The Last Stand - Brad Ferguson [67]
“I’ll be right back,” Troi said.
“Good hunting.” Now part of the crowd, Riker looked around unobtrusively. A woman across the way gave him an interested look, which he returned with a smile, a shrug, and a tilt of his head toward Troi, who was heading inside the restaurant. The woman gave Riker a slight, somewhat sad smile and turned away.
Riker found what he was looking for a few steps away. An informally dressed young Krann male was talking a mile a minute to a small knot of males and females. Everyone was laughing. Riker inserted himself into the cluster of listeners and, when the next laugh came, he joined in heartily.
“Ah!” cried the male who was the center of attention. “New blood! I take it, shipmate, that you’re a friend of the happy couple?”
“That I am,” Riker said with gusto. “What a great day this is!”
“It is indeed!” the male cried. “And that calls for another drink!” There was a rousing chorus of agreement. “Here you go,” he said to Riker, handing him two empty pitchers. “These are for you, my friend—you and your good spouse, that is.” The group with him laughed good-naturedly.
Riker smiled. “I see,” he said. “Any preferences?”
“Sure,” someone else said, pointing at the two big pitchers. “Just get those refilled. That’ll do it!” More laughter.
“That’s fine, Bitt, but what are the rest of us going to drink?” the first male said, and everyone laughed again.
“See you later,” Riker said. Pitchers in hand, Riker threaded his way through the crowd and into the crowded restaurant. He saw that it was not quite a restaurant. It was more like a bistro, one of those dark, tavernlike places that were still popular in some nation-states on Earth and on worlds colonized by Earth humans. This one had two hundred people crowded into a space that could hold perhaps fifty comfortably. Everyone was jabbering and the resulting noise level was rather incredible. There was soft music coming from somewhere, but it was nearly impossible to hear. Riker probably would not have noticed it at all had he not passed right by a hidden speaker placed in a wall next to the entryway.
There was a young female standing near the door. Her expression was one of expectation and willingness to help. Riker guessed that she was a worker assigned to the bistro. He raised the two pitchers and gave her a help-me look. She smiled. “Do you need those refilled?” she asked.
“Actually, they belong to a person named Bitt, who’s standing in that group right over there.” He pointed. “Could you—?”
“Of course.” She took the pitchers and began threading her way through the crowd toward something that Riker thought looked very much like a bar.
“I’m back,” Troi said, coming up beside him.
“Did you have a chance to check in?” Riker asked.
“No. There were others there with me.”
Riker nodded. “We’re not in any particular hurry. We’ll try later.”
Troi knew there was no chance they could be overheard above the babble surrounding them. “Did you notice that no one in that group outside did any bowing when we met them?” she asked Riker. “Now that’s a first.”
“Sure is. I’m still sorting out who bows to whom and when. I’ve just put ‘drunken bums at parties’ on the Don’t Bow list.”
“Drunkenness may have nothing to do with it,”Troi said, taking him seriously. “Perhaps the usual rules of protocol are suspended at affairs like these—whatever this affair is, I mean.”
“Maybe,” Riker said. “We’ll just keep feeling our way along. We’ve been doing all right so far. By the way, I see something interesting over there.”
“Helps to be tall. I can’t see a thing above standard chest level. What is it?”
“There’s a big table near the back of the main room that seems to be the center of everyone’s attention. Lots of people are sitting there. Know what else?”
“What?”
“There’s a young couple sitting at the table, too.”
“And?”
“They’re the only ones here wearing a lot of