TOS 75 - First Frontier by Star Trek

Author:Star Trek [Star Trek]
Language: deu
Format: epub
Tags: \Star Trek
Published: 2011-01-02T07:58:52.215000+00:00

Chapter 26 "DON'T move! Don't fire! Hold your fire! Idiots!" Oya shrieked at the spikers, but they weren't listening. The two males had come barreling out of the bushes toward the enemy outpost, drawn by the scent of smoke, cooking fish, and dead flesh. If they weren't held back, the smell of blood would drive them wild and she would have no hope at all of controlling them. The spikers were lathered, moving on the imperative with princelike unresttaint, jumping beautifully, ducking, charging, making perft targets. Children! Males! They had never fought against Starfleet before. They would give away in seconds that there were only the three of them. Their attack would dissolve a-Sust opponents of this aliber. The air detonated a few strides from her, a barbaric flash that frightened her into falling back. A few Paces away, one of the spikers fell back, too, blinking and desperately scraping hot sparks from his fa. Cautiously lifting her head, Oya sniffed at the air. Alcohol. Where in this jungle had the Starfleet people found alcohol? While Rusa and those other fools had been playing games with loal animals and being slaughtered for it, the Starfleeters had scraped an explosive out of the past! Clang --a stone-bladed weapon fell against Pae barrel of an energy pistol, and Oya turned in time to see one of the humans charge a spiker with some sort of spear. The spiker's energy pistol flew out of his grip and skidded into the moss. The other humans were shouting, driving the spiker back. He had allowed himself to be pressed up against the opening of the humans' camp, and now he was paying for it in having no room to maneuver. Leveling her own weapon, Oya selected a target: the Vulcan among them. He was an oilocr, a commander, and his loss would debilitate them. All at once, across the breadth of the cavern mouth, she saw a glint of amber gold illuminated by the flash of another alcohol bomb. Oya scoured her memory for Starfleet color codes. Amber-- Their captain! If she could cut his legs off, slice him in half, the enemy team would be crushed. Humans were nothing without their leaders, without ancestors and histories on which to stack their confidence. She pivoted to change her aim. She shook her head. How often her culture talked about killing, crowed about strength, about massacres, about conquest--but it was all talk, all howling in the night! The Clan would have to possess more than talk if the future were to be taken. Bracing her good leg on a mass of roots, she narrowed one eye for focus and settled lightly on her resting bone. She tilted her bulky hindquarters toward the braced leg, angled her shoulders, lay her head back on her curved neck, held her breath, and fired. Chemical green energy broke from the muzzle of her pistol and split the hanging moss bundles directly in front of her, not random and slanted like the spikers' careless shots, but level with the ground.

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