Tooth and Claw - Doranna Durgin [12]
Riker, much as he hated to admit it, was impressed. Whatever his diplomatic deficiencies, Akarr had not exaggerated the importance of this event. When the museum doors opened, a crowd surged around Akarr—and so did his escort. At Riker’s nod, the Federation escort closed the distance.
It was a losing proposition, but Akarr didn’t seem to mind; he also seemed to consider Starfleet’s job completed, and after some moments of being jostled and ignored, Riker drifted aside. The noise in the crowded museum made it impossible to engage the interactive displays, but there were plenty of stills and ho los to look at. Life-size ho los
It was quite a big museum.
Riker studied the gliding arborata hologram, finding it even more impressive than the viewscreen image in the conference room—its size truly apparent, matching his own torso even without the span of the thick skin between its bat-like forearms and heavily clawed back legs, and its teeth gleaming in an opossum-shaped muzzle. He took special note of the action of its barbed tails; most of the animals highlighted here had two tails in
some configuration—like the sholjagg, a broad-chested, barrel-legged ground-hunter that had a long primary tail with a shorter secondary tail riding the spine of the first. Looking at its wide, copiously toothed mouth, Riker couldn’t imagine it ever had occasion to employ the tail barbs. What, after all, would be so foolish as to chase that? Skiks, maybe. He circled around a holo of ski ks in action, a large, darting flock that attacked in strafing runs, spitting digestive poison as they flashed overhead.
He found Worf eyeing the cartiga display. Its shoulders came to Worf’s midsection, and at intervals in the display, the animal’s rocky territory phased into sight, proving the worth of its patterned, rippling fur; the creature all but disappeared.
Worf seemed not to notice. It was the cartiga’s teeth he looked at, and the massive, semi retractable claws.
“Mr. Worf,” Riker said, “you look like a man with a certain gleam in his eye.”
“I only regret that I am not to join this hunt,” Worf said, seeming almost mesmerized as he added, “The honor of combating such an animal…”
“Aside from the fact that there’s no room in the shuttle” —for the ReynTa, his six men, and their supplies in case the hunt should last a number of days filled the shuttle to bursting—”I’m sure that’s exactly why you’re not coming.”
Worf tore his eyes away from the cartiga for the first time. “Commander?”
Riker leaned in, not that discretion was necessary in this noisy celebration. “The competition, Worf. He doesn’t need the competition. He wants all the glory for himself this time out.” And probably the next time out, for that matter, for Riker understood that any time a
ranking politician on Tsora lost popularity, he’d stage a kaphoora to earn daleura … and approval.
Hmmm. Not a bad idea, come to think of it. He could think of a few Starfleet admirals … La Forge squeezed through one last set of Fandreans into the relatively open area around the cartiga. “Finally!” he said, straightening his uniform. “I’m all for getting to work on those forcefields, but to discuss the fine points of harmonics in this? No, thank you!” Then he seemed to realize he was all but between the paws of the leaping cartiga, and moved aside. “Nice kitty.”
“Mr. Worf shares your opinion,” Riker said. “I think he’s considering stowing away on the Rahjah to join us tomorrow.”
“I would do no such thing,” Worf asserted, frowning with much disapproval.
Riker sighed. “It’s a joke, Mr. Worf.”
“Well, you