A Call to Darkness - Michael Jan Friedman [95]
“We are here,” Ma’alor explained, “to make sure that the spectacle does not take place. To show the Council-and our people as well-that we will no longer stand for the Military’s depravities.”
Pulaski took a moment to digest it all. “So you’re heading for that fortress now? The one where your friend is being held?”
Ma’alor nodded. “Yes.”
She half smiled. “Then I wish you all the luck in the world.”
Ma’alor eyed her. “You don’t seem very optimistic for us.”
She shook her head. “Forgive me-it’s not that. I was just trying to think of a way you could help me, and I can’t. I still have no way of getting out of here. No way of contacting my ship-and that disease could be running wild by now.” She paused. “I know that sounds a little selfish, with all you’re trying to do here-but I guess I’ve got my own problems as well.”
“I see,” said Ma’alor. “But tell me-would you be more interested in our venture if it were one of your crew mates that was to be executed?”
Pulaski’s brows met above the bridge of her nose. “What do you mean?” she asked.
Dan’nor interrupted. There was something about the way Ma’alor was conducting this conversation that irked him. “We have sources,” he said. “They’ve determined, as best they can, the identities of those who will die alongside Ralak’kai-and at least one came from the Enterprise. Possibly, more than one.”
Ma’alor looked at him, but he did not berate him. Perhaps he would do that later. “It’s the truth,” he confirmed. “And we have actually seen someone of your race at Ralak’kai’s side in the Conflicts. So my guess is that our information is accurate.”
Pulaski looked more than just interested. Her eyes had become hard, unyielding.
“Take me to them,” see said, “and I’ll help in any way I can.”
Ma’alor considered it. “All right,” he said finally. “We can always use an extra pair of hands.” He looked around, eyes narrowed like those of a hunting bird. “But you must keep up with us. Otherwise, we’ll be forced to leave you behind.”
Pulaski nodded. “I understand.” She regarded the unconscious warrior. “But I’ll need some help carrying him-at least, until he wakes up from that blast you hit him with.”
Ma’alor looked at her. His mouth twisted as if he were about to laugh. “You don’t understand after all. I meant that you could come along-not your friend here.” Abruptly, his eyes became as hard as hers. “He would slow us down-we can’t afford that. Not on open terrain like this, where we run too great a risk of being spotted. And not with Ralak’kai’s execution approaching so quickly.”
Pulaski didn’t give in-not an inch. “Getting there is one thing,” she said. “But once you’re there, you’re going to need help to free your friend.” She placed a hand on the warrior’s unfeeling shoulder. “No one fights like he can. No one is as skilled at moving quickly and quietly. He could be the difference for you between success and failure.”
“Can he handle a blaster?” asked Rin’noc.
Pulaski turned to face him. “Better than anyone I’ve ever seen.”
Dan’nor inspected the still, cruel features in a new light. Certainly, they could use the skills of a trained fighter. None of them were experts at this sort of thing-not even Dan’nor himself, with his Military background.
“That’s all well and good,” said Ma’alor. “But he doesn’t know us. He doesn’t even know you-not anymore. Why should he fight for us? Why not just tear our throats out and run at the first opportunity?”
Pulaski shook her head from side to side. “He won’t hurt us. Not after I’ve had a chance to talk with him.” She paused. “I must admit, I’m not a hundred percent sure that he’ll help us. But I know he won’t hurt us.”
Ma’alor spat. “How