A Call to Darkness - Michael Jan Friedman [84]
“You should have escaped while you had the chance,” said Ralak’kai. “Both of you.”
Picard shook his head, though his friend couldn’t see it. “No. I couldn’t just leave you here-not after what you’d done for me.”
Ralak’kai grunted. “And look at the results.”
“I didn’t hear you protesting at the time,” said Picard. “In any case, I really thought we would make it. If you’re looking for a brave fool, it’s our friend here.”
“Geordi,” said the dark man.
“Geordi,” repeated Ralak’kai, by way of a greeting.
“Pleased to meet you. My name is Picard. And my traveling companion is called Ralak’kai.”
“And we thank you for helping us,” added the goldeneyed one. “Or rather, for trying to help us.”
Geordi shrugged. “I had to, I guess. It didn’t seem right-your being prisoners and all.”
“Don’t downplay it,” said Ralak’kai. “It was heroic.”
“Yes,” said Picard. “You’re a hero, Geordi. We are all heroes, each having risked his life for one of the others. And now that we have established that, can we find something more practical to talk about?”
Geordi laughed. It was a rich, full laugh-out of place in such stark environs.
“Neither of you seem too broken up about your imprisonment,” he noted. “If I’d known you were so content, I might not have been tempted to rescue you.”
“Don’t mistake our banter for jubilation,” said Ralak’kai. “We would still rather be free-like the others.”
“Agreed,” said Picard. He sighed. “Although it is good to know that at least some of us made it over the bridge.”
He looked back at the train of wagons behind them. Of course, his remark was an understatement-they were the only prisoners left.
It had been a good night’s work.
But there weren’t likely to be any other nights like it. Having been burned once, their guards weren’t going to be so lax a second time.
“Incidentally,” said Geordi, “does anyone have any idea of where we’re going?”
“Unfortunately,” answered Ralak’kai, “no.”
“Nor,” said Picard, “do we know what is intended for us when we get there.”
The dark man nodded. “I see.”
Picard still hadn’t decided if that metallic-looking band around the upper half of Geordi’s face was part of him or not. At first glance, with only the stars to see by, he had assumed that the thing was some sort of sensory appendage.
In the daylight, however, it was apparent that the band was something Geordi wore. Though for the life of him, Picard couldn’t guess the purpose of it-or, for that matter, how he could see with that thing covering his eyes.
“Obviously,” Ralak’kai told the newcomer, “your people have excellent manners-wherever it is you come from.”
Geordi looked at him. “Why do you say that?”
Ralak’kai smiled a little. “You haven’t asked me about my resemblance to the marshals.” He indicated Picard with a tilt of his head. “My friend here had hardly introduced himself when he inquired about that.”
Picard harumphed, getting into the spirit of the exchange. Anything to keep from thinking about what would happen to them at their journey’s end. “How impolite of me.”
“Actually,” said Geordi, “I had wondered about it. Did you… I mean, do you…?”
“Have any idea why it should be?” Ralak’kai shook his head. “Not the least clue. Perhaps you can guess-we seem to have exhausted all our theories.”
Geordi settled back to think about it.
They passed the better part of the day chewing the subject to the bone before they let it drop. By then, they had emerged from the far end of the valley, and spotted the distant fortress that made that other one seem tiny by comparison.
It was late. Dan’nor was surprised by the knock on the door.
Ice water trickled the length of his spine. We’ve been found out. The Civil Service has come to get me.
He composed himself, opened the door-and breathed a sigh of relief. It was Ma’alor.
He came in without being invited, made his way to a chair. Dan’nor closed the door, noted the look in Ma’alor’s eyes. There was no mistaking it, even in the dim light.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. Something about