Captain's Table_ Dujonian's Hoard Part 4

Her companions noticed it, too. The Orion made no move, but the human's hand drifted to his belt, beneath which he probably had a weapon.

"What can I do for you gentlemen?" the woman asked us.

Her voice, like her appearance, was smooth and even a little seductive. But her tone was that of a businesswoman.

"We've heard you're looking for some experienced hands," I told her. "My name's Hill. My friend here is called Mitoc." They were names I'd made up during the hovercar ride, mine inspired by a fictional detective I had come to admire. "We'd like to sign on."

Red Abby eyed me. "Even though you don't know where we're headed? Or what the dangers may be?"

I shrugged as if such matters didn't faze me. "It won't be the first time," I said. "Or the last."

Red Abby turned to Worf. "You say you're experienced? Then tell me where you've served."

My lieutenant thrust his bearded chin out. "I have served on several Klingon trading vessels," he answered. "Unfortunately, you would not know them. I also worked the Coridanni and the Jerrok Mor."

The woman nodded judiciously, then turned her gaze on me. "And you?" she demanded. "Where have you served?"

"On the Jerrok Mor, as well," I said. "Also the Nada Chun, the Ferret, and the Erron'vol."

"As what?" she asked.

"You name it," I told her. "Helmsman, navigator, engineer."

"A jack-of-all-trades," she concluded.

"Something like that."

"The rest of that saying is 'master-of-none.' "

I chuckled a little. "That part wouldn't apply, then. I'm good at what I do. All of it."

She regarded me a moment longer, then turned back to Worf. "And you, Mitoc? What are you good at?"

"I can also perform several different functions," he said. "However, my specialty is tactics and armaments."

Red Abby raised an eyebrow. "Really. Then you know how many prefire chambers are in a Type II phaser?"

"Four," Worf answered without hesitation.

She grunted. "I'll take your word for it. Personally, I don't know anything about phasers and I couldn't care less as long as the d.a.m.ned things work when I need them to."

"Then we're hired?" I asked.

Red Abby considered me. "As soon as my officers check your references. As it happens, I know Captain Goody rather well. I'll want to ask him about your tour on the Ferret personally."

"I'd expect no less," I a.s.sured her.

Of course, both Worf and myself had been careful as to which s.h.i.+ps we mentioned. The Erron'vol had been destroyed in a spatial anomaly the week before, about the same time the Ferret was caught smuggling weapons to the Maquis so neither of their captains would be available to refute our stories.

In the same vein, the captains of the Coridani, the Jerrok Mor, and the Nada Chun were all retired Starfleet personnel. Starfleet Command had told them enough to make them useful to us, but not so much as to leave our mission open to discovery.

In short, Red Abby would find our references impeccable. That is, if she even bothered to check, which I suspected she would not.

"One more thing," she told us.

"And that is?" I asked.

The woman seemed to look inside me with her soft, blue eyes. "Have you got any enemies I should know about, Hill? Anyone at all?"

I pretended to think for a moment. Then I shrugged. "None that come to mind," I said.

"And you?" she asked Worf.

He curled his lip. "None who still live," he told her, giving her an answer worthy of a Klingon.

Red Abby nodded, then turned to me again. "See me tomorrow night, same place. If everything checks the way it should, you'll s.h.i.+p out with me the following morning."

"The sooner, the better," I said.

Unexpectedly, she smiled at that. It was a stern smile, without any humor in it. "Always," she replied. Then, having dismissed us, she resumed her discussion with the Orion and the man with the scar.

Exchanging glances with Worf, I headed back to our table, where our contact had been waiting for us. His eyes crinkling at the corners, he asked, "So? Are you gainfully employed?"

"I suspect we are," I replied.

Madigoor "AND WERE YOU?" asked the captain of the Kalliope, leaning forward in his seat at the Captain's Table. "Employed, I mean?"

Picard nodded. "We were. And as I would find out later, I had been right about Red Abby checking our references. She hadn't bothered."

Dravvin's eyes narrowed with interest. "And you took off the morning after you signed on, as this Red Abby said you would?"

"Yes," said Picard. "We beamed up to her s.h.i.+p, the Daring, along with a number of other recruits."

"What kind of s.h.i.+p was she?" asked Bo'tex.

"An old Ammonite vessel," Picard replied, "sleek and black, with a few worn spots on her hull showing her age. Nonetheless, she was in good working order for a s.h.i.+p of that age. Red Abby had added some improvements to her as well, particularly in the areas of propulsion and armaments."

"To her credit," Hompaq remarked.

"In any case," Picard continued, "neither we nor any of the other newcomers to the Daring were apprised of our destination. As I understood it, only three people on board had that kind of knowledge."

"Presumably," said Robinson, "the ones Red Abby felt she could trust."

Picard nodded. "One was her first officer, the Orion we had met. He called himself Astellanax. The second was the human with the scar, who went by the name Sturgis and served as her navigator. The third was a half-Romulan, half-Bolian named Thadoc, who helmed the vessel."

Flenarrh rubbed his hands together thoughtfully. "A half-Romulan, half-Bolian, you say?" He smiled. "I don't believe I've ever seen a joining of those particular species."

"What did he look like?" Hompaq asked.

Picard recalled Thadoc's features. "Like a hairless Romulan with blue skin and a subtle ridge running down the center of his face. But his demeanor was strictly Romulan."

"Relentless," Robinson observed.

"Relentlessly efficient," Picard noted. "Red Abby couldn't have asked for a more capable officer."

"And the other two?" asked Flenarrh. "What were they like?"

Picard shrugged. "Sturgis didn't say much, so it was difficult to tell though I had a feeling he would as soon have cut my throat as looked at me. Astellanax, on the other hand, was as talkative as most Orions, and what he talked about most was the Daring."

"The s.h.i.+p?" asked Hompaq.

"Yes. He said he had never served on a vessel so quick and responsive." Picard looked around the table. "Of course, he had never been on the bridge of a Galaxy-cla.s.s stars.h.i.+p."

Hompaq regarded him. "But you must have had some idea of where you were going. You could see the stars, could you not?"

"Not well," Picard told her. "Once we left Mila.s.sos Four, we a.s.sumed a pace of warp six or better. But Lieutenant Worf and I could glean enough to determine our general heading."

Robinson's eyes seemed to twinkle. "And that was?"

"A portion of the Caliabris sector sandwiched between the Carda.s.sian Union and the Romulan Empire, though claimed by neither. I knew little about it," Picard conceded, "as the Federation had not charted its worlds. But I had a feeling I was going to find out."

"What about the rest of Red Abby's crew?" asked Bo'tex. "Were there any Caxtonians aboard?"

Picard shook his head. "Most of the crew was either human, Andorian, or Tellarite, though there were more than a few Ferengi and Yridians present as well ... and a Pandrilite named Corbis, with whom Lieutenant Worf had shall we say a small difference of opinion."

"Do I detect a note of sarcasm?" asked Dravvin.

"Judge for yourself," Picard said.

The Tale HAVING BEEN AMONG the last to sign on with Red Abby, Worf and I were given the graveyard s.h.i.+ft. That meant we had some time on our hands. Several hours' worth, in fact.

If we spent it apart from the rest of the crew, Red Abby would surely hear of it and begin to wonder what we were up to. So rather than arouse her suspicions or anyone else's, for that matter we opted for a public venue in which to while away the hours. Since the s.h.i.+p boasted no lounge or recreation areas, the only choice left to us was the mess hall.

It was a severe place, as gray and dimly lit as any of the corridors, and devoid of observation ports. That and its location on the s.h.i.+p led me to believe it hadn't always been a mess hall, but a storage area of some kind.

The place stood in stark contrast to the lounge on the Enterprise. Still, the trio of replicators behind a rounded, gray rail seemed to be in working order, and the chairs, though flimsy-looking, appeared to be reasonably comfortable.

There were several other crewmen already occupying the mess hall, seated at one table or another. Obviously, they were graveyard-s.h.i.+fters as well, and they'd had the same idea we had as to how to pa.s.s the time.

Approaching the replicators, Worf and I each took a tray from a stack in a recessed compartment. I ordered a ham-and-egg sandwich, an old favorite from my boyhood on Earth, then found a seat at an empty table and waited for Worf to join me.

Unfortunately, Worf's replicator wasn't working as well as he had hoped. As we would learn later, it simply wasn't programmed for a great variety of Klingon dishes. After making several attempts, the lieutenant rumbled deep in his throat and reached for the replicator I'd used.

The result was the same. Refusing to believe he couldn't have his heart's desire a plate of rokeg blood pie, as it turned out Worf reached for the third replicator. However, by then, a Pandrilite had come up behind him for a second helping and was reaching for the same set of controls.

As you may have guessed by now, this Pandrilite was Corbis, of whom I spoke. If I told you the fellow was big, it would be an understatement. He stood a head and a half above my security officer, and Worf was not puny by any means.

In any event, in reaching for the replicator, my lieutenant inadvertently upset Corbis's tray. Before the Pandrilite could react, his plate slid into his chest and deposited the greasy remains of a stew.

With a curse, he righted his tray and the plate slid back. But by then it was too late.

Corbis looked down at his tunic, where the stew had left a dark, oily stain. Then he looked at Worf.

"What are you, blind?" he rumbled with a voice like thunder. "Who's going to clean this tunic?"

The Klingon shrugged. "That is your problem. You would not have soiled yourself if you had not been so eager to grab for more food."

"I soiled myself?" the Pandrilite echoed, towering over Worf. "It was you who pushed my tray over."

"I pushed nothing," the Klingon insisted, his lips pulling back to show his teeth.

"You're a liar," Corbis grated, leaning forward so his eyes were only inches from Worf's. "You shoved my tray and you'll clean my tunic or you'll take your next meal through a tube."

I had overheard everything, of course. At first, I let it go, thinking the incident would blow over. But when I heard the Pandrilite's threat, I knew I had been overly optimistic.

Getting up from my seat, I hurried over to intervene. In the process, I saw a couple of Corbis's friends rush over, as well. One was an Oord, judging by the tusks protruding from either side of his mouth. The other was a rather husky Thelurian, his facial markings an angry green.

It was a disaster in the making. However, I intended to head it off. After all, I had negotiated treaties between entire species. Surely, I thought, I could make peace between Worf and a Pandrilite.

I was mistaken, of course. It wasn't the first time, and, sadly, it would not be the last.

Worf, I must say, was showing admirable restraint. At least, by Klingon standards. His eyes narrowing, he said, "I would advise you not to make threats you cannot carry out."

"Oh, I can carry them out all right," Corbis replied and flung the remnants of his meal in the direction of Worf's face.

The lieutenant must have been expecting it, because he ducked. Instead of hitting him, the Pandrilite's tray went hurtling across the room and struck a bulkhead, then clattered to the floor.

Arriving just in time or so I thought I interposed myself between Worf and Corbis. "Gentlemen," I said, "this is a simple misunderstanding. I'm sure if we cool down for a moment, we can settle everything."

The Pandrilite looked at me for a moment, as if trying to decipher my existence. Then he drove his fist into my face, sending me hurtling like his tray except not quite as far.

As I regained my senses, I saw Worf had not taken kindly to the battering of his commanding officer. Hauling off, he drove a blow of his own into the center of Corbis's face, snapping the man's head back and sending him staggering over the replicator rail.

Unfortunately, the Pandrilite's friends had entered the fray by that time. Spinning Worf around, the Oord head-b.u.t.ted him between the eyes. Dazed, the Klingon was an easy target. The Thelurian took advantage of it by planting his fist in Worf's midsection, doubling him over.

By then, I was on my feet again. As the other diners roared encouragement at us, I charged the Thelurian and shoved him into a bulkhead as hard as I could. Then I turned toward the Oord just in time to see him lunge savagely for my throat.

Sidestepping his rush, I chopped at his neck as he went by. It had some effect, but not nearly as much as I'd hoped. Then again, Oord are known for their ability to endure punishment, and I'd probably missed the nerve bundle I was aiming for anyway.

Suddenly, I was grabbed from behind and dragged over the serving rail. Rather than resist, I flipped backward and caught my attacker by surprise, sending him cras.h.i.+ng into the wall behind him.

Twisting to free myself, I saw it was Corbis. Before he could react, I struck him once in the belly and a second time in the jaw. The crowd bellowed its approval.

But Corbis was a Pandrilite. Even my best blow couldn't have incapacitated him, especially in the cramped quarters of the serving area.