Survivors - Jean Lorrah [32]
Yar looked at Data and mouthed “Now.” He looked puzzled for a moment, then nodded.
“A most affecting argument,” said the android, going to Nalavia and taking her hand as if to lend her strength. “Starfleet will be very much interested in what you have told us, and in what we find here. But we can do nothing tonight. You must put aside these images of tragedy. You called us friends, Nalavia. I hope we will soon prove good friends indeed.”
Yar blinked. God, Data was good! Nalavia took his hand in both of hers, and looked up at him, bravely blinking back tears. Yar smothered a smirk. Treva’s President was no slouch in the flirtation department either. By the time she had watched the two of them for half an hour, Yar felt smothered in whipped cream and was beginning to worry slightly. Surely Data could not really be taken in by the heaving bosom, the batting lashes, the helpless act-?
Nah. Data was a machine. He couldn’t possibly let feelings overcome his judgment.
Still, he acted as if he had feelings.
Oh, come on, Tasha-he had to ask your opinion about whether Nalavia is beautiful, she reminded herself, and excused herself after the brandy, pleading a long day and her habit when planetside of getting up at dawn to exercise in the morning light.
Nalavia graciously wished her a good night, but her attention was only too obviously on Data. I really must try out his flirtation program myself, Yar thought as she walked the long corridors back toward her room. Her Security Officer’s mind noted with amusement that the guard seated near her door was asleep on the job, but she resisted the temptation to wake him. Let his replacement or his senior officer find him that way.
She opened her door, flicked the light switch-and nothing happened.
Instantly she whirled back toward the corridor, not even taking the time to add one plus one odd event—
It was already too late.
Strong hands pulled her back inside her room.
Her fighting was instinctive. There were two attackers, for someone closed the door behind her as she kicked out against the one who had grabbed her, garnering a satisfying yelp as she connected with his knee.
The drapes, which she had left open, were now closed; for some moments Yar’s attackers had the advantage while her eyes adjusted after the brightly-lighted corridor. But she had often practiced fighting blind.
And there were only two. No problem usually, but these moved like trained fighters, and they were both larger than she was.
But she took no time to think, spinning out of the first kick to jab the man by the door in the ribs.
“Bloody hell!” he gasped, and Yar grinned in the darkness.
Her next kick took the wind out of her other opponent, but as she was thus off-balance the first man kicked her standing leg out from under her.
She stumbled but managed not to fall.
Recovering, she felt hands grasp her arms-and before she could orient to break his hold a strong hand closed where her neck met her shoulder.
Only then did she think to scream-too late. She got out only a tiny squeak as she blacked out.
Yar came to in her worst nightmare. She was tied hand and foot and being carried roughly over someone’s shoulder, her face smothered in a hood.
For a terrible moment she was on New Paris, in the clutches of the rape gang!
Then the present came back. She had been kidnapped from Nalavia’s palace.
Damn-if only she had tried to wake the guard and found he was out cold! No. If only’s wouldn’t help.
How much time had passed? Were they still on the palace grounds?
Testing her bonds alerted the man carrying her. “She’s comin