Nightshade - Laurell K. Hamilton [11]
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, gray 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 you 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.