A Call to Darkness - Michael Jan Friedman [34]
And then, just as she was about to finish up, the flying machine homed in on the scaly one-an attempt to obtain a closer appreciation of his agony. In the process, it brushed against her shoulder. There was something about its ghoulish eagerness, its cold, metallic touch…
Seized by revulsion, she couldn’t help herself. She lashed out, battering the thing aside with her clenched fist. It was lighter than it looked-her swipe sent it bobbling halfway across the enclosure, glancing off a metal support before it could stabilize itself. A little puff of white smoke rose from its casing, and it seemed to drop a couple of inches toward the floor. Then, like a whipped house pet, it wove its way out of the enclosure.
Pulaski felt a rush of satisfaction.
But it was short-lived. She had a patient to attend to-one who actually had a decent chance at survival. Willing her tired fingers to perform the necessary maneuvers, she tied off another stitch.
Chapter Eight
IT HAD WORKED.
Not at first, of course. Riker had had to wait two ship’s days and more before there was any sign that he had guessed right.
And then, just like that, the mantle disappeared-revealing your average Class M planet in all its cloud-swaddled glory.
A cheer went up on the bridge. The first officer felt a tension go out of him that he hadn’t realized was there in the first place. Was I really screwed up that tight? he asked himself.
“Congratulations,” said Troi, meaning every syllable of it. Her smile was inexpressibly lovely.
Nor could he suppress a grin himself. But that was quite all right. Hell, he’d earned it, hadn’t he?
Of course, in retrospect, it only made sense that the energy field couldn’t have been maintained indefinitely. It had to take enormous amounts of power to keep something that vast in operation.
But when he had first decided to try his little ploy-to make it look as though they’d turned tail, abandoning their comrades in the face of the Council’s threat… at that point, it had still seemed like an iffy proposition.
For one thing, the Klah’kimmbri’s methods of energy generation might have been a good deal more efficient than he’d anticipated. Or, as unlikely as it appeared, the mantle might have been a natural phenomenon after all.
Finally-and this had been his main cause for concern-the Klah’kimmbri might not have fallen for his act. They might instead have opted for a sophisticated game of chicken, waiting to see which gave out first-their energy-production or Riker’s patience.
Without any encouragement that the mantle would eventually lapse, he would have had to try something else. But in two-plus days of racking his brain, he hadn’t come up with an alternative plan that he could live with.
Now, he realized gratefully, he would no longer have to.
“Mister Crusher,” he said, “initiate long-range sensor scan. The first order of business is a population distribution profile. Then we can make some educated guesses as to where our people are being held.”
“Aye, sir,” came the eager response. Wesley was as excited as anyone that the waiting game was behind them.
“Mister Fong,” said the first officer. “See what you can find in the way of surface communications.”
“Will do,” said Fong. “Initiating monitor sequences now.”
“Thank you. Mister Data?”
The android peered at Riker over his shoulder. “Sir?”
“I want you to take charge of correlating and interpreting whatever information we dig up. We need a point man, and it appears you’re the best equipped.”
Data swiveled in his chair. He looked a little confused. “Point man, sir?”
“Coordinator,” suggested Riker. If he hadn’t been stretched so thin, he would have thought twice before using slang with his android officer.
“Ah,” said Data. “Yes. Of course. I should have deduced as much from the context.”
“No,” said the first officer. “It was my fault.” In the next breath, he arranged for a relief officer at the Ops console, so the android could move back to Science One. Then he gave the necessary orders to Fong and Wesley, so