Nightshade - Laurell K. Hamilton [49]
But it wasn’t merely the scar that stole the beauty from the Orianian’s face. There was something wrong with the way the nose lined up under the eyes. A twist to the thin lips that didn’t match the face. Kel looked pinched and somehow uncared for, as if life had been hard, and it wasn’t getting any easier.
Worf stared at the deformed face and wondered if there were worse things hiding behind their breathing masks and goggles. Perhaps there was a reason, beyond necessity, for faces to remain hidden.
Perhaps many of them looked like Kel underneath. Healed by medical technology but somehow twisted.
Worf stared down at the sentinel, arms crossed over his chest. This man was a warrior, not a civilian, and that made things easier. Worf did not feel the same constraints he had felt when questioning Dr. Stasha. Kel was a warrior, he would not be instantly afraid. Worf hoped that here, at least, was a worthy opponent.
Kel kept glancing up at Worf with brief flicks of his eyes. Kel’s thin hands twisted in his lap. The darting glances that he gave Worf betrayed an obvious nervousness. He was very uncomfortable. Worf was puzzled. Were all the Orianians victims at heart?
Breck sat in the far corner of the room nearest the door. There was a Venturi officer in the other corner. She was there to see that no illegal harm was done to the sentinel. True he had failed his duty in the worst possible way, but still he was Venturi and there was still the law.
Breck and the Venturi ignored each other. Their face masks and goggles lay in their laps. The new Venturi was as beautiful as Alick had been, with white-blond hair and eyes that were the molten gold of a snake’s. It was a rule of the interrogation room on this planet that all must bare their faces.
After one brief glance, neither Breck nor the Venturi officer had looked directly at Kel. They looked at anything to avoid Kel’s face: walls, Worf’s tall form, Troi, anything but their unmasked fellow.
Kel’s eyes, too, avoided them. He did not glance into their perfect features. He did not look at Troi, but he had to look at Worf. The Klingon had made that unavoidable.
Kel sat in his small chair, and Worf towered over him. He had found that his height made the Orianian guards nervous, and he used that now to intimidate one guard. Worf stood almost close enough for their legs to touch. He stared into Kel’s face without even blinking, as if he were trying to memorize each flaw.
Sweat beaded along Kel’s forehead, and still Worf only stood and stared. If just standing and staring would make Kel sweat, then that was what Worf would do. There was no need to do more, when staring seemed to be enough. The sentinel licked his thin lips, darted a glance upward, then down. His hands twisted the mask in his lap as if clutching it would keep him safe.
‘Do you expect me to believe that you know nothing about General Alick’s death?” Worf’s deep voice seemed loud in the stillness.
Kel jumped. “I… I know nothing. I have told you everything I know.”
Worf leaned over, placing a hand on either side the chair back. He glared into Kel’s face from a few centimeters. “You’re lying to us,” he growled. “Lying to me.”
Kel pushed to his feet, sending his chair to clatter along the floor. He stood to his full height, but still only came to Worf’s lower chest. He stood trembling, hands clenched into fists at his sides. His breath came in gasps.
‘How dare you stare at me like that!” He shouted. “I am hideous, but it is no fault of my own. I would rather you beat me than humiliate me like this!”
Worf just stood there for a moment, staring down at the smaller man. He fought to keep the surprise off his face. Staring was worse than a beating, so be it. He stepped into Kel, forcing the man to step back.
‘I will stare at you if I please. You have allowed your