Tooth and Claw - Doranna Durgin [61]
Relief.
Instant relief.
And what an incredible … smell.
Riker closed his eyes and slowly unclenched his fingers from the tree, becoming aware of the wood jammed under his fingertips, sorting out the tingling pain of the burns from the actual process of the burning—now that that process had ceased. In the background, he heard the discharge of several trank guns, and then … quiet.
When he opened his eyes, it was to see Worf’s face, much closer than he was accustomed to viewing those dark, craggily sculptured features. Worf jerked his knife from the tree and let the flyer slide to the ground as if it were inconsequential—as if just anyone could have pinned the thing in mid flight and had the confidence to do it centimeters from his ranking officer’s face. “Are you all right, Commander?”
“All right,” Riker said slowly, “is a relative thing.” Slowly, he straightened, pushing himself away from the tree. “Compared to a few moments ago, I’m outstanding.” Compared to the day before he’d first spoken to Akarr… Carefully, he settled his shoulders back, rotating the injured arm. Perfectly functional, even if it didn’t want to be, even if his body wanted to stagger away somewhere in shock. Then he eyed the scene around him-the discarded leaf, milked of all its pungent juices, and the two Fandreans, still straightening themselves out, wiping their hands off against the ground. Takan lay just exactly where Riker had left him, while Gavare and Akarr worked over Rakal at the mouth of the cave, a pile of flaccid, milked leaves beside them.
Of the flyers, there was little sign. The dead one at the base of this tree … the two flopped limply on either side of Takan. Tranked, Riker saw. He straightened his
uniform and cleared his throat. “I wasn’t expecting to see you quite this soon, Mr. Worf.”
“We hurried,” Worf said.
Riker took the statement in, mulled it over, and nodded. “I commend you for your hurry, Mr. Worf. In fact, I will downright worship your hurry if you still have a functioning shuttle to go along with it.”
“The Collins is running low-tech and heavily shielded, sir, but it is running.”
One of the Fandreans plucked the tranks from the two downed flyers and gently tossed the creatures into the woods.
“Giving them a chance to come back for another try?” Riker asked, easing over to join them at Takan’s body-for there had been no mistake, not even as Riker fought the flyers away over the Tsoran, that Takan had died during the battle. Riker winced now to see him—his fur was patchy and matted, and the exposed skin beneath peeled back to muscle. Did his arm look like—? He brought it around, trying to see, and couldn’t.
“We stopped the digestion in your arm, but it will need treatment,” the Fandrean said. “And yes, we will give the ski ks every chance to live. They have done nothing wrong here; this is their home, and they only hunt it as is their nature.”
“This is Zefan,” Worf said, somewhat belatedly. “He commands the Legacy rangers. He and Shefen volunteered to assist us.”
“You have my gratitude,” Riker said. “We can use the help—in case that’s not obvious.”
“What I don’t understand,” Worf said, “is why you left the Rahjah at all. It was perfectly good shelter—”
“I was outvoted, Mr. Worf. Let’s leave it at that.”
“Yes, sir,” Worf said in the neutral tone he’d cultivated for those times when he really had quite a bit he might like to say after all. Riker recognized it well enough, and let it pass.
“Skiks, you called them.” Riker looked back at the one by the base of the tree, and found it gone; sometime during their grim inspection of Takan, Akarr had taken it, and was quietly trimming its claws off. Riker, although admittedly fuzzy on the fine points of being Tsoran, had the feeling that it didn’t quite count as an appropriate trophy.
On the other hand, if it made Akarr happy and expedited their return trip out of here, he didn’t give a damn how badly the kid cheated.
“Yes,” Shefen said, eyeing Akarr with distaste and then turning away. “The substance