Planet X - Michael Jan Friedman [92]
As the audience rose and moved from their seats into the aisles, there was only one topic of discussion—whether to accept Crusher’s offer. From what Sovar could see of Corba and Erid, they were discussing it as well. But they were also shaking their heads a lot.
The lieutenant’s initial inclination was to go to his brother and try to talk some sense into him. Then he remembered what it was like when he told his family he was going to join Starfleet.
They weren’t happy about it—Erid least of all. The boy had hated his older brother for the choice he made. He had tried to convince him not to go. And ever since, the security officer had felt badly about leaving. He had felt as if he let his brother down, as if he had abandoned him.
I won’t do that to Erid, he told himself. I won’t try to influence him. Let him make his decision—whatever it may be—and I’ll stand behind him a hundred percent.
Suddenly, he realized his brother was looking at him. Seeking his counsel, perhaps. Smiling, Sovar began to make his way through the crowd.
Chapter Thirty-three
THE HOLODECK DOORS opened with a familiar hiss. Peering inside, Worf saw the same steamy, jungle clearing where his calisthenics program took place. Even the white-stone altar was in evidence.
The Klingon turned to Wolverine, who was standing beside him. “I thought you said you designed a holoprogram.”
“I did,” the mutant told him.
“But this is the setting from my program.”
Wolverine shrugged. “What difference does it make where you fight? The important thing is who.”
The Klingon frowned. “And whom are we to fight?”
The mutant chuckled. “Keep yer shirt on.”
Worf was puzzled. “My shirt … ?”
“Be patient,” Wolverine translated, as he led the way into the holodeck.
Worf followed him, his batt’leth at the ready. As before, birds shrilled at them from their perches in the golden foliage. Frightened-looking creatures peered out at them from between the trees. And the place stank as badly as ever.
“You could at least have changed the smell,” he told Wolverine.
The mutant looked back at him. “What smell?”
The Klingon made a face. “You must smell it. It’s—”
And then he stopped himself. Wolverine’s sense of smell was even better than his own. The mutant had to be making a joke.
As if to confirm his suspicion, Wolverine grinned a mischievous grin. “You were sayin’, bub?”
Worf scowled. “Never mind.”
As they approached the altar, the lieutenant knew their adversaries weren’t far off. After all, the birds were shrieking more loudly, the trees bowing deeper under the press of the hot, tropical wind.
Worf could feel his heartrate speeding up. He looked about, jaw clenched, bracing himself for the attack he knew would come.
“Where are they?” the mutant whispered.
The Klingon glanced at him. “You are asking me?”
Wolverine shook his head. “They should’a pounced on us by now.”
Worf sighed. He had a feeling this was going to be a disappointing experience. But then, what did the mutant know about holodeck programs? Especially those in which—
Suddenly, he saw the branches part to the left of them. A powerful-looking figure in orange and brown garments moved like a cat out into the clearing. His pale blond hair was wild, the look in his eyes a feral one, and his clawlike nails were almost as long as Wolverine’s.
“Logan,” the man rasped hungrily, displaying his fangs.
“Sabretooth,” the mutant replied. “It’s about time.”
“Wait a minute,” came a slow, deep voice from an unseen source. “Don’t shred him till I get a coupla shots in.”
A moment later, there was a crack and a tree fell down across the altar. Behind it, a gelatinous mountain of a man in a black tank suit stepped out from concealment.
He wasn’t alone, either. Another adversary followed. He was dressed entirely in black, dark hair slicked back across his head. To Worf’s eye, the man didn’t look particularly dangerous, but he was sure Wolverine had selected him for a reason.
“The Blob,” said the mutant. “And Unus the Untouchable.”
The living mountain cracked