Marooned - Christie Golden [7]
Kes herself loved everything Neelix cooked. Perhaps tastes were simply different in the far-distant Alpha quadrant. She shared his excitement at being shown new and exotic foodstuffs and was as delighted as he with the opportunity.
She, however, was much more interested in a strange-looking tree back in the corner. Its bark was dark blue and its serrated leaves were almost as pale gold as her own hair. One giant, purple blossom unfurled as she watched.
"Oh," she gasped, and strode forward to bury her face in the flower.
She frowned. There was no smell. That in itself was not unusual; some flowers had scents that were imperceptible to the Ocampan olfactory system. But the scentless flower suddenly made Kes realize that nothing in this arboretum smelled. At all.
"Something wrong, Kes?" She jumped, startled, then managed a smile for Aren Yashar. The man was as quiet as a pad-footed siaa'
"Hello, Administrator. Nothing's wrong, really, it's just-" Now that she had to articulate it, Kes felt foolish. But still, surely, not all the plants in here were scentless. Still puzzling over it, she absently reached to touch the odorless purple flower.
Her fingers went right through it.
Kes gasped, turning to face Aren, a question on her lips. The words died as she saw that the administrator had something metallic and dangerous looking pointed directly at her.
"It's time to leave, my dear. And if you utter one word, Hro has orders to murder your friend."
Tom PARIS HAD ENURED MAW A BAR IN HIS DAY, AM all of them, he had discovered, had a few things in common.
Beverages of varying potencies were always served. A large member of the predominant race lurked by the door, ready to eject customers who had overindulged in those beverages. The lighting was dim, and some kind of game of chance was usually being played.
He found all of these traditional elements to be present in Jakrig's establishment, and a faint smile touched his lips. In the midst of strangeness, there was always something familiar about a bar. He knew what to expect and how to behave.
Much talk was going on as he entered the darkened room, and way in the back some creature that looked unsettlingly like a praying mantis busily worked a variety of instruments to produce something that was clearly meant to be music. Paris winced at the discordant sounds, but there was a small crowd gathered around the mantis, and they were nodding their heads and clearly enjoying themselves.
One man's junk is another man's treasure, Paris thought, then winced again-but not at the music. He was cringing from the thought of what he had done to Aren Yashar. Treasure ... It was definitely time for a drink.
He moved through the crowd and headed toward the center of the room. A thin, bony humanoid stood behind a circular bar. Bottles of various liquids hovered in the air, supported clearly by some sort of gravitational field. The bartender could clasp the floating bottles with ease, but as Paris watched, someone else tried to help himself and the bottle floated away tauntingly.
"Come on, Swha, you know better than that," the bartender chided. He wagged a remonstratory finger at the sad-looking alien who had tried to filch a free drink.
"But Jakrig," the drunken alien pleaded, his four eyes blinking slowly, "I don't get paid until-"
"Then you don't drink until," Jakrig replied, nodding at a large being who stood quietly beside the door. The entity, who looked like the ghastly product of a union between a Cardassian and a Denebian slime devil, moved purposefully toward the bar.
"All right, all right," slurred the pale blue, foureyed alien, slipping off the stool to land on the floor. "Been comin' here for years now. Y'd think somone'd take my word for somethin'."
He managed to crawl out, right past Paris's feet, somehow retaining his dignity. Paris admired that and marveled as he watched the alien, still muttering, creep outside. He headed for the stool