The Last Stand - Brad Ferguson [87]
“It defends the fleet,” Wiggin said boastfully. “That’s all I can tell you.” He pointed. “See the big hinge between the first and second sections of the right rear leg? That’s mine.”
“Oh, it’s quite nice,” Troi said distractedly.
“So you’re impressed?”
“Hmmm?” Troi asked. “Oh. Yes. Yes, I’ll say I’m impressed. The hinge and everything.”
“Knew you would be. You still worried about those big bad aliens now, Pralla?”
“More than ever, actually.”
Wiggin laughed. “Well, I guess there’s no help for it, then. Seen enough?”
“I think so.”
“Then let’s go,” Wiggin said. “I don’t have to go back to my desk, so we can leave through the main air lock. It’s right over there. Then we can go anywhere you want. It’s still Posting Day, after all, and the night’s pretty young.”
All Troi wanted to do now was report back to the Enterprise, and that meant getting out of the sensorproof gray zone as quickly as possible. She also wanted to find Will, and if he was likely to be anywhere, it would be—
“Perhaps we can go back to that nice restaurant we were at before,” Troi said.
“Well, maybe we could,” Wiggin responded. “For now.”
“So let’s leave the way we came, shall we?”
The young Krann shrugged. “Well, all right.”
Troi and Wiggin quickly walked back to the small air lock and, once through, they retraced their steps back to the security gate.
That was where Will had been all along, standing there, waiting for her. He looked very angry. He was getting rather good at it.
“Dex!” Troi yiped. “Wiggin, it’s Dex!”
“Oh, hull,” Wiggin muttered. “It would be.”
Riker walked up to the two of them and confronted them right in front of the guard booth. A crowd began to collect.
“Where in hull have you two been?” Riker spat. “I swear, every time I turn my back on you, Pralla, you’re off with some young punk—”
“Hey, wait a minute—” Wiggin began.
“Shut up!” Riker spat.
“Hey, Wiggin,” Guss called from the booth. “You want me to call security?”
Riker turned to address him. “Guard, I am Dex Portside Sanitation Systems Supervisor.” There was an intake of breath from the collecting crowd. “This incident is under control. There is no need for security personnel here.”
Guss blinked. “Of course not, Supervisor.”
“Then, as you were.” Riker turned back to Troi. “You’re coming home with me, Pralla. Right now.”
“Yes, Dex,” Troi said sheepishly.
“We’ll forget about it this time,” Riker continued, his lips tight. “We’ll charge this little incident off to too much celebrating. Too much Posting Day.”
“Yes, Dex.” Troi looked quite penitent.
“And you, “Riker said, turning to Wiggin. “If I ever catch you near my spouse again, I will stuff you out the nearest waste hole. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Dex,” Wiggin replied quickly.
“What did you call me, Journeyman?” Riker snapped. “That mode of address is reserved for friends and equals only, and you are neither of those to me.”
Wiggin straightened up. “I apologize for my conduct, Dex Portside Sanitation Systems Supervisor. I intended no offense.”
Riker nodded slowly. “None taken, then. Back to your routine, Journeyman, and do it fast.”
“Yes, Supervisor.” Wiggin spun on his heel and left quickly, hurrying back through the security gate for Bay Fourteen.
“Let’s get out of here,” Riker muttered. “There’s a tube car coming. We need to get out of the gray zone so we can touch base with the captain.”
“We also need to talk,” Troi said into his ear as the car arrived and slowly drew to a halt. “Do we want to return to the ship?”
Riker shook his head. “I don’t think we’re quite done aboard here yet. We’ll at least call in first, let the captain know we’re still alive and kicking.” He suddenly smiled. “I found us a place. We can go there.”
“A place? Do you mean a place to stay?”
“Yes. It’s kind of like a hotel room, but free of charge. They let me sign for it, so I did. Reminds me of one of those inexpensive little bed-and-breakfast places in Europe, whatever they’re called—oh, yes. A pension. I think the one I found is