Nightshade

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  An Original Publication of POCKET BOOKS

  POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster Inc.

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  Copyright © 1992 Paramount Pictures. All Rights Reserved.

  STAR TREK is a Registered Trademark of Paramount Pictures.

  This book is published by Pocket Books, a division of Simon & Schuster Inc., under exclusive license from Paramount Pictures.

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  ISBN-10: 0-7434-2107-8

  ISBN-13:978-0-7434-2107-2

  POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster Inc.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter One

  DEANNA TROI stood at a viewport gazing at the stars. They were utterly still—cold, harsh light without a planet’s atmosphere to make them twinkle. Troi had sought out this empty corridor and its fine view of the stars. She wanted a few minutes to compose herself before going to the bridge.

  The ship was orbiting the planet, Oriana. Generations of civil war had nearly destroyed the planet and its people. Troi wanted to take the unperturbed peace of the stars with her onto the bridge. The ship’s counselor had to be calm, relaxed, ready to serve.

  “What are you looking at, Counselor?”

  She jumped and whirled. “Worf, you frightened me.”

  The Klingon officer frowned, which was a fearsome sight all on its own. “I did not intend to.”

  Troi smiled. “I know.”

  The frown deepened, causing the ridges on his forehead to wrinkle. He nodded.

  His emotions, as always, were close to the surface of his thoughts. The Klingon made very little pretense in his own mind. Unlike humans who often lied even to themselves, the Klingon thought what he thought, and did not care that she knew it. It didn’t make Worf uncomfortable to be around an empath the way it did some of the crew. Worf had no secrets to keep because secrets implied shame.

  Troi appreciated his openness. She smiled. “You asked what I was looking at.” She motioned him to the window.

  Worf stood beside her, hands clasped behind his back, broad shoulders filling the window. Troi knew she was not tall, but beside the Klingon she felt tiny. “Aren’t the stars beautiful?” she asked.

  He shifted, slightly. Troi could feel his puzzlement. “I do not understand.”

  A human might have lied, but at least this Klingon said what he felt. “I was gazing at the stars and thinking how lovely they are.”

  Worf stared out into the cold blackness, the stars like chips of ice caught in velvet. “I see stars,” he said at last.

  “But don’t you think they’re beautiful?” She glanced up at him in time to see the same fearsome scowl.

  “They are stars. I suppose some might think they are . . . pretty.”

  Troi smiled. “I think they are.”

  He nodded.

  Troi could feel laughter at the back of her throat.

  But she swallowed it. You did not laugh at friends, especially when they were trying to be polite.

  Captain Picard’s voice came out of empty air, “Counselor Troi, please report to the bridge.”

  Troi hit her communicator. “I’m on my way, Captain.”

  “Worf here, Captain. Is my presence required?”

  “It would be most appreciated, Lieutenant.”

  Troi felt the smile in the captain’s voice.

  “We are on our way, Captain,” Worf said.

  Worf strode toward the nearest turbolift. Troi had to quick step to keep up with him. “We weren’t scheduled to speak with the Orianians for another hour,” she said, “What could it be?”

  “I do not know.” Inside the smooth whiteness of the turbolift Worf said, “Bridge.” The lift vibrated, then began to move.

  Troi could feel Captain Picard’s agitation. He was worried. She did not share her findings with Worf. She could read the emotions of everyone on board. It was simple courtesy not to reveal what she felt to others. It would have been like telling secrets you had learned eavesdropping.

  The turbolift door whooshed open. The bridge of the Enterprise spread out before them, all graceful curves, neutral carpeting. It looked like an executive boardroom more than the bridge of a starship. A place for conferences not confrontations.

  On the main viewscreen was the picture of a man.The skin was pale gold.The facial bones were high and delicate,almost birdlike.The face was dominated by huge liquid brown eyes.The large eyes and the delicate face made the man seem childlike.The effect was spoiled by his deep voice and the injuries to that lovely face.

  The right side of his face was battered and bleeding. He held stiff one arm at his side. His pain hit Troi like a physical shove. She staggered. Worf caught her arm.

  “Are you all right, Counselor?” he asked.

  She nodded. Troi realized that it wasn’t just the general’s physical pain but his anger. He was full of a great roaring outrage at what had been done to him.

  Worf’s hand was a steady, solid presence. She took a deep breath and stepped away from him. “I’m fine.” Now that she was prepared, Troi could ride the pain and the rage. Everyone’s attention was fixed on the viewscreen, no one but Worf had seen her momentary weakness. Troi was grateful for that. It was inexcusable to allow other people’s emotions to throw her so badly. Composing herself, she moved to take her seat on Captain Picard’s left.

  The battered man on the screen said, “I have honored you beyond our customs by allowing you to see my face. I hoped it would convince you. Our enemies, the Venturies are determined to stop these peace talks. Captain Picard, please reconsider. It is far, far too dangerous to risk a Federation ambassador. You see what they have done to me.” He raised his good hand to emphasize the cuts on his face. “If it had not been for my bodyguards, I would not be speaking to you now.”

  “I assure you, General Basha, that I will take all precautions for my safety. But I do not intend to allow terrorists to derail these negotiations before they even begin,” Captain Picard said in his careful accent.

  “Captain, please, I want these talks to go on as scheduled. Our scientists say we have only a decade at most before our planet can no longer sustain life. This civil war has devastated our lands and our people. But I cannot ask you to give your life in our war.”

  “That is commendable, General, but . . .”

  “At least promise you will bring bodyguards,” the general said.

  Captain Picard sighed. “If you believe it to be necessary.”

  Gen
eral Basha stared at Picard, his brown eyes looking suddenly tired. “My second in command was assassinated yesterday evening, Captain Picard. If you insist on coming down here, then yes, by all means, bring bodyguards.”

  Captain Picard nodded. “I am sorry for your loss.”

  Basha made a small push-away gesture with his good hand. “It happens, Captain. Our war has lasted two hundred years, it happens. I will meet you as soon as I have been attended to.”

  “Do you need any medical assistance?” Picard asked.

  “Thank you, but no, our medical facilities are quite good. I pray that you do not find out how good.” With that the screen went blank.

  “Well,” Picard said, “what do you make of that, Number One?”

  Commander William Riker’s round, bearded face frowned. “I request permission to act as ambassador to Oriana.”

  “Why, Number One, trying to steal some of my thunder?” Picard smiled slightly as he said it.

  “Captain, two assassination attempts in twenty-four hours, one death. It’s too dangerous to risk your life.”

  “I disagree. This planet is dying, Will. If this war is not stopped, the Orianians are facing genocide. I have been requested as ambassador, and that is what I am going to be.”

  “With all respect, Captain,” Riker said, “it is too dangerous.”

  “I agree with Commander Riker,” Worf said, leaning over his console to loom above the captain’s chair.

  “I appreciate the concern, but I will not be frightened off.”

  Riker frowned. “Then at least take a full security complement.”

  “I have every intention of taking security with me, Will. I am not eager to fall prey to an assassin’s attack.”

  “It is still very dangerous, Captain,” Worf said.

  Picard scooted his chair so he could see his security officer. “Are you saying, Lieutenant Worf, that your security personnel could not see to my safety?”

  Worf stiffened. “I did not say that.”

  Picard smiled. “Good. Pick three people and meet me in the transporter room in an hour.”

  “Very good, Captain,” Worf said. He didn’t salute, of course, but Troi could hear it in his voice, a growl of respect. He left the bridge to gather his security team.

  “Only two guards, Captain?” Riker asked.

  “I am not going to take another army down on the planet. There are quite enough armed camps down there already.” He turned to Troi. “What did you think of General Basha, Counselor?”

  “He was in a great deal of pain, but hid it well. He is very strong, both physically and emotionally. He feels sorrow over the death of his second-in-command. He is full of great rage, and he was lying about wanting the talks to go on as scheduled.”

  “In what way?”

  Troi tried to put into words something that would have been so much easier to just share. If the captain had been a Betazoid, Troi could have simply let him feel it. She always struggled to explain what was to her very simple. “Much of his anger was about the attacks, but there was also anger about the treaty negotiations.”

  Picard steepled his fingers, tips touching his chin.

  “He is a military general, Counselor. Without a war, he is out of work.”

  “True, but I felt . . .” she spread her hands in a helpless gesture. “He was hiding something. Some deception. Something to do with the negotiations.”

  “Perhaps the general’s faction plans to retaliate for the death of his second-in-command,” Riker suggested.

  Picard glanced at him. “More assassination?”

  Riker nodded.

  “Could that be it, Counselor?” Picard asked.

  Troi tried to recall the feelings. It was like trying to remember dreams: Some things were clear; others faded the harder you tried to catch them. “It’s possible.”

  Picard nodded. “The sooner we get these talks underway the sooner we can put an end to this nonsense. Counselor Troi, please accompany me to the surface. I think your insight may be invaluable on this mission.”

  Troi smiled at that. She followed Picard’s lean figure into the turbolift. The last thing she felt as the doors closed was Riker’s worry over her safety. Duty and friendship made him worry over the captain, but there was more to his worry over Troi. They were no longer a couple, but the thought of her in danger troubled him a great deal, she knew.

  Troi sighed. The past was past. The future was Oriana and its two waiting armies. If Captain Picard failed, it meant not just the death of an entire race of people, but of a planet as well. Everything would die. Every animal, every plant. It was only a matter of years. Deanna Troi wondered what the minds of a dying race would feel like. If she were an Orianian, she would be afraid, very afraid. Afraid and full of hate. Yes, if General Basha was typical, there would be hate.

  Chapter Two

  THE PLANET ORIANA filled the viewscreen. It was a great shining, silverish ball. Occasional bands of sickly green swirled through the cloud cover, like gangrenous fingers. Picard and Troi stared at the small viewscreen in the transporter room. The captain touched his communicator. “Data, what is the atmosphere of Oriana like?”

  “It is outside the acceptable range of breathable atmosphere without some sort of filter or breathing apparatus. The atmosphere does not protect the surface from the sun’s radiation. Blindness is possible within hours of surface exposure. Skin cancer would be almost a given in such a radiation field, after an exceptionally short exposure.”

  Picard sighed. “What about animal life?”

  “Surface life is restricted to a few species of anthropoids, two species of reptilianlike predators, and one larger mammalian predator. And two hundred thousand Orianians.”

  “Only two hundred thousand, Mr. Data, are you sure?”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “Thank you, Data,” Picard said. He turned to Troi.

  “Well, Counselor, now I know why General Basha’s coordinates are indoors. It seems this planet is on the verge of death.”

  She nodded. “Now that we are orbiting the planet I can feel many minds. They are very afraid, Captain.”

  He gazed down at the poisonous gray-silver ball that had once been a class-M planet. “They have a right to be afraid.”

  The doors whooshed open, and Lieutenant Worf stepped through. Three security guards were at his back. “Captain, we are ready.”

  The three security guards fanned out and stood at attention on either side of Worf. Ensign Kelly was a woman nearly as tall as the Klingon himself. Beside her stood Ensign Conner, a slightly shorter man with skin the color of ebony, almost purple in its darkness. His broad shoulders led into a thick neck, signs of weight-lifting. The last guard, Lieutenant Vincient, was tall and thin, with short-cropped hair.

  Picard pulled a breathing mask from the small plastic box in front of the transporter pad. It would cover the face completely. Goggles were sewn into the breathing mask to form one protective unit. It didn’t look particularly comfortable. He had wondered why they needed breathing masks if they would be beaming indoors. The answer had been, in case of accidents. They could survive for a time without protective clothing, but no time at all without the masks.

  Picard slipped the mask on. It fit tightly, and there was a faint medicinal smell to it, but Dr. Crusher had assured them all that it was not only safe but necessary. Picard agreed with the doctor especially after hearing Data’s previous description of the planet’s atmosphere.

  The others pulled their own masks into place. Troi stood to Picard’s left, much as she always did on the bridge. Worf had moved just behind the captain, again unconsciously taking his position on the bridge. Finally, the three security people took up stations to either side.

  Glancing at the white-masked face, Picard noted that the masks made his people look . . . impersonal. He suddenly realized how very much humans relied on facial expressions.

  He nodded to the technician at the control panel. “Engage.” There was the same
high-pitched sound as always, then a sensation as if a hand were tickling the inside of his body, where no hand could ever reach. Then Picard’s eyes refocused to see a stone courtyard covered by a multicolored dome. Bits of colored glass and ceramic tile formed a pattern under their feet like a rainbow gone mad. Just looking down at it was dizzying.

  A dozen armed figures stood around the courtyard. They wore swirling black-and-gold robes, their faces hidden behind breathing masks and goggles. Riflelike weapons were held at attention but not pointed at them.

  Worf and his security people had moved to stand around Picard and Troi like a cage. Phasers were out, but not pointed—yet.

  “Who is in charge here? We did not intend to beam down into an armed camp,” Picard said.

  A robed figure stepped from the circle.

  Worf stepped in front of the captain.

  The robed figure slung the rifle over one shoulder. A black-gloved hand sketched a salute. “Welcome, Captain Picard of the Starship Enterprise, Ambassador of the United Federation of Planets. I am Colonel Talanne, wife of General Basha. As for the weapons, they are for your protection as much as my own. My husband feared you would not take enough precautions. But I see he was wrong.”

  Picard stared at the woman. Her face was completely hidden. If the voice had not been so distinctly female, he would not even have known that. “At ease, Lieutenant.”

  Worf stepped back grudgingly. His people followed his lead but did not holster their phasers. The robed guards did not holster their rifles, either.

  “I am honored, Colonel Talanne. We share your sorrow for recent events.”

  “Thank you, Captain, you are most kind.” She waved her hand, and the armed figures fell into two lines, one on either side of the group.

  The four security guards formed a phalanx around the captain and Troi, facing slightly outward. “Put up your weapons, Lieutenant Worf.”

  “Captain, I do not think that is wise. If assassinations are so simple then how can anyone be trusted?”

  Picard stepped close to Worf, coming barely to the Klingon’s chest. “You will not insult our hostess by insinuating she is a traitor.”