Nightshade Page 3

  Troi knew she could have concentrated, searched below the surface thoughts, but that was an intrusion. Without good reason she did not peel away the layers of someone’s carefully built protection.

  There was also the possibility that there was nothing inside the guards, nothing to find. No, surely not. Surely the emotionally dead guards were the exception. Could a race of people destroy their inner-selves along with their environment? Did the barren, polluted world reflect the barrenness of the people themselves? If that were true, then the peace talks were going to be very difficult. Troi needed to know if there were deeper emotions in the guards. If Colonel Talanne was the exception, Picard would need to know. It was those deeper emotions that Picard would appeal to for peace. If most of the Orianians were closer to Vulcans in their emotional makeup, it would change how Picard approached them. Troi needed to know.

  She chose a guard near her and began to concentrate gently. She didn’t want to startle him. There were races that could sense an empathic intrusion.

  Picard’s communicator burst into life. The sound made Troi jump. Her concentration shattered.

  “Riker to Picard.”

  “Yes, Number One, what is it?”

  “We’ve received a distress signal from an alien vessel. They call themselves the Milgians. The Federation has no record of a first contact. Their engines are in danger of exploding. Lives have already been lost. Even at maximum warp we are two days from them, but we are the nearest ship.” Riker’s voice hesitated, “There are over four hundred lives at stake.”

  “I understand,” Picard said. He glanced at his hostess and her guards. “You have to answer the distress call, Number One.”

  “Will you and the away team be all right?”

  Troi felt Picard’s doubt. “We will be fine, Number One. In fact beam up the three security personnel.”

  “Would you repeat that, Sir?” Riker said.

  “Captain, you can’t,” Worf said.

  Picard stared at his security chief. “Colonel Talanne has done us the great honor of trusting us. We will return that honor.”

  “Permission to speak freely, Captain,” Worf asked.

  “Denied, Lieutenant. Beam up the security personnel, Number One.”

  “Captain, I . . .”

  “That was an order, Commander Riker,” Picard said.

  “Aye, sir.”

  The three security personnel shimmered, then vanished. The room suddenly seemed much less crowded.

  Talanne shook her head. “I do not know if you are very brave or very foolish, Captain.”

  “We must negotiate peace, and that only comes through trust.”

  “You are hoping to lead by example,” Talanne said. “You give up some of your bodyguards, and others will follow.”

  Picard smiled. “It might be a start.”

  “It may well work. If the Federation ambassador trusts his safety without a phalanx of guards, then it seems cowardly for the rest of us to hide behind our own.”

  “Riker, here, Captain. We have the security team on board. If we are going to answer the distress call, we have to go now.”

  “We’ll be here when you return, Number One.”

  “I don’t like this, Captain.”

  “Nor I,” Worf said.

  “I appreciate your concern, both of you, but trust must begin somewhere. I think it has to begin with us.”

  “I was going to suggest we increase security after what has just happened, Captain.”

  “I cannot negotiate a peace treaty behind a wall of armed guards.” Picard shook his head. “No, we will be fine as we are.”

  “What’s happened down there, Captain?” Riker asked.

  Picard hesitated, then said, “There have been two more deaths, and some talk of bribery.”

  “Captain, I request that you beam back to the ship immediately. When we have aided the alien vessel you can return and continue the talks.”

  “No, Commander, if these talks only work because I have the Enterprise to back me, then what happens to the peace when we leave?” Picard smoothed his hands down his jacket. “Perhaps this is all for the best. Return as soon as you can, Picard out.”

  “Captain . . .” Riker said.

  “That was an order, Commander.”

  “Aye, Captain. Riker out.” Will’s voice was well controlled, but his anger was like a small slap to Troi. How was Will ever to guard the captain if the captain would not listen to reason? A question without an answer.

  “I see that I am not the only one to have their orders questioned,” Talanne said.

  Picard smiled. “No.”

  “I do not think that your chief of security approves of your refusing reinforcements,” she said, nodding at Worf.

  Worf shifted his stance, jaw clenched tight. His dark eyes glanced at Talanne, then back to empty air. He was careful not to look at the captain.

  “I am sure that Lieutenant Worf does not approve,” Picard said.

  Worf made an abrupt sound, almost a snort.

  Picard ignored it. “But if every official we meet has to have an equal number of bodyguards . . . it could get rather crowded.”

  “Very true, Captain,” Talanne said.

  Picard smiled. “You trusted me first, Talanne, by giving up two of your own guards.”

  “Perhaps, or perhaps I think you are outsiders and would have no reason to harm me. It would be very different if you were a member of the Venturi faction.”

  “Peace must be based on trust. Armed camps cannot trust one another,” Picard said.

  “I will give you one of my guards, Captain. No matter how good your Lieutenant Worf may be, I do not wish to explain to the Federation how their ambassador met his end.”

  “I am sure that Lieutenant Worf will be glad of the help.”

  Worf gave a curt nod. “As of now, yes, I would.” His voice held an angry thread of growling.

  Talanne smiled, then laughed, a sharp, abrupt sound. “I like you, Picard. And that is good. You are right about the mistrust. It is thick in the air like the poison we have to breath outside.”

  She held out one hand, and Jeric ran to her. His warmth lingered against Troi’s legs, the feel of the boy’s thin shoulders on her hands.

  “I will go see to my husband now, Captain. I hope you and your people find this room comfortable. We will move your quarters every few days, as a matter of caution.”

  “Where will the rest of my people be staying?”

  Talanne frowned. “I assumed you would want everyone in the same room. I am sorry. It is our custom to share rooms with our most trusted guards. If you wish other rooms, I can provide them given some time.”

  “Please . . .” Picard began.

  “Captain,” Worf said, “perhaps it would be best to share rooms.”

  Picard took a deep breath, to protest, then thought better of it. “Very well. We accept your hospitality and your customs. Thank you.”

  “Sleeping mats are rolled against the wall underneath the wall hangings,” she said. “I will leave you to settle in. I will bring your evening meal personally.”

  “That is most gracious.”

  She gave a small smile. “Not at all, Captain. I just don’t want to come back tomorrow morning and find you’ve all been poisoned.”

  “Poison,” Worf said, “is a coward’s weapon.”

  “Lieutenant Worf,” Picard said evenly.

  “No, that is all right, Captain. As it turns out, I agree, but not all my enemies have such fine distinctions. I will send Breck to you as a guard. He is the one whose face you saw.” With that she turned and left. Jeric glanced back once before the door cut off his view.

  “Well,” Picard said. “What do you make of that? Counselor?”

  “Colonel Talanne wants the peace talks to work. But the guards . . . I don’t know what the guards want.”

  “Explain.”

  “On the surface their minds are almost clean of emotion like machines.” Troi hesitated.<
br />
  “Go on, Counselor.”

  “They seem to be able to hide their emotions almost completely, as if they can function independently of their . . . feelings.”

  “Theories on that?”

  “I don’t know, Captain. I’ve never felt anything like it. It is as if they are as desolate as their planet.”

  “A race of people is not tied to their planet, Counselor. The fate of one is not necessarily the fate of the other.”

  “I know that, but . . .”

  “But?”

  “I have no other explanation for what I sensed in them, Captain.”

  “Lieutenant Worf?”

  “These are warriors without honor, Captain. I have never seen a race where treachery is so commonplace.”

  “We will be on our guard, Lieutenant. Believe me, I do not wish to end my days here.”

  “With all due respect, Captain, it is not a matter of being on guard.”

  “Explain.”

  “These are assassins without a code of honor. They seem to have no rules. If this is true and they are determined to kill you, they will succeed.”

  “You cannot stop them?” Picard asked.

  “I will give my life to stop them, Captain, but if they are truly determined and do not care how many of them die in the attempt, we will be overrun. There are simply more of them than there are of us.”

  The captain nodded. “I see. Well, we will just have to make the best of it. As far as we know, there have been no attacks on us personally.”

  “We have been here less than an hour, Captain. Even assassins need time to plan,” Worf said.

  Picard smiled. “Of course, Worf.”

  Troi felt the captain’s humor—humor in the face of danger. It was a very human trait. But she also felt Worf’s utter seriousness. He believed that it was only a matter of time and planning before a direct attack was made on the captain.

  Chapter Three

  DEANNA TROI WOKE TO DARKNESS. She sat upright, clutching covers to her chest, her breathing loud and ragged in her ears. Troi waited for the nightmare’s fear to recede, but it didn’t. She whispered, “Light,” but nothing happened. Had the computer not heard her? She reached out and her hand brushed heavy cloth and under that a hard flat surface. A wall and a wall hanging. She was on Oriana, on a peace mission.

  The fear was like a hand squeezing her heart. Her pulse thudded in her throat until she could barely breathe. It wasn’t the lingering taste of nightmare. Rather, it was someone else’s ongoing terror. It screamed along Troi’s nerves, roared through her brain, until she had to press her hands to her mouth to keep the screams inside.

  She had to make it stop. Crawling out of the bedroll, she saw a dim light coming from somewhere.

  Without windows it would have been too dark to even move around, but the glow showed the sleeping form of the captain.

  Worf was sitting quietly in a corner, and Troi could just make out the shape of the Klingon’s face. She felt rather than saw his eyes upon her. Soundlessly, Worf moved toward the counselor.

  They met just beside the door. Worf leaned next to her. His breath was warm on her cheek as he whispered. “Counselor, what is it?”

  The terror beat through her like a second heartbeat. Troi wasn’t sure she could talk without the fear spilling out into screams. She shook her head slightly, trying to think of how she could communicate the terror.

  “Are you ill?” he whispered.

  Yes, Troi thought, yes, I’m ill. All she could manage was a nod.

  “I will wake the captain.”

  Troi started to say no, but then nodded. She did not wish to involve the captain in her own problems. There was a price to be paid for being an empath, and yet it might be something important. Until she knew where the terror originated, Troi had no way of knowing if the others needed to know or not.

  Worf knelt by the captain. Picard woke instantly, one hand gripping Worf’s arm. “What is it?”

  “Something is wrong with Counselor Troi.”

  The captain rolled over. “What is it, Worf?”

  “She is ill.”

  Troi was beginning to shake as if cold. The terror was mind-bending, horrible. Captain Picard was suddenly beside her. “Counselor, what’s wrong?”

  “I . . . I don’t know. Fear . . . horrible fear.” She shook her head. “I can’t . . . Must stop it. Must stop it!”

  “Could this be some kind of attack?” Worf asked.

  Troi shook her head. “No. Must find . . . Captain!” Troi pressed her hands over her face. If something wasn’t done soon, she would begin screaming. Once she started, she wasn’t sure she could stop.

  Picard gripped her upper arms, his strong hands digging into her flesh. “Counselor Troi.” He shook her gently. “Counselor, what can we do to help?”

  She did her best to swallow the fear, to breathe past the screams in her head. “Must find . . . and stop it. Fear, must stop it. Find it. Please!”

  Picard nodded. “Worf, tell the Orianian guards that something is wrong. Explain as little as possible to them. Tell them the Counselor needs medical attention, and we will accompany her.”

  Worf nodded. “Yes, Captain.” He moved to the door and opened it. Two guards were outside the door. One was Breck, the guard Talanne had sent to them.

  Troi could not hear what was said. There was a far-off murmuring sound in her head. Not the screams, but a babble of voices, echoes. The fear was fading, changing. Sorrow, such unending sadness. Her throat tightened with unshed tears. Was it the same person or was it someone else?

  Her mind felt raw from the terror, abused. Her empathic abilities were dulled by the emotional assault, but the sorrow . . . the sorrow remained.

  Picard took her elbow gently and led her through the door. One of the Orianian guards led the way.

  Worf led their own party, Troi and Picard in the center with Worf and Breck, bringing up the rear.

  “Are you better?” Picard asked softly.

  She nodded. “The fear has receded, but it isn’t over. Whatever caused the fear is still very real. I . . . I can’t explain it, but something is very wrong.”

  “Can you lead us to the disturbance?”

  “Yes.”

  The guard that led them hesitated outside a narrow corridor. This close, Troi should have been able to feel what caused him to pause, but the emotional battering she had received, was still receiving, had dulled her senses. It was as if all her powers were concentrated on this one person’s sorrow.

  “We must be very quiet. There was a birth scheduled tonight,” the guard said. His voice was bland, ordinary, but something in the way he stood at the head of the corridor, as if afraid to go down, made Troi wonder.

  They hurried down the corridor, past several doors all painted to resemble exotic flowers in livid, Day-glo colors. Troi stopped, almost stumbling. Only the captain’s hand kept her from falling. She placed her hand against a door on the right-hand side of the hallway. “In here, Captain.” The tears finally crept down her face. “In here.”

  Breck said, “That is the nursery. We are not allowed in there.”

  “Something is wrong, Captain, very wrong,” Troi said.

  “My ship’s counselor is skilled at healing emotional wounds. She wishes to help whoever is behind this door.”

  He shook his head. “That is not allowed.”

  “You can’t just ignore it,” Troi said. “She’s hurting. They’ve given her something to make her sleep, but it isn’t enough.” She pulled away from Picard’s hand and went to the guard. “Please, I must help her. I must try.”

  The guard stared at Troi. His masked face gave no hint of what he felt. “Can you truly help?”

  “I want to try, please.”

  He glanced across at the other guard. “What were our orders on restricted areas?”

  “No restricted areas. Colonel Talanne said the ambassador was to have full access.”

  Breck took a deep breath. “Very well, if yo
u truly believe you can help.” He hit a code into the door keypad, and the door whooshed open.

  There were voices in her mind, whispers, echoes. She shook her head trying to clear it, to follow the sorrow, the tears. But it was like the voices of ghosts.

  Picard touched her arm. “What is happening to you, Counselor?”

  “Voices in my head, but not voices. I don’t know.” She looked at the captain. “It’s like I’m hearing ghosts.”

  The guard made an odd sign with his left hand—two fingers pointing out towards Troi. “You can hear the voices of the lifeless, can’t you?” His voice was hushed, choked.

  Troi could only nod. It made sense of a sort.

  “What do you mean, the voices of the lifeless?” Picard asked.

  Breck shook his head. “We have gifted ones in our people, too, Captain. I do not envy them. This place is haunted enough without mind-voices.”

  The room was huge, cavernous like a warehouse. But it was empty. The floor stretched smooth and unbroken toward the distant back wall. Their footsteps echoed in the emptiness. The walls were divided into small rectangles. Wires and clear plastic tubing ran in and out of each individual rectangle. Liquid slurped through the tubes. The wires hummed with electricity. “What is this place?” Picard asked.

  “It is the room of lifeless children,” the guard said. This time there was no mistaking the catch in his voice. Troi did not need to feel it to hear the sadness.

  Troi moved toward the right hand wall. Picard let her go, staying close by in case he was needed. Worf and the Orianian security team were being alert, searching for enemies.

  The Orianian said, “No one will attack us here. It is a place of neutrality.”

  Worf nodded, but his hand stayed near his phaser just the same.

  Troi touched the cool metal of the walls. Liquid ran through two tubes, a rainbow of wires fed into the small rectangle. The whispering in her head was louder. It was like the sound of water running, or wind in leaves, continuous, monotonous, but . . . There was meaning here, intelligence. It wasn’t just wind or water. There were thoughts captured behind these walls. Thoughts, like ragged bits of dream.

  She laid her hands flat on one rectangle. The thoughts were stronger when she concentrated, but still made no sense. “I don’t understand. What are they saying?”