Tooth and Claw - Doranna Durgin [81]
It was dead, and Riker had killed it. Everyone would know that. Akarr looked at the animal and said, “I didn’t break the rules to kill it… but it is dead. I want the skin for my trophy.”
“You what?” Zefan’s arm hair rose—longer, silkier hair than the Tsorans, and not with quite the same result. Akarr had never seen a Fandrean trigger that threat before. “You cannot possibly consider taking a pelt off planet! Do you know how it will inflame the poachers? And at a time when our force field seems to be unstable!”
“It is unstable in ways that are to your favor,” Akarr said. “And the pelt is the only trophy that will offset the things that have happened to me here.”
“We don’t have time to skin it,” Worf growled.
“Akarr,” Riker said, “don’t make me sorrier than I already am that I gave you this chance. You’re the Tsoran ReynTa. Your people take their cue from you. Is this what you want to show them? That you glory in the death of an animal that was fighting drugged? That you bend the rules for the sake of your own daleura, instead of reveling in the daleura you’ve gained under the same rules as everyone else?”
Akarr thought of the scientist who had reported on the safety of the shuttles, who had presented a fictitious Fandrean report. For the sake of his family daleura, no doubt—whether he’d been told to, or done it on his own. Akarr himself had lived the consequences of that deceit. Then, unable to truly face or acknowledge such fault, he retreated deeply to Tsoran pride. He touched his vest packet—the whisker was secure enough, although the vest itself was more battered yet. “You know nothing, Riker,” he spat. “You know nothing of us or our ways or our rules.”
“Maybe not. But I know a wrong when I see it.”
“I don’t need the pelt,” Akarr said, rigidly stiff in his posture, speaking to the others as though Riker had said nothing. “I will overcome the unfortunate events of this kaphoora on my own.” And he stalked back to the group to reclaim his turn at Ketan’s side.
Behind him, Riker said to Zefan, “I’m truly sorry. If I’d seen another way—”
“With the Tsoran ReynTa between its paws and the trank wearing off faster every second?” Zefan said. “We all mourn the outcome. But I cannot say I have ever seen anything more bravely done.”
Just what Akarr was afraid of.
Chapter Thirteen
“WELL,” troi said, stopping short as she entered the conference room, her expression changing abruptly from preoccupied worry to startlement. “You two look somewhat the worse for wear.”
Picard knew what Atann looked like; he could imagine, from the various stinging and swollen spots on his person, what his own appearance must be. Left to his own devices, he was not inclined to use Worf’s calisthenic programs with tampered safety protocols. Left to his own devices, he preferred the opinionated but basically obedient gray Arabian from his own holodeck program. All the same, there were appearances to keep up. Daleura, as it were. “Just a short workout,” he said, as if it were a typical occurrence. “Looking for common ground, so to speak.” But he aimed a short, hard look at Atann, who turned his gaze away in acknowledgment.
The holodeck diversion had been much more than
that—as had his threat to beam the ReynKa aboard. Not just about Picard and Atann and the byplay between them. Not personal daleura, which was the mistake he’d made from the start, although they did indeed each personify their individual allegiances.
No, it had been about the Federation’s daleura.
And the Federation had plenty of daleura, regardless of their disinclination to use it as a bargaining tool. More than enough to outrank one lone planet full of Tsorans. All he’d had to do was make that clear in no uncertain terms, and then step back to give Akarr room to respond. Up until today, he was quite certain the Tsorans had indeed played the Federation for fools. That they indeed had no intention of following up on their promised discussions, and would consider it honorably done, if the Federation