Fortune's Light - Michael Jan Friedman [97]
There was silence for a moment, as the captain seemed to mull it over. “It doesn’t appear we have much of a choice, does it?”
“No, sir. We’ll need to start the beam-up calibrations immediately. You know how long that can take, and I don’t think our friend is in the mood to wait.”
Picard’s answer was crisp, without a trace of hesitation, even though he knew that there were no “beam-up calibrations” to be made. He’d worked with Riker long enough to know how his mind worked—and to understand that he needed time.
“Will do, Number One. I’ll see to it personally.”
Larrak heard all this, of course, and he didn’t object. No surprise there—he wasn’t a technician, he was a bureaucrat. What did he know about transporter technology?
“It’ll take a few minutes,” Riker told him.
“So I understand,” said Larrak. “Just be warned that my patience isn’t—”
That was when Kobar made his move—vaulting up onto the platform, grabbing Larrak and pulling him away from Norayan. Suddenly the blaster in Larrak’s hand went off—though fortunately, not in the direction of Norayan’s head, thanks to Kobar’s grip on Larrak’s wrist. It continued to spew destructive force as Norayan dropped out of sight, its beam ripping up the wood of the platform and digging a furrow in the floor in front of it.
Larrak and Kobar struggled for control of the weapon, the Terrin official proving that he was stronger than his appearance suggested. They lurched together, falling across the table, and suddenly the blaster was cutting a swath in Riker’s direction.
By that time the first officer had already knelt and retrieved Data’s phaser. As the beam came his way, plowing a trench in the floor, he was able to fling himself out of its path. Somehow he avoided further injuring his shoulder.
Rolling to his feet, he saw that Larrak and Kobar were still vying for control of the blaster. But Larrak was slipping something out of his robe.
A knife.
Riker cried out, but his warning came too late. The knife slipped into Kobar’s side and he let go of Larrak’s weapon. Slumping to the platform, he left Larrak standing all alone.
The Impriman was too easy a target to miss. Riker fired the phaser and knocked the blaster out of Larrak’s hand. A split-second later Worf retrieved a phaser, fired it, and spun him around and off the platform.
Data was the first one around the platform. He was already kneeling beside Larrak when the others arrived.
“His fall was not fatal,” reported the android, obviously pleased. “Though he may have broken some bones.”
Amazing, Riker mused. It didn’t matter to Data that Larrak was ready to destroy him a few seconds ago. The android couldn’t bear a grudge if he wanted to.
Riker, on the other hand, was only human. When he looked at Larrak, all he could see was the man who’d killed his friend.
A flurry of retainers and attendants and kinsmen took the injured away. Daran was protesting; he was hardly hurt at all, he claimed. And Kobar, though exceedingly pale even for an Impriman, was conscious when they removed him—a good sign. At the end, Norayan was clasping his hand, smiling, expressing her confidence that he was too tough to die.
And if there was more affection there than gratitude, she would not have admitted it, even to herself. She was still second official of Criathis—and he was still the son of Kelnae.
Ralk, they found out later, had not been so lucky. After Riker had avoided Larrak’s errant blaster beam, it had zigzagged in the Ferengi’s direction. At least, that was the way it looked.
More than likely, the human told himself, Ralk had never known what hit him.
Chapter Sixteen
PICARD TOOK A SIP of his Earl Grey. “Then we’re off the hook, Number One?”
Riker’s voice came through loud and clear over the ship’s communications system. “Aye, sir. The madraggi have recognized the validity of my loophole, which means that our communicators as well as our phasers are sanctioned under the high-tech ban. And Data, too.”
“Data?” echoed the captain.
“Yes. Once the Imprimans