Nightshade
Page 9
“What Commander La Forge is asking is for a detailed explanation of how your engine functions. Alive or inanimate, the question remains the same.”
“How are they to help us, Diric, if they do not even understand the simplest basics of our science?” Veleck asked.
For once, Geordi could only agree. The ship was in danger of imploding, and everyone on board would die. And he didn’t have the faintest idea what made the ship run, let alone what was wrong with it.
He took Data to one side, while the Milgians argued about the wisdom of having aliens in the ship’s engine room. “Data, how can we fix something when we don’t even understand how it works?”
“That is a problem, but we must do all we can or lives will be lost.”
“Do you understand how these engines work?”
“No, but perhaps a doctor would be in order?”
“What do you mean, Data?”
“If the engines are indeed alive, then perhaps Dr. Crusher could heal them as she heals the Milgians.”
Geordi patted Data on the shoulder. “That is a brilliant idea.”
Data cocked his head to one side, “Really.”
Geordi shook his head, and pressed his comm. “La Forge to Dr. Crusher. We may have another patient for you.”
Chapter Eight
WORF STOOD IN FRONT OF the far wall of their sleeping quarters. His hands were clasped behind his back so tightly that the muscles in his arms quivered. Rage threatened to choke him. He was Klingon and his heritage threatened to eat through his brain and come pouring out of his fists. Muscles tight, he wanted to strike out in a mindless rage. Everything had been going well one moment, and then the next moment: chaos. The entire situation had slipped through Worf’s fingers. The captain was imprisoned for murder, under a death sentence. What kind of security officer allowed such things?
The Orianian guard assigned to the captain had trailed after them, at a distinct distance. Breck seemed in no hurry to approach the new ambassador. Ambassador? Ambassador Worf. It would have been funny under other circumstances. A good warrior knows his own strengths and weakness. Worf knew without doubt that he was not made for diplomacy.
But they could not afford enraged pouting now. There was no time, Worf knew, but what he wanted more than anything right now was to drown his helpless feeling in a good solid fight. Though he heard Troi’s light footsteps come up behind him, he did not turn around. He was still not under control. She sighed, softly, and stood to one side.
He could see her out of the corner of his eye, but he pretended not to. Worf did not trust his voice yet. He stared as hard as he could at the wall hanging in front of him. It was a lovely scene, the graceful branches of a tree heavy with some pink fruit. Large fluttering insects danced on a breeze that must have been sweet-scented. It was very lovely and something Worf normally wouldn’t even have glanced at. Now he tried to memorize it. He treated it as something he would have to report in detail to the captain.
He closed his eyes and tested his memory. Yes, he could report it in detail, as if it were a room, or the scene of a crime. Worf opened his eyes. His rage was contained. It bubbled under the surface, warm and somehow reassuring, but he controlled it. He was Klingon and that, for Worf, meant the greatest challenge was always within, not without.
With the anger contained, the self-doubt flared stronger. Worf knew his weak points, diplomacy was one. And this was not the situation he would have chosen for his first diplomatic effort.
“Worf,” Troi said quietly.
He stiffened and glanced at her out of the side of his eyes. “Yes.” The word was almost a growl, yet he had not meant it to be.
“Worf, I know you are angry and worried about the captain. We all are, but we have only three days to find the real murderer.”
He whirled on her, nearly yelling. “Do you not think I know that?” He stopped himself, taking a deep breath. Troi’s concerns had to be as great as his own, and she was his friend. She did not deserve the brunt of his anger. He stepped back from her. “The captain should not have ordered me to let him go. I should have died trying to keep him safe. Instead, I allowed him to be led off to slaughter. It is unthinkable.”
“What would you have done? Fought them all?”
“Yes!”
“You would have been killed and perhaps taken us all with you. Is it honorable to cause the deaths of your friends?”
He turned away from her. “I cannot allow the captain to be executed while I stand by and do nothing.”
“What could you have done?”
“I could have fought.” He said evenly.
“Fighting would have gotten you killed. It would not have helped Captain Picard. The captain was right, Worf. We have to solve this by peaceful means. We cannot let the Orianians provoke us. A peace conference is no place for violence.”
“General Alick would not agree,” Worf said, turning back to stare at her. “His death was very violent.”
“I was there,” Troi said. An emotion Worf rarely saw flitted across Troi’s expressive face—anger. She swallowed hard, and Worf watched the ship’s counselor fight for control.
Seeing Troi so affected helped steady Worf more than anything else.
“I felt him die, Worf. His terror, the pain . . .” She stopped in mid-sentence. Pain showed in her eyes, her tears gleaming like glass.
“Counselor,” Worf said. He stared down at her, wondering how to show he understood, without acknowledging he had seen her lack of control. One thing both of them valued was control. “I did not realize you felt his death. I am being foolish to think my honor is the only thing being compromised. Are you all right?”
She smiled at him, and nodded. “I’m fine. You are the acting ambassador now, Lieutenant Worf. What are your orders?” She stared up at him as she said it.
His anger was still there, and she would feel it, but Troi would also know he was in control of it. He was a Klingon among humans, he was a master of eating his own rage.
“Thank you, Counselor, for reminding me of my duties. We must find the real killer of General Alick. It is the only way to save the captain. And we must find a way to continue the peace negotiations.”
“Agreed,” Troi said.
“Who gains from this death, that is the proper question,” Worf said. He had absolutely no suggestions for how to begin the negotiations again. The first Federation ambassador was under arrest for the murder of an Orianian leader. Why would the Venturies and Torlicks listen to the second ambassador?
“I would say the Torlicks, but this war is killing them, as well. Would they really sabotage the future of their entire race to win a war?”
“Races have done so many times, Counselor. After we have rescued the captain, forged a lasting peace, and returned to the ship, I will loan you some books of military history. I believe you will find them . . . enlightening.” His doubts about the peace did not show in his voice. Worf was pleased with that. If Counselor Troi could sense his self-doubt that was one thing, but he wanted no one else to know.
“Um . . . thank you, Worf. I’m sure I will find it unique reading.”
“Did you feel deception from any of the Torlick faction?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“The death was so overwhelming that it blocked out everything else. The murderer could have been standing right over the body while it was happening, and I could not have told you.”
“But you told the Orianians that you felt the Greens knew nothing.”
“I did sense only confusion from them, but it was faint.”
“So you are saying that your empathic powers were not at their best?”
Troi smiled, then nodded. “I suppose so, yes.”
“Then the Greens could be guilty, Counselor. They could have done exactly what they were accused of, and Captain Picard’s involvement was accidental.”
“But why would the Greens kill the leader of the Venturi faction? For the
first time in over twenty years the Greens were being given a chance to rejoin their people. To help build a lasting peace. It is what they have striven and sacrificed for. Why would they sabotage it?”
“You heard Audun, Counselor. His people have been hunted like animals, killed on sight as traitors. Hatred is a good motive.”
Troi had to agree with the last statement. “If hatred is the motive, Worf, the Venturi hate the Torlicks too.”
“Yes, but theirs is a hatred among warriors. I do not understand why they would turn to poison when they could kill each other on a field of battle.”
“May I add something, Lieutenant?” Breck asked.
“You may,” Worf said.
“It is not the method of your enemy’s death that matters but that he is dead. We are a more practical brand of warriors than the Klingons.”
“Do you believe it was your own people?” Worf asked, surprised that he would voluntarily point the finger of blame in that direction. The Orianians seemed to have no sense of racial loyalty.
“I do not have an opinion. I am a sentinel, nothing more. I do as I am told.”
“Why are you helping us against your own people?” Worf asked.
“I am a sentinel, Lieutenant. If a person under my care is killed then I will die as well.”
“I don’t understand,” Troi said.
“If Ambassador Picard is executed I will be dead soon after. If I do not do the decent thing and kill myself, someone will probably kill me. A sentinel that fails so completely is never trusted again, Healer. I would be an outcast at the very least. Most sentinels who face this option, choose death.”
“So it is not out of loyalty to our captain, but fear for your own life, that you help us?” Worf said. Somehow that made Worf trust Breck just a little bit more. Self-preservation he understood. This strange shifting loyalty was a total mystery.
Breck made that familiar palms out gesture that passed for a shrug. “I will agree with all you say.”
Worf frowned at the phrasing of it. “If you betray us I will kill you myself.”
Breck stared up at the imposing figure, and a slow smile spread across his face. “I would expect nothing less, Ambassador.”
Worf gave one curt nod in acknowledgement of the new title. Captain Picard had made him ambassador, Worf was determined to live up to Picard’s expectations. “The woman who is now in command of the Venturies, do you know her?”
“By reputation,” Breck said.
“Would she have murdered Alick to gain control?”
Breck thought about that for a handful of minutes, then nodded. “She might. But not for ambition’s sake alone.”
“What do you mean?”
“Some of our people felt that the peace was a betrayal of everyone that had given their lives for the war. There was much argument on our side. I think it would be similar in the Venturi camp.”
“You mean she killed him out of honor?”
“Something like that, yes,” Breck said.
“But Worf,” Troi said, “if honor dictated the peace conference be stopped, anyone in the room could have wanted to poison the leaders.”
“The healer is right,” Breck said. “Honor is motive for everyone.”
“Then if everyone had a motive, we must find out who had the opportunity,” Worf said.
“You mean, who could have poisoned the general’s drink?” Troi asked.
Worf nodded, once down, once up. “Could anyone here see General Alick constantly?”
“I was watching for dangers to Ambassador Picard,” Breck said. “Alick’s safety was someone else’s duty. I saw nothing.”
“Counselor?”
“I don’t know, Worf. I was standing right there. But I can’t think of anything out of the ordinary.”
“This is not possible,” he said. “We were all right there, and you tell me none of us saw anything.”
Troi and Breck exchanged glances. The sentinel had the grace to look embarrassed.
Troi spoke first. “Perhaps one of the other Orianians did,” Troi suggested.
“Yes,” Worf said. Here was something he understood. Interrogation was part of security training, and as a Klingon he had special talents in the area. “We will question those who were near at hand.”
He turned to Breck. “We will need a list of all the people that were at the banquet.”
“But Worf, there must have been over thirty people. We only have three days. The questioning alone could take that long,” Troi said.
Worf turned to the counselor and stared down at her. He was on secure ground once more. It was the way Worf preferred things to be. Uncertainty was too close a cousin to fear for any Klingon’s honor. He knew how intimidating he could be to most people who did not know him. He would use that on the Orianians. “I will question them personally. It will not take that long.”
“Worf, what are you planning to do?”
“To find the real murderer and save the captain.”
“You’re a Federation ambassador now, Worf. You also have a duty to this peace mission. You can’t bully these people.”
He stiffened a little. “I am aware of my duties, Counselor. I have not forgotten my role as ambassador, but for the moment I think we should plan how to save the captain.” He glared at her. “And I never bully anyone.”
Troi gave a small nod from the neck. “Good, then I won’t have to keep reminding you.”
The glare deepened into a scowl. Troi smiled sweetly at him, and he turned away with a snort. He knew his duties, he just wasn’t sure of his priorities. His instinct was to concentrate on freeing Picard, but Worf suspected the captain would want the mission to be first. But as of this moment Worf had no solid idea how to win back the trust of the Orianians, so he would deal with what he did understand.
“Can you get me a list of all banquet attendees?” Worf asked of Breck.
“Easily.”
“Then go and do it,” Worf said.
Breck started to make a Torlick salute, but stopped himself in mid-motion. He finished awkwardly with a bow and left. When he was gone Worf turned back to Troi. “Do you trust him?”
“I think so.”
“You think?” He couldn’t quite keep the surprise out of his voice. He had rarely heard Troi be so uncertain.
“The Orianians seem to be able to either block my powers or . . .”
“Or what, Counselor?”
“They are unemotional.”
“Like Vulcans.”
“No, Vulcans have emotions but have learned to control them. They are often unreadable, but there are flickerings of emotion. I can feel the strain, the strength of their control. With these people it’s sometimes as if they have no emotions at all. Breck seems to find nothing wrong in working with us against his own people.”
“Do you not find that strange?”
“Yes, but it isn’t strange to Breck. He truly believes that his loyalties still lie with the captain.”
“But can we trust him, Counselor?”
“With most things, yes, but . . .” She shrugged. “I can’t read his deeper thoughts. I don’t know why.”
“And that makes you suspicious?”
“The Orianians talk of a variety of empathic powers as if they were once common among the people. I believe the Orianians have a great reservoir of untapped empathic and possibly telepathic abilities.”
“Why untapped?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never met a race with so much potential that doesn’t use it. It’s almost as if there is something tangible keeping them from using their abilities.”
Worf shook his head. “I do not trust any warrior that works against his own people so easily. You cannot read him. I do not trust him.”
“But you sent him to get the list?”
“That is something that is easily checked, Counselor. And if he deliberately leaves a name off, then we have somewhere to start.”
“Worf, you really are a detective.”
Troi smiled at him. “When we are all safely back on board the Enterprise, you must tell me of the Klingon version of Sherlock Holmes.”
Worf nodded. He understood that her statement was a vote of confidence—not if, but when they returned safely to the Enterprise. Though it changed nothing he felt better knowing Troi had faith in him. “Earth’s Sherlock Holmes is too cold for me. Betan-Ka on the other hand, is a detective with spirit and emotion.”
“What would Betan-Ka say about our mystery?”
“We have too many suspects and too little time.”
Solving the murder was going to be difficult but at least he had a place to begin. With the peace mission . . . Worf would call a meeting with the Orianians and hope for inspiration. Perhaps Troi would have some suggestions. Worf knew he would have to act quickly on both fronts.
“More direct methods may be called for, Counselor, if we are to cut the suspect list down in the time we are allowed.”
“We may find clues,” she said.
“Klingons do not look for clues first, we secure confessions. It is a much more effective system.”
Chapter Nine
THE CONFERENCE ROOM was set up with two long tables on either side, and a shorter table in the middle. The tables formed three sides of a rectangle, with Venturies sitting on one side, Torlicks on the other. Ambassador Worf sat in the center of the small table, while Troi sat to his right, and Dr. Zhir to his left. Breck stood at their backs like a good sentinel. In fact, Worf noted that bodyguards were so thick in the room there was almost no standing room left.
Surveying the meeting he had called, Worf felt a little like he had opened the bottle and let out a genie he wasn’t at all sure he could control. It had been Troi’s powers of persuasion that had gotten Dr. Zhir to aid them. He had not had the words. Captain Picard should have made Troi the ambassador—she was more suited to it.
No, he could do this. The captain had faith in him. Troi had faith in him. It was cowardice to be so apprehensive. He was a Klingon warrior and could face death with a glad heart. He would face speaking to this hostile crowd with the same bravery.