Star Trek: The Next Generation: Survivors by Jean Lorrah

Author:Jean Lorrah
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Science Fiction, Star Trek, Fiction
ISBN: 9780671742904
Publisher: Pocket Books
Published: 1991-03-15T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

TASHA YAR WAS Starfleet Security trained. Once she was certain that no one was going to attack her in the night, and that the door was indeed barred, not locked in some way that could be picked or jimmied, she prowled the bare but adequate room that Darryl Adin had her locked into, only long enough to ascertain that there was no escape.

The building was stone, with hand-laid parquet floors of the kind made only in times when manual labor is cheap. Without a tricorder, she could not be sure there were no hidden sensors, but she could not imagine where they would be installed unless parts of the wall were false. The stone felt real, and gave back a solid thump when she struck it. The wooden door frames had the patina of genuine age, and she could detect no tampering with them.

There were no windows, and the only doors were the one to the hall and one leading into a primitive but functional bath. The only mirror, small but clear, was in there, hung above the basin, but it was not positioned to take in the bedroom, making it an unlikely candidate for spy device.

The bed consisted of a thick pad on a wooden frame, covered with soft blue linens. Yar took it all apart, felt every bit of the mattress, and then remade the bed. There was nothing, and no devices on its underside.

What would they expect to find out by spying on her anyway? Dare had her combadge. She couldn’t communicate with Data. Dare would expect her to do exactly what she was doing, and then, when it became obvious that she could not get out, rest so that she could face whatever happened in the morning.

There was no closet, only a peg rail. A soft blue robe hung on it, with a pair of soft slippers on the floor beneath. Yar decided to accept the invitation; her dress uniform had been through enough this evening without being slept in.

The bath had no cabinet; a wooden shelf held comb, hairbrush, toothbrush, dentifrice, soap, towels, and a tube of shampoo. She recognized the last item: Dare’s personal preference, made with herbs from Rigel Seven. It was part of his individual scent even now, she recognized as she sniffed it, a wave of nostalgia washing over her.

But she could not allow herself to be overwhelmed by yesterday. Darryl Adin was a traitor and a murderer, and now, by his own admission, a mercenary. He was no more to be trusted than President Nalavia—and Yar feared that she and Data had been thrust into one of those gray situations in which neither side was in the right.

Since there was nothing to do until morning, though, she put all that out of her mind, and slept.

Starfleet officers—star travelers in general—did not allow their bodies to settle into a fixed circadian rhythm, as each planet they visited had different days and nights, and they might beam down to noon or midnight, winter or summer.

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