The Murdered Sun Ch. 16: Paris Fights for the Slaves as Destroyer Closes In

Star Trek: Voyager #6 - The Murdered Sun
By Christie Golden
Copyright 1996

Previous: Voyager’s Sun-Eater Gamble
Next: Janeway’s Science Fight

Chapter 16 is pure ground-combat tension. Paris is not a action hero in a movie. He is a pilot doing a rescue under two g gravity, a dead arm, and zero backup from Voyager. The Verunans fight beside him. And when it looks like they made it, Kaavi spots the Destroyer coming straight at them.

The landing pad firefight

Kaavi begs Paris to be careful. The airlock closes on her worried face. Paris checks his phaser rifle and tricorder. Guards, prisoners, rescuers all mapped out.

Red energy whizzes past. He ducks, stumbles on the heavy suit, and the misstep saves him. Another shot blasts the rock where he stood. He fires back. The armored guard slips behind a boulder.

Other shots fly. Five Verunan ships landed. Ten pilots tumble out. Five stay to guard each vessel. Miweni, the oldest pilot, goes down almost immediately. His crew hauls him back inside. Scared but determined. That is the whole mood.

Paris waves them forward. Long legs not built for dense gravity. Weapons they have never fired at living targets. They still move in formation. One Verunan drops a guard who pops up. The Akerian falls and his fellows ignore him. That is the difference between these peoples in one image.

Four guards. One down. Paris is not here to win a shootout. He runs for the bunker while blasts kick up dust around his boots. Nine Verunans follow.

The changed code

The black metal door looms. Paris pulls up the entry code Kim stole from Akerian computers. He punches it in.

Nothing.

Sweat under the helmet. He tries again. The door beeps angrily.

“They changed the damn code,” he tells Miweni. Keep the guards off them. He will crack it with the tricorder.

Blasting in is not an option. This door leads to an airlock. Without it, anyone inside without a suit dies instantly.

The tricorder spins alien symbols. Two numbers found. Five. Six. Seven.

Behind him, guards redirect fire from the ships to the group at the door. Another Verunan goes down. His friend spins and drops the shooter. Still alive, but needs treatment soon. No beaming. Voyager is not even close.

Paris makes a call. When the airlock opens, get the injured inside and stay with him. The rest grab the slaves. Pick up both on the way back.

Seven numbers. Click. The door opens.

“Inside, let’s go!”

They rush in. One Verunan hauls the wounded pilot. A guard charges the closing door. Paris drops and fires through the crack. Door slams shut. Manual override clicks from outside. Paris and two Verunans muscle a metal bar into the override slot. Blocked.

Second door. Code changed here too. Tricorder again.

“This is an airlock,” Paris explains while it works. “Atmosphere inside will match Veruna Four. Easier movement. More guards on the other side. Be ready.”

Miweni locates the slaves on tricorder. Down the corridor, first intersection, first room on the left.

Door opens. No guards visible. Paris does not like it.

Ambush inside

Paris knows Akerian arrogance. Linneas probably never warned the planet in time. Guards had maybe an hour since Victory and Destroyer returned. Enough for the landing pad and a code change. Not enough for elaborate traps.

Most likely ambush in the two rooms Miweni named. He tells the team. They fan out.

Three. Two. One.

Paris jumps and fires on heavy stun. Right call. They were waiting, six per room. Paris drops three, then pain shoots up his left arm. Suit seals instantly but the arm is useless. He rolls as another shot screams past.

Verunan weapons, deeper and louder than phasers, drop the rest. A strong hand lifts Paris like he weighs nothing.

More combat ahead. Guards from the second room attack. Two Verunans go down. One minor injury. One chest wound that is not minor. Akerians are not on stun.

Paris keeps moving. Whoever fell would not want to die for nothing.

Two more guards drop to combined fire. Miweni reads tricorder: slaves just ahead, turn right.

“No, wait!” Too late. The forward group already rounded the corner. Paris catches up, expecting bodies. Instead, Verunans stand over two stunned guards. Relief and quiet grief at how fast they learned to fight.

Seventeen slaves and a race back

The slave room door needs a physical key, not a code. A pilot pats down a fallen guard, finds the metal chunk, gets Paris’s nod, inserts it. Click. Light flashes. Shoulders against the door. It swings.

Seventeen Verunans stare back. Suspicious eyes widen at Paris. They think he is some new Akerian punishment. Then Miweni is recognized. “My mate!” A female runs into his arms. Paris cuts through the chatter.

Ships are waiting. Those in envirosuits stay suited. The rest get ETCs, emergency body bags that seal into portable environments. Fourteen can walk. Miweni and two others escort them. Two stay to help with the injured.

Firing echoes in the corridor. Paris hopes it is outside guards, not reinforcements.

He loads three sick slaves into ETCs with help. Thin ribs through soft fur. Rheumy amber eyes. Labored breathing. One barely conscious on the floor. Huge trust from people who have never seen a human.

Pain in his arm threatens to break focus. He wills it back. Silence. Then Miweni’s voice: others are aboard, most guards down, the rest retreated.

Gift horse, mouth, all that. “Let’s get the hell out of here!”

They run through corridors littered with unconscious Akerian guards. Verunan dead and injured already carried away by their friends. ETCs in tow, long legs eat distance. Miweni hangs back with Paris. Moving.

Coast clear. Shuttle. Airlock. Pressure returns. Gasping.

Kaavi explodes from nowhere, helps remove his helmet, hugs him. White lightning through the injured arm. He grins anyway, stumbles to the cockpit.

“Everybody aboard safely?” Chorus of ayes. “Then let’s get off this planet!”

Lift off. Five Verunan vessels follow. Space. Finally.

Paris leans back and closes his eyes. Ahead of schedule. Wait here for Voyager. His arm hurts badly. Sickbay cannot come soon enough.

“Paris?”

“Yes, Kaavi?”

“I think we may have trouble.”

Eyes snap open. Adrenaline hits.

Kaavi is right. The Destroyer moves toward them with speedy purpose.

What this chapter delivers

Golden puts you in the suit with Paris. The tricorder countdown is genuinely stressful. The Verunans are not background extras. They learn combat in real time and it costs them.

And the ending flips relief into dread in one line. The rescue worked. The Destroyer did not get the memo.

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