Fortune's Light - Michael Jan Friedman [88]
There were men on second and third now, but with two outs. Worse, Galanti had pulled a hamstring trying to beat the throw to first. He had to be helped off the field by a couple of coaches, the trainer following solemnly in his wake.
If Data had wondered when he’d get a chance to bat again, he wondered no longer. He’d been watching Galanti’s efforts from the on-deck circle. And as the first baseman was helped into the dugout, he approached the batter’s box, spurred by the encouragement of his teammates. And, of course, the muffled curses that came from the clubhouse stairs.
As Commander Riker would have put it, the deck was stacked against him. But if there was a way to thwart history, to drive in Maggin and perhaps Denyabe as well, Data vowed to find it.
Unfortunately he never got the chance. The Sunset manager, no doubt wary of Bobo after his performance in the first inning, opted to walk him intentionally—and thereby fill the bases for Cordoban, who had had better days with the bat.
Nor did the manager end up regretting the move. For on a two-and-oh pitch, Cordoban hit a soft fly to right field.
Three outs. End of threat.
In the dugout, at the top of the clubhouse stairs, Terwilliger didn’t say a word. It was as if all the fire had gone out of him. As if he could read his future and it was no different from his past.
After all, there were only two innings left. And scoring opportunities like that one didn’t materialize very often.
Noting that it was time for him to return to duty, Data saved the program and left the holodeck.
“You won’t get away with it,” said Lyneea.
“Of course we will,” returned Ralk. He turned away from them as he crossed the room, casually considering its decor.
Probably estimating the value of the furnishings, Riker mused. It had been some time—a few hours at least—since Larrak had left them to proceed with his plans for the merger ceremony.
Lyneea pressed her case. “Criathis will become suspicious when the seal turns up at the last minute. They’ll put a stop to the merger.”
The Ferengi shook his head, standing with his back to them as he regarded an Impriman globe. “No. They won’t.” He spun the globe, sending the continents flying by with dizzying speed, and glanced at the captives over his shoulder. “They will be happy to see it and relieved to avoid the disaster they anticipated.” He smiled, exposing his short, sharp teeth. “It will not be a problem.” He stopped the globe’s rotation with a long, knobby finger. “Besides, you need not concern yourselves with the outcome. Either way, you will die.”
Riker laughed—the loudest and most obnoxious laugh he could muster.
Obviously it was not what Ralk had expected. His brow furrowed, displaying his irritation.
“Do not make that sound,” said the Ferengi. “It offends my sensibilities.”
Now that was a switch.
“I can’t help it,” said Riker. “You think you’ve thought of everything, but you’re in for a surprise.”
That got Ralk’s interest, though he tried not to show it. “Oh? What sort of surprise?”
Riker looked at Lyneea. “Should I tell him?”
She looked back. “Why not?” she said.
He turned back to Ralk. “Larrak’s a businessman, just as you are. And just like you, he’d drop out of your mutual admiration society if he thought it was curtailing his profits. Right?”
The Ferengi’s eyes had become slits. “Go on.” “
Well, as soon as the merger goes through, Larrak’s going to be privy to Criathis’s records. And as a member of the team that put together the agreement …”
The slits suddenly opened wide.
“That’s right. I helped take Imprima away from you. And I can tell you that Madraga Criathis has profited immensely from the deal—more than anyone on this world can possibly imagine. In fact, I’d call their profits obscene—though you might have another name for it.” Riker smiled, giving himself some time to formulate his next