TOS 97 - In the Name of Honor (c) by Star Trek

Author:Star Trek [Star Trek]
Language: deu
Format: epub
Tags: \Star Trek
Publisher: Simon & Schuster
Published: 2011-01-02T07:59:14.758000+00:00

Chapter Twenty-one

“MOQLAH!” Garrovick’s warning came too late as Trel sensed the Klingon guard’s movements. Moqlah realized he’d been caught just as the Romulan swept the drill around to face him.

Fiery red energy belched forth once again and Moqlah dove to his right, barely able to avoid being sliced in half by the drill’s beam. The Klingon still caught a glancing strike, the beam cutting past the heavy material of his uniform tunic and across his back. Moqlah crashed to the ground, writhing in agony.

It took only seconds for Garrovick to reach the fallen guard, the unmistakable stench of burned flesh assaulting his nostrils for a second time as he knelt to inspect the Klingon’s wound. The laser drill had burned through Moqlah’s uniform and had scorched skin and muscle all the way down to the bones of his rib cage.

His face clouded in pain, Moqlah managed to croak out a weak question. “What . . . what are you doing, human?”

“Repaying a favor,” Garrovick replied as he tore part of his own coverall sleeve loose. Turning the fabric inside out, he hoped it was clean enough to be used as a field-expedient bandage. It was still better than allowing the open wound to remain exposed to contamination in the dust-riddled cavern.

As he applied the makeshift dressing, Garrovick heard footsteps in front of him just before the sound of the laser drill firing came again. Red energy and dirt exploded from the ground in front of him and he fell back, bringing his hands up to protect his face.

When he looked up again, it was to see Trel standing perhaps fifteen meters away, the muzzle of the drill aimed directly at him. The other two Romulans had joined him, still carrying the stun batons they had liberated from owners who would never need them again.

Garrovick recognized one of the newcomers as the one he and his companions had nicknamed “Scarface,” due to the prominent crisscross of puckered flesh highlighting his forehead and cheekbones. He was one of several prisoners the Gagarin survivors had learned to keep an eye on, due to his propensity for picking fights with other inmates and his professed dislike of humans.

As for the second Romulan, Garrovick knew his face but not his name. Still, there was no mistaking the malevolent grin creasing the prisoner’s mouth.

Trel regarded Garrovick for a moment, his dark eyes offering no insight into what he might be thinking. Garrovick became aware of the fact that he was silently counting the seconds that passed as the two men faced off. Was his mind checking off the final moments of his life?

Instead of killing Garrovick, the Romulan turned his attention to Moqlah, who was still a limp, disjointed heap on the ground and who Garrovick saw was beginning to display the initial symptoms of shock.

“The Klingon dog still lives,” Trel said. The muzzle of the laser drill moved to aim at Moqlah.

Moqlah sneered back, his expression defiant despite the pain that Garrovick knew must be racking his body.

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