Part 20 (1/2)

”I could be enjoying it more.” He grinned his offensive grin. ”But I'm making do. We all are, aren't we?”

The others grunted their agreement, and Deanna found herself wis.h.i.+ng that Riker would show up. Even though she knew she wasn't in any real danger, she disliked the feelings she was getting from them. ”I'm on my way up to the bridge,” she lied.

”Well ... ”

Aneel stopped, suddenly noticing that Selelvian he'd spotted several days ago just ahead of them. The elf was waiting patiently in front of a large set of double doors, and then they opened and, to Aneel's shock, two people dressed in winter clothes stepped out. Flakes of snow seemed to blow past them and vanish as soon as they hit the hallway. The Selelvian nodded a greeting to them and stepped through the doors which closed behind him.

”What's that place?” said Aneel.

”That? That is the holodeck. Realistic computer creations allow you to live out virtually anything you can imagine,”

”How interesting.” He pointed ahead, down the hallway. ”Will that turbolift take us to the Ten-Forward Room?”

”Oh yes,” said Deanna, unsure of whether she'd been able to keep the relief out of her voice.

”Good. Come along, men.”

Deni and the other Kreel reacted in mild surprise to their leader's sudden eagerness to get to the Ten-Four Room. But they said nothing, hurrying instead to keep up with Aneel as he sped down the hallway on his muscular legs.

”What's the hurry?” asked Deni.

”The hurry,” replied Aneel, ”is that something occurred to me that I didn't want the Betazoid to know about. How much have you learned about her, Deni?”

And Deni, who had been doing quiet investigations on all key personnel, said, ”You needn't have been concerned. She can't read thoughts. Just sense emotions.”

Another one of the Kreel snickered and said ”I bet she was picking up a few great ones from me.” There was raucous laughter from the others, which continued as they got to the Ten-Four Room and entered.

The usual a.s.sortment of off-duty personnel was there. There were also six Klingons seated around a table.

Chatter in the Ten-Four Room started to ease up as the occupants slowly realized that there was potential for major trouble here. Six Klingons. Six Kreel. Twenty-four fists.

The odds were not promising.

The highest-ranking Klingon present was Sklar, and the others immediately looked to him for what lead to follow. Sklar, for his part, did not move. He knew what the Honorable Kobry had arranged, and what he expected. By the same token, he answered directly to Tron, and he knew how Tron felt about the Kreel-a feeling that he and the others at the table shared. There was, of course, honor to consider, but were the Kreel mature enough to comprehend honor?

Sklar and the others sat stiffly, as if bolted to their chairs. They were poised to stand quickly if need be, to attack lethally if it was required. Sklar allowed his right hand, which had been under the table, to drift toward the top of his boot where a knife rested comfortably. Next to him, Sub-Lieutenant Derl was prepared to yank his garrote from concealment in his belt buckle.

Swaggering, utterly confident, Aneel ambled toward them, arms dangling relaxedly. He had a lopsided sneer that Sklar was certain was indicative of total contempt. Sklar mentally chose a point two feet away where, if the Kreel crossed it, Sklar would consider that an act of aggression and pull his knife. Self-defense, of course. Pact or no pact, he wasn't going to let a Kreel sc.u.m get within choking distance.

Perversely, the Kreel stopped just short of that mentally drawn line-of-no-retreat.

Aneel folded his arms across his barrel chest. He was staring directly at Sklar with those d.a.m.nable pig eyes of his, and Sklar waited for him to do something.

From the bar, Guinan called out to the new arrivals, ”Can I help you gentlemen?”

Aneel paused and then said slowly, not to Guinan but to Sklar, ”I'll buy you and your people drinks ... if you'll buy me and my people drinks.”

Sklar blinked in surprise. It was not at all what he'd been expecting. Hardly any sort of violation of the s.h.i.+pboard treaty. He glanced at the other Klingons but they were just as surprised.

”Well?” said Aneel. ”Are you going to show that you're less hospitable than we?”

Sklar's lips thinned, his heavy brow bristled, and then in a low voice he called to Guinan, ”Bartender ... drinks for the Kreel.”

And Aneel promptly responded, ”Bartender ... drinks for the esteemed Klingons.”

”On the house,” Guinan said.

Normally, the Klingons preferred something a bit more in the rotgut category, such as the swill they'd brought on board, but in this instance Guinan used discretion and reached for the synthenol.

The liquid began to flow.

”Estimated time of arrival at DQN 1196, Mr. Data?”

Data turned from his position at ops and looked curiously at Picard. ”Precisely thirty-two minutes sooner than the last time you inquired, Captain.”

Picard settled back in his command chair and sighed. ”The sooner this business is over with, the happier I'll be. I feel as if there's a clenched fist in my stomach.”

”So far, so good, Captain,” commented Riker.

”No, Number One, you mean, so far, no one is dead.” Picard shook his head. ”I have an extremely bad feeling about this.”

Suddenly a voice came over the intercom, snapping, ”Security to bridge!”

Worf's head snapped around, beating Picard to the response as he said, ”Bridge, Lieutenant Worf here.”

”Disturbance, sir. Ten-Four. Knives being thrown. Mobbed down there, but we believe Kreel and Klingons are involved.”

”d.a.m.n!” cursed Picard. ”Worf, Number One, get down there!”

”Security team, meet me at Ten-Four!” barked Worf even as he darted for the aft turbolift, with Riker right on his heels.

It seemed ages ago that, in this very same arboreal setting, Jaan and Wesley had engaged in mindless hide-and-seek games.

Jaan now wended his way through the forest, phaser out, competing against a computer-created enemy. He had not wanted to disturb Wesley-Wesley who was his only hope. Wesley who was his only friend.

For the umpteenth time he considered somehow trying to undo the damage that the Knack had done to the young genius. But there was no point to it. Let Wesley go on trying. He might succeed. And even if he didn't ...

His thoughts grew dark. Even if he didn't, who cared, really? So Wesley lost some sleep. So what? He, Jaan, was what counted. He was what mattered. He wanted to live. In most cultures, that wouldn't be considered a crime.

And the Federation-what had they done for him?- hadn't found a cure for the Rot. Oh, they'd been working on it, or so they said. But they undoubtedly had more important things to worry about, like building bigger and better s.p.a.ces.h.i.+ps. Who gave a d.a.m.n about one life?

”The h.e.l.l with them,” he said, and at that moment a phaser bolt struck him square in the chest.

The computer-created seeker had found him, and Jaan was blasted back off his feet, caught totally unaware. A tree halted his backward flight, but he hit it with full impact and the world spun around him.

He slid to the ground and lay there helplessly, feeling humiliated. Once, he had been the best at this game. Even computer creations couldn't begin to cope with his speed, his stealth. Now his concentration was unfocused, his body movements stiff and clumsy. The disease was creeping through him, eating away at his nervous system.

The computer-generated human stood over him, unmoving, not making a sound. Why should it? It was just an unliving sh.e.l.l.

Which was what he was going to be.