Tooth and Claw - Doranna Durgin [65]
His words struck no resonance in Akarr. “You make as little sense as he does. He has done nothing since our arrival but interfere with me. How does this suit your image of a leader who inspires such risk?”
A flicker of humanoid annoyance crossed the Klingon’s face, all the more noticeable for his formidable brow. “I am not in the habit of repeating myself. And your questions are irrelevant. As I said, we are close.”
“I don’t understand.” Akarr looked around them. It seemed obvious to him that they’d simply followed the same path in return as they’d used on their way out they even passed the area where Riker’s snake-thing had torn up the jungle in its angry, wounded thrashing. “We haven’t even reached the crash path yet.”
Worf looked up at the trees, where shadowed movement caught Akarr’s eye as well. “When we first found the downed shuttle, I landed there. The Rahjah was too damaged to fly again, so I determined which direction you’d taken and relocated to the end of the crash path. That is the only distance we must go.”
“Worf, I like the way you think,” Riker said with a crooked grin; it annoyed Akarr simply because he couldn’t properly interpret it. He’d come to understand the varying intensities of the human smile, but was this one of them? Or was it something else entirely? Riker lacked the arrogant-looking posture he often assumed with such a partial grin … but then, Akarr had never quite interpreted that, either.
“After I found the opened grave, I had reason to believe it was imperative to catch up with you as soon as possible.” Worf’s gaze flicked from one tree to another; Akarr couldn’t see just why, but he warily aligned himself to have the same field of view. The others, who had gladly stopped at his command to rest, moved a little closer to them; one of the Fandreans came up to join them. Then Worf’s words caught up with him.
“Open grave?” he said. “We left no open grave.”
“I believe that is the point,” Worf said.
“It probably took a sholjagg to move the rocks we saw,” Zefan said, inviting himself into the conversation and ignoring Akarr’s glare. “From the looks of the shuttle interior, the crash is what killed him?”
“I’m afraid so,” Riker said.
“It is amazing that anyone was able to walk away
from an engine-failure crash in this terrain,” Worf said, giving Akarr another one of those … looks.
Akarr began to realize that the Klingon did little of his most essential communicating with words. “If you want to hear words of praise for your Commander Riker, you won’t. Am I supposed to be pleased that he managed to land an inferior piece of equipment, stranding us here in the Legacy and injuring my men? I am not.”
“I take it then that you will not find it necessary to join us aboard the Collins when we leave?” Worf returned his attention to the trees, apparently not concerned with Akarr.
This cool adeptness with Tsoran insults surprised Akarr, and the hair on his arms rose no matter how he willed it down—just as he couldn’t squelch the trickle of anxiety the Klingon had created. They wouldn’t leave him here in the Legacy. They couldn’t.
Another glance at Worf’s expression made Akarr think that maybe the Klingon could.
But Riker wouldn’t do it. Riker had already demonstrated how he felt about leaving men behind, about doing less than his best for those in his hunting party. Or away team, as he generally called it.
Still. Safest not to answer that one. To just let it fade away.
“Commander,” Worf said, glancing at Riker, and then at the wounded Tsorans ranging behind Akarr, “if you are ready, I think we should move on.”
“Yes,” Riker said. “I saw it.”
Saw what? Akarr almost asked, but stopped himself just in time. It wouldn’t do to admit that he hadn’t yet seen whatever the two Federation officers were worried about. Then a startling little