Nightshade

by Laurell K. Hamilton

  The Greens overall leader, Portun, was sitting just in front of him. He, too, was surrounded by children. A very small baby was asleep in his arms. Portun, Worf had learned, was a child-rearer, who tended children while their parents worked.

  A small child of perhaps two toddled from Portun to Worf and struggled to crawl into his lap next to the first little girl. Worf was finally forced to help the child settle comfortably. All the children were like this. They expected to be welcomed by any adult, alien or otherwise.

  Portun smiled at him. “You have a way with children, Ambassador Worf.”

  “Thank you, Leader Portun,” Worf said. He doubted if his own son, Alexander, would have agreed with the compliment. He knew he did not, but it was not polite to correct the man.

  “You wish to discuss the unfortunate accident that befell Alick of the Venturi, do you not?”

  “It was no accident, Leader Portun. It was murder.” Worf glanced down into the curious eyes of the children. The two oldest boys were old enough to understand this conversation. Most humanoids protected children from such talk. “Do you wish us to discuss this in front of the young?”

  “Why not?”

  Worf didn’t have a good answer for that. As a Klingon he saw nothing wrong with it. “I was being . . . polite.”

  “And very good you are at it,” Portun said.

  Worf nodded, acknowledging the compliment. “I do wish to discuss the murder of Colonel Alick.”

  Portun frowned, holding the baby a little closer to his chest. “I was very disturbed to hear of the incident. We had hoped that the peace talks would be the beginning of true peace. We Greens have no wish to be the last remnants of our race.”

  “Are you not angry that your people are under arrest . . .” Worf glanced down at the children and finished his sentence in a lower voice, “and are to be executed?”

  “Angry, no,” Portun said. “Disappointed, yes.”

  Worf shook his head. “Why disappointed?”

  “It was to be the beginning of our forging new ties with the above-ground world. We were to be included in this peace, and we were going to be able to use what we have learned, what we have created, to repopulate our world. To heal it. That this will not happen now is very sad.”

  “Your people are going to die. They have been accused of assassination. Are you not worried about them?”

  Portun’s face sobered, the smile fading from his features. “They are my people, Ambassador. I hurt for each of them. They will be gravely missed.”

  “Are you not planning to defend them?” Worf asked.

  “In what way?”

  Worf stared around the living walls as if there was some clue as to how to talk to this man. His unshakable contentment was infuriating.

  “Leader Portun, do you believe your people are guilty? Is that why you can be so calm?”

  “No, Ambassador Worf, my people did not kill anyone. We do not believe in violence. Taking life, any life, is abhorrent to us.”

  The two children in Worf’s lap were almost a comforting weight. The room was full of a warm, easy contentment, that somehow was soothing even to him. “Even if it meant the lives of your children?”

  Portun glanced at the children, then smiled wistfully. “If those were my choices, we would be sorely tested. I could let them take my own life without a fight, but . . .” He sighed. “I have thankfully never had to make that choice.”

  Worf liked the answer. Most people that professed to nonviolence made it a blanket statement, and very often had never even had to choose: life or violence. Portun had thought about it, and was wise enough to know he could not truly know what he would do until he had to choose.

  “An admirable answer, Leader,” Worf said.

  “Just an honest one, Ambassador Worf.”

  “Did you know that Alick was poisoned?”

  “No,” Portun said. He leaned a little forward. “We heard only that he was assassinated, and our people and the first Federation ambassador were blamed.”

  Worf stared intently at Portun’s face, wanting to study his reaction to his next words. He wished Troi were with him, but she had gone off with Breck to learn to speak with the planet—whatever that meant. But he was, after all, the acting ambassador. He would do the job alone if he had to.

  “The poison was derived from a plant alkaloid. A genetically altered plant alkaloid.”

  Surprise blossomed to shock on Portun’s face. “It cannot be.”

  “I have seen the test results personally.”

  “But, you don’t understand. Genetic engineering was outlawed over a hundred years ago. It was considered evil, punishable by death. No one but the Greens practice it. Only we would be capable of such a thing.”

  “I believe you,” Worf said.

  “You have come here convinced that we made this poison.”

  “You yourself just said that it could be no one else.”

  “But . . .” his words trailed off to silence. His eyes were wide, astonishment plain on his face. The baby in his arms whimpered and struggled in its sleep. He patted it absently.

  If Portun were pretending to be surprised, he was doing an excellent job of it. Worf believed that he did not know, but that didn’t mean no Greens were involved. “Who are your best genetic engineers?”

  “No, it could not be one of my people.”

  “I am not saying that your people killed Alick, but I believe they supplied the poison.”

  “No.”

  “May I question your scientists?”

  Portun looked directly at Worf for a moment. “I do not know what to say. It seems you must be right and we did make a plant that was intended only for death. But that, too, is against our basic beliefs. Could it not be one of the upsiders?”

  “I am trying to find that out, Leader Portun. Help me to clear your people. If it is not one of them, then I can search elsewhere. We are running out of time to save our respective people.”

  “You are right, Ambassador. If we are involved, the truth must be discovered. You have my permission to question my people. I do not believe in violence to save our friends, but if the truth can save them . . . I believe in the truth.”

  “Honor cannot exist without truth.”

  Portun stared around at the children. Most were listening intently now. “I know little of a warrior’s honor, Ambassador, but know something of dealing honorably with the land and its bounty. To have made such a plant is to betray that honor.”

  “I will find the truth, Leader Portun. You can be sure of that.”

  He smiled suddenly, but his eyes still held sadness. “I have every confidence in you, Ambassador. But suddenly, I do not have such confidence in my own people.” He stared straight at Worf. “Isn’t that odd?”

  Worf didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. There was a saying among Klingons: Silence is one road to honor. And for now it was certainly the kinder road.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  TALANNE LED THEM OUT onto the surface, where the weak sunlight had faded to twilight. The thick, sulphurous clouds were aflame with crimson and violet. The sunset was among the prettiest Troi had ever seen, and yet her stomach dropped into her feet, pulse pounding.

  She grabbed Worf’s arm. “The executions are scheduled at full dark.”

  “I know, Counselor, I know.”

  “We must hurry,” Talanne said.

  “We have discovered nothing except that the poison must have come from the Greens,” Worf said.

  “And none of the Greens we’ve questioned so far were involved,” Troi said.

  “I will speak with Basha,” Talanne said. “I will do my best to persuade him to postpone for a few hours.”

  Worf nodded. “And we will question the only remaining Greens that we have not questioned.”

  “Do you think it was one of the ones under arrest?” Breck asked.

  “It must be,” Worf said.

  Talanne strode off across the open stretch of ground, and t
he others followed. That awful sensation of being watched was still there, creeping down their spines, but now Troi knew what it was.

  All planets were alive, but Oriana had been one step beyond just being alive, animate. The planet had been truly alive, intelligent, though in a way that most humanoids would not have recognized. Even the Orianians had not realized how very alive their land had been, until it was too late.

  The Greens, through a melding of science and faith, had recreated pockets of what the planet had once been. They had three earth-healers, empaths who were connected with the ground and growing things rather than people. Breck had been nearly overwhelmed when he discovered he, too, was an earth-healer. He had thought himself giftless because there was no surface for him to feel.

  The horrible, angry watching was the remnants of the planet’s awareness. All that remained was a lingering rage at the violation.

  If the Greens, any Green had been responsible for the murder, how would they convince the Torlicks and Venturies that not all the Greens were evil? It would just reinforce all the existing prejudices. And without the Greens, Troi wasn’t at all sure the planet and people could be saved. The memory of what the life-force felt like inside her mind, on her skin, was a rush of pleasure—dim but still very real.

  Breck stumbled as he entered the tunnels, but it wasn’t out of fear. He simply wasn’t terribly aware of his surroundings. Troi touched Worf’s shoulder, and whispered, “Breck is confused about what has happened to him. I don’t know if he will be able to fight.” Worf nodded. “I will watch him.”

  Troi dropped back and let Worf’s bulk lead the way through the tunnels. How long until full dark? How long did the captain have? She was worried about Audun and Liv, but truthfully, they were strangers. To think that they would fail the captain . . . No, they would not fail. They could not fail him, not like this.

  Once in the main tunnels, with their wall-murals and bright colors, Worf broke into a jog, racing toward the prison. The others trailed behind him, fighting to keep up with his longer stride.

  Two different guards stood outside the door to the prison. Talanne stopped their group in front of them.

  “Colonel Talanne, what is the matter?” the first guard asked.

  “Have the executions started yet?”

  “Yes, Colonel, as scheduled.”

  Worf pushed forward. “We have new information that proves that Ambassador Picard is innocent.” It was a lie, outright. They had no new proof. Worf wanted to fight his way to Picard, but guile was better, quicker. If they had to fight from here to the center of the prison maze, they might arrive too late.

  Talanne backed him in the lie. “Yes, we have new proof. Would you keep us outside while an innocent man is being killed?”

  “No, Colonel, of course not.”

  “Escort Ambassador Worf and his party to the prisoners. Obey his orders as you would my own. Is that clear?”

  The guard saluted. “Yes, Colonel.”

  Talanne touched Worf’s arm. “I will find my husband, since only he has the ability to delay the executions. Keep them all alive until I get back to you. Good luck.”

  He gave a curt nod. “And to you.”

  And she was gone, running back down the corridor. Worf turned to the guard. He wanted to scream, but he forced calm into his voice. “Escort us to the prisoners, now.”

  “Yes, Ambassador. But no one is allowed weapons during an execution. There have been incidents in the past. Please leave your weapon with the guard.”

  He glanced at Troi. “Worf, we’re running out of time.”

  He handed his phaser to one of the guards. “Now I am unarmed, lead us to the prisoners.”

  The guard saluted him and opened the door. They followed the guard into the shining, white corridors, leaving the second guard at the door.

  “Worf, we must hurry. I feel something, I . . .” Troi swayed and Worf was forced to catch her arm. “It’s the captain, Worf!”

  “Lead us to the prisoners now, run!” He made it an order, and the guard obeyed, as he’d been told, breaking into a ground-covering trot. Worf was forced to stay at the man’s heels, when he could have gone faster. But the maze of the prison was too confusing. There was no time to get lost in it. He cursed softly under his breath, a tightness in the center of his stomach that he could not breathe around.

  A scream split the white silence. Masculine, familiar even then. “Captain!” Worf broke into a full run, leaving the others behind. He broke out into the center of the prison alone. Guards whirled, moving in on either side to form a flesh wall to keep him from the captain. Worf was forced to stand there, panting, frozen.

  Picard was bound hand and foot to the ivory frame that they had seen earlier. Shining wires ran down to encircle the ropes that held him in place. Waves of electric blue energy poured down the wires. Blue flame licked down the wires, crawled over his skin, oozed out of his eyes, dripped from his mouth. It looked like Picard was enveloped in cold fire. It did not burn, but it obviously hurt.

  The others stumbled in behind him. Troi cried out, “Stop it, stop it!”

  The blue flames died abruptly, and Picard slumped only partially conscious. He breathed in short panting gasps as if he could not get enough air.

  A masked overseer was at the clean desk, observing, but the person pressing the buttons was General Basha. He stood against a small open panel that had split from the white wall. Inside were the buttons, the levers. His attention was steady on the nearly unconscious Audun. He didn’t turn as they walked in. Perhaps he hadn’t heard; perhaps the horror on the frame was all he could hear.

  Liv’s wrists were caught in some shiny silver box that was bolted to the floor. A cloth strip had been tied over her mouth. She turned to Worf and Troi, her large eyes even larger than usual, skin pale and sick with sweat.

  Audun was kneeling, head caught in the vise like a cage on top. He wasn’t gagged. There was no need. Worf knew death when he saw it.

  Worf started forward, but guards pressed in on him. He didn’t know how long it took for a man to die. Would one more flip of the switch kill the captain? He could not take that chance. And he could not fight his way to the captain, not with Basha hovering over the buttons. His mind seemed to have slowed down, providing the illusion that he had forever to think of a plan. He had to talk his way to the captain, to delay until Talanne arrived. Because now Worf knew. He knew who the murderer was, but he could not prove it.

  The observer behind the desk stood to attention and said, “The Federation ambassador graces our executions with his presence.”

  Basha turned to stare at them. The mask hid his face, but Worf didn’t need to see his face to know. “I did not think generals did their own executions,” Worf said. His voice sounded terribly calm. Troi moved up beside him, fingers touching his arm.

  “Speak freely, Counselor, we are among friends,” Worf said. The irony of that statement was not lost upon him.

  She looked a question at him, then nodded. She understood, they were buying time. They could not order the guards to lay down their weapons, but Talanne could. If they could delay long enough.

  Picard hung nearly motionless, skin wax pale; only his frantic breathing said he was alive.

  “I feel panic, fear, hurry, hurry to do something. Something interrupted. Not the torture, not the executions—what? I’m not sure.”

  “What are you babbling about, Healer,” Basha said. “I do not wish you to see your captain die. That would be cruel, and we are not a cruel people.”

  “What are you hiding, Basha?” Troi asked it softly, taking a step toward him. She had used his name without the title deliberately. “What are you afraid of?”

  Worf didn’t question what she was doing. He just came, walking at her back, waiting. The guards parted before them. Perhaps it was Troi’s words, or their respect for her mind-powers. Or perhaps it was the fact that they had done nothing hostile. Worf trusted Troi to do her job.

  “I don’t know w
hat you mean, mind-healer. I fear nothing. I am a warrior.” But his attention wavered. He glanced at Liv, moving his whole head to do it.

  “This is your last opportunity to discover if they are the only traitors. My understanding is that is one of the reasons you torture prisoners, so they can give out names. So why is she gagged?” Troi asked.

  “To keep from shouting encouragement to the others, of course.”

  Liv made a desperate sound through her gag, struggling and pulling to free her hands. A small line of blood trickled down her wrist from her desperate pulling.

  “I think she is ready to talk, General,” Troi said. “Your strategy has worked. You’ve frightened her.” Troi turned her back on Basha and went to the bound woman. She reached up slowly to undo the gag.

  “No!” It was a shout.

  “But she wants to tell the truth, Basha.”

  “No!” He ran forward, toward Troi. Worf smashed his fist into the general’s face. The man tumbled backward, hands going to his face.

  Basha ripped his mask off. A thin trickle of blood traced the edge of his nose. “Kill them, kill them all!”

  The guards moved in like a fleshy tide. They did not question their orders. The anger, the frustration, the helplessness, boiled up from the center of Worf’s gut. The rage built, flowed in a hot flash up his chest, across his shoulders, his neck, down his arms. He screamed, an echoing cry that froze the guards for a breathless moment. Then Worf waded into them.

  He picked up a guard and tossed him into the crowd clearing a space in front of him. He smashed his fists into two masked faces; one right after the other, the faces fell out of sight. A guard grabbed his arm, and Worf lifted him off the ground. Something hit him hard in the back of the head. He whirled the guard still dangling from his arm. Another guard was standing on a torture device with a broken piece of it in his hands.

  Worf tore the club from his, or her, hands and used it on the guard. He used the club like a riot stick to clear the way and it felt good.