Captain's Table 02_ Dujonian's Hoard - Michael Jan Friedman [17]
By then, I was on my feet again. As the other diners roared encouragement at us, I charged the Thelurian and shoved him into a bulkhead as hard as I could. Then I turned toward the Oord just in time to see him lunge savagely for my throat.
Sidestepping his rush, I chopped at his neck as he went by. It had some effect, but not nearly as much as I’d hoped. Then again, Oord are known for their ability to endure punishment, and I’d probably missed the nerve bundle I was aiming for anyway.
Suddenly, I was grabbed from behind and dragged over the serving rail. Rather than resist, I flipped backward and caught my attacker by surprise, sending him crashing into the wall behind him.
Twisting to free myself, I saw it was Corbis. Before he could react, I struck him once in the belly and a second time in the jaw. The crowd bellowed its approval.
But Corbis was a Pandrilite. Even my best blow couldn’t have incapacitated him, especially in the cramped quarters of the serving area.
He tried to respond with a pile driver of his own, but I vaulted over the rail again and he connected with nothing but air. Unluckily for me, he followed me over the rail.
Corbis swung his fist at me and I ducked. He swung again and I ducked a second time.
I thought to sweep his legs out from under him when something or rather, someone hit me from the side. We rolled a couple of meters together before we could even begin to disengage.
I was about to lash out at my attacker when I was realized it was Worf. Apparently, one of his opponents had sent him flying in my direction.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said. “You?”
“I’ve been worse,” I told him.
And that was all the time we had for conversation because our enemies had come together and were headed straight for us. What was worse, we had precious little room to maneuver, thanks to the tables wedged behind us.
There was no shortage of chairs either. But that wasn’t a problem. Far from it, in fact. With one mind, Worf and I reached back and grabbed the nearest chairs to hand. And as our adversaries closed with us, we swung at them for all we were worth.
There was a great clatter and cry, in the course of which I believed I had connected with my target. Nonetheless, something barreled into me, sending me hurtling end over end across the table in back of me. In fact, over several tables in back of me.
As I struggled to my feet, reluctant to let Worf carry on the battle all alone, I caught sight of a leather boot. Looking up, I saw that it belonged to the captain. Red Abby was glaring down at me.
“That’s enough!” she snapped, her voice like a whip.
Suddenly, everything stopped. Looking back toward the replicators, I saw that Worf and the Oord were locked in midstruggle. Slowly, their anger wilting under Red Abby’s scrutiny, they let each other go.
A moment later, Corbis and the Thelurian got up from the floor. They looked bruised. The Thelurian was bleeding from a broken nose.
I got to my feet. I was bleeding, as well, I realized, from a cut across my cheek. I looked at Red Abby, then the rest of the diners, whose enthusiasm for the brawl had cooled considerably.
Red Abby turned to me. “I don’t like fighting on my ship,” she said. She eyed Worf and then the Pandrilite and finally his friends. “I don’t care who was right and who was wrong. If there’s a repeat of this, I’ll jettison the lot of you into space. Do I make myself clear?”
“Eminently,” I said.
After all, there was a mission at stake. I was willing to swallow my pride, to do whatever was necessary to see it to a successful conclusion.
For Worf, it was a little harder. But he managed to appear humble nonetheless. “It will not happen again,” he vowed.
Red Abby extracted the same kind of promise from Corbis and his friends, though the lot of them had to be seething inside. Then she turned and left the mess hall.
In her wake, things returned to normal. Tables and chairs were righted