Tooth and Claw - Doranna Durgin [77]
At least, as long as his people were only dealing with themselves.
Gah. His head hurt. Too many hours under this infernal sun. Akarr kicked a rock from his path, and watched with satisfaction as it took flight in a long, shallow arc and dropped out of sight beyond the next patch of vegetation. The others turned to look at him, and he pretended not to notice.
Were they even any closer to the portal? Too sybling hard to judge the distance of a shimmer in the sky.
And still he didn’t think about the thing that truly bothered him. That someone hadn’t wanted him to seize his trophy. Had sabotaged his dart supply so he couldn’t. Because surely, that had been the intent behind the tampered darts. Denying him the daleura of this hunt, daleura no one else would ever have the chance to obtain. Federation flagship. Transport deep into the jungle.
Transport deep into the jungle … When the leap of thought first hit him, Akarr stumbled over a root, barely catching his balance in time to save himself from a nasty fall. What if Zefan had been right? What if the Fandreans hadn’t ever seen the report? If the coordinating engineer had falsified Fandrean approval? Both events led to the same potential outcome. What if it hadn’t really been about his daleura at all, but something … more? He could have died in that crash. The tampered darts. He could have died in the jaws of the Legacy’s predators.
Maybe … someone hadn’t wanted him to come back.
Akarr tried to compose his face, to keep his thoughts from it. No one must know where those thoughts had led him, past conjecture and on to such complete treachery. It was a Tsoran thing, a private thing, and no one outside his family could ever know. It would damage them beyond repair, and ruin the dynasty that had followed his father’s line for years almost beyond counting.
“Akarr?” Riker said, stopping to look back at him.
Akarr realized that he was standing alone, some distance behind the rest of them. And of course Riker had noticed. He glared at the man. It was all Riker’s fault, this confusion of his—it was Riker who had been pounding at him since the very beginning of this trip. Presenting him with conflicting input—how could he not respect a man who fought with such determination
as this one? How could he not despise a man who so flagrantly disrespected Tsoran ways? Always Akarr had found it easy to assign beings into one category or the other. Always until now.
“Are you all right?” Riker persisted, not wise enough to back off at Akarr’s clearly meaningful expression. Human with a bat’leth, standing there, waiting stupidly for trouble With movement off to his side. Not small and skittery, not something blown about by the breeze. Akarr, his every fiber focused on glaring at Riker, gave the movement a startled look, a change that Riker did not ignore. But though Akarr examined the area carefully, he saw nothing. Riker’s frown would seem to indicate a similar experience.
“Commander?” Worf called, hesitating at the front of the group.
“Coming,” Riker said, giving the spot one last glance, and then looking back to Akarr.
Akarr bit back a snarl and moved to join the rest of the group, not wanting to do it but wanting less to be the one who kept them from reaching the portal in time.
Within moments, Worf had stopped them again, performing his own narrow-eyed scan of the area. And then it was Gavare who pointed, and then Rakal—which surprised Akarr, since the ravaged guard was on enough painkiller to keep him seeing everything but reality.
“Cartiga,” Zefan finally said, and Shefen nodded unhappily.
“Cartiga,” Worf repeated. “The creature from the museum.”
The one between whose paws