A Call to Darkness - Michael Jan Friedman [100]
But the thought vanished in the midst of more immediate concerns. Strange, wasn’t it? He had always hoped to make it to the Conflict zones-to be in the thick of the action. And now he was-though not the way he’d originally intended.
Rin’noc joined him, then Ka’asot. On the far side of the mountain, near the point where the wall curved around and met the slope, Ma’alor’s party was ready also. They were waiting for him to make his move.
Taking a deep breath, Dan’nor slithered down from the trail, blaster in hand. Fortunately, the battlements were all but unguarded-a measure of the marshals’ confidence. A single figure leaned against the stones of the wall, watching the proceedings in the courtyard.
Dan’nor’s aim was perfect-the marshal never knew what hit him. Nor did any of the other sky riders notice as he crumpled.
Slowly, with great care, Dan’nor led the way along the battlements. He took up the point farthest away from the mountain, waited for Rin’noc and Ka’asot to establish themselves. Then, when he was sure that they were as secure as they could be, he opened fire on the uniformed figures below.
It was the signal for Ma’alor’s group to come down off the mountain.
The plan was working. With Dan’nor and the others attracting all the attention, it had been simplicity itself to slip into the fortress and find an open entrance to the keep.
Ma’alor had seemed nervous when he armed the Klingon with an extra blaster-even if it was permanently set on stun. Even now, he kept glancing over his shoulder-to make sure that Worf was still on their side.
But the Klingon no longer had any doubts as to where his loyalties belonged. Anyone who wanted to thwart the intentions of the marshals was worth helping, as far as he was concerned.
And if he really was liberating someone he had known on a ship somewhere… all the better.
The first corridor they came to was empty-as was the second, which ran at an angle to it. Blind luck? Or a trap?
When they turned into their third passageway, and there was still no sign of a defender, Ma’alor was becoming suspicious as well.
“Something’s wrong,” he said. “Where is everyone?”
Nurel’lid shook his head, baffled.
“I don’t know either,” said Pulaski. “But I’ll feel better if we keep moving.” She had declined a blaster-a good idea, Worf told himself. The doctor did not look at all comfortable in this endeavor.
As Pulaski suggested, however, they kept moving. A fourth corridor proved to be as empty of resistance as the first three.
And then, on the verge of yet another turning, they heard voices.
“…do not understand. I thought you had been alerted to my mission here.”
“I was not alerted to your mission. And without word from the Conflicts Commander himself, I cannot allow the prisoners to be removed.”
The first voice seemed cold, dispassionate; the second was controlled but seething with emotion underneath.
“A laudable sentiment-laudable indeed. However, I have my orders as well. And they call for the prisoners to be removed to a more secure location.”
“What? Are you telling me that Dov’rellir is less than secure?”
“I would not presume to disparage your efforts here. Nonetheless, there are places less vulnerable to the expected rescue attempt.”
“Rescue attempt?” The voice had climbed an octave. Its control was failing.
“You have not been warned about the rescue attempt? Someone has not been doing his job.” A pause. “After the transport of the prisoners is completed, I will have to investigate this matter…”
Pulaski turned to Worf. Her face was a study in apprehension. Her lips formed two words: “They know.”
Worf nodded. It seemed that their mission had been anticipated.
Yet their plan had thus far gone without a hitch. They had gotten this far-expected or not, they had to forge ahead.
Ma’alor, the closest to the turning, glanced over his shoulder at the rest of them. He still appeared determined. Or was that a glimmer of doubt in his eyes? A sign that he was