A Call to Darkness - Michael Jan Friedman [97]
“Well said,” offered Ralak’kai.
The marshal nodded. “Good. A little emotion-that’s more like it.”
“Wait a minute,” said Geordi, catching on. “This is part of the show-isn’t it? That machine is supposed to record our pre-execution hysteria.”
“Of course,” said Ralak’kai, as it dawned on him too. “Our tearful good-byes, our pleas for mercy.”
Picard muttered a curse. “You can take your machine and go straight to hell-which, from what I’ve seen, can’t be very far from here.” He laughed-actually laughed. “We’re through providing entertainment for you.”
“That’s correct,” said Ralak’kai. “You can kill us if you want to. But it won’t be the spectacle you’re obviously looking for. Eh, Geordi?”
Geordi still felt numb at the prospect of being executed-especially at the hands of this pompous ass. However, he played along with the others.
“Right,” he said, noticing how the flying eye turned toward him now when he spoke. With less effort than he might have thought, he was able to fashion a grin. “You’d have more fun executing this flying pile of nuts and bolts.”
The marshal looked at them. “Perhaps,” he said. “We will see.” He glanced at the window, as if to gauge the amount of daylight left in it. “I will be surprised if you still feel this way a few hours from now.”
With that chilling remark still hanging in the air, he took his leave of them. The flying eye, however, remained.
“All right,” said Ralak’kai, when the sounds of the marshal’s departure had died. “Let’s be true to those brave words now.” He swatted at the machine, though he couldn’t reach out far enough to actually have a hope of hitting it. “We may die-but we can do it with dignity.”
Geordi grunted in assent. But he didn’t feel as brave as his words. He found that he was trembling; his knees were unsteady. He had to sit down on his cell’s only chair before he suffered the embarrassment of falling down.
My God, he told himself. If you’re like this now, what will you be like at the end?
Chapter Eighteen
WORF WAS NO SOONER AWAKE than he was aware of the bonds that held him fast. He tried to break them, but they were too strong.
Where was he? What had happened to him? The last thing he remembered was turning the tables on that female who had pursued him.
Then he glimpsed movement over his shoulder-craned his neck to get a better view of it. What he saw made his stomach muscles tighten reflexively.
Marshals. Five of them. And another-the female!
Had she been some sort of bait? he wondered. Or a distraction, so that he would not pay attention to his real pursuers?
But no-that did not make any sense. Marshals needed no subterfuge. Not with their flying sleds and their blasters.
Perhaps she had merely drawn attention to him-his fear all along. Perhaps they had been tracking her, and then spotted him only when he emerged from concealment.
But why had she followed him in the first place? To recoup the food he had stolen? He did not think so. Nor did he believe she was a deserter-like him. A deserter would not be conversing so companionably with the marshals now.
If there were only some way he could free himself. Now, before they realized he was… Damn. Too late.
“Looks like your friend is awake,” said one of them. The rest turned to regard Worf-and he wished he could shove their smug expressions down their throats, one at a time.
The female separated herself from the group and came over to him. Knelt beside him.
Her expression, at least, was not smug. In fact, she almost seemed frightened.
“Worf,” she said. “Where do I begin?”
How did she know his name? He rumbled deep in his throat, not sure he liked the idea.
“Please,” she said. “Don’t shut me out. I know you’re angry, afraid-but