Tooth and Claw - Doranna Durgin [72]
“There are failsafes in place to prevent mortal injury,” Picard said. There were additional failsafes available to prevent serious contact as well, but he didn’t mention them; they’d been created after the program drew the attention of the crew, and several had been hurt playing to Worf’s standards. “The computer chooses opponents well matched to the participant’s size. My people, men and women, find this program a useful tool; it keeps them sharp.” Those few who actually chose to use it, that was. Not a fact Picard would mention.
The woman put one creature down for good; another had taken all the abuse it was programmed to tolerate, and ran off. As she faced the third, the program phased into the next level, providing her with protective padding, and giving both she and the creature a set of wicked short swords.
“Swords?” said Atann. “Your people still fight with swords? When you have phasers in your arsenal?”
“As you noted, ReynKa, we do not always have working technology at our disposal. We have other venues for phaser practice; this is where people let off steam. It is something they do by choice, not as mandatory training.”
She fought two of them at once now, her blades whirling and blocking and thrusting; each time she disposed of one of the creatures, it lay as dead for only a moment, and then jumped up to reengage her.
“They don’t stay dead,” Atann observed. “How does she win?”
“It’s not a game. She accomplishes her goal by avoiding computer-declared fatal injuries for the duration of the exercise time period. Of course, some of the crew do establish contests among themselves over who can stay ‘alive’ the longest.” He stepped forward, commanding, “Computer, end demonstration.”
The woman faded away in mid-sword; the creatures, a moment behind her.
Picard looked at Atann. “Would you like to try it?”
As if Atann could have said no.
Chapter Twelve
the shuttle collius sat neatly at the very beginning of the crash path, not quite level but placed well in the available terrain; there was already a vine drooping over it, and stains indicating it had served as a resting spot for bird and beast. Katan’s litter lay just outside the shuttle; Rakal sat beside it, and Gavare, a Tsoran med kit by his side and Shefen assisting, tended them both.
To Riker, it looked like home sweet home.
Worf stood beside the shuttle, alert, his hand on his bat’leth and his gaze moving constantly around the surrounding vegetation. Riker had no doubt Worf had spotted them long ago, although he’d given no indication of it. Too busy watching the area—and the only guard, since the Tsorans were deeply involved with their wounded.
He stumbled, then; Zefan came up beside him, trying not to be obvious about it. “I’m fine,” Riker grunted at him.
“Of course,” Zefan responded, without moving off. Akarr broke ahead of them both, running the remaining distance to the shuttle despite the heat; he knelt down by his men, pointing at Ketan’s leg, examining the dressings draped over Rakal’s arm, side, and leg.
“Ah,” Zefan said with an under-purr-filled sigh, drawing Riker’s gaze. “I’m not sure I was ever that young.”
Riker grinned at him, a wry expression. “I can’t remember it myself.” Or maybe it was just hard to recall a youth based in snowy Alaska while the sweat trickled down between his shoulder blades. Nice shuttle … nice, climate controlled shuttle… and finally, he was here. He stood before the Collins and wondered if he should sit, or if he should simply stay on his feet until he could sit for good. Worf looked directly at him for the first time. “We have a problem.”
Riker felt his eyes narrowing. “And that is … ?” “I cannot get the shuttle energy levels to stabilize” Akarr stood up. “More shuttle trouble?” Riker turned on him. “Don’t. Even. Start.” To perhaps everyone’s astonishment, Akarr, though stiff and aggressive in posture, held his tongue on any response, giving Riker the chance to turn back to Worf, rub his hand over his eyes, make an internal note that the neutralizing sap on