Time to get this party started.
One last look around the area provided Choudhury with what she decided would be the best approach to the structure. Opting to keep the aperture out of her line of sight as she maneuvered closer, she rose from her crouch and moved to a point along the wall where some of the stones had fallen away, providing an opening through which she could pass. Minding thick vines and other vegetation, she stepped through the breach, scanning the ground in front of her before taking each step.
Halfway between the relative safety of the wall and the structure’s opening, Choudhury sensed a hot ache between her shoulder blades. Freezing in place, she tightened her hands around the bat’leth’s rough leather grips as her muscles tensed in anticipation.
She was being watched.
Despite all her caution, Choudhury realized her opponent had somehow managed to maneuver behind her and waited for her to move away from anything that might offer protection. Gauging her distance from the structure, she surmised there was no way she could reach it before she fell victim to attack.
Damn. Damn. Damn!
The curse was all she had time to think before Choudhury sensed movement behind her. Reacting more from instinct than anything else, she ducked and pivoted to her left, bringing herself around in time to see the dark form lunging at her. Fading sunlight glinted off curved metal, and she brought up her bat’leth just as something crashed into its heavy blade. Choudhury grunted in momentary shock and felt herself forced backward. Scrambling to her right, she rotated her weapon for defense as she caught her first clear look at her newest attacker.
Worf.
For Margaret Clark.
Thanks for everything.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead,
is entirely coincidental.
1
Foul sludge splashed across the ground before Lieutenant Thirishar ch’Thane, and he recoiled in momentary shock as a noxious odor assaulted his nostrils.
“Get away from here!”
Wiping away flecks of the rancid fluid that had hit his face, Shar backed away from the older Andorian who had thrown the filthy water at his feet. The merchant, his blue skin darkened with age, stood stoop-shouldered in the doorway leading into his shop. Shar had seen him tending to the plants outside his storefront on more than one occasion during his walks through this part of the city. In his hands, the shopkeeper wielded a rusted metal bucket, which he now shook before him in Shar’s direction.
“Get away from here, you traitor!” the old man repeated, stepping down from the doorway onto the sidewalk lining the row of buildings on this side of the narrow street. He raised one arm and pointed a long, wrinkled finger at Shar. “We don’t want you here!”
Shar held up his hands to indicate he presented no threat, still trying to fathom what he might have done—or failed to do—to call forth the aged merchant’s ire. He had been warned about isolated instances where other Starfleet personnel—none of them Andorians—had encountered such behavior, but none had been reported here in Lor’Vela. Indeed, he had come to think of this part of the city as his new home, just as many Andorians had in the year since the Borg invasion. The largest population center on Andor to weather the attack relatively intact, the city had served in the months that followed as a rally point for survivors across the neighboring regions, with sprawling refugee camps springing up along the coastline and in the foothills to the north and west. While much of the city lay within and beneath the surrounding mountain range, this section had been constructed aboveground, reminding Shar of his childhood home. The reconstituted, provisional Andorian planetary government now was located here, having summoned lower-ranking officials from cities and provinces around the world to fill the void left by the loss of so many political leaders. Laibok, the former capital city, had fallen to Borg weaponry in the opening moments of the attack, with much of the surrounding region being laid to waste. Had Shar been on Andor when the invasion began, he would have been working there, and certainly would have numbered in the millions of casualties recorded on that day.
