Nightshade

by Laurell K. Hamilton

  She was a warrior at heart, but she had the soul of something gentler. Worf did not understand her completely, but he valued her. To Klingons it was an honor to die performing their duty. Why did it bother him so much that Deanna Troi might die here and now?

  Chapter Sixteen

  WORF KNELT BY TROI’S SIDE, back at their sleeping quarters. She lay on her sleeping mat, pale and very, very still. With her eyes closed, Worf would have thought she was asleep, but when he lifted her hand, it was totally limp and her skin was cool to the touch.

  Worf had piled blankets on top of her, forming them into a cocoon around her cold body. “Troi, Deanna, can you hear me?”

  He felt again for the pulse in her neck. The beat of her heart was steady, comforting. Should he take her to one of the Orianian doctors? Would they be able to help her? Or would they only make it worse? No. He couldn’t give her over to those butchers.

  Worf squeezed his hands into fists and ground his teeth. A low growl of frustration trickled from his mouth. He did not know what to do. This was not a problem for phasers or anger. He stared down at her pale face and felt some of the helplessness that he often felt with his son, Alexander. Why couldn’t the world be as simple as battle?

  If only the Enterprise would return. Turning Troi over to Dr. Crusher would have been comforting. Turning her over to these honorless warriors—Worf didn’t like it. How could anyone trust such people?

  The image of Marit’s dead face was still vivid. They had tortured her to death by accident. Accident! Worf tried to swallow the anger, but he couldn’t. Troi was hurt. Picard was in jail. A possibly innocent woman was dead. The planet was dying. The peace mission was in shambles.

  Worf stood, walking toward the nearest wall. He stared at the bright, pretty pictures, and all he could see was the woman’s dead face. He smashed his fists into the wall, first one then the other, as if he were using a punching bag. Over and over, smashing, hurting. The rage bubbled up from his gut and flowed out his shoulders, down his arms, into his fists, in a red wave. The rage poured out of him, and it felt good.

  “No need to destroy the room, Worf.”

  He whirled. Troi was propped up on one elbow, smiling at him. Worf rushed to her, grabbing her in a huge bearhug. “Deanna, thank Hakkierk?”

  Her voice came muffled against his chest. “Worf?”

  He pulled away from her, pulling at his chest sash. His control slid into place like a well-worn glove. “I am very glad to see you are better,” he said.

  Troi smiled up at him. He knew she was sensing his happiness at her recovery but he also knew he did not have to make embarrassing displays for the counselor to know how he felt. It was . . . calming. She was the only “human” he had ever been around whom he was sure would not misunderstand his Klingon ways.

  “Are you unharmed?”

  “A little weak but it will pass,” she said. She scooted around on the mat to put her back to the wall and cozy the blankets around her.

  “You know what happened to you, then?”

  “Yes,” Troi said softly. “Colonel Talanne is one of the most powerful projecting empaths I have been around.”

  “Projecting empath, what does that mean?”

  “All full Betazoids are able to project their thoughts upon others. They are broadcast telepaths, but projecting emotions is much more rare. Instead of being able to sense other people’s emotions, they send their own emotions onto other people. In Talanne’s case it is only sensitives, other empaths. If a Betazoid with such a talent could not learn to control it, they would be too dangerous for words.”

  “How so?”

  “Say the empath is angry in the midst of a peace negotiation. She could infect all the other delegates with her rage.”

  “Should Colonel Talanne be barred from the peace talk?”

  “I don’t know yet. It depends on whether or not she can learn to control her power. She’s like all the other Orianians and has no idea she has this awesome ability.”

  “Are you suggesting the colonel could use her power as an influence for peace?”

  “Yes,” Troi said.

  “Isn’t that . . . cheating, Counselor?”

  “Worf, all the Orianians are constantly affecting each other. Their talents are almost totally wild. They play off each other now. All I’m suggesting is that we could harness the power and use it, like a tool. Like I use my own talents when the captain is negotiating a treaty. You don’t think that’s cheating, do you?”

  “I had never thought about it,” Worf said. “But knowing what the other side is feeling is not the same as making them believe something they do not believe. The peace would only last as long as Talanne could influence them.” He shook his head. “No, the peace must be uncompromised.”

  “You’re right. But we have to find some way to control these abilities. I can’t keep doing this.”

  “What happened, Troi?”

  “Talanne possessed me. I felt her anger, her outrage at Marit’s death. And underneath that was guilt.” Troi stared up at him. “Guilt, Worf, like a great darkness eating at her soul.”

  “She feels responsible as any good commander would,” Worf said.

  Troi shook her head. “No, it was personal. Whatever she felt guilty over was something specific that she had done.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know, exactly, but she knows something. She knows something about the Greens. We have to question her.”

  “Do you think Colonel Talanne had something to do with the murder?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. But whatever she did, it’s something important enough for her to feel an obligation to the Greens. It was as if she had failed personally.” Troi hugged her knees to her chest. “I was Talanne for a few minutes, but her feelings were so intrusive that I couldn’t catch her thoughts. Guilt, horror, and very specifically directed toward the Greens. Not Marit, but the Greens.”

  “I will question her, Deanna,” Worf said. He stood. “You rest.”

  “No, I have to be there.”

  Worf scowled down at her. “You nearly died. I will not risk you again.”

  “I was not close to death.”

  “You were badly hurt,” Worf said stubbornly. He had no words for injuries of the mind. Troi could be badly and permanently damaged with invisible wounds.

  “The greatest fear for a Betazoid is to lose oneself. To be swallowed up until we become the other entity. I became Talanne for a time.” She stared down and would not meet his eyes.

  “Then you cannot go near her again. It is too dangerous.”

  Troi looked up at him. Her solid black eyes sparkled with something between determination and anger. She looked so small huddled in a nest of blankets, hugging her knees to her chest, and yet . . . There was nothing small about the look of utter stubbornness in her face. But if she thought she could out-stubborn him, well, Klingons had many talents.

  “It is almost nightfall of the second day, Worf. At nightfall tomorrow the captain will be executed for murder. I have to be there when you question Talanne. Now that I know what she is, I can protect myself more actively.”

  “No, Counselor.” Worf said it like it was a reality.

  Troi stood, letting the blankets spill to the floor. “Worf, Talanne knows something important. She’s the first person that I’ve been near that I am sure knows something about this murder. We have less than forty hours to prove Captain Picard’s innocence, Without me in the room, Talanne will be the best liar you have ever seen.”

  “What do you mean by that, Counselor?”

  Troi took two steps closer to him, forcing herself to crane her neck upward, but she wanted eye contact for this. “Talanne is a projection empath. She can project her emotions onto others. I and the other Orianians are more in danger, but you are not immune.”

  “I still do not understand,” Worf said.

  “I believe that Talanne is a wild talent and doesn’t realize what she’s doing, but many untamed talen
ts have an unconscious ability to lie in their emotions as well as their words.” Troi crossed her arms over her stomach. “In other words, Worf, without me there to tell you if she’s doing it, Talanne could lie completely to you, and you’d believe it, because she made you believe it.”

  “Klingons are not sensitive to empathic messages,” he said.

  “True,” Troi said, “But then Klingons have never come up against a race of empaths with such horribly powerful talents.”

  “We have dealt with Betazoids before.”

  “You have dealt with me, Worf. I’m only half Betazoid. There are people on my home planet that could read your mind, your emotions, or plant their thoughts in your mind.”

  “Truly?” he asked.

  “It is all illegal, of course. We have very strict rules governing what empaths and telepaths are allowed to do. But without those laws and the ability to enforce them . . .” Troi shrugged. “It would be a very dangerous world. A world where a few powerful individuals could control most of the population. The Orianians have the potential to do just that, Worf.”

  “I understand that I need your input, but what is to keep her from possessing you again?”

  “I can fight it, now that I know what it is.”

  “Will there still be danger to you?”

  “Yes, but minimal.”

  He frowned. “I do not like it.”

  “I am a Federation officer whose captain is imprisoned. You wouldn’t deny me the chance to help save him, would you?”

  Put that way, what could Worf say? She was speaking of her duty and her honor. “You may accompany me to question Colonel Talanne, but if you begin to feel ill, you must leave.”

  “I will, Worf, believe me. I have no wish to repeat what just happened. It’s horrible for a Betazoid to lose themselves.”

  “To die with honor in defense of duty is a proud way to die. To lose one’s self, as you put it, seems less honorable and more . . . horrible.”

  Troi flashed him a quick smile. “I agree, Worf. Believe me, I agree.”

  “I did not mean that your sacrifice would not be as great. I meant that by not dying, your sacrifice would be greater.”

  “I understand you perfectly.”

  He honored her with one of his rare smiles. With so many of the crew, even his friends, Worf often felt out of step. But here with this gentle woman, he was understood, perfectly. No explanations were needed. In the midst of chaos Troi was like a center of peace. In many ways Worf valued Troi for the same reasons Picard did. Though neither captain nor lieutenant would ever have guessed it.

  Chapter Seventeen

  COLONEL TALANNE sat in a small square interrogation room. She was almost completely lost in her cloak and mask. Nothing showed of her, even her small hands were gloved. Was it some subconscious hint that she meant to hide things?

  Troi sat in the far corner of the room, as far away from Talanne as she could physically get and still be in the room. Talanne had asked after Troi’s health, hoped the mind-healer was better today. Yes, Troi was better today. But fear trickled low in her stomach. She had to force herself not to clench her hands into fists. But she had the training for it. It was part of her job that no matter what was said or done in a session that she, the counselor, could remain outwardly calm. Troi hoped fervently that she would be able to maintain that calm.

  Troi had barricaded her mind. When Betazoids first got their powers at adolescence, many were untamed talents. If you worked with them, to help them train, you had to be able to block your mind beyond anything required for daily interaction. But she had never worked with children. Since she was half human, her mind-shielding was not up to the challenge. Of course, Troi had not mentioned that fact to Worf, fearing he’d refuse her access to Talanne.

  The woman knew something, Troi was sure of it and they would find out, now, tonight. Captain Picard was running out of time.

  Worf stood near the door, arms crossed over his chest. He stared, unblinking, at Talanne. He watched her as if she were some new form of life that he had dedicated himself to studying. The mask was useless before his concentration. She could hide nothing. That was the arrogant confidence that Worf projected into the room.

  Troi had seen him do it before. It was wonderfully intimidating. The thing that truly made it work was that Worf believed it. His utter confidence was not a mask. Failure was not a possibility until it was brought abruptly to his attention. He had prepared for this questioning as he would a battle. There was no room for doubt when doing armed combat. Doubt could kill you much quicker than your opponent’s blade. Troi, in her own way, had prepared for battle, too.

  “Do you know why you are here?” Worf said, his voice was a low rumble. Even when his voice was flat and unemotional, there was a hint of growling anger.

  “I know you requested to interrogate me,” she said. “I gave you the great courtesy of not bringing any bodyguards to this meeting. I am placing tremendous trust in you.” Her voice sounded certain.

  But underneath the confidence was a thread of fear. She had left the bodyguards out because there was something she did not want anyone else to know. Troi had the flavor of Talanne’s mind, and it was easier to read, almost too easy.

  Troi was walking a dangerous line between blocking Talanne’s errant emotions and sensing what she was truly feeling. Troi had formed a solid smooth shield inside her head, but in the center was a tunnel. There was a door at the end of the tunnel that Troi planned to slam in place, to seal herself behind, if it became necessary. But the shield was a compromise, flawed because it had to be. So far, so good.

  “We understand the honor you do us by coming alone, Colonel Talanne,” Worf said. The word honor had a bitter twist on it.

  Talanne shifted in her chair as if it were suddenly not as comfortable. Shame flared down Troi’s mind. Shame and anger.

  “She did not mean to honor us, Worf,” Troi said. They both turned to look at her. “The colonel didn’t want anyone else to hear her secret. That’s why she came alone.” Troi let her voice hold all the certainty that she felt.

  “Why would you not want your bodyguards to hear?” Worf said. “Why is it safe for us to hear? Do you plan to kill us the way you killed Marit?”

  Talanne sat up suddenly, very straight. “I did not kill the Green woman.” Her voice shook a little, and sorrow dripped into Troi’s mind.

  “You ordered her torture. The torture killed her. You killed her,” Worf said.

  “No!”

  “You know it is true,” he said.

  Talanne hung her head, gloved hands coming up to touch her masked face. “Yes, yes, it is true.” She looked up suddenly. “But don’t you see, everyone connected with the crime had to be tortured.” She looked from Troi to Worf, her hidden face still managing to convey anxiety. “Don’t you see? I had to do it.”

  “Who are you trying to convince, Talanne? Us, or yourself?” Troi made the words soft, without reproach, but she dropped the woman’s title. Troi could feel Talanne’s agony over what had happened. The woman was genuinely grief-stricken about it. Why? She had not known Marit. Or had she?

  Troi took a chance. “When did you first meet Marit?”

  Worf glanced at Troi, fighting to keep the surprise off his own face. Talanne stared at Troi as if she had sprouted wings. “I do not know what you mean.”

  Fear boiled through Talanne and poured down the tunnel in Troi’s mind. Troi’s heart began to beat faster with someone else’s panic. No, not again. Troi closed her shielding, solid and smooth and unbreakable. It was like cutting off a hand, so abrupt. The tie with Talanne gone, Troi felt like she’d lost something. A piece of herself. She had almost been part of Talanne again, that easily.

  A calm, cold horror swept over Troi. Would her mind barriers hold?

  Her voice was still calm, as cold as the fear in her chest. “When did you first meet Marit?”

  “At the reception dinner, of course,” Talanne said. Her voice had the smallest of qu
avers to it.

  “You’re lying,” Troi said softly. It was a gamble because with barriers in place, she could not sense a lie. But she had sensed it before. The truth didn’t change that quickly.

  “Tell us the truth, Colonel Talanne,” Worf said. He took two steps away from the wall, arms uncrossing, hands flexing at his sides. His breathing had quickened.

  Talanne glanced up at him, then back to Troi. “I am sorry, sorrier than you can know, about the Green’s death. I have given orders that no more torture is to be done. It was not really I who gave permission for the torture to begin.” She looked up at Worf. “General Basha forged my name.”

  Troi noticed she had not called him her husband.

  “Why would the general do that?” Worf asked.

  “I am in charge of all prisoners. It is part of my duty as second in command. But Basha and I have an understanding. He often metes out questioning in my name. Though he never gives death orders. Only I can do that.”

  “How convenient,” Troi said.

  “I do not enjoy ordering my own people to death. Unlike Basha, I see them all as my people.” She stood and paced closer to Troi. “Even the Greens.”

  Did she mean it? Troi had no way to tell. “You met with the Greens without Basha knowing about it.” Troi made it a statement, though she was far from sure it was true. There was no time to be cautious.

  Worf had managed to keep his face neutral. Why shouldn’t he be calm? He thought Troi was sensing all this, not guessing.

  “I did not betray my husband,” she said.

  “I did not say you betrayed him, Talanne. I said you had met with the Greens without his knowledge. I am a mind-healer Talanne. You know what that means. Your legends tell of people like me. You cannot lie to a mind-healer.” This wasn’t strictly true, but most Orianians seemed to believe it.

  “No! I did not betray my husband. I would not betray my own people. I obey the laws.” She turned to Worf, hands out as if pleading. “I helped make those laws. Why would I break them?”

  “Because you believe that the Greens are your people, too,” Worf said.