Nightshade - Laurell K. Hamilton [51]
‘Ambassador Worf to see Ambassador Picard.”
‘Murderers do not receive visitors. You know that,” one guard said.
‘This is not a request,” Worf said. He moved forward to loom threateningly over Breck and the guards. They gripped their rifles just a little tighter but otherwise didn’t flinch.
Breck actually placed a hand on Worf’s chest, pushing him back, gently but firmly. “The acting ambassador wishes to discover the health of Picard. It is not an unreasonable request.”
The guards exchanged glances. “Murderers are not allowed visitors. That is the law.”
‘I will see Ambassador Picard,” Worf growled. He pushed past Breck, looming over the two guards like a storm about to break. “I will see him now!” Each word was a low growl, chopped and very certain. It was an order. The guards understood that. They shifted nervously.
Troi felt their uncertainty. They evidently had no orders to cover a rampage by the acting ambassador. Did they dare shoot him? Defend themselves? Or not?
Worf had tried to get word to Talanne or Basha, to get permission to see the captain. Neither leader had been available. As Federation representatives they should have gone through channels, but Troi agreed with Worf. They had to see Picard, now. The captain was the first human the Orianians had ever seen up close. Torture might not work the same on the captain. They might kill him without meaning to.
Troi hoped the guards’ uncertainty would work for Worf, and not against him.
‘We were not told that the ambassador was an exception to the law,” the guard said.
‘Do you wish to tell General Basha that you never received his orders,” Breck lied as smoothly as he breathed. Troi knew there were no orders, but the anxiety level of both guards jumped. They weren’t sure if they had missed orders or not. This was, after all, an unusual situation.
‘We have had no orders,” the second guard said. There was a stubborn set to his voice. “If your General Basha wishes the new ambassador to have access to the cells, then let him tell us himself.”
‘Do you really think that with the Venturi leader assassinated, the general has nothing better to do than come down to the cells and see that his orders are being carried out?”
‘We have no orders to cover this.”
‘Enough of this!” Worf said. His fist lashed out to connect very solidly with the first guard’s face. He slid down the wall and collapsed in a silent heap. The second guard started to bring his rifle up, but Breck smashed him in the gut, then followed with a knee to the face. The second guard slumped to the ground, as well.
Worf had disarmed the fallen guard and had no doubts at all about his actions. “Breck, open the door.”
‘I obey orders,” Breck said. He punched a series of buttons near the door. They flashed once, and the door opened. “It only opens one way. It is a safety precaution against people breaking in.”
‘Once inside we are trapped?” Troi asked.
‘Yes.”
‘It does not matter. We are not here to rescue the captain, only to make sure he is safe. Once that is done, we will wait to be released,” Worf said.
Breck made a sound very like a laugh. “I only hope it is that simple, Ambassador.”
Worf wasn’t listening. He led the way through the door, rifle half raised. Would he shoot guards that got in his way? Troi tried to feel what his intentions were, but the rage, the near panic to find the captain, was masking everything else. Would Worf commit murder to save the captain? Perhaps. But even knowing that, Troi followed them inside. The door shut behind them with a sigh, and they were alone in a maze of small doors and dim lights.
The walls were a crisp, pure white. It was nearly soothing after the conflicting colors of the rest of the Orianian complex. Troi would almost have asked to be jailed if she could rest her eyes on the soothing blankness. It didn’t look much like a prison. If it had not been for the many small doors, it wouldn’t have looked like a cell block at all.