Death in Winter - Michael Jan Friedman [65]
Had she somehow discovered what he and Geordi were up to? It made the Klingon’s guts squirm like serpent worms to think so. With Janeway breathing down their necks they would never be able to identify the captain’s destination, much less join him in his efforts to rescue Beverly.
Or was he reading something into the admiral’s remarks that wasn’t there? Yes, he told himself, that is certainly possible.
Janeway looked around the shuttlebay. “You’re just itching to get out of here, aren’t you?”
Worf stiffened. “Admiral?”
“It’s understandable,” said Janeway. “You’ve spent all this time in drydock. You want to get out there and put the Enterprise through her paces.”
“Uh… yes,” said Worf. “Of course.”
“But you can’t rush a job of this magnitude. You’ve got to give it time. And you can’t stick your finger in every little detail, as much as Mister La Forge would no doubt like to. As I used to tell my first officer, ‘Relax, Chakotay. Everyone will do the job assigned him. Just make sure you do yours.’”
As she said it, she arched an eyebrow at the Klingon. “I trust we are in agreement on that point?”
The blood rushed to Worf’s face. Now he was certain that the admiral knew. And he was just as certain that she would keep an eye on him and Geordi, twenty-four hours a day if necessary.
They would never get off the Enterprise, even if the engineer did recall what planet Beverly had mentioned. Worf’s nostrils flared, but he otherwise contained his frustration.
“Admiral,” he said, knowing he was taking a chance in asking such a thing, “is it possible that some parts may turn out to be superfluous here on the Enterprise-and therefore more advantageously deployed elsewhere?”
Janeway regarded him for a couple of seconds before speaking. “I’ll concede,” she said at last, “that it’s possible. But it’s also possible they’d just get in the way. Our record in these matters isn’t perfect, Mister Worf, but we usually know what we’re doing. If I were you, I’d give us a chance.”
“Aye,” he said grudgingly.
But he had a terrible feeling that without his help, Doctor Crusher would die as she had died in his dream.
Beverly’s hood kept out most of the snow but every now and then, when she turned her head and the wind came at her from the wrong angle, she felt a splash of cold against her neck.
She tolerated it, just as she tolerated the fact that she could barely feel her feet anymore. No matter the hardship, it was still better than passing the hours in a prison cell, waiting for Sela to decide what to do with her.
Beverly didn’t know how long they had been making their way through the storm. An hour, she guessed. Maybe more. It was difficult to say.
Time lost its meaning in the face of such elemental violence. It felt as if she had always been plodding through the snow this way, and might do so forever.
For all Beverly knew, they were going in circles, impossibly lost. But the Romulan didn’t seem the least bit uncertain of himself. Leaning into the wind, he planted one foot after another. And not wanting to lose sight of him, she made sure to keep up.
Suddenly, as if by magic, a building rose up in front of them-a huge thing, strong and ancient-looking. It was made of black stone, which provided a stark contrast to the whipping veils of snow, or the doctor might have missed it.
Her companion came close and shouted something in her ear. But between her hood and the howling of the wind, she wasn’t able to understand him.
“What?” she shouted back.
This time, she was able to make out the word: “Inside!” And for emphasis, the Romulan pointed to an arch in the building’s facade that looked as if it might house a door.
Trudging through hip-high drifts, they received a respite from the wind once they got inside the arch. It was only then that Beverly realized how green her companion’s cheeks were, the blood in them having risen to the sting of the cold.
As she had surmised, there was a door recessed within the arch. Like the ones she had opened in her escape, it was made of a single,