Nightshade - Laurell K. Hamilton [50]
Kel’s anger collapsed, and his face twisted in the first signs of tears. Was he going to cry? Would a warrior break down in such a manner so quickly? Worf found it hard to believe, but the man’s torment was real. He fought an urge to glance at Troi, to see if she felt Kel’s pain. But Worf did not need empathy to see the pain tear at the man’s twisted features.
Breck stood and spoke softly. “Kel is one of our lifeless children that was saved. Sometimes, it is not possible to heal everything. It is our custom not to look upon them when they are barefaced.”
‘Why?” Worf asked. “They are only scars, healed injuries. There is no shame in that if the injuries are incurred honorably.”
Breck gave a faint smile. “The Klingons have a different opinion of such things, Ambassador Worf. We… we see them as a mark of our shame.”
Kel was indeed crying, softly. His tormented face was made worse by the effort not to cry, not to break down.
‘Is it against your laws for me to stare at him?” Worf asked.
Breck could not keep the surprise from his face. He glanced at the Venturi officer. Her face was just as puzzled. “No, it is not against our laws to stare at him. But it is…” Breck paused as if searching for the right word. “It is rude.”
‘But not illegal?” Worf asked.
‘No,” Breck said, “not illegal.”
‘Then face me, Kel, and tell me what you saw. If you did not poison Alick, you know who did. An innocent man does not break so easily.”
‘This is too much,” the Venturi officer stood. “You are tormenting him.”
‘I have not touched him,” Worf said.
‘You are allowed to touch him,” she said. “We are warriors accustomed to physical hardship, but you are not allowed to humiliate him.”
‘I can beat him, but I cannot stare at his face?” Worf responded.
‘Of course,” the officer said. “It is expected to torture prisoners to wrest confessions, but not this cruelty.”
Worf just stared at her for a moment, an idea too horrible for words forming. It was Troi who voiced it. “Do you mean that while we’ve been questioning witnesses, someone else has been questioning our captain?”
The officer spread her hands. She did not know. “It is possible. I am not privy to the ambassador’s questioning.”
‘You mean they are torturing Captain Picard?” Worf asked. He glared at Breck. “Why did you not say something?”
‘I thought you knew, Lieutenant.”
‘Take us to the captain, now!” His voice rolled like thunder in the room.
Breck gave a bowing salute. “I will see if it will be allowed.”
‘It will be allowed,” Worf said, “If we have to go through the entire Orianian army, we will see the captain-now!”
Rage spilled up inside Worf in a warm tide, but underneath the rage was fear. Fear of what they might find. Fear of having allowed harm to come to the captain. A cold, empty, space had opened up inside him. The anger kept him warm, and felt good, but the fear was there. What had been happening to Picard while they questioned witnesses? And why hadn’t they asked what treatment prisoners could expect on Oriana? That question haunted Worf.
Worf strode out into the hallway, physically shoving Breck out the door ahead of him. Troi followed without protest. The Venturi officer and the weeping sentinel stayed behind.
This delay would allow Kel to recover himself, to regain control. But it wasn’t knowledge of Alick’s death that had made Kel nervous, even frantic. It had been showing his deformity, and being stared at. Worf was almost a hundred percent certain that Kel was simply self-conscious. He didn’t really know anything helpful. But if Worf were wrong, this might have been Kel’s only moment of weakness.
Would they be able to wrest the truth from him later, if there was truth to find? No answers for that, but as Worf strode down the corridor, he didn’t care. Suddenly, the murder investigation, the peace treaty, none of it mattered half so much as finding Captain Picard safe and unharmed. And if he was hurt, Worf was not at all sure he wanted to remember that he was Ambassador Worf.
Chapter Thirteen
The two