat forth, penetrating the ceiling. He moved the continuous beam around in a rough approximation of a circle, and within seconds, the results of his effort became apparent as tons of loosened rock tumbled from the gap he had created. The sound of the avalanche cascaded through the confined space as rubble rained into the tunnel and quickly blocked the passageway.
Satisfied at his makeshift work while at the same time knowing that it would only slow the Klingons for a few moments at best, al-Khaled lunged through the opening in the tunnel wall and into the anteroom. Entrances to three tunnels converged here, and it took him a second to recall which one led to the main chamber. As he made his decision, he heard footsteps echoing in the narrow corridor just as a figure rounded a bend in the tunnel. It was Xiong, still wearing his Starfleet parka and carrying his phaser in his right hand while toting a satchel and his tricorder slung over his left shoulder. Behind him, Nezrene skittered along the tunnel’s smooth floor, trying to keep up. Another Starfleet crewman, an ensign named McCown from Xiong’s Vanguard-based research team, completed the haphazard group.
“Mahmud!” Xiong called out as he caught sight of al-Khaled. “What’s going on?”
Hooking a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the tunnel he had left behind, al-Khaled said, “Klingons. A pair of ships showed up and blasted three Tholian ships that were already giving the Lovelltrouble.” He nodded toward Nezrene. “The Tholians were after their friend there, but I have no idea what the Klingons are after.”
“Are we evacuating?” asked McCown, his expression one of unfettered worry, his breath coming in rapid gasps, visible in the tunnel’s chilled air.
Al-Khaled said, “Any time now, I’d think. We need to keep moving, though. The Lovellwill home in on our communicators.” Something crashed in the tunnel behind him, and he turned at the sound. “They’re breaking through the barricade I made. We need to get out of here—now.” Pointing toward the other tunnels leading from the anteroom, he said, “That way.” The first heavy footfalls echoed in the passageway, and al-Khaled saw shadows on the walls. “Move!”
Nezrene was the first to enter one of the tunnels, and al-Khaled was right behind her when the first disruptor bolts screamed through the chamber. He heard the energy of the blasts tearing into the smooth walls even before the guttural cries of anger and determination reached his ears. He turned and saw two of the Klingons entering the anteroom, and he fired his phaser, sending them dodging for cover. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Xiong running down another of the tunnels, with McCown following him. Then vicious crimson energy tore through the air and plowed into the ensign, punching a hole through the man’s parka and ripping into his back. McCown howled in agony, stumbling over his own feet and crashing to the ground in a disjointed heap.
“No!”
Al-Khaled’s cry drew the Klingons’ attention, and they turned toward him, once more raising their weapons. He fired at them again, and one of his shots hit a soldier in his left shoulder and spun him around, carrying him off his feet and sending him to the tunnel floor. His companion ducked, and al-Khaled fired after him, missing but giving himself enough time to scamper down the corridor.
He heard the sounds of the Klingons’ remaining companions plunging into the tunnel behind him, but he did not turn to look. Instead, he ran at full speed down the corridor, sprinting in an effort to catch up with Nezrene. A frantic beeping echoed off the narrow walls, and al-Khaled realized that it was his communicator. The next instant, he felt the distinctive tingle of a transporter beam beginning to envelop him.
Al-Khaled materialized in one of the Lovell’s transporter rooms, confronted by the anguished face of the crew member on duty, Ensign Brian O’Halloran. Standing just off the transporter pad were other members of the landing party, no doubt retrieved just before his beam-up. To his right on the transporter pad was Nezrene, and lying on the floor to his left was the unmoving form of Ensign McCown.
“Medic!” al-Khaled shouted as he knelt down next to McCown, his fingers reaching for the younger man’s throat in search of a pulse while he tried not to think too much about the ghastly wound in his back. Other members of the landing party stepped forward in a bid to help, but he ignored them, just as he only partially heard O’Halloran calling into the intercom and requesting that a medical team be dispatched to the transporter room. Nothing else mattered, not while he madly probed McCown’s neck for a pulse.