Fallen

[Sorehl 0]

The engineering console had been destroyed by the same forced polaron barrage that had downed the Jem’Hadar soldier who’d been standing beside it. As he hit the deck on one knee, Sorehl had little time to appreciate the irony that the weapon was being brandished by yet another, newly-arriving Jem’Hadar. Sparks and debris rained down around him, sprinkling the carpeting of the Sovereign-class bridge.

 

There was little time for logical thought. Polaron bursts streaked across the bridge as the two factions of Dominion soldiers opened up on each other, oblivious to the Excalibur officers among them. Sorehl lunged forward, past the vacant portside station, bounding his dense Vulcan mass into the solder who had fired in his direction. Shoving the enemy weapon upward, they slammed against the forward viewscreen, sliding down onto the deck.

 

Sorehl felt the primitive, violent instincts trickle in through his fingertips as they grappled for the rifle. Only his vaunted Vulcan strength kept him from being overpowered by the Jem’Hadar’s impressive maneuvers, as the weapon fired harmlessly into the concave ceiling. More debris rained down. They rolled inward, towards the helm, as the Dominion solder hefted him to his feet and drove a knee fiercely into his midsection. He felt the crack of bone as he clutched to the rifle, finally wrenching it free from the Jem’Hadar’s grasp as he tumbled backward.

 

Clearly irritated, the soldier drew its shortened kar’takin polearm from its back, flipping it into both hands. Sorehl swung the rifle up, but the Jem’Hadar moved swiftly, slicing down through the Vulcan’s uniform and into the flesh of his forearm. The tendons laid open, Sorehl’s fingers opened involuntarily, dropping the weapon uselessly to the deck.

 

Gripping his bloodied arm, he lowered his shoulder, preparing to barrel under the returning swing. True to form, the Jem’Hadar slashed upward, but was backlit by the lancing energy of a phaser from across the bridge. Sorehl continued forward, carrying the Dominion soldier against the helm, where he clattered and slumped to the deck.

 

Taking a pause to survey his situation, he exerted pressure against the warm, green blood oozing between his fingers. The Klingon who’d fired from across the bridge had already turned his attention to another target. Other Jem’Hadar were grappling, making it nearly impossible to tell which faction was which. The few stray weapons shots were almost random, sailing across the bridge at both Dominion and Starfleet targets.

 

Except one, he saw. Semil. The Vorta was crouched beside the center chair, issuing orders over his virtual link. The renegades were either ignoring him, Sorehl reasoned, or intent on capturing him unharmed. A tactical advantage they must exploit, an inner voice told him. He took a faltering step toward Admiral Day, who had maintained his position at center, before the polaron burst hit his lower back.

 

Despite his training, his teeth grit with the pain. He was already in control of it by the time he crumbled against the Ops console, but by then, he felt the heart in his abdomen already tighten and flutter. His legs, somehow, were buckling as they lost sensation. If he could just, his thoughts raced as he lost consciousness.

 

* * * * *

 

A force field whined as he woke with a disoriented start. He lay on a biobed, his movement restricted. Muscles protested his sudden movement. It was a Federation facility, not Dominion.

 

A nurse entered the private room as the door hissed open. “The monitor said you were awake,” she greeted pleasantly.

 

“The ship,” he spoke, his voice somewhat gravelly. “The Dominion boarded…”

 

“Things have calmed down, sir. Please try to rest,” she instructed.

 

He glanced around again. “But why am I isolated? Restrained?” he asked. Injuries were usually treated in the main sickbay, which shared a common room.

 

“You’re going to need some recovery, sir. You were in surgery for quite some time.” She paused. “I’ll get the doctor.”

 

“Please advise the Admiral…” he added.

 

“One thing at a time, sir,” she countered, withdrawing from the room.

Edited June 20, 2004 by Sorehl