A Call to Darkness - Michael Jan Friedman [91]
“It’s all right,” said Geordi, taking a step in the other human’s direction. Apparently, he’d heard the sound of the weapon being withdrawn. “Don’t push him-I can live without it.”
Nonetheless, Picard was about to press his suit-when one of the warriors stooped to pick up the metal band. Without hesitating, he went over to the dark man and placed it in his hands. Then, still silent, he went back to his place by the wagons.
Nor did the marshals make him pay for his benevolence. There was a large number of warriors in the courtyard right now-perhaps the sky riders thought it unwise to antagonize them.
In any case, they waited long enough for Geordi to slip his device back into place. But no longer.
A third time, Picard felt a prod from behind. Except that this time, it was with the barrel of a blaster.
“Go on,” said the marshal who wielded it. “Give me an excuse.”
But the human didn’t give it to him. He no longer had a reason to. He walked as best he could across the remainder of the courtyard, until he was swallowed by the stone-cold maw of the keep.
Chapter Seventeen
PAY DIRT!
Riker himself directed the security force that ushered the Mendel survivors off the transporter platform. Troi was there, too, to help assure them that they were in a safe place-a friendly place.
It had been apparent from the second the survivors materialized that Riker’s hypothesis had been accurate: they had absolutely no idea of where they were. Their memories were gone-though with some rehab therapy, they would probably get most of them back.
To compound their confusion, they had been beamed up without any warning-another quick-as-blazes, get-in-and-get-out maneuver, which brought the ship within transporter range for just the few moments they needed. Fortunately, though they were pushing their luck pretty hard, there was still no sign that the Klah’kimmbri had spotted them.
As Riker scanned the survivors’ faces, he felt a little rush of vindication. Sure, they looked scared and uncertain. But they were alive. And if he’d listened to Burtin, they would probably have died by the time another rescue vessel showed up.
Not that it made the doctor’s warning any less valid. But it was a victory-and Riker felt he’d earned the right to revel in it. Victories of any sort had been exceedingly rare since they’d arrived in the vicinity of A’klah.
It was also good to know that Data’s plan-whatever it was-was working. There was no way that these eight survivors could have come together by coincidence. Somehow, Data had rounded them up and kept them in one place-though stumbling on them without instructions from the android had been a stroke of luck.
Seeing that the Mendel’s people were in good hands, Riker turned to Chief O’Brien.
“Good job,” he said.
“Thank you, sir. I do my best.” A fleeting smile, and then O’Brien was intent again on his board-reducing energy levels by careful stages.
“Commander Riker,” intoned an ambient voice. The survivors looked around warily for its origin.
The first officer, however, recognized that it was Fong calling him from the bridge.
“Riker here.”
“Sir-I think we’ve got another group-believe it or not. Seven more-and Palazzo is one of them.”
The first officer felt himself grinning.
“Oh well,” said O’Brien. “At least they didn’t wait until I’d powered down completely.”
“Excellent news, Mister Fong,” said Riker. “Make the necessary course adjustments and proceed at optimum speed.”
“Receiving coordinates now,” said O’Brien. “They’re not too far away from where we found this bunch.”
If Data had been with them in the transporter room, Riker might have hugged him. The android was working some kind of miracle down there.
His jubilation was tempered only by one factor-the names that were still among the missing. Picard. Pulaski. Geordi. Worf
Of course, it was possible that they’d be discovered in yet another group. Or that Data was busy gathering them up now.
But the android was running out of time. His deadline was less than a day away.
Data had already done more than