Fortune's Light - Michael Jan Friedman [66]
On the other hand, he had made some contributions. He’d saved her life when Bosch was about to draw a blaster on her in his room. And if it hadn’t been for his stubbornness, they might never have found Teller’s body.
But then, he’d also fallen for Norayan’s ruse, and he’d nearly lost his life to the Pandrilite in that alley. And wasn’t it Riker who’d blundered into Kobar, putting him on his guard—and maybe drawing the attention of his would-be assassin in the process?
“You look pensive,” observed Crusher. “Can it be I’ve actually drummed some sense into you?”
He looked up at her. “Did Lyneea find out anything about the knife thrower? Like whom he worked for?”
The doctor put the tricorder away and shook her head. “No.”
Good. Then he could continue to believe it wasn’t Norayan.
Apparently Lyneea believed it, too, or she wouldn’t have called for help from Madraga Criathis. Because if Norayan had hired the assassin, and if she knew Riker was convalescing here, relatively defenseless …
He eyed the door warily and wished he had a phaser close at hand instead of a regenerator.
“I heard about your friend,” said Crusher. “The captain told me.”
Riker frowned. The loss of Teller had subsided to a dull ache in his gut.
“Things happen,” he remarked. “You just never think they’ll happen to you or to the people you love.” He met her gaze. “Who else did the captain tell?”
“Only those who might have had to beam down at some point. Me. Worf.” She paused. “I guess that’s it. Oh, and Deanna probably knows, too—but then, that’s Deanna.”
Riker found the mere thought of Troi soothing. But he put it aside. He didn’t feel much like being soothed now.
“Listen,” he said, “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t make too much of Teller’s death when we get back. Especially under the circumstances.”
The doctor nodded. “I understand.”
For a moment or two there was an awkward silence. Then Crusher spoke again.
“You know,” she said, “Wesley was afraid something would happen to you.”
Riker cracked a smile. “Was he?”
“Yup. It seems he was studying Impriman culture, particularly as it relates to Besidia and the Trade Carnival, and he decided that this was a pretty dangerous place.” Her eyes twinkled. “Actually he started out trying to figure out why Starfleet had sent you down here. And though he never quite came up with the answer, he did unearth some interesting items along the way—in addition, I mean, to his conclusions about it being dangerous.”
Riker’s smile widened. He couldn’t help it. “Such as?” “
Well, there was something about a parade on the last day of the carnival. All the locals dress up as clowns and serenade the officials of each madraga.”
“I’ve seen it,” said Riker. “It’s quite a show. And some of them do a little more than serenade—but that part wouldn’t be in the library files.”
“What else?” Crusher asked herself. “Oh, yes. The maze, up in the hills above the city? Wesley was telling me how all the tunnels are color-coded, so you can find your way in and out, and …”
Riker stopped hearing her. He’d fixed on the word “color-coded” and was unable to get past it.
Why? He knew about the color codes. Damn, he’d seen them only a couple of days ago.
And then it came to him. Like a hawk out of a gray Alaskan sky: The codes would have been useless to his friend. Teller was color-blind.
Which meant that if he’d been hiding in the maze and not just dumped there after he was killed, or if he’d had to stage a rendezvous there, or even if he’d just been using the place as a cache for Fortune’s Light, he must have had another way of getting in and out. And if the seal was hidden there, he would have needed a way to find it again after he concealed it.
Crusher waved a hand in front of his face. “You’ve got that faraway look again, Commander. Something I said?”
He took her hand in his. “Doctor, I’ve got to get back to the