Pantheon - Michael Jan Friedman [97]
“Yes,” Worf agreed. “That would have made our search a good deal easier.”
But by the end of the sentence, he was no longer looking at Burke. Once again he was regarding the prisoner—who had stood up and was approaching the threshold of her cell.
“Careful, Commander,” Burke warned her—not out of compassion, but because it was his duty. “That barrier has a kick to it.”
“I know,” said Asmund, addressing the human. “I am familiar with starship security facilities, thank you.” She turned her gaze on Worf. “Lieutenant, I would like to have a word with you.” Her eyes were hooded, her chin held high. All in all, a very Klingonlike posture.
“I am listening,” he responded.
She shook her head. “Alone.”
It came out sounding more like a demand than a request. If he hadn’t been so curious about her to begin with, he wouldn’t have given it a second thought.
But the idea of gaining insight into her motives was an alluring one. Too alluring for him to pass up.
“Sir,” Burke said as if he could read his superior’s thoughts, “the commander isn’t your typical prisoner. I wouldn’t advise it.”
Asmund’s mouth twisted up at the corners. Worf read the scorn in the gesture, calculated to sting his Klingon pride.
“Are you so frightened of me,” the blond woman asked, “that you dare not face me even across an energy barrier? Is that what it’s come to—Lieutenant?”
He knew what she was up to. He knew that she was taunting him for a reason. But try as he might, he couldn’t believe she was in a position to harm him. Even if she somehow managed to remove the barrier, she was unarmed—and he had his phaser.
“Leave us,” Worf told his security people, never taking his eyes from Asmund’s.
“But Lieutenant—” began Burke.
“Leave us,” repeated the security chief—this time a little more forcefully.
Burke and Nevins had no choice but to comply. With obvious reluctance, they withdrew down the corridor until they disappeared around the bend.
“All right,” Worf told the prisoner. “We are alone.”
Asmund nodded. “Thank you.” Her gaze seemed to soften a bit. “You didn’t have to do this.”
It caught him off guard. Up until then, her attitude had been haughty—dancing on the edge of arrogance. Suddenly, there was a touch of weakness in her. A sense of vulnerability no true Klingon would have permitted himself. Was it an attempt to lull his suspicions? If so, he resolved, it wouldn’t work.
“Agreed,” he told her. “I did not have to do it. Now, what is it you wished to speak about?”
She took a half-step toward him. It brought her dangerously close to the energy field. “You were the one who identified the knife wounds,” she said. “It could only have been you. Correct?”
“Correct.”
“And it was your duty to report what you found.”
“Correct again.”
Asmund nodded. “Then you believe I am guilty.”
Something shifted uncomfortably in Worf’s gut—as if he’d eaten too many serpent worms. “That is for others to judge.”
“Of course it is. But what do you believe?”
He shrugged. “I must believe the evidence.”
“But there is no evidence,” she insisted, her voice rising an octave. With a visible effort she took hold of herself again. “Or, rather, what there is is circumstantial.”
“I leave the shades of legality to the advocate general’s office,” he told her. “My job is to see that the ship and her crew are safe.”
“Then do your job. But look beyond the evidence—if you want to call it that. Follow your instincts.” A pause. “What do they tell you? That a Klingon would have tampered with a holodeck? Or opened fire on three unarmed and unsuspecting victims? Or tarnished a ceremonial knife with an enemy’s blood?” She struck her chest suddenly and viciously. “I am a Klingon, Lieutenant. I would not have dishonored my family with such behavior—even if I were inclined to kill someone.” The woman’s eyes blazed with a cold fire. “My sister tried to kill Morgen—a fact it seems I will never live down. But she wasn’t a coward. She didn’t do it with sabotage or attacks in the dark; your files will confirm