Star Trek_ Generations - J M. Dillard [49]
BEtor spoke, with the same unctuous, faintly mocking tone as her sister. The doctor values his privacy. He would be quite … upset if an armed away team interrupted him.
The captain hesitated no more than a second. He had hoped to beam down armed and with communications intact, so that he could inform the Enterprise of the probes locationbut if that was not possible, then he had no choice but to trust the instinct that said he would be able to stop Soran on the planet surface. Very well, he told the sisters. Ill beam to your ship and you can transport me to Soran.
Sir. Riker turned toward him, urgent. You cant trust them. For all we know, they killed Geordi and theyll kill you, too.
We did not harm your engineer, Lursa retorted, with such indignation that Picard believed her. He has been our guest.
Riker faced her, his expression cold, mistrustful.
Then return him.
In exchange for what? BEtor demanded.
Data looked up at the captain, his expression eager.
Me, sir.
Picard ignored him. Me, he told the Klingon women. If you let me speak to Soran.
He knew at once from their sudden, startled silence that his offer would be accepted. They glanced at each other, trying to mask their enthusiasm; BEtor leaned over and quickly whispered something in Klingon to her sister. Lursa nodded thoughtfully, then glanced back at the screen.
Well consider it a prisoner exchange.
Agreed, Picard said with relief, ignoring the look of disapproval on Will Rikers face. The screen darkened, then once more displayed the image of the Bird-of-Prey. Picard turned and headed for the turbolift.
Number One, he said, you have the bridge. Have Dr. Crusher meet me in transporter room three.
He left swiftly, before Riker could protest further, with determination and an odd sense of destiny.
TEN
In the humid, overheated cabin, Geordi leaned heavily against the back of his chair and awaited Sorans return. The nanoprobes grip on his heart left him nauseated, slightly breathless, perspiring; sweat trickled down his forehead and stung his sightless eyes.
He could not quite figure the scientist out. Soran seemed mercurial, unpredictable. When the interrogation had first begun, Geordi felt certain it would end in his execution. Sorans voice held an edge of anger, pain, an undercurrent of mad desperation that said he would do anything, anything to get what he wanted.
Yet there had been genuine compassion in his tone when he said, Im not a killer, Mr. La Forge. And in the middle of the torture, the pain had suddenly stopped.
Geordi had survived the crushing agony by forcing himself to mentally count the seconds. He had lost track somewhere after ninewhen he had suddenly been overwhelmed by pain and the terrifying conviction that Soran had been wrong, that he was in fact dying. He struggled for oxygen, heard himself gasping like a struggling fish, drowning in an ocean of air. His consciousness flickered, and in his agonized, dreamlike state, he became strangely aware that Soran sensed what he felt; that Soran knew, and could not bear it.
The torment abruptly ceased. Thirty seconds, Soran had said. But the pain had stopped somewhere around fifteen.
Geordi had lifted his head, forgetting in his pain-filled haze that he was blind, that Soran still had the VISOR. Like I said, he had croaked, I dont know anything beyond what Ive already told you.
Soran had not replied. In the silence Geordi had heard the scientist rise, then stand for a long moment before turning and leaving the cabin.
Maybe he had had a change of heart. Or maybe he simply didnt have the stomach for torture and had gone to get someone else. Or maybe …
Geordi sighed and let his head loll to one side. No point in speculating. Either he was going to die or he wasnt. The thought frightened himbut at the moment, he was too exhausted to waste much energy on worrying about it. So long as Soran left the nanoprobe alone …
He straightened as the door slid open with a groan, and listened intently as twono, three pairs of footsteps thudded against the metal deck. One pair