Tooth and Claw - Doranna Durgin [19]
They sat behind him, in padded seats no less comfortable than his own. Special seats, installed by the flagship just for his kaphoora. He’d seen the pleased looks on his men’s faces as they inspected their conveyance. Nothing like the minimalist Tsoran space vehicles they were used to … although of all his men, only Gavare had been on kaphoora before. The others were his own personal security, those who had trained hard to protect Akarr in all aspects of his life. Pavar, the light-coated and curious one, Regen, Ketan, Takan—all had started out with him when he was merely a child and they were young men barely past kaphoora. Rakal ranked them all, Rakal who had been caught scratching by the Starfleet woman. A disgrace that she had not immediately looked away; Rakal no doubt still felt the shame of it.
Now Rakal moved to the other side of the shuttle, the side consumed by stowage compartments and a fancy head. The stowage held their food—enough preserved rations for an extended hunt, if that’s what it took. They couldn’t judge the length of this kaphoora by any others it was not only his first, it was a first for all Tsorans to go so deep in the Legacy … The stowage also held their trank weapons and darts, shelter-building materials, and medical supplies. With all of that, there was also much empty space; on the trip from Tsora to Fandre, these compartments had been stuffed with engineering components, and had been sized for those needs.
Rakal, lurching in the shuttle’s turbulent progress, double-checked the stowage latches, giving the doors a good thump for extra measure. Shifting back to his place, he lost his balance entirely, falling into the padded chair instead of sitting with dignity.
Enough! Akarr moved to the empty copilot’s seat, his balance unhampered by the shuddering ship. He took one look at Riker’s grim expression—these humans were hard enough to read, never mind the fact that this one had unusually patterned hair on his face—and demanded, “What’s happening?”
Riker didn’t look up from the shuttle console; his fingers flew over controls that meant nothing to Akarr. “Trouble,” he said shortly, and then swore, abruptly shifting to reach the console in front of Akarr. The shuttle lurched, straightened, and lurched again; Riker responded too quickly to be doing anything but randomly punching at controls.
Akarr drew back just enough to keep from hindering
his pilot, but not so far that he couldn’t see out the viewport, where the trees seemed to be rising at an alarming rate. Something scraped the bottom of the shuttle, tilting them.
“Sit back,” Riker said, intent on the controls as they somehow straightened. “And hang on.”
“What kind of superior technology is this?” Akarr demanded, ignoring the command, feeling nothing but offense at the fact that the Federation flagship would put him on a faulty shuttle. “The Fandrean scooter pods have never failed us!”
“Technology that wasn’t built to function within a tech damper!” Riker hit a few controls in quick sequence, and made a satisfied noise; Akarr knew only enough to guess it had something to do with communications—even though Riker hadn’t said anything. Then Riker glanced at Akarr, sitting on the edge of the human-sized seat, and gave a jerk of his head, a commanding gesture. “That seat is built to protect you when we hit—sit back!”
“Hit?” Akarr repeated, even as the shuttle dipped wildly, barely recovering to level flight. Behind them, his men stirred; a glance showed Pavar rising from his seat to come forward.
“Crash. Wreck. Smash into the ground.” Riker didn’t even look at him, intent on the controls as the engine whine faded almost to nothing, fingers dancing as the shuttle bobbled and straightened, one arm braced against the edge of the console.