Day of Honor 01_ Ancient Blood - Diane Carey [61]
His whole body suddenly numb, Worf wanted from the pit of his being to give the answer Grant so desperately needed—and deserved.
Yes, deserved!
Why could he find no voice?
Though his response was bogged down in hesitation, he knew his face told clearly what he was deliberately not saying.
He knew, because of the way Grant was staring at him.
“You’re …” Grant’s jaw slackened in astonishment and his face went painfully white. “You’re not gonna back me up, are you? Oh, my God … you’re not going to back me up!”
Feeling his face crumple, Worf forced himself to speak. “I cannot perjure myself for you. I have my honor to consider.”
Grant looked as if his chest were collapsing. “Honor? You’ve got to be kidding! We’ve got a whole planet and a fifth of the sector to think about here! You talk about law? There have to be two witnesses—that’s the excuse for law on this godforsaken rock! She made sure of that! You think she wasn’t setting that up for just this kind of incident? She pushed that law through to protect herself, not to protect the people of the planet! And it’s working! And you’re gonna let it?”
The last few words stuck in Grant’s throat, yet his meaning came across as clearly as subspace beacons.
The sudden silence nearly broke Worf’s legs beneath him. Ten thousand answers surged and receded in his mind before he mouthed the only one he could push out.
“I am sorry …”
Instantly, Grant gasped. “Sorry? We’re partners!”
“Partners in law,” Worf said on a raw breath. “Not in dishonor.”
How hollow the words sounded. How fleeting, weightless. Grant shook his head, his eyes narrowing to pain-ridden slits. He shuddered and turned cold as a blade in winter. Sweat broke out on his face, and his whole body seemed to steam. He leaned forward over a rug-covered table and clutched at the rug until it bunched in his hands.
Quaking as if old age had rushed up on him, he shivered and gagged. “She’ll turn my skin inside out …”
Gripped with empathy, Worf moved to Grant’s side, hoping to provide some physical support. “We can get you off the planet, Grant. Mrs. Khanty—”
“I told you, I’m not leaving.” Grant shook his head emphatically. “I’m gonna stick up for what I know.”
Fraught with his burden, he turned, pressing his legs up against the table, and gripped Worf’s Rogue uniform collar with gnarled fingers.
Worf gritted his teeth, suddenly light-headed and possessing no more substance than a useless bit of paper. He felt as if he were fading away where he stood. Fading to nothing. He was nothing—he could do nothing …
“You’ve got to stick up for it, too,” Grant rasped. “It’s the truth, and you know it. You can make the truth happen if you just say what you know! You’ve gotta do it!”
His fingers twisted tighter, his brows knitted, and Grant took one breath and held it until finally it came bursting out.
“For God’s sake … lie!”
“We’ll get you off the planet. And all this will be sorted out according to the law.”
The ghastly decision had been made, and now lay in stone at the bottom of Worf’s stomach. A half hour had crept by.
Grant no longer argued about getting off Sindikash and into the protective shell of the Enterprise, where Odette Khanty’s tentacles could not reach.
Instead, Grant sat on a kilim ottoman, staring at the carpet, not looking up.
“Lie,” he croaked.
Worf struggled to his feet and forced his swollen leg and hip to move. He dared not let his body stiffen up, so he paced behind Grant, as Grant had before him. “Another team can come here from Starfleet and continue the work. Mrs. Khanty is beginning to make errors.”
“We’ve got her now,” Grant pleaded. “Lie. Do it.”
“Killing her husband herself was a major step toward distrust of everyone around her. She can enshroud herself only so long, taking things into her own hands this way.”
“I’d do it for you.”
Worf looked at the back of Grant’s head, haloed by imitation candlelight from a stained glass sconce. Grant did not turn to meet his