Troi patted the boy’s hair. He just stared at her with large blue eyes. His skin was still fear pale, but he didn’t remember why two men talking should fill him with such dread. “May I speak with you in private, Colonel Talanne?” Troi asked.
“Of course.” Talanne’s concern for her boy was like a sharp push in Troi’s gut. Talanne might be the perfect warrior as most of the Orianians were, but she felt real fear, normal mother’s fear for her child. Troi thought that was a good sign all on its own. If the Orianians loved their children, then peace was possible.
Talanne settled Jeric on his sleeping mat. She smoothed his fair hair onto the silkiness of the pillow. She handed him a stuffed animal that looked vaguely like a horse, except it was bright red with delicate embroidery covering most of its body. The embroidery was images of leaves, flowers, trees. The stuffed animal, like the wall hangings, spoke of artistry, grace, softer things than war.
Jeric clutched the toy in his small arms. “Rest, my little love. I have to speak with the healer. I’ll be right back,” Talanne said.
The boy didn’t cling to her. Rather, he lay, tightly clutching his toy, and said, “Right back, Merme?”
Talanne smiled. “Right back, I promise.” She kissed him gently on the forehead and stood.
Troi walked to the other side of the room with the woman trailing behind her. Worf stood near the door with the other guards. He looked at Troi, his eyes flickering back to the boy. She could not read his mind exactly but would have bet that Worf was thinking about his own son. Alexander, more than anything else, had softened the Klingon, made him able to sympathize with a parent whose child cried out in the night.
When Troi was sure the boy would not overhear, she asked, “Was Jeric close to his sentinel?”
“Yes. Bori had been his personal guard since he was born,” Talanne said.
Troi was surprised. The changing of the guard had seemed so random. “Is it usual to have a personal guard?”
“Every leader and each member of that leader’s family has at least one personal guard. Someone who is loyal to that one person above any other loyalty.”
Troi thought of something. “Is that why Breck is almost always with our party? Always with Captain Picard?”
Talanne smiled. “Yes.”
She would have to remember to tell the captain that they had their own trained Orianian sentinel, a personal guard loyal to them. “If a guard is loyal to one person, does that mean he, or she, would put that single person’s safety above the good of others?”
Talanne nodded. “Exactly.”
Troi wondered if that made discipline a problem, but she wanted to know about the boy for now. “So, Bori would be intensely loyal to Jeric?”
“Yes.”
“Have you discovered what happened? Why he took Jeric outside?”
Talanne shook her head. “Not yet.” She sighed. “And truthfully, Healer, we may never know, unless Jeric himself remembers. The warriors that could tell us what happened are both dead.”
“Do you believe that the guard betrayed your son?”
“I can’t think what other purpose would be served by going outside. Everything is dangerous outside; the air, the water, the ground itself is so contaminated that what little food does grow is deadly. But we eat it anyway.” Her face seemed suddenly older, lines around the mouth deepening with bitterness. “We eat and drink the poison that slaughters our children. I lost three children before Jeric. They never even drew one breath of life. The last baby was the worst, so badly mangled that the doctors could not save him. I prayed for him to die.”
She stared at Troi, her dark eyes searching the counselor’s face. “Do you have children?”
“I did once,” Troi said.
“A death?”
Troi nodded. The pain of her own son’s death could still come back to bite at odd moments.
“If you have lost a child, then you understand,” Talanne said.
“Yes,” Troi agreed. “I understand.”
Talanne reached out impulsively and took the counselor’s hand. “What is wrong with my son?”
“I believe he witnessed the death of his sentinel. From what you’ve told me, I have to agree with you. Bori was going to betray Jeric, but I think that at the last minute he couldn’t do it. In fact, he may have died defending Jeric’s life. I’m certain Jeric witnessed his death. He doesn’t remember right now, but subconsciously, he does.” She held Talanne’s hand in both of hers. “The dreams will get worse, I’m afraid. But he needs to remember. It will help him to heal the wound. But do not rush him, let him remember in his own time.”
“We have told him that Bori is dead. Was that wrong?”
“No, but do not speak of it anymore than you must in front of him. This dream is the first step for him to remember on his own.”
“Do you think Jeric will be able to tell us why they were outside?” Talanne asked.
“I honestly don’t know.”
Talanne nodded. She gave Troi’s hand a last squeeze and withdrew her own hand. “Is there nothing you can do to help him?”
“Not really. I would like to talk to him during the day. I might be able to help him remember more gently through therapy, but the mind is a delicate thing, Colonel Talanne. It heals best in its own time.”
“But he will heal. He won’t always wake screaming?” The woman stared at Troi, her need to hear a positive answer tripped over Troi’s skin like a vibrating string. And as so often happened in her work, Troi couldn’t give a definite answer. “I believe he will heal. He is very young. Children often recover more quickly than adults.”
“But you can’t promise, can you?”
Troi wanted to say yes, she wanted to fill that frightened core inside Talanne. That little pocket of fear and protection that wrapped around Jeric in his mother’s mind. But Troi could not, would not lie. “No, I can’t promise.”
Talanne nodded. She put her hands over her eyes and took a long shuddering breath. “This blasted war touches everything, everything.” When she took her hands down her face was still constricted with grief. Her body was calm but her face still betrayed her inner chaos.
Troi stared at her, waiting for the woman to spend as much effort to control her facial features as she had her body and voice, but it did not happen. Talanne was convinced that no one could tell she was in pain, even though the grief was plain on her face. Troi realized then that the Orianians always wore masks, always. They didn’t understand facial expressions. That meant that if they were bare-faced, their emotions could easily be read by a certain Federation ambassador.
Colonel Talanne thought she was showing a mask of indifference. Her vibrating fear was tucked behind a wall of lies. Lies that sounded hollow even to herself.
“Thank you for coming so promptly, Healer. I am most grateful.” Her voice was utterly calm, but grief flickered behind her lovely eyes.
“I was glad to come. If you need me again, I will be here.”
Her face constricted with an effort not to cry, but her voice did not betray her. “Thank you again. I will see him to sleep. You will be meeting with my husband tomorrow morning. I will be there. Good night, Healer.”
“Good night, Colonel Talanne,” Troi said. She had been dismissed abruptly. But Troi understood. Talanne was holding onto her dignity with both hands. It was only a matter of moments before the second highest ranking Torlick officer broke down and cried. Talanne wanted them gone before she did.
A guard opened the door, and Troi started to walk out, but Worf stopped her. “I will go first and check the hallway.”
Stepping outside, Worf was relieved to be able to do something tangible. This talk of children and emotional scars had made him uneasy. Ever since they had beamed down to Oriana, he had felt out of his element. Diplomacy was not his strong suit. He half-wanted a confrontation, something real and physical to take the taste of grief from his mind. Colonel Talanne’s worry for her son made him think of Alexander.
Worf pushed thoughts of children from his mind. He had work to do. Searching the hallway, he found it empty except for the constant colors. He had grown weary of the bright, screaming paintings.
“It is clear,” he said. Troi walked out beside him, and the door closed behind them. They were left alone in the night-silent hallway. Worf could hear the blood rush in his own veins as he strained for any sound of trouble.
“We’d better report back to the captain,” Troi said.
“Did you learn something?”
“Every important government leader has a personal sentinel that has loyalty first to the person they guard.”
“It would make discipline difficult,” Worf said.
“I suppose it would. Breck, the guard that always seems to be with us, is our personal sentinel or perhaps the captain’s.”
“Does this mean that this guard is loyal to the captain before his own people?” Worf asked.
“I believe so. I also learned that the Orianians love their children.”
“Does that surprise you?”
“They value their children, Worf. I think that what’s happening to the children is one of the major reasons this peace negotiation has been called.”
“Does the captain know this?”
“Not yet.”
Worf nodded. “You have learned much.”
“I hope so,” Troi said. She looked back at the closed door. A look passed over her face as if she were listening to music that he could not hear. He would have bet she was sensing some emotion. Was she feeling the child’s fear? The mother’s sorrow? Not for the first time, Worf was glad that he did not share Troi’s gift.
They had not gone far when a man stepped around the corner. He was short, thin, almost childlike. He was dressed in full mask and a plain brown cloak.
Worf stepped in front of Troi, using his body to shield her. “Who are you?” he demanded.
The Orianian held his hands palm upward to show them empty. Then he spread the cloak out for Troi and Worf to see that he had no weapon. He was the first adult besides Dr. Zhir that they had met who was not armed. “I am called Audun.”
“Are you Torlick or Venturi?” Worf asked.
“Neither.” He was still walking toward them.
“Stand where you are,” Worf said. Worf drew his phaser and pointed it at the man’s chest. He appeared to be unarmed, but Worf knew appearances could deceive.
“I mean you no harm.”
“Worf,” Troi said, “I don’t feel any hostility from him. If anything, he’s afraid for his own safety.”
“As he should be,” Worf said. But he listened to Troi’s words. If she said the man wasn’t hostile, she was probably right. But Worf did not lower his phaser.
“He isn’t afraid of you, Worf, but of . . .” Troi moved out from behind the Klingon and took two steps toward the man. “You’re afraid of being discovered. Why?”
Worf tensed, fighting the urge to grab Troi and make her stay back behind him, where it was safe. But you could only protect crew members so far, they had to be free to do their duties. So he kept the phaser trained on the stranger and let Troi risk her life.
Audun smiled. “We heard there was a mind-healer with the ambassador. I did not believe it. It has been a long time since we had such a one among us.” He took a step toward Troi, hand outstretched.
Worf gripped Troi’s shoulder and drew her back toward him, the other hand still pointing the phaser at the man. “What do you want, Audun, if that is your name?”
The man laughed. “So suspicious. You must love our leaders.” He let his hand drop back to his side, slowly. “I am a Green. Has no one mentioned us?”
“No,” Worf said.
“They thought they could hide us away like they hide our dying children.” The bitterness in his voice was plain, no empathy needed.
“Please, I must speak with you but not here. If I am discovered . . . they will kill me.”
“You would lead us to some secluded place,” Worf said.
“Some place more private, yes.”
“An ambush.” If it wasn’t a trap, it was at least suspicious. The man was obviously hiding something.
“No, I swear to you, we mean no harm to anyone, not even our enemies. You bring the possibility of peace. Do you know how long we have prayed for such a thing?” Audun held out his hands as if begging. “Please, you must hear what I have to say.”
“We hear you,” Worf said.
“But . . .”
“He means us no harm,” Troi said.
Worf shook his head. “No, Counselor, it is too dangerous. He talks here and now, or not at all.”
Troi, as always, was too trusting. They had nothing but this man’s words, and his emotions to guide them. Worf did not trust either.
“Please, Audun, speak to us,” Troi said.
He lowered his voice, darting a look behind him down the hallway. “You do not understand. I will be killed on sight if they discover what I am.”
“And what is that?” Worf asked.
“I am a bioengineer. If a person is even suspected of genetic manipulation, they will be killed. No trial is needed.”
“Why?” Troi asked.
He darted another look around the empty halls. “I was a scientist. My specialty was biotechnology. They wanted me to use my knowledge to kill. I refused. There are many of us, mostly scientists, doctors, others, who believe that our technology should be used to heal this planet not to destroy it.”
“Commendable,” said Worf, a growl creeping into his voice. He made no effort to hide his suspicion.
“Some members of our group were the first to tell our leaders that the planet was dying. Nearly three decades ago, our people predicted what has happened. Many of the people blame us for what is happening to the planet, because we predicted it. They are frightened and they need someone to hate. So they hate their enemies, and they hate us.”
“That is a fine story, but what does it have to do with us,” Worf said.
“Word!” Troi said.
He ignored the counselor and kept his eyes on the man. She was worried he would insult the man. Worf was not.
“We have a way to clean the water of this world. We want to offer that to the two warring sides. The Greens want to be part of the new peace.”
“The water on Oriana is lifeless. How can you clean it?” Troi asked.
“We have developed a bacteria that eats the pollutants but leaves the naturally occurring impurities alone.”
“I do not trust him,” Worf said.
“I do,” Troi said. “Can you explain this process in more detail?”
“Yes, but . . .” he looked up and down the corridor, afraid, “Yes, if it means my death, I will tell you all.”
“No,” Troi said. “We will take you to a place of safety.”
“What are you saying, Counselor?”
“He must speak with the captain.”
“No! It could still be a trap.” The thought of taking a stranger into the captain, the Federation ambassador, when assassins were everywhere, was out of the question.
“I would know if it were a trap,” she said, firmly.
He trusted the counselor, if she said it was safe, it likely was, yet . . . “Even if I allowed you to endanger the captain,” Worf said, “how would we keep the Orianian guard from taking this man prisoner?”
“The guards are loyal first and foremost to the people they guard. Loyal beyond any other allegiance.”
“They will just allow us to consort with their enemies?” Worf said.
“Yes,” she said.
He glanced down at Troi, then at the Orianian. He did look helpless, so tiny. Worf was certain he could break the man’s spine over his knee like a stick. But you did not have to be muscular to be a good assassin, in fact looking helpless could be an asset. “I do not think this is a good idea.”
“We have to hurry before any other Orianians see us,” Troi said. She walked up to Audun be
fore Worf could stop her. He watched her stand within easy reach of the man, and block his line of fire in one smooth motion. Worf ground his teeth just a bit. She was probably right, but she was making it difficult to guard her.
“You must explain all this in more detail to the Federation ambassador,” Troi said.
“Truly?” Audun asked.
“Yes.”
Audun gripped her hand tightly. “I am grateful to you for believing me.”
“If you can purify the water of Oriana, it is I who am grateful.”
“If we are to do this foolishness, we must get out of sight,” Worf said. Leading the way, Worf hoped they would not run into any other Orianians. It would not help the peace process to have a pitched battle between the Federation party and the local bodyguards.
Worf gave a small, bitter smile. No, that would not do at all. He ushered Troi and the Orianian down the corridor. His phaser was still in his hand, on stun. Did Troi know the position she had put them in? He doubted it. She let her heart lead her head at times. Perhaps all empaths were like that.
Worf could not afford to let his feelings color his caution. He watched the empty corridors, tension riding up his spine. Troi and the man spoke quietly, smiling. If this Audun were telling the truth he could be a great help to the negotiations. If he were an assassin Troi would know. Troi had learned much this night that could be helpful. Worf watched the hallways for signs of trouble, and felt just a little useless. In a world at war he had thought to be comfortable, but their system of honor was too strange. War without honor was not a fit occupation for any warrior.
Chapter Five
GENERAL BASHA sat in a high-backed chair, made of black plastic. The back of the chair was far taller than the general and had looping black curls that formed fantastic shapes. It looked like a throne that had been partially melted and allowed to cool.
A desk of the same black plastic spilled away from him. The top was utterly clear as if no work were ever done on it.
The general’s gold-ivory skin was mottled by bruises along the right side of his face. The delicate skin, the long, almost birdlike bone structure was covered in deep purple-black bruises. The color was startling against the paleness.
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