Boogeymen - Mel Gilden [63]
Nothing came over the comlink but the hiss of rushing air.
Riker’s face, which had been screwed up in pain, suddenly smoothed. Astonished, Riker smiled with relief. He took his hands away from his leg, and no wound was there. No blood, no ragged hole. He said, “I wonder if they can’t hurt us because they don’t want to or because they can’t entirely surmount the holodeck safeguards.”
“Distraction is the name of the game, Number One. I am confident that they will hurt us badly if they feel the need.”
While Picard knelt there thinking about the Boogeymen’s talent for creating chaos and destruction, another Boogeyman swung through on a vine and dropped in front of them. He wore bell-bottomed leather breeches over thick buckled boots, and a leather vest. A saber hung at his side and a knife was clutched between his rotten teeth. His hair was long, curly, and black, and he wore a gold ring through one of his horns.
They stood up. Riker stepped a little in front of Picard.
The Boogeyman took the knife from his teeth and flipped it as he talked, always catching it by the bone handle. In his harsh voice he said, “Avast there, mates.”
“I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Federation starship Enterprise.”
“Aye,” said the pirate. “I know who you be.”
“Space pirates?” Riker said wonderingly.
“Aye,” said the Boogeyman. Suddenly he menaced them with the knife. “I be Captain Pilgrim from the Orion Nebula. And you be my prisoners.”
Picard remembered such romantic creatures from when he was much younger and had an interest in popular culture. His favorite holoshow had been called “Rim Runners.” This Boogeyman would have fit right in.
“A scenario based on a preoccupation of my childhood, Number One. I haven’t run it in years.”
“A holodeck never forgets,” Riker said grimly. He grabbed the wrist of the hand that wielded the knife and tried a little karate, but Captain Pilgrim didn’t even waver. He stood there, steady as a statue, and smiled a terrible smile. He said, “Things be different here on the holodeck.”
“Perhaps we’d better go with him,” Picard said.
“Baldwin is getting away.”
“Not very far, I think,” said Picard.
“Arrhh,” said Captain Pilgrim. “We win. We always win.”
He prodded them through the jungle until they came to a spaceship. Though not exactly like the ones on “Rim Runners,” this ship had much the same flamboyance and unlikely style. It was as big as a small house and splashed with bright primary colors. The warp engines were festooned with useless but jaunty filigree. Painted on the fin that rose off the back of the elliptical ship was a skull and crossbones.
A door dropped outward on a hinge, and Captain Pilgrim encouraged Picard and Riker up the stairway made by the inside of the door. Inside, the ship was a mad mixture of styles. Brass eighteenth-century orreries, extants, and telescopes abutted twentieth-century binnacles and Starfleet-issue tricorders. The walls were paneled with wood, and the furniture consisted of couches and overstuffed easy chairs; the couches before the control board might have come off the Enterprise herself. Strung from wall to wall were sails and colored flags.
Captain Pilgrim said, “Here you be and here you stay till Professor Baldwin makes his escape.”
“We want to help Professor Baldwin,” Riker said.
Captain Pilgrim gave a gruff laugh and forced them down a narrow stairway to a small room lit by a single lantern. When Pilgrim lowered the hatch, the room became moist and nearly airless. They could hear Pilgrim clumping around on the deck above.
Picard got comfortable on one of the big sacks stacked against the bulkhead, and said, “You might as well sit down, Number One. I would say we’ve been captured good and proper.”
“Excuse me, sir,” said Riker, “but you seem peculiarly relaxed about this situation.”
With sudden intensity, Picard said, “Number One, we’ve already guessed that the d’Ort’d want new