Nightshade - Laurell K. Hamilton [88]
Audun was kneeling, head caught in the vise like a cage on top. He wasn’t gagged. There was no need. Worf knew death when he saw it.
Worf started forward, but guards pressed in on him. He didn’t know how long it took for a man to die. Would one more flip of the switch kill the captain? He could not take that chance. And he could not fight his way to the captain, not with Basha hovering over the buttons. His mind seemed to have slowed down, providing the illusion that he had forever to think of a plan. He had to talk his way to the captain, to delay until Talanne arrived. Because now Worf knew. He knew who the murderer was, but he could not prove it.
The observer behind the desk stood to attention and said, “The Federation ambassador graces our executions with his presence.”
Basha turned to stare at them. The mask hid his face, but Worf didn’t need to see his face to know. “I did not think generals did their own executions,” Worf said. His voice sounded terribly calm. Troi moved up beside him, fingers touching his arm.
‘Speak freely, Counselor, we are among friends,” Worf said. The irony of that statement was not lost upon him.
She looked a question at him, then nodded. She understood, they were buying time. They could not order the guards to lay down their weapons, but Talanne could. If they could delay long enough.
Picard hung nearly motionless, skin wax pale; only his frantic breathing said he was alive.
‘I feel panic, fear, hurry, hurry to do something. Something interrupted. Not the torture, not the executions-what? I’m not sure.”
‘What are you babbling about, Healer,” Basha said. “I do not wish you to see your captain die. That would be cruel, and we are not a cruel people.”
‘What are you hiding, Basha?” Troi asked it softly, taking a step toward him. She had used his name without the title deliberately. “What are you afraid of?”
Worf didn’t question what she was doing. He just came, walking at her back, waiting. The guards parted before them. Perhaps it was Troi’s words, or their respect for her mind-powers. Or perhaps it was the fact that they had done nothing hostile. Worf trusted Troi to do her job.
‘I don’t know what you mean, mind-healer. I fear nothing. I am a warrior.” But his attention wavered. He glanced at Liv, moving his whole head to do it.
‘This is your last opportunity to discover if they are the only traitors. My understanding is that is one of the reasons you torture prisoners, so they can give out names. So why is she gagged?” Troi asked.
‘To keep from shouting encouragement to the others, of course.”
Liv made a desperate sound through her gag, struggling and pulling to free her hands. A small line of blood trickled down her wrist from her desperate pulling.
‘I think she is ready to talk, General,” Troi said. “Your strategy has worked. You’ve frightened her.” Troi turned her back on Basha and went to the bound woman. She reached up slowly to undo the gag.
‘No!”
It was a shout.
‘But she wants to tell the truth, Basha.”
‘No!” He ran forward, toward Troi. Worf smashed his fist into the general’s face. The man tumbled backward, hands going to his face.
Basha ripped his mask off. A thin trickle of blood traced the edge of his nose. “Kill them, kill them all!”
The guards moved in like a fleshy tide. They did not question their orders. The anger, the frustration, the helplessness, boiled up from the center of Worf’s gut. The rage built, flowed in a hot flash up his chest, across his shoulders, his neck, down his arms. He screamed, an echoing cry that froze the guards for a breathless moment. Then Worf waded into them.
He picked up a guard and tossed him into the crowd clearing a space in front of him. He smashed his fists into two masked faces; one right after the other, the faces fell out of sight. A guard grabbed his arm, and Worf lifted him off the ground. Something hit him hard in the back of the head. He whirled the guard still