Nightshade - Laurell K. Hamilton [63]
Worf could not think of her as a warrior. That should have been an insult coming from a Klingon, but it was not. Worf could not explain it, but Troi was the only friend he had that was not a form of warrior and still he respected her. He had never seen her so much as carry a phaser. She went into battles unarmed, and though she would not kill, she never flinched or considered personal safety first.
She was a warrior at heart, but she had the soul of something gentler. Worf did not understand her completely, but he valued her.
To Klingons it was an honor to die performing their duty. Why did it bother him so much that Deanna Troi might die here and now?
Chapter Sixteen
Worf knelt by Troi’s side, back at their sleeping quarters. She lay on her sleeping mat, pale and very, very still. With her eyes closed, Worf would have thought she was asleep, but when he lifted her hand, it was totally limp and her skin was cool to the touch.
Worf had piled blankets on top of her, forming them into a cocoon around her cold body. ‘Troi, Deanna, can you hear me?”
He felt again for the pulse in her neck. The beat of her heart was steady, comforting. Should he take her to one of the Orianian doctors? Would they be able to help her? Or would they only make it worse? No. He couldn’t give her over to those butchers.
Worf squeezed his hands into fists and ground his teeth. A low growl of frustration trickled from his mouth. He did not know what to do. This was not a problem for phasers or anger. He stared down at her pale face and felt some of the helplessness that he often felt with his son, Alexander. Why couldn’t the world be as simple as battle?
If only the Enterprise would return. Turning Troi over to Dr. Crusher would have been comforting. Turning her over to these honorless warriors-Worf didn’t like it. How could anyone trust such people?
The image of Marit’s dead face was still vivid. They had tortured her to death by accident. Accident! Worf tried to swallow the anger, but he couldn’t. Troi was hurt. Picard was in jail. A possibly innocent woman was dead. The planet was dying. The peace mission was in shambles.
Worf stood, walking toward the nearest wall. He stared at the bright, pretty pictures, and all he could see was the woman’s dead face. He smashed his fists into the wall, first one then the other, as if he were using a punching bag. Over and over, smashing, hurting. The rage bubbled up from his gut and flowed out his shoulders, down his arms, into his fists, in a red wave. The rage poured out of him, and it felt good.
‘No need to destroy the room, Worf.”
He whirled. Troi was propped up on one elbow, smiling at him.
Worf rushed to her, grabbing her in a huge bearhug. “Deanna, thank Hakkierk!”
Her voice came muffled against his chest. “Worf?”
He pulled away from her, pulling at his chest sash. His control slid into place like a well-worn glove. “I am very glad to see you are better,” he said.
Troi smiled up at him. He knew she was sensing his happiness at her recovery but he also knew he did not have to make embarrassing displays for the counselor to know how he felt. It was… calming. She was the only “human” he had ever been around whom he was sure would not misunderstand his Klingon ways.
‘Are you unharmed?”
‘A little weak but it will pass,” she said. She scooted around on the mat to put her back to the wall and cozy the blankets around her.
‘You know what happened to you, then?”
‘Yes,” Troi said softly. “Colonel Talanne is one of the most powerful projecting empaths I have been around.”
‘Projecting empath, what does that mean?”
‘All full Betazoids are able to project their thoughts upon others. They are broadcast telepaths, but projecting emotions is much more rare. Instead of being able to sense other people’s emotions, they send their own emotions onto other people. In Talanne’s case it is only sensitives, other empaths. If a Betazoid with such a talent could not learn to control it, they would be too dangerous for words.”
‘How so?”
‘Say the empath is angry in the midst of