Nightshade - Laurell K. Hamilton [54]
Troi stepped into the room, eyes still not quite focused on any one thing. “We were worried about you.”
‘We discovered that the Orianians torture their prisoners. They refused to let us see you.”
‘So you assumed I was being tortured.”
‘Yes.”
‘I am glad to hear you didn’t come to rescue me.” Picard smiled. “When I saw the three of you slink in here, I was sure you had done something foolish. Forgive my doubts.”
Worf glanced at Troi. She was more herself, and could appreciate Worf’s sudden pang of conscience. “Well, Captain, there was some trouble in getting into the cell block.”
‘What kind of trouble?”
The door slammed open, ringing against the wall. Armed guards poured into the room, rifle barrels searching out individual targets.
‘No one moves,” a familiar voice called out.
‘That kind of trouble,” Worf said.
‘What is going on here?” Picard asked of everyone and no one.
Colonel Talanne stepped into the room, a rifle pointing very steadily at the middle of Worf’s chest. “That is what I would like very much to understand, Ambassadors.”
Chapter Fourteen
Picard had never seen a real torture chamber. Staring around the room now, he still felt like he had not seen one. The walls were smooth and white, and everything was spotlessly clean. There were tables with bright silver straps and chairlike devices whose function was unclear.
But the room was open, airy. You could almost picture a gentle breeze wafting through the room. Wasn’t there a rule somewhere that to terrify you had to look terrifying? It seemed somehow obscene that this sparkling room should be a place of pain.
‘Please, Ambassadors, Healer, be seated. Be comfortable.”
Talanne herself slid behind a neat desk that took up most of the west wall. “I am sorry that there are no other chairs, but lean against anything. I promise it will not harm you.”
Picard couldn’t even figure out what the various instruments did, let alone how they could hurt.
Picard glanced around the room. Breck had taken up his station at the captain’s side. For once Picard did not protest. His recent incarceration had made him appreciate the paranoia of the planet. Or perhaps it was watching General Alick die?
Talanne propped her feet upon the desk in an attitude of carelessness that was at odds to anything Picard had seen of her. He glanced at Troi. She widened her eyes a bit. Picard wanted badly to confer with Troi, not just for Talanne’s oddly relaxed behavior, but about Alick’s death. Picard wanted to know what they had found out and what Troi had sensed. “May I confer with my people in private?” Picard asked.
‘I think not,” Talanne said. “After Ambassador Worf’s display of bravado, I believe we should keep our eyes upon you.”
Picard turned to Worf. He tried to think how to phrase his question in front of strangers without embarrassing Worf. He didn’t like to question his people in front of others. “What was so important, Lieutenant, that you would risk our hosts’ displeasure?”
‘We had reason to believe you were being tortured, Captain.”
‘Tortured,” Picard said. He felt his face collapse into surprise before he could stop it. “Lieutenant, are you telling me that you thought the Orianians would torture a Federation ambassador?”
Picard stared at Worf, waiting for an answer. Worf did not look uncomfortable in the least when he said, “Yes, I did.”
‘Troi, did you believe this, as well?”
Troi was staring at Talanne very steadily, the concentration almost touchable. She was sensing something. “The Orianians’ customs do allow torture of suspects and witnesses, Captain.”
‘What are the two of you talking about?” Picard asked. He had missed something, sitting in his cell.
‘Captain.” Worf stood to attention. “We have learned that the Orianians consider torture as part of their,” he looked down as if seeking the answer on the floor, eyes widened, “culture.”
‘In what