Enigma - Michael Jan Friedman [36]
Nikolas didn’t see the intitial contact between Odzig and Kroda. But before he knew it, they were going at it, shoving each other back and forth.
“Hey,” said Nikolas, “what’s going on?”
“This burden-beast thinks he owns the corridor!” Odzig snapped, his already protuberant eyes looking as if they were about to explode from his head.
“Keep your bony hands off me,” Kroda bristled, “or I’ll snap them off at the wrist!”
“Stop it!” said Shockey, forcibly wedging herself between the combatants. But she didn’t see the flash of something metallic, as Nikolas did.
Not certain who was holding the blade, he took a chance and lashed out at the Tellarite. Unprepared for the blow, Kroda staggered and slumped against the bulkhead.
Without Kroda in the way, Nikolas could see that it was Odzig who was holding the knife. Exposed, the Skezeri tried to conceal it again, but Shockey grabbed his arm.
“Back off!” Odzig rasped, trying to pull away from the woman.
“Not a chance,” Shockey told him. “You know we’re not allowed to keep weapons on the ship.”
“Let it go!” Nikolas warned the Skezeri, believing that a warning would be enough. After all, Odzig had seemed like a decent enough guy on their repair detail, the kind who would see reason if given half a chance.
But far from relinquishing the blade, Odzig tore free of Shockey and lifted his weapon as if he meant to slash her with it. Unable to wait any longer, Nikolas lowered his shoulder and launched himself into the Skezeri.
They went barreling down the corridor end over end, both of them scrabbling wildly for Odzig’s weapon. Nikolas felt something sharp and fiery bite into his ribs. Then he got hold of the blade’s handle, twisted it away from the Skezeri, and threw him backward into the bulkhead.
“That’s enough!” Shockey barked.
Everyone stopped. Nikolas, Odzig—even Kroda, who was getting to his feet. They glared at each other, their breath coming fast, but no one went after anyone else.
The Skezeri wiped some spittle from his mouth with the back of his hand. “I wasn’t going to use it,” he told Nikolas. Then he turned to Shockey. “You should have left me alone.”
“So you could poke holes in Kroda?” she asked. “I don’t think so.”
Nikolas tucked Odzig’s knife into his belt. Then he reached under his shirt and felt his ribs where the knife had gotten him. It stung where he touched them. But when he looked at his fingertips, there was hardly any blood on them.
Kroda turned to the Skezeri. “You cut him!”
“Barely,” said Nikolas.
“Let me see that,” said Shockey.
Keeping an eye on Odzig, Nikolas lifted his shirt. He felt the woman’s touch, gentler than he would have expected. She made a sound of dismissal.
“It’s nothing,” she said.
“But it could have been,” the Tellarite pointed out.
They looked at each other for a moment. Then Shockey spoke up again. “I’d advise everyone to go about their business and forget what happened here. Unless someone has an objection, I’m going to take the knife and dispose of it.”
“How?” asked Odzig.
“That’s my business,” she told him.
The Skezeri seemed reluctant to protest any further, and Kroda didn’t protest at all. As far as Nikolas was concerned, Shockey could do what she liked with the knife. He didn’t want any part of it.
Odzig looked at Nikolas like a kid who had done something wrong and didn’t want to admit it. “Come on,” he said. “We’ve got a repair to make.”
“You go,” said Shockey. “He’ll be along.”
The Skezeri scowled at the idea, but accepted it. Straightening his shirt, he continued down the hall. And a moment later, Kroda trundled off as well, leaving Nikolas and Shockey standing there by themselves.
He drew the knife from his belt and gave it to her. Then he said, “You’re really going to keep this to yourself?”
“Damned right I am.” She looked at him askance. “This your first haul or something?”
“As a matter of fact, it is.”
She didn’t comment on it, but her disdain was palpable. “Come with me,” she said. “I’ll bandage that so you don’t