A Call to Darkness - Michael Jan Friedman [80]
And then, suddenly, he saw something dark and massive looming up before him. The wall-they were going to crash into the wall!
A spark of reason welled up in the darkness of his fury. He leapt from the sled, unsure of where the ground was-but certain he would rather fall a long way than strike the stone barrier at that speed.
As it turned out, Worf did not have far to fall at all. He hit the ground hard, but not that hard-rolled and sought his bearings.
If the marshal was going to be destroyed, he wanted to savor the moment. His aching hatred demanded it.
But in saving himself, he had rescued the sky rider as well. One moment, the sled seemed doomed to hit the top of the wall; the next, it rose just high enough to skim past it. With Worf aboard, it never could have done that.
Nor did the marshal deign to look back at his tormentor. He merely continued ascending, past the keep and into the storm.
The Klingon burned with his failure. Again he had proven he was no true warrior-he had fallen short of the kill.
However, he was too spent to roar at his squandered chance for revenge. Too drained to bellow anymore at the sky.
In the lee of the walls, all was confusion. Those still standing milled about the bodies, lost and without purpose. Somehow, the siege no longer seemed so urgent.
Worf spat out blood from beneath his visor, picked up an ax lying on the ground-to replace the weapon he seemed to have left behind.
He would try to understand all of this later on. Right now, he just wanted a dry place to lick his wounds.
Data had materialized not fifty yards from the Klah’kimmbri control facility-a large, gray box of a building that stood by itself on a high, windswept plateau.
There was no door in either of the walls visible to him, so he circumnavigated and stuck his head around a corner.
Sure enough, the entranceway was now in sight. And it was guarded by two armed Klah’kimmbri.
Data was armed also-though his weapon was not functional. Ignorant of the technology that went into Klah’kimmbri firearms, the Enterprise’s computer had been able to fashion only a hollow duplicate-to go along with the rest of his disguise.
In any case, the android wasn’t depending on force to get him what he wanted. Rather, he was hopeful that he could accomplish that through subterfuge.
On that note, and without further reflection, Data left his hiding place and made his approach. He attempted to simulate an air of confidence.
The guards didn’t seem to notice him at first. Perhaps they did not expect anyone to approach from this direction. Or, for that matter, to approach at all.
When they did notice him, however, they instinctively drew their weapons. He did not think it prudent to respond in kind; rather, he continued his inexorable but unhurried advance.
Within a few seconds, they must have recognized him as one of their own, for they restored their weapons to their belts. Rather quickly, in fact.
The disguise, it seemed, had worked. So far, so good.
Now, however, came what Commander Riker had dubbed “the tough part.” Once engaged in conversation, Data knew, he might have to produce any number of details concerning his supposed life and career on A’klah. Indeed, thanks to his research, the time he had spent learning the Klah’kimmbri language and the extensive briefing he’d had with the first officer, the android could recite a long though somewhat sketchy personal history-from his earliest beginnings to his current need for information on certain conscripts.
“Greetings,” he said, stopping before the guards. “Perhaps you can help me.”
One of them answered immediately-almost before Data had completed his sentence.
“Certainly, Revered One. Would you like to see the Coordinator?”
Revered One? Data noticed now that the guard stood rather rigidly-with his hands at his sides and his eyes averted. Likewise, his companion.
Had they mistaken the android for someone else? If so, for whom?