Planet X - Michael Jan Friedman [40]
“Ah,” Guinan said. “You want a warrior’s drink.”
Wolverine grunted. “Yer catchin’ on.”
The bartender leaned forward, crooked her finger and beckoned her guest with it—as if she wanted to tell him a secret. He leaned forward as well.
“I don’t want to embarass you,” Guinan said, in a voice so soft only the two of them could hear it, “especially in front of all these Starfleet types. But I don’t think you could handle the kind of stuff Worf cozies up to.”
The mutant looked at her and smiled. “That sounds like a challenge, darlin’.”
“Maybe it is. Do you accept?” Guinan asked, returning his smile.
“Y’see, I got this mutant healin’ factor goin’ for me.
Ask Dr. Crusher, if ya don’t believe me. Whatever kind o’ punishment I take, my body bounces back.”
“How about that.”
“I get beat to a pulp,” he told her, “I’m good as new before y’can rustle up some band aids.”
“Impressive,” Guinan responded. “You can slug down a warrior’s drink and still feel fine—because of your healing factor.”
Wolverine merely nodded.
Reaching under her bar again, she produced a ceramic mug the size of her head and set it before the mutant. Then she made her way to the refrigeration unit, took out a jug of Worf’s favorite drink, and opened the top of it.
Guinan poured the dark, pungent liquid into the mug, filling the thing all the way to the top. Then she replaced the top on the jug and watched her guest’s nose wrinkle up.
He peered into the glass. “What is it?” he demanded.
“Prune juice,” Guinan said, smiling. “A warrior’s drink.” She looked at Wolverine, feigning surprise. “Unless, of course, you’re not the warrior you say you are.”
The mutant considered the stuff, then looked up. “You are feisty,” he told her, with just a hint of admiration.
“Takes one to know one,” the bartender noted.
She half expected Wolverine to mutter a curse and walk away. After all, a mug of prune juice was a mug of prune juice. But to his credit, he didn’t back off from his promise.
Picking up the mug, he drained the whole thing, right down to the dregs. When he was done, he wiped his mouth with the back of his gloved hand.
“Hit the spot,” he rasped, unwilling to give even an inch.
“It sure will,” Guinan agreed.
“Yeah,” said Wolverine. “Well, see ya.”
His responsibility fulfilled, he pushed back from the bar and made his exit from the lounge.
Guinan shrugged. Then she collected the mutant’s empty mug, took another swipe at the bar with her cloth and surveyed the place. As she had predicted, it was starting to fill up.
It wasn’t Ten-Forward, Guinan mused. But it was beginning to feel like home nonetheless.
Chapter Fourteen
CHANCELLOR AMON TURNED in his chair and stared out the oval window behind him. It was a remarkably clear day. He could see the fortress above Verdeen in the distance, cradled in the Obrig Mountains.
But not well enough, apparently. Not nearly well enough.
Turning back to the rounded monitor on his desk, Amon considered the strained visage of his security minister. “Could you say that again?” he asked in the calmest voice he could manage.
Tollit frowned. “The transformed have escaped, Chancellor. Every last one of them.”
Amon shook his head. “How can this be?”
“They were more powerful than we imagined,” the other man explained. “Sometime before dusk, they overpowered Osan and his garrison and left the fortress a shambles.” His frown deepened. “If you could see this place, Chancellor …”
Amon held up a hand, not wanting to hear the details. He had sincerely believed himself past the worldwide emergency. With almost every reported case of transformation plucked from society and segregated, he had seen himself—and Xhaldia—well on the road to a solution.
Now it seemed he had only made the problem worse.
“Fortunately,” said Tollit, “one of the guards managed to slip his bonds and get to a communication station. Otherwise, we might still not know what took place here.”
The chancellor heaved a sigh. Perhaps it was time to let others take the lead in this area. “What do you suggest