The Last Stand - Brad Ferguson [91]
“What’s the matter, Will?”
“Nothing much,” he called back. “I forgot to take the stupid pickup bug out of my ear before I got water in it, that’s all. Anyway, go ahead and make the call to the ship, all right?”
“Will do,” Deanna said, and she did.
About five minutes later, Will emerged from the bathroom in significantly improved condition. He dressed quickly.
“My,” Deanna said. “You clean up really well, Commander.”
“Well, thank you,” Will replied. “The day is looking better and brighter, after all.” He glanced at the chrono he’d brought along. “Well, it’s about that time. The captain should be about ready to leave the Enterprise for this ship, so we’re on duty. You hungry?”
“Now that you mention it, no. I usually skip breakfast anyway.”
“Good. I’m not hungry, either.” He looked around to see if they’d left anything. “As I understand it, we don’t have to check out. Let’s just get back on the concourse, and see what we can see.”
“Fine. Uh, Will?”
“Yes?”
“Thanks for the use of the bed. It was kind of you.”
Will bowed in perfect Krann fashion. “My pleasure.”
Together, Riker and Troi left their room and walked down a short hallway to the lobby of the pension. They were a little surprised to find that no one was around, not even the lobby security guard. “I don’t like this,” Riker said. “It’s as if the place has been cleared out on purpose.”
“Let’s go, Will,” said Troi. “If you’re right, we’re sitting ducks here.”
They left the pension and walked down the concourse, heading away from the gray zone.
“There are a lot fewer people out and about today,” Troi observed.
“This might be more like what a normal day is like,” Riker said. “Things seem calm enough—whoops!”
Lights everywhere were blinking again—four-four-four, over and over again.
“I wonder what that means?” Troi wondered.
“I don’t know,” Riker replied, “but this is the third time in two days that the Krann have dragged one of these alerts out of mothballs. It’s got to mean trouble.”
Troi turned around and looked the other way up the concourse, in the general direction of the gray zone. “Will? Look.”
“Eh?” Riker swung around. In the far distance, he could see a swarm of black-garbed people running down the concourse right toward them. He could also see that their pursuers were armed, as the blinking alert lights glinted madly off the silver barrels of their weapons.
“I think four-four-four might mean ‘let’s go chase the Federation spies,’” Troi said.
“Fat chance,” Riker said, tapping his communicator buckle.
There was no response. He tapped it again.
“Mine doesn’t work either,” Troi said.
“They’ve expanded the gray zone,” Riker said tersely. “Let’s move.” He grabbed Troi’s arm and, together, they quickly headed down a narrow passage that opened up onto another concourse. Riker took a moment to try the communicator again. This time, he heard a faint buzzing in his ear.
He threw a glance behind him and saw that other Krann were coming after them. Some of them were drawing fairly close.
“Let’s keep going in this direction,” he told Troi. “The interference seems to be weaker this way.” They zipped down a passage toward another concourse, always heading away from the original boundary of the gray zone.
Captain Picard and Worf were in the main shuttlebay and were about to board Justman for their return to the Krann flagship when a call came through for Picard. “La Forge to Captain.”
“Go ahead.”
“Commander Riker and the counselor seem to be in trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?” Picard snapped.
“They’re trying to contact us via the subspace communicator, but the Krann are jamming the signal with whatever it is they’ve been using to establish the gray zone. We’re getting only intermittent contact. The transporter lock we’ve been maintaining on them is gone, too.”
“Can you reestablish the lock?”
“Not without more signal, Captain. They’re moving around the flagship—running is more like