Fortune's Light - Michael Jan Friedman [72]
After a moment the sounds of progress picked up again. Riker noticed how quickly night was falling, how eagerly it was rushing to fill this place. But that was all right. Their pursuer would take that much longer to spot them.
And by then, he hoped, it would be too late.
The scrape of boot soles on gravel, a little nearer now. Nearer still. He exchanged glances with the doctor as she clung to the wall behind him. She frowned, unable to conceal her anxiety.
Turning back to the twist in the corridor, holding his breath, Riker closed his fingers into a fist. Just another moment. Just one more second. But his timing would have to be perfect.
As their pursuer turned the corner, Will took a swing at him. But the man was shorter than he’d expected, and the blow was only a glancing one.
It gave the Impriman a chance to strike back—and strike he did. Something hit Riker in the jaw—hard enough to stagger him. As he recovered, trying to protect his injured arm, a light came out of nowhere to blind him.
“Run,” he told Crusher, sweeping her behind him—and knowing all the time how useless the gesture would be. He didn’t stand a chance against a blaster. And the doctor wouldn’t get very far in the time it would take Riker to fall.
Anyway, Crusher wasn’t running. She was apparently going to stand her ground.
“If I’m going to die,” she answered, throat tight, “I’m going to do it with dignity.” And she stepped up to stand alongside him.
He was proud of her for that.
“Chits and whispers,” said the voice behind the light. “Why did you have to go and surprise me like that?”
He knew that voice. And he’d never been so happy to hear it as he was now.
“Lyneea,” he said.
“You’re damned right,” she told him, lowering the beamlight a little. She rubbed her temple with the fingers of one hand. “What were you trying to do? End our partnership in one fell swoop?”
He chuckled, massaging his jaw where she’d struck him. “I might ask the same of you. What in blazes are you doing here anyway?”
“Keeping an eye on you, of course. Did you think I’d leave you all alone, without protection?”
“You mean you were waiting outside the hotel? Watching over us?”
“That’s just what I mean.”
He thought about it for a moment. “But not just to protect us—right? You were hoping the assassin would show up—and try again.”
“Obviously. I had no other leads.”
Riker sighed. “I’ve got to hand it to you,” he said. “Sentimental you’re not.”
“And cooperative you’re not. What kind of insanity possessed you to leave your suite? Do you know how much more difficult it is to protect someone on the move?”
“You could have stopped me,” he suggested.
“But that would have ruined the plan. We would have lost the element of surprise.”
“Ah,” he said. “I forgot—sorry.”
“Excuse me,” said Crusher, “but could we continue this elsewhere? I mean, our assassin friend may be closer than we think.” She looked around, shivered. “I’d feel a whole lot safer on the outside of this maze.”
Lyneea nodded. “Very sensible, Doctor.” She regarded Riker. “You would do well to take a lesson from her.”
The first officer cursed beneath his breath. Just what he needed—arguments from both sides.
Suddenly something clattered against the stones beneath their feet. As the echoes died, Lyneea played her light beam over it.
“What’s that?” she asked. “More high-tech contraband?”
Riker bent and picked it up. “Just the thing that’s going to lead us to Fortune’s Light.” And with a flick of his finger, he activated the device. It started beeping again.
The expression on Lyneea’s face was worth the soreness in his jaw.
Chapter Twelve
“AND THAT,” said Riker’s intercom voice, “is the long and the short of it.”
Picard drummed his fingers on his desk, stood, pulled down on his tunic, and strolled thoughtfully across his ready room.
“Allow me to iterate,” he told his first officer, who had seldom seemed so far away as he did now. “Disregarding the severity of your wound, you hoodwinked Dr. Crusher into letting you go off on what is commonly known as a fishing expedition, despite