The boarding tube is a force-field cylinder, tethering the mission pod to the hull of the ship. The parameters of the tube... concern me, somewhat. Damage from the collision has shifted it to a backup power supply - and, I am painfully aware, Vansittaert has controls at the other end which can simply turn it off. Well. Transporter operations are still impossible, so this is the only way in. I must take it.
I hit the main switch, and the door behind me closes, as the one before me swings open.
There is a walkway - a collapsible, extensible thing, metal plates slung between wires, more guide wires at waist height. I step gingerly onto the first plate. It bears my weight easily enough. The ship's artificial gravity field is being conducted along the force field walls.... Those walls are blue and sparkling, nearly transparent, and beyond them I can see space and stars. The anomaly has ceased to radiate in visible light. I have a terrible suspicion that that is a bad sign.
The docking tube is perhaps a hundred and fifty metres long, and at the far end, I can see another doorway... and, in front of it, a hulking humanoid shape. I snarl, and draw my phaser, and send a burning orange bolt squarely down the length of the tube.
The figure does not fall. I fire again. The figure does not even move. It must be Premaratne, there is no other reasonable explanation. And his cyborg augmentation must include personal shielding, strong enough that a hand weapon cannot penetrate it.
I toss the phaser back into the airlock chamber. It is no use to me, and if Premaratne seizes it, I am not immune to it - I scowl, and advance.
The metal plates shift and sway beneath my feet, the guide wires sing from strain. I try not to think about what will happen if they fail.
Premaratne remains motionless as I advance. I have heard quite enough about him, but this is the first time I have seen him. He is massive, ponderous. Human martial arts styles mostly emphasize swiftness, precision, balance; there are a few exceptions, such as the one they call sumo. But I must not expect him to fight like a human. He is most likely trained, even programmed, with moves from the Klingon and the Gorn martial traditions, ones which emphasize strength, power, endurance.
Yes. He will be a martial artist of great skill, bigger than me, stronger than me, armed and armoured in ways I am not. This will be an honourable battle. My challenge, then, is to make it a victorious one.
"This ship is under Starfleet jurisdiction," I snap at him, once I am close enough for him to hear me. "You and your employer are under arrest, on charges of illicit experimentation and the false imprisonment of a Starfleet officer. Stand down."
He looks at me calmly with those mismatched eyes of his. Well, I knew it would not work, but it had to be said. Duty demanded it.
"Captain Surella." His voice, though low-pitched, is surprisingly mild. "I regret that I may not comply with your instructions. My employer is about to begin the final phase of his operations. He must not be inconvenienced in any way."
"Stand aside," I snarl at him.
"You must know," he says, still in a maddeningly reasonable voice, "that Mr. Vansittaert's intentions are wholly beneficent. Captain, I must request you, in the strongest possible terms, to desist from interfering. I cannot answer for the consequences if you remain obdurate."
I have no words for him, now, only a hiss of rage.
Premaratne sighs. "As you wish," he says, and moves.
He moves fast. A Ferasan pounce move, seemingly impossible with that heavy frame and ungainly limbs - but the servos in his body make him fast as a Ferasan. But his body turns slightly, and his left arm comes around - A Gorn-style power grab. I was right about his programming.
Unfortunately, predicting it is one thing, avoiding it is another. I throw myself forward, colliding with his massive boulder of a belly, pummelling him savagely - then I duck aside, away from his encircling arm. My blows have no effect. And I am not quite fast enough - he does not get a grip, but his fingertips pluck at my shoulder -
Instant agony flares through me, followed by numbness. Stun field inducers, built into his fingertips - I stagger into the guide wire, and my feet stumble on the metal plates, and suddenly I am falling. My right arm is numbed, paralysed, useless. I reach out, desperate, with my left hand, catch the edge of a metal plate -
And I am dangling, one-handed, from the walkway, with the force field sparkling beneath me, and Premaratne turns to look down at me with mismatched green eyes.
He raises one spatulate foot above my straining fingertips.
My flailing feet touch the force field, and with a desperate effort I jack-knife my body, throw one leg over the walkway, snatch my hand aside just before the foot descends. The walkway rocks and bounces with the force of the impact, and I give a wordless yell, catch myself before I fall, and roll, clumsily, into him as he tries to regain his balance.
He gives a grunt of surprise - I have achieved that much, at least - and catches himself on the waist-high guide wire -
There is a high, thin, metallic sound as it breaks.
Premaratne falls forwards, and I swing my other leg clear of his snatching hands. His massive frame crashes into the force field, and there is a sudden blast of freezing air.
Too dense. He is too dense, with all that mass of machinery and power cells and armour inside him, and the tube's controlling computer is not quick enough to switch out of low-power mode and reinforce the field. Accompanied by a scream of escaping air, Premaratne falls through the force field wall and drifts, slowly, into the void beyond. After a moment, I can see his last breath escaping from his mouth, leaving a comet-trail of frozen vapours behind as he spins lazily away into space.
Trembling, I haul myself upright. The force field is stabilizing, though the drop in air pressure has made everything very cold. Sensation is returning to my right arm - pins and needles, as the stunned nerves begin to function again. I flex my fingers. I wish I had not.
Focus. I am a Starfleet officer and a Klingon warrior. Focus. Pain is not important. Not while I have my duty.
No time to go back for the phaser. I still have my mek'leth - I did not even draw it against Premaratne, I knew it would be useless. I draw it now. I will face down Vansittaert with my weapon in my hand.
The walkway sags a little, but remains stable while I reach the hatchway.
It is locked. No matter. This is a standard design, it takes me only a moment to find the manual override and hand-crank the door open. The exercise even makes my right arm feel a little better.
I take a firm grip on the mek'leth, step into the airlock, close the outer door behind me. The inner one opens automatically, now.
Beyond it -
A huge hollow space, with a walkway around the middle, and on the opposite side from me, I see Vansittaert, and M'eioi, and others. And, thankfully, besides the circular walkway around the room, there is a narrow catwalk cutting straight across the middle.
Vansittaert screams something as I charge, along the catwalk, straight towards him.
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