Dark Mirror - Diane Duane [121]
“Where is Mr. Barclay?” he said softly.
“He should have known better than to put up resistance when a security matter was in hand,” Troi said.
He stepped toward her, backed her right into the wall, and took her one-handed under the chin, gripping hard. Her guards stared, fascinated and afraid, and did nothing. The counselor tried the stab of the mind again, but she was uncentered and unsure, and the blow missed. It stuck in the armor of his rage, the intensity of his emotion trapping it, and down the channel Troi had opened between them, Picard’s rage poured, transfixing her—open-eyed, open-mouthed, anguished, like a woman being burned at the stake in her mind.
“That was my best man,” Picard said, low, even-voiced. “A young officer barely past the threshold of his career. A loyal man. Who knows what he might have been in a year, or five? Except possibly you knew.” He looked at Troi, narrow-eyed. “Always better to nip these things in the bud, isn’t it?” He let go of her, looked away from her, disgusted by the sight of her—
—and found himself looking over at Mr. Worf. Worf’s expression was a strange one: recognition of something he had seen before, and confusion and dawning—Picard swallowed. He realized that Worf knew, beyond question he knew.
Picard simply stood there and looked at Worf for a second. There was nothing else to be done.
Worf looked back and never said a word. Confused, but not about to waste the moment, Picard turned back to Troi. He gestured at the floor. “Take that out of here.”
“The Booth?” Troi said weakly.
Picard’s mouth set hard. How many others had this other self ordered it for in his time? A little justice, though it came late, would suit his own present mood. “Yes. Wring it dry. How are the repairs?”
Troi actually stammered. “They’re, they’re coming along, Captain. We should be spaceworthy again, Hessan says, within—”
“Half the time she said,” Picard said bitterly, “whatever it was. See to it. Meantime—” He stepped much closer to Troi. “That was most unnecessary, Counselor.” He gestured with his head at the door. “You will rue this day’s work.”
“Not so much as you will,” she said rather desperately, “when Starfleet Command catches up with you. Quite shortly, I should say.”
“Trust me, Counselor,” Picard said, and his smile must have been terrible, for she took another step back, “other things will catch up with you, first, and I will watch and enjoy every moment.” He pointed at the floor again. “Now get that out of here.”
Troi and her guards picked up the unconscious body of the other Picard and carried him out. “Mr. Worf,” Picard said, “perhaps you would wait a moment.”
When the doors had shut, they spent a long few moments studying each other. “You didn’t betray me,” Picard said. “I thank you for that. But how did you know?”
“Your manner. Your courtesy. The way you spoke to me earlier—taken together with the fact that you cared at all about a dead bodyguard. These have not been typical of “your” past behavior.” Worf smiled grimly. “Unlike others here, I can see the unlikely when it is under my nose; I would not have survived long without learning how to notice things.”
Picard nodded. “Time is short. I must recover my people and go … but I will not forget your help.”
“I will see you safely away. But one thing quickly, before we go.” The abrupt sorrow in his eyes was terrible to see. “In your universe— what has happened to my people?”
Picard smiled somberly. “They are a mighty empire, and our allies. Oh, we were enemies once; there were times when we had territorial ambitions that clashed, and our fears of each other