Nightshade

by Laurell K. Hamilton

  The wind shifted, slinging the whirling dirt against them. Troi threw her arms up to protect herself but it stung even through the protective clothing. Silence made her ears pound. Then the wind was gone abruptly, as if someone had turned a switch.

  “Something is wrong,” Worf said. His deep voice was loud in the stillness.

  “Yes, Klingon, our planet is blowing away before our eyes. The soil that grew the plants, the life, vanishes with each breath of wind.”

  Troi stepped cautiously away from the hillside to the open stretch of ground. She turned around in a slow circle. There were no other living beings near, save for the two Orianians and Worf. Yet . . .

  “There’s something here,” she said. It sounded vague even to her own ears, but she had no words for the feeling. Troi was often forced to use words that did not clearly convey what she was experiencing.

  “Come, Healer, we must not delay our stay upon the surface,” Talanne said walking across the dry, rustling ground toward another hill. This one was covered with the skeletons of trees, like the dark bones of some twisted creature.

  Worf still had his phaser out, staring around the narrow open space. Breck stepped close to Troi. His hands were playing nervously along his rifle. It wasn’t pointed at anything, but it was ready.

  “This is an evil place, Healer,” Breck said. “It is the eyes of the world you feel.”

  Troi looked at him. “What are the eyes of the world?”

  “Some say it is the world watching us kill it. You can feel that it is angry.”

  “You feel the anger?” Troi did not try to keep the surprise out of her voice. Breck either didn’t hear it, or ignored it.

  “Always,” he said.

  “Do you ever feel the anger of other people?”

  “No, why?”

  Breck could not feel the emotions of people, but he felt this weight, this thing. Was it the eyes of the world? And if not, then what was it?

  “Troi.” Worf’s voice jerked her attention back to the pale, hot land.

  “We must hurry, Healer,” Talanne said. “I see a poison storm coming this way. The winds are unpredictable. It could hit any time.” She and Worf were waiting beside a door that Troi would have sworn had not been there when last she looked.

  Breck gripped her arm and began to lead her toward the others. Troi didn’t protest because she had seen the poison storm. A cloud bank was rolling in on the horizon. It was black and a deep emerald green. A shining golden curtain poured from the cloud. Even from a distance of some miles Troi could see white clouds of steam rise from the ground.

  “Why is it doing that?” she asked.

  “The rain is almost pure acid,” Breck said. “The ground boils where it touches.” He pushed her into the doorway behind Talanne and Worf.

  Talanne’s light was a dim beacon down a fairly roomy corridor. But the blackness was just as black as the caves. Troi couldn’t feel Breck’s fear anymore. All she could feel was the sensation of being watched.

  Talanne and Worf waited for them in front of what appeared to be a dead end. Talanne passed her hand over a spot on the solid rock. A piece of it slid out of sight. A breath of air pushed into the dry heat. The air was moist.

  Talanne slipped into the dark entrance, taking the light with her. Worf followed, forced to bend painfully low. “Go, Healer, please,” Breck said. He nearly pushed Troi through the door. His voice betrayed a breathy fear of the dark, but Troi still felt none of it.

  Talanne was waiting to one side of the inner door. She motioned with the light for them to walk farther into the pitch blackness. Worf’s form was caught in the light, then vanished. Only the sound of his cloak rustling said that he hadn’t simply vanished with the light.

  Breck stood at Troi’s back. His hand touched her shoulder, and the shock of it screamed along her nerves. His fear was there in his skin.

  Troi gasped. His grip tightened. “Are you all right, Healer?” His voice whispered against her hood, thick with fear. The feeling of being watched had vanished when Talanne shut the door, and Troi welcomed the darkness.

  “Breck, I’m all right.” She moved a little away from him, closer to Worf. The sentinel’s fingers moved reluctantly from her shoulder. Breck needed to touch someone, to know he wasn’t alone. But Troi needed some emotional space, a breathing room for herself. Too much had happened in the last day, too many emotions, an overload of her empathic talents.

  The mind was like the body; it had limits, and Troi was dangerously close to reaching those limits. So much negativity, so much destruction. Death, fear, hatred, anger. Only Talanne’s love for her son had been positive, and Dr. Zhir’s love for the lifeless children.

  Troi shook her head. She needed positive emotions to wash away the negativity, like the body needed to be bathed in cool water to cleanse sweat and dirt away. Troi needed to dress her mind in something that felt good.

  “We’re at the first outpost,” Talanne said. “We must go cautiously from here.”

  “You said the Greens do not believe in violence,” Worf said.

  She glanced back at him. The light reflected in the goggles of her mask, glinting like some giant insect. “They do not believe in violence, but they do protect themselves. Just because something is not deadly does not mean it is pleasant.”

  “You speak in riddles,” Worf said.

  “I don’t mean to,” she said. “They don’t believe in taking life, but they might hold you prisoner until they had time to move the encampment. Your captain would be days dead.”

  With that she led the way farther into the tunnels. They had little choice but to follow. The air grew steadily cooler. Even through the protective clothing, Troi could feel the caress of moisture.

  Worf’s bare fingers traced the nearest tunnel wall. “The stone is damp.”

  Troi touched it with her gloved hand, and through the tough cloth she could barely sense the cool sensation. “It’s not like the other caves at all,” she said. “The air feels fresher even through the breathing masks.”

  “Yes,” Worf said.

  Breck was pressed almost into Troi’s back. But his fear had lessened. His breathing had slowed, almost normal instead of that gasping fear. “Do you smell that?”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “It smells like water. But it can’t be.”

  “Why not?” Worf asked.

  “Because it smells clean.” His voice held a sort of wonder.

  Light, the dimmest of illuminations crept into the tunnel. Troi’s eyes were starved for light, and even that faint grayness was welcome. She could make out the outline of her companions. She stared up ahead and found a dim, misty glow. A shimmering fall of white light that looked nearly magical against the darkness.

  Talanne’s caped figure was framed against the glowing light. She turned to look back at them, shining the light onto each of them as if to make sure they were still with her. “Stay there. I won’t be long.” She walked into the light, becoming more visible as she moved. The colors of her cloak, the stride of her boots, everything was suddenly very distinct. Talanne looked so very real that for a moment, Troi expected her to fade into the light and leave them to darkness.

  Breck had moved in front of them, as if he wanted to follow. Or perhaps it was his thought that Talanne would leave them to the dark. Troi wasn’t sure anymore. The Orianians could enter her mind and thoughts without a ripple. It was unsettling, but she was becoming accustomed to it. They didn’t do it on purpose, most of the time, and meant no harm.

  The three of them stood alone in the welcome glow, the darkness pressing at their backs. Troi wanted to walk forward into the light, but again she feared it was Breck’s phobia not her own. How could any empath be trained on a planet where the mingling of minds was so seamless?

  Talanne appeared in the light again. Two barefaced Orianians walked at her back. They wore the plain blue overalls of the Greens. Pockets bulged along the arms and outer legs of the suit. The
y wore what looked like tool belts, which for all Troi knew could have been weapons.

  Worf had drawn his phaser, using the voluminous cloak to hide the movement. His fierce readiness beat along Troi’s skin. He would not start anything, nor did he actually wish the mission to fail, but his body was keyed for action, violence. The Klingon would be a little disappointed not to put his preparations to use. It was physiologically harder for Klingons to cool their blood.

  “They know you are friends,” Talanne said. “The rest of the Greens know you are coming. They may become nervous if we keep them waiting.”

  “Why?” Worf asked.

  “If you were Orianians, Ambassador Worf, it would be logical to blame the Greens for your captain’s predicament.”

  “We are not Orianians,” he said, softly.

  “No,” she said, “you are not.” There was something in her voice that was almost regret. Regret that even a Klingon could be more reasonable than an Orianian, perhaps?

  The two Greens tried to move behind them, to escort them, Troi supposed. “We will follow you,” Worf said.

  The two Greens looked at each other. “It is our custom to check behind to see that no one follows.”

  Worf stared down at them. “I mean no offense but I do not want warriors at my back.”

  The Greens exchanged glances. Puzzled frowns crossed their faces. “We are not warriors.”

  “Every Orianian is a warrior, so they tell me,” Worf said.

  One of the Greens smiled broadly. “You will find many things different among us.” He patted the Klingon’s shoulder, like he was some long lost friend.

  Troi didn’t have to see Worf’s face to know he was scowling. “I look forward to meeting your leaders,” he said. His voice growled with a hint of anger, but the Orianian took it as the diplomatic speech it was meant to be.

  “Our leaders are most eager to meet the Federation ambassador.”

  “The leaders that are left,” the second Green said. His smooth face was angry. The emotion had thinned the skin along his cheeks and lips, making his face look tight and pinched.

  “It is not their fault that Audun and the others were arrested,” the first Green said.

  “Someone killed Alick, and it wasn’t us,” his voice held a very final note.

  “That is something we have come to find out,” Worf said. “Every second we waste in idle chatter is time lost for our leaders.”

  The second Green stood a little straighter, a flush painting his face with pink. “Very well then, Ambassador, let us go.”

  The first Green grinned at Worf and shrugged. “Morei is a little high-tempered.”

  “There is nothing wrong with feeling loyalty to your leaders,” Worf said.

  “Well said.” The Green slapped him on the shoulder again, smiling.

  A low growl slipped past Worf’s lips. The Green either didn’t hear, or didn’t understand. He led the way into the tunnel, still smiling. The suspicious Green slipped into the dark behind them. “I will make sure they are alone.” His words held a threat, but Troi couldn’t feel any real danger. He didn’t mean to harm them. He just didn’t trust them. After the way the leading factions had hunted the Greens, Troi couldn’t blame him. Besides, Worf didn’t trust the Greens, either.

  Did Troi trust them? She trusted all the ones she’d met and she’d met five of them—not many. Perhaps most of them felt like the suspicious Green and blamed the Federation for Audun’s arrest. Did the Greens know about Marit’s death? No. There was no sorrow, not even the initial rage that often precedes grief. The Greens did not know.

  Troi suddenly didn’t feel nearly as confident about walking into the camp. What would they do when they learned of the death? Death by torture. Would the Greens prove to be as violent as the other natives, if given a reason?

  Talanne walked confidently beside the remaining Green. Troi could not sense any fear from her. She, at least, expected no trap. Breck was simply relieved to be in the dim, shining light.

  The tunnel then opened into a huge round cavern. A platform of stone wide enough to hold a shuttlecraft acted as the entrance to a broad set of stairs. Everything was carved from the rock, smooth and rounded with the passage of many feet.

  Talanne removed her mask, and Troi heard her take a deep breath of air. The counselor didn’t need a second invitation to remove the sweating mask. She slipped it over her face, her hair sticking to her face in damp strands. The cool air caressed her skin with cool, moist fingers. It was different from the dry heat of the surface and even the other tunnels.

  The smell that Breck had noticed wasn’t water but the rich, loamy smell of healthy earth. Green growing things. Life. It was like being caught in a thick cloud of perfume.

  “What is that?” Breck asked. He was standing a few steps below the rest of them. His breathing mask had slipped from his hands, and he didn’t react. He began to walk down the stone steps, slowly, eyes on something that they could not see.

  “It is what our world use to be,” Talanne said.

  Plants, green growing plants as far as the eye could see. The cavern was thick with vegetation and rich, black soil. Water beaded and dripped from huge leaves. The roof of the cavern was so high as to give the illusion of being a stone sky. Light filtered from banks of shining, white panels set in that distant roof to spread warmth and life on the floor.

  Talanne picked up Breck’s dropped mask. She spoke softly to no one in particular. “I was the same way the first time I saw it.”

  The tall trees with the crimson fruit that had played such a prominent part in all the wall hangings grew straight and tall near the edge of the greenery. The trunk was a silvery gray, paler than the paintings had made it.

  Troi stood on the stairs, drowning not in Breck’s wonderment but in her own. It wasn’t the trees, the life, but that this land, this piece of surface was alive. Its being pulsed in her head and played along her skin, as if she had brushed against a person. It was alive. Alive in a way that no tree or flower or piece of ground should ever have been alive.

  “The air smells very sweet here,” Worf said.

  His voice brought her attention back to them. “It’s alive.” Her voice was a whisper.

  “Of course it is,” Worf said, “They are trees.”

  “No, Worf, it’s alive, like you’re alive, like I’m alive.”

  “The trees are intelligent?”

  “Not intelligent exactly, but aware.” She struggled to find the words to help him feel what was pouring through her body. “A sense of well-being, of happiness that plants do not have. It doesn’t think like we do, but it is alive. Aware.”

  Breck had fallen to his knees in the rich green world. He fell forward on all fours, hands buried in a carpet of small, round leaves.

  Troi moved down the steps toward him. “Breck?” He was crying. When her feet touched the springy ground, it was like an electric shock. She gasped.

  “You feel it, too, don’t you?” Breck asked. He stared up at her, tears running silently down his face.

  Troi could only nod. She didn’t trust her voice. The warm heat of life poured through her body until she felt as if she would burst with it. It was so strong that she stared down at her hands, expecting some visible sign to pour from her fingertips.

  There was nothing but the sensation prickling over her skin. Nothing visible, nothing to show to Worf. She stared into Breck’s face and knew he understood. One flash between them that went beyond words. It was the sharing that she had with other Betazoids. An understanding that none of her human or Klingon friends could share, no matter how hard they tried.

  In one moment Troi understood one other thing that she hadn’t before. Breck was an empath, but his talent was tied to this rich, living land. Not this particular piece of land, but the surface of this planet. Breck was an earth-healer, a legend. His talent hadn’t been apparent because the planet was dead, but Troi felt his mind peeling away. All the protective shields that Breck had been forced to
construct, all the things that had allowed an empath to kill others without feeling anything, were fading. His emotions, his mind, were being stripped bare by this pulsing, overwhelming life-force.

  “Once it was all like this,” the remaining Green said. His voice held a sadness that Troi could not understand. This land, this place, was full of joy, the pure joy of existence. Life for its own sake. How could anyone be sorrowful in the presence of all this?

  He came down the steps to stand beside Troi. She was crying and hadn’t realized it. Joy was as often tears as laughter. The Green touched her shoulder. “You feel our land?”

  His sorrow flooded down her arm, sweeping through her. The loss, the horrible loss. Suddenly, she understood that the entire surface of this world had been like this once. Alive enough to whisper in your mind, to soothe your soul. The Orianians had not simply killed plants and animals, but the land itself. And the land had been their heart.

  Breck staggered toward them. “The Greens tend this place. They made it. The land knows them all. It cares for them.” Even as he said it out loud, Troi knew that that wasn’t exactly the truth. Breck was being forced to put words to things that words could not hold.

  “They believe in life, Healer. They could not create this and create the poison that killed Alick.” There was a solid certainty to him. The land had told him, and it could not lie.

  “I would just as soon question the Green leaders, if you don’t mind,” Worf said.

  Troi turned and stared back up the stairs at Worf. His face was empty of the wonderment, the exhausted joy that showed on their faces. Nor did the sorrow that traced Talanne and the Green haunt the Klingon. He stood alone and apart on the stairs. It would have been the same if Worf had been Picard or Riker. They would not have understood. Troi held out her hand, and Breck took it.

  Joy, well-being, happiness—all of it was doubled, amplified. Her skin jumped with the need to feel! She stared into Breck’s tear-stained face and was very glad to have someone to share this with. And sorrow for Worf that he could not begin to understand why they stood crying in the middle of a bunch of plants. Some things Troi would not even attempt to explain.