"That's my decision to make," Akarr cried out as Riker walked away.
"Then make it!" Riker shouted back without even turning around.
That's when it struck, a huge, long-bodied blur of
motion with big ears and plenty of teeth--the only glimpse Riker got as it bounced toward him, shouldering into his hip and knocking him flat, again, only to bound away again.
"Sculper!" Gavare called, apparently not so addled that he couldn't keep track of the things that wanted to eat him.
Riker, already back to his hands and knees and peering suspiciously around, found that the Tsorans had fallen into defensive positions around their injured. "Where'd it go?" he said, wary and disgruntled, and not at all sure he wanted to get back on his feet. But climb up he did, easing back toward the Tsorans to take up a new position, his feet set in a wide and stable base. The jungle was silent; nothing moved.
"Sculpers," Rakal said. "They prefer their prey dead, and if it lives, they play with--"
"There!" Takan shouted, pointing, taking aim; Riker got a better look this time, was able to spot the two happily whisking tails, to see that while the sculper's interest was in the wounded men, it targeted those who protected them. Would try to intimidate them, according to what he'd read, disposing of them with hit-and-run.
Easily bigger than the Tsorans, it launched in to bounce off Regen, sent him flying, then bounded away and came from an entirely new direction--at Riker again. Huge, happy, overgrown hyenas with too many tails and too many teeth. And a thing or two to learn about the mettle of Starfleet's officers.
Until now, the attack had been silent--only the rustle of leaves, the short cries of warning, the tension of waiting. Until now. Riker snarled a challenge and lifted the bat'leth to meet the creature as it sprang for him, lowering its head, presenting its shoulder He had no chance of staying on his feet. But he
slammed the bat'leth at the creature anyway, turning the collision into a head-on crash that sent him tumbling across the ground. Disoriented, he staggered back to his feet, trying to find the menace--hell, trying to find any of them in this dizzying assortment of greens and grays--and more than a little glad when he backed up against the support of a gnarled ball of tree roots. Something moved behind him and he jerked around, bat'leth at the ready' Peace Rakal stopped short and held out his hands in the reasonably universal gesture of / mean no harm. "The beast is gone, Riker."
"Gone?" Riker repeated, looking out over the jungle.
"You drew blood. It is a scavenger, and for all its size prefers to avoid real confrontation. It merely sought to annoy us into leaving, so it could have our wounded."
Riker shook his head, which didn't do anything to clear it--it never does, when are you going to learn-and licked the blood from his lip, rubbing the shoulder he'd landed on. On second thought, why bother? Everywhere else felt just as battered. "It did a damn good job."
"Ah?"
"Of being annoying." Riker pushed himself away from the tree, discovered he was only on the other side of it from the Tsorans, and drew himself up to enter the fray again--this time with Akarr.
Except this time, Akarr didn't seem interested. He conferred quickly with his guards--aside from Regen, who only slowly climbed to his feet on the outskirts of the group, hunched over his broken arm, clearly in agony. No one paid him any attention, and Riker's swift anger fortunately turned to understanding before he acted on it; they were giving Regen the space to express his pain without losing face over it. Riker, too, turned away.
And then Regen's sudden scream cut the air--not a scream of his pain, but of mortal terror--and they all whirled, crouching, ready for action Not that it did them any good. The guards released dart after dart, none of them close enough to penetrate, as a lumbering sholjagg--heavy-bodied, with huge, clawed front paws and a short, stiff tail riding the spine of the main tail--ambled in with amazing speed. Right up to Regen it went, clamped the scrambling guard in its massive jaws, and ambled away without breaking its rapid stride. Regen's wild struggles ceased almost immediately; his scream gurgled out into a fading gasp.
The kaphoora party stared after him in shock. Any number of trank darts dangled out of the retreating sholjagg's thick fur; plenty of others had disappeared into the foliage. Riker doubted there was much left in the way of ammunition.
No, the Tsorans had never hunted the Legacy this deeply before. And they clearly had no idea what they were up against.
Finally, Akarr spoke, his words quick and decisive. "We will find a place to stop for the night," he said. "We will gather wood, as a group. We will make clubs and spears as we can. No one of us will ever be out of sight of another." And he looked up at Riker, as if defying him to find fault with any of it--to make note of the fact that he was effectively breaking all the rules the Fandreans had set for such expeditions.
Riker straightened, drawing back his sore shoulders; he tilted his head in the slightest sign of acquiescence. He did not say, / told you so.
But he thought it very hard.
Chapter Eight
worf closed the newly provisioned med kit firmly enough to elicit a protesting snick from the container, and La Forge looked up from his last-minute adjustments to the new secondary shields. He knew enough to recognize the glower on Worf's face for the impatience it was. "Just a few more minutes," he said. "It won't do Commander Riker any good if you go down, too."
"It will do him even less good if he is eaten before I arrive," Worf said implacably.
Well, that was true, too. La Forge fine-tuned the frequency interaction between the two shields, and confirmed that both scavenged generators from the scooter pods were precisely aligned. There. He stood back and gestured to the shuttle controls. "Remember, keep these engine shields on at all times, even if you leave the shuttle. Other than that... it's as ready as it'll
ever be," he said, and that was true enough. It didn't have enough seats--some of the returning passengers would have to sit on the floor--but it had Tsoran medical supplies and drugs, extra rations suitable for all the species involved, and a waiting crew of several Fan drean rangers.
"It is about time," Worf said, not quite under his breath.
"Yeah, well, it's about timing, too," La Forge said. "Don't forget that it takes tremendous energy to open that portal. It'd be one thing if we could be sure of hearing communication from within the shields, but--"
"I know," Worf said, and then stopped abruptly, wearing the expression he often had when he seemed to be restraining himself. He recited, "The portal can only open three more times, and it will do so in six-hour intervals."
Unfazed by fraying Klingon temper, La Forge added, "After that, you'll have to wait two days before we can begin the cycle again. Recharge time."
"It is a ridiculous system," Worf grumbled.
"Which is why I'll be working to solve the communications problem the whole time you're in there," La Forge pointed out. "We'll be trying to raise you, so keep your ears open. If it works, we'll take the portal off the timer and wait to hear that you're ready to come out." He glanced at the newly mounted shield generators, couldn't think of anything else to adjust, and reluctantly headed for the shuttle door. "Good luck, Worf."
Worf's rumbling reply was low enough that La Forge wasn't sure it was meant to be heard. "A Klingon does not need luck."
No, of course not. But La Forge's smile quickly faded as he stepped aside for the Fandrean rangers. Maybe Worf didn't need luck, but he had the feeling that Commander Riker and the Tsorans could use a goodly dose of it.
Riker crouched to pluck a dart out of a wide, rubbery leaf, dropping it onto his palm. He straightened, and, holding the dart up to eye level, rolled it slightly in his hand, examining it. Takan, on a similar dart- and wood gathering mission, came by and held out his hand for it. "We'll need that."
"Of course," Riker said, and handed it over. He'd get a better look at another one later. For now, he didn't have the time to waste. He left the rest of the darts to Ta
kan and Gavare, and joined Rakal, Ketan, and Akaar in their search for defensible ground ... and plenty of firewood.
"Over here!" Rakal called, excitement in his voice. Too far from the others for Riker's taste, but if they had a window of safety within which to operate, it would be now, in the aftermath of the sholjagg's presence. Cautiously, he left Takan and made his way to second group, watching the ground with distinct attention for any tubular threats.
Rakal, he discovered, had ample reason for the triumph in his voice. He and the others were crouched before a steep bank, a cliff that seemed equal parts clay and rock with striations of darkly rich soil layered throughout. The ground directly before the cliff was tangled with foliage, but free of any large-girthed, towering trees; there would be room to build a bonfire or two. Defensively, it looked to be about as good as this area was likely to offer--better, in fact, than Riker had ever expected to find, because for all the challenges of the footing, the actual terrain had been fairly mild. Not only did the spot put a wall at their backs, but it curved around,
enhancing the shallow indentation which--if one were very generous--might be called a cave formation.
Riker was inclined to be generous.
"You see?" Akarr said, noting his arrival. "We don't need your shuttle."
"Regen might feel differently," Riker said dryly. "If he were still able to feel anything at all."
"And," Akarr said, as though Riker hadn't spoken at all, "we're significantly closer to the portal."
Riker wasn't so sure about that, either. But instead of saying so, he added his armful contribution of wood. Not dry... nothing was. But the incendiary tablet would take care of that.
It had better.
"We'll need more wood." Akarr poked the small pile with his foot. "Enough wood to keep the fire high all night. That should keep them away."
If I were a sholjagg, would I be afraid of a little fire? Riker recalled the size of the beast and wasn't entirely convinced. But it was definitely a first step. "I'll get more," he said. He thought again of the tranks, hanging ineffectively in the sholjagg's thick, coarse hair. Lots more.
"Now that we've found a defensible spot, we'll all look," Akarr declared. He lifted his head and bellowed, "Gavare! Takan! Join up!"
They set to gathering wood with intensity, combing the woods near the cave while the ambient light slowly dimmed and the bird and insect noise cranked up to the point where it was hard to hear anything else--even the sound of Riker's own movement through the jungle. He found himself on alert, freezing each time the increasingly active insects sounded off nearby. A small, froggy creature that might or might not have had beetle-like wings poinged off his temple, dropped down to his
beard, and got its sticky feet tangled there so thoroughly that Riker had formed a distinct image of himself striding through the Enterprise corridors with a small winged frog stuck to his face before he finally freed the thing and sent it off into the brush.
But nothing tried to eat him, and he had at least two of the Tsorans in his sight at all times. Very cozy, just a nice roaring bonfire for a pleasant little camp out.. .. When he returned to the cave, he could barely see the dark hollow behind the stack of wood piled before it.
Riker began sorting through it, moving the main bulk of the wood--fallen branches ranging from green to punk-wood rotten--to the side so there was room to build the actual fire. He picked out the driest pieces for the fire-starting process, hefting anything that came into his hand that felt like it might serve as a club. Something with a longer reach than a bat'leth.
Besides, Akarr's men had not yet thought past the firewood to the extra weapons they would need--even if the tranks worked on the next creature to come after them, they'd already severely depleted their supply of darts--and Riker had a feeling they'd follow suit if they saw him arming himself with crude tools.
Gavare wandered in dragging a branch almost as thick around as he was and dropped it beside the newly sorted wood, immediately sitting down beside it. His mind seemed to have cleared--or, at least, he was no longer apt to wander off on his own--though the actual process of serious thinking remained beyond him. "Wood," he said. "That's good."
"It'll help keep us alive," Riker agreed, selecting a heavy green wood stick as thick as his arm and just as long, and thinking it would be even better if he could
lash a stone of some sort to the end. Or a stone with random spikes, each tipped with poison Definitely spending too much time in Worf's holodeck calisthenics. Or rather, in the toned-down version for humans. Worf Lite.
In any event, this would do nicely for a club. Riker set it aside, and looked over to see Gavare poking through the sorted wood in a desultory way--though he soon ceased, as though he'd forgotten what he might have been looking for. Unlike the rest of them, he didn't seem tense or worried; he looked content, as Riker would define "content" in a Tsoran, and he hummed to himself, a gentle under-purr.
"Why is it," Riker said, considering that getting knocked on the head might in fact be a good strategy for making it through the next few days, "that all of you are willing to go to such extraordinary lengths to continue this kaphoora?"
"Everything must be just right," Gavare said, answering in distraction as he found a potential spear that delighted him; he took out his small knife and carved away at the tip.
"Just right for the kaphoora? It's too late for that."
"Kaphoora," Gavare said, and made a short snuffly noise, an odd flapping of his lips. "For the Federation. That's what this whole kaphoora is about... more than just prime kaphoora to Akarr. He's got Takarr to worry about."
"Takarr?" Riker stopped arranging the fire circle he'd started and gave Gavare a hard look. Idle and wandering words from a concussed Tsoran, and he had the feeling they held the first truly crucial information the Tsorans had revealed.
But the sharp edge to his voice must have cut through Gavare's fog, made way for some sense in the guard's
head. He said, "Better get that fire started. This time of day, the sculpers come out in gangs--" He cut himself short, tilting his head, listening.
Riker heard it, too, just as the others drifted to the heart of their camp area, cautious and hunting out the source of the noise.
Overhead.
Not as powerful as usual, but no less the sweet for that. A shuttle, flying low and steady, from the direction of the portal right along the flight path the Rahjah had taken.
Worf. The Collins. No doubt he was heading for the Rahjah's planned landing site; with any luck the light was not yet so dim that he couldn't see the crash path.
Not that there was anywhere near the Rahjah to land except in that crash path, and a tricky bit of flying that would be.
It didn't matter. Worf was in the air, come to look for them in response to the broadband cry for help. He'd find the Rahjah, all right.
"And we'll be nowhere near it," Riker muttered out loud.
"What?" Akarr switched his attention from the now fading engine noise to glare at Riker; surely he'd guessed the source of the noise, for he wasn't asking. "What did you say?"
It was a dare, Riker thought. A dare to say / told you so. But not a dare he had any intention of taking. Not when he still had to get through the night, and that wouldn't happen if the Tsorans decided to take serious exception to him.
"Come morning," Riker said, his voice carefully neutral, "we'll have a way out of here."
"How long," Gavare said, squinting out into what was definitely growing darkness, "will it take you to light that fire?"
"Depends on just how wet this wood is," Riker told him, slinging his backpack off to pull out the incendiary tablets. "Why do you ask?"
Gavare didn't answer right away; as his companions glanced warily about themselves and Riker shaved a quick pile of curling bark for under, the answer became evident--a slinking, long-bodied shape, a double-tailed whisk of movement in the foliage ... the sculper was back.
"Get that fire started," Akarr said, ignoring t
he fact that Riker was already assembling the under and kindling, had placed the flat button on the ground beneath it, and was prepared to pull its activating tab. "Everyone else--take a point. Use the rocks and spears, and save the tranks!"
Had they found time to make spears and gather rocks? Riker hoped it was so, but didn't look away from his task, flinching as the tablet flared to life with intense heat and light, and wincing at the strong sizzle of the larger kindling. If it was that wet, it might well take two tablets to establish a self-sustaining fire.
One of the Tsorans shouted; Riker didn't bother to check who, though he could tell why, even with ruined night vision. The rush of a sculper, its soft cluttering laugh of a retreat--sounds he already knew by heart. He couldn't help the others now; he kept his focus on the fire. Adding small branches to the small tablet-inspired inferno as fast as he could, daring to try a larger branch ... he hesitated, ready to snatch it away if the fire dimmed, all too aware of the brief skirmish taking place off to the side.
But the tablet fueled the flames, and by the time it died, they had a large, healthy fire blazing before the cave-enough of a fire to spook the naive sculper... for now.
And no one else had been hurt.
For now.
"Akarr!" Takan shouted from the other side of the fire. "It returns!"
Star Trek - TNG - 60 - Tooth and Claw Page 11