Death in Winter - Michael Jan Friedman [44]
And squeeze until he begged for mercy.
On the other hand, Beverly allowed, I may be way off base. It was possible that neither Jean-Luc nor Greyhorse would wind up anywhere near the Romulan Empire, just as it was possible that she would be the last doctor sent to help the Kevrata. But her knowledge of Starfleet told her otherwise.
As she thought that, she heard the sharp report of footfalls on the naked stone. Sela? she wondered. Had the woman come back to obtain the answers she had failed to get last time?
Beverly moved forward in her cell until her face was almost touching the energy of the barrier. It allowed her to see all the way down to the end of the corridor.
Moments later, someone turned the corner, all right-but it wasn’t Sela. It was one of her centurions. Probably the one who had looked in on her every hour or so since she woke up.
No, Beverly thought as he got closer. This is a different one. The other centurion had been tall and broad-shouldered, with high, aristocratic cheekbones and a thin, cruel mouth.
This one was shorter, slimmer, more wiry-looking. And his features were less remarkable-downright bland, in fact. As good as the doctor was with faces, she would have been hard-pressed to describe his with any accuracy.
Like the other centurion, he approached her cell and gave it a visual inspection. When he got to Beverly, she returned his scrutiny. She might have to endure it, but she certainly wasn’t going to be meek about it.
In any case, the centurion wasn’t likely to linger. There was nothing amiss in her cell, nothing to address. The doctor expected him to do what his predecessor had done-cast a final warning glance at her and go back the way he came.
Until he spoke.
Beverly was so surprised and his voice was so low, so soft, she couldn’t make out a single word. Her expression must have communicated the fact, because the centurion spoke again-a little more distinctly this time.
“Not all of Commander Sela’s centurions are eager to follow her orders,” he breathed. “Some believe the Kevrata deserve their freedom.”
Beverly studied him, trying to decide why he would say such a thing. If anyone overheard him, his life would surely have been forfeit. And yet he had taken the risk.
“Right now,” she whispered back, “they need freedom from their plague.”
The guard eyed her for a moment. Almost imperceptibly, he nodded. Then, without another word, he went back down the corridor and disappeared around its bend.
Strange, Beverly thought.
She had dealt with Romulans enough to know that even the humblest of them had his own agenda-and that it might not be the one he professed. Nonetheless, she embraced the hope that the guard was willing to help her.
As her grandmother had said often enough, beggars couldn’t be choosers. And at the moment, the doctor felt very much like a beggar.
Kito wasn’t sure when or where or how the wave of Kevrata started moving through the city, but it had reached mammoth proportions by the time he caught sight of it flooding Wophan Square.
“What is this about?” he asked.
A female in a red robe turned to shout to him through the pelting snow. “A physician was dispatched to help us, but the Romulans imprisoned her!”
A physician? “From what place was she dispatched?” Kito wondered out loud.
“From the Federation!” called a male. “She was sent here to stop the plague!”
Hands of the generous, Kito thought, a spurt of anger climbing his throat. Could even the Romulans be that cruel? If they could not-or would not-come up with a cure for the killing sickness, why not permit someone else to do so?
It was but one of the questions he would have asked if given the opportunity. Unfortunately, the Romulans were not in the habit of discussing their policies with the species they oppressed. They were more inclined to deal with questions across the length of a disruptor rifle.