over your head! You got that? Just do it! Or I
swear I'll kill her. I swear!"
Don't listen to him, Will, he heard in his
head. Don't do what he wants. He'll
kill you.
"Kill her," said Riker evenly, "and you'll
have nothing to bargain with."
"I don't care whether she lives or
dies!" shot back Maror. "If you don't
care either, then that's that. So I kill her, put
my hands over my head, and surrender. You won't
be able to do a damned thing except turn me over
to the authorities. And she'll be dead. Now if
that little scenario doesn't bother you, then fine!
Or maybe you just want to take a whack at
shooting the both of us. But I don't stun easy,
Lieutenant! You'll probably fry her while
you're trying to knock me out. And if you fail
to stun me, then I'll kill her anyway. From
where I sit, you don't have a hell of a lot of
choices!"
"I have plenty of choices."
"No, you don't! I know that and you know that!" His
voice went up in register, his barely restrained
panic starting to overwhelm him. "Now throw down the
weapon! Come on! Do it! Throw it down or
I'll kill her, I swear I will, now do it,
throw it down, throw it down now or she's dead
right now!"
"All right!" And Riker tossed the phaser
to one side. It clattered away, out of sight.
Deanna sagged against Maror, her thoughts
black.
"The jacket, too! You might have some weapons
hidden. And the belt! Slowly! Keep your hands in
sight! So much as one twitch and she's dead. Her
life's in your hands now, Lieutenant. Yrsffwas
Carefully, making no sudden moves, Riker
slid the jacket off. Then he reached around and
undid the fastening on the belt. He ran it
slowly through his hands, saying, "See? Nothing on
it. I don't have any other weapons." Then he
dropped the belt to the ground.
Grinning, Maror raised his weapon and took
dead aim at Riker. But to Maror's
surprise, Riker remained as calm as if he
had the upper hand and said, "Now lay down your
weapon and no one will hurt you."
"You've got to be kidding me."
"No, I'm not kidding you. You see ... you're
surrounded."
For the briefest of moments, Maror seemed
confused. Then, firming up his convictions, he said
defiantly, "You're lying! This is just some ...
some pathetic bluff!"
"No bluff. There are Starfleet people on either
side of you. And although they're trained to give
innocents priorities, they're also trained
to protect ranking officers. Put down your
weapon now, and you won't be injured. But if you
take any offensive action against me, my men will
shoot. Even if it means injuring or killing your
hostage. They will endeavor to save my life over
hers."
"You can't fool me. That's against Starfleet
policy," Maror snarled.
"True. But security men sometimes follow their
own dictates. And frankly, you're not in a
position right now to question their priorities."
Maror was silent for a long moment. Then he
stood and hauled Deanna to her feet, shoving the
blaster against her.
"I think," he said slowly, "that you are
bluff+. I think that all of you split up in
order to cover more ground. This is a very, very big
jungle. Oh, you may be in communication with them,
but there's no way that they can possibly be close
enough to make any sort of difference. In fact,
it'd probably take you a couple of days
to rendezvous with them, seeing how much time has gone
by. And so I'm calling your bluff,
Lieutenant. Tell them to shoot. Go ahead."
"This is your last warning," said Riker sternly.
"I know. I'll chance it."
Riker looked bleakly at Deanna and said,
"I'm sorry." And then, suddenly, he spread
his hands wide and shouted, "All right, men!
Fireffwas
For a second there was nothing, and then, to his
shock, Maror caught movement out of the corner of
his eye, to his right. He snapped his weapon around
and fired, and then he saw something over to his
left. He spun, not sure where to look first.
He had been so certain that Riker was alone, and
now there was movement behind--
The distraction was all that Riker had wanted,
all that he had time for. Without hesitation he took
two quick steps and leaped off the slope, arms
outstretched, directly toward Maror.
Maror looked up in alarm, realized his
error, swung his blaster around, and fired.
Deanna chose that moment to shove upward and
back, and the sudden movement sent Maror's shot
wide, just missing the fast-moving Riker.
Riker plowed into Maror, pushing
Deanna clear with one hand while grabbing at
Maror with his other. The two of them went down,
rolling and shoving, struggling desperately, each of
them trying to get leverage.
"Will!" shouted Deanna, for Maror had
temporarily gotten the upper hand and was now trying
to bring his weapon to bear on the Starfleet officer.
She ran toward them and grabbed at Maror,
trying to yank him off Riker. Maror rammed the
stock of his blaster back, slamming Deanna in
the stomach. She went down, gasping and retching, the
agony threatening to overwhelm her.
It was all the delay Riker needed. He
swung his hands up and boxed Maror on either side
of the throat, at the base of the nictating
membranes that served as his vocal apparatus.
It was the equivalent of slamming a punch to the
Adam's apple in a humanoid.
Maror gagged, his breath momentarily cut off,
but his strength was still far superior to Riker's. So
when Riker got his hands on the blaster, Maror was
still able to hold on to it as his injured membranes
fought to regain their equilibrium.
The combatants shoved against one another, pitting
their full weight and strength, grunting and growling
low and incomprehensible noises. A twist, a
turn, jockeying for position, and Riker managed
to get his feet planted. With a quick twist of his
hip he slammed Maror up against a tree with a
bone-jarring jolt.
Maror lost his grip on his blaster, and it
clattered to the ground at his feet. Riker had a
split instant to make a decision. He released
his grip on Maror, gambling on his speed and the
damage he'd inflicted on the Sindareen thus
far, and lunged for the blaster.
It was the wrong move. Maror's foot lashed
out, kicking the blaster away into the underbrush.
Riker was off-balance, and Maror drove his foot
up into Riker's face.
Riker went down, rolling, tasting his blood
welling up in his mouth. Ma
ror came after him,
kicking furiously, Riker just barely staying
ahead of him.
Riker managed to scramble to his feet, and
Maror came in fast. Riker braced to meet the
charge, his back against a tree, and only at the
last moment did he see the knife flashing in
Maror's hand. Where he'd pulled it from, Riker
hadn't a clue ... probably he'd
kept it secreted up his sleeve.
Riker immediately switched tactics, twisting and
just barely avoiding the slashing attack. The
blade sank into the tree trunk. Riker's hands
swept up and he slammed his head forward, his
forehead cracking against Maror's face.
Maror fell back toward some brush ...
And his questing hand came up with the blaster that had
been knocked over there.
Riker dove for cover as the blaster bolt
sizzled over his head. Maror pivoted, dodging
to the right to try to get a clear shot at Riker.
And Riker saw where Maror was heading.
"Wait!" shouted Riker. "Stop! Don't go
there! Don't move!"
Maror, his voice returning, cackled, "Why
not, Federation man? Because this will give me the best
angle to turn you into a sack of boneless skin?
Or maybe security men lie in wait for me?
I'm tired of your bluffso, Lieutenant! I'm
tired of you!"
Maror leaped to his right, landing with an odd
squishing noise, and aimed his blaster at Riker,
whose hiding place was now fully exposed.
Incredibly, Riker had not given up the
apparent pretense that he somehow had the upper hand.
In what seemed a masterpiece of acting, Riker
shouted, "Move! Before it's too late!" and he
waved his hands wildly.
"The one who it's too late for is--"
And that was when Maror realized that he was getting
shorter.
He looked down.
He was standing squarely in one of the infamous
Jalara Jungle mud pits.
He knew what they looked like. Yesterday a
small animal he'd been chasing for food ran
headlong into one and had sunk from sight in a little under
two seconds.
From the speed with which Maror was vanishing into the
dark, pasty nonsoil, it appeared that larger
creatures, such as humanoids, took a bit
longer. Like, five seconds.
He looked back up and finished the sentence with
slow realization. "Is me," he said as the mud
crept up to his shoulders.
Riker scurried forward, arm outstretched,
watching for the edges of the mud pit so that he didn't
slip in. "Hold on!" he shouted.
Maror actually seemed amused.
"To what?"
That was the last thing he was able to say as the mud
covered his throat. Riker got to the edge of the
pit, which he could discern by the dark rim, and reached
out, trying to grab at Maror's hair. But
Maror was just beyond Riker's grasp, and then five
seconds were gone ... and so was Maror. He
vanished beneath the surface of the mud pit without a
trace.
And insanely, Maror's final expression had
been one of quiet triumph.
CHAPTER 26
Riker went to Deanna and saw how she was staring
at the center of the mud pit. In a low whisper,
she said, "He won. He was never caught."
"Are you all right?" asked Riker, taking her
by the shoulders. "Did he hurt you?"
"I'm fine." She got to her feet, pausing
only to nurse the dull ache in her stomach.
"I'm fine. I want to get out of here."
"All right. Let's just wait a few minutes
until--"
"No. Now." There was an urgency in her
voice, a desperation to try to distance herself as much as
possible from the site of these events.
"Okay. Let me just get my equipment
together."
She nodded, her gaze never wavering from the mud
pit.
Riker quickly got his jacket and belt and
retrieved his phaser from where he'd tossed it.
Then he tapped a small button on one of the
belt compartments, and Deanna blinked in
surprise as two small diamond-shaped
objects shot past her. "What are those?"
"Target-practice devices. Standard
issue for ground-based security personnel.
They're what I used to distract Maror."
"Oh." She nodded, and her voice sounded very
distant. "That was quite clever, w. Quite clever."
He stared at her. "Are you sure you're all
right?"
"Positive. Let's go."
Riker didn't say anything further, but
simply guided her gently away from the mud pit
site. He studied her bedraggled condition and,
insanely, still couldn't help but think how good she
looked despite her ordeal. She
seemed to have an endless reserve of inner strength.
Once they began walking, Riker contacted
Tang. Maror had indeed been correct in his
guess. Riker and the various members of the
security crew had split up, the better
to cover the vast distances of the jungle. It had been
Riker who was fortunate enough, after several days of
searching, to detect the life readings of Deanna
and Maror using his tricorder.
recovered (he avoided using the ^w rescued
... it sounded melodramatic somehow) and that they
would now be heading toward the rendezvous point. It
would take a few days to get there, but Riker was still
well stocked with provisions, and no abnormal
delays were anticipated.
Riker had been preoccupied with his mission
throughout the past few days and had not paid all that much
attention to the jungle, other than to avoid its
pitfalls or obstructions. His judicious use
of a phaser to carve himself a path now served him in
good stead, making it that much easier for him to make his
way back ... even if the tricorder weren't
capable of enabling him to retrace his steps.
With the pressure off, he was really able to take
notice of the true beauty of the Jalara
Jungle. He realized now that the flowers and
vines that had decorated the interior of the wedding
chapel must have been taken from the jungle. The
flowers and growths were exotic combinations of
colors. The air was warm, even steamy, without being
irritatingly humid. It was filled with a scented
mist that was invigorating, or perhaps simply
smelled all the sweeter with Deanna's
freedom now a reality.
He turned and looked to Deanna, who had
been extremely silent for the past half hour.
She was shivering. Her arms were wrapped around
herself, and there, in the midst of a warm jungle, she
was shivering. Her teeth were chattering.
Immediately he knew what was happening. All
during the time when she was in danger, she had
managed to keep everything bottled up. She
had
detached herself from the fear and uncertainty, from the
terror that must have accompanied every moment. Such
feelings could be repressed or ignored for the
duration of a crisis. But sooner or later they
would come roaring back and would have to be dealt with.
He went to her and put his arms around her,
settling her into a seated position.
"Shh. It's okay. Let it out, Deanna.
That's all right."
She trembled more violently, staring not at
Riker but straight ahead, as if she expected
someone or something to come at her from the underbrush. Her
hand clamped onto his upper arm, her fingernails
digging into the skin with such fierceness that Riker had
to stifle the impulse to push her hand away. As it
was, he kept his mouth shut, not letting on that it
hurt like hell.
He stroked her face, continuing to make soft,
comforting noises. Letting her know that it was okay
to be frightened. Reminding her that she wasn't
alone. Telling her that everything was going to be all
right, that she was out of danger and soon all of this would
just be a distant, bad dream.
As he spoke, she drew herself closer to him,
pressing against him and readjusting his arms so that he
completely enveloped her. The quaking still convulsed
her body, and her lower lip trembled. Tears
rolled down her face, but she did not cry out
loud. Her complete silence was almost eerie.
He didn't say anything further. He
merely rocked with her, back and forth, gently,
letting his mere presence be something from which she could
draw reassurance. And slowly, ever so slowly,
the trembling diminished and eventually stopped. The
tears ceased, and then she brought her hand up and
wiped away the remainder of the moisture.
Then she looked up at Riker. He smiled
down at her and, wondering if she was prepared
to move on, said, "Ready?"
She nodded. "Yes. Yes, I am." She
reached up, wrapped her hand around the back of his
head, and drew his face to hers.
The kiss was very long and very sweet and filled with
promise. Their lips parted and he looked at
her, the jungle air making him feel giddy.
There was an unreality to it all. Going native
was the old phrase.
"Deanna," he said, his voice low. "This
... this isn't right. This isn't the time. You aren't
thinking straight, you've been through a lot, you--"
"Let me"--she held his face in her hands--
"let me put this to you in a way that I know you'll