GUISES OF THE MIND Read online

  “My people,” he said, raising his voice to carry through the building. “My friends, the long night of my Vigil has ended. With it has gone the years of my youth. My Vigil was not an easy one. During the hours I knelt before this altar I had not only my own future to lay before the God, but the future of this planet. We are at a crossroads. The decision I soon must make will affect all of the generations to come.

  “As you know, a starship is in orbit around our world. In the palace, representatives from that great organization, the United Federation of Planets, wait with a treaty for me to sign. All through my long Vigil I asked the God for guidance and for Wisdom in this decision. Only one answer came to me. I believe it came from the Voice of the God.”

  Beahoram paused, letting the words sink into the minds of his listeners. They must believe his next command to be a divine directive. He waited a few seconds more.

  “This is the answer the God has given to my long hours of imploring: the coronation must not wait. It must take place this afternoon, in the third hour after the sun has reached its zenith.”

  Again Beahoram paused, this time to let the murmurs of shock and surprise that swept through the temple crescendo and die away.

  Behind Beahoram, Faellon gasped. “But, Your Majesty, that is only nine hours from now. We cannot prepare.”

  Beahoram turned and looked at the Chief Servant. “You must,” he said. He turned back to the waiting crowd.

  “I know it will be difficult for all of us to be ready in so short a time,” he continued. “I understand all of the work it will involve. But I cannot deny or reject the Voice of the God as it came to me. I stand before you now as a man, ready to take up the heavy weight of the crowns and robes and to be your Absolute. Yet, I would willingly wait for the appointed time, had an authority greater than mine not demanded otherwise.”

  Beahoram turned to the altar and knelt in an attitude of humility. After a stunned moment, the Chief Servant hurried to the King to pronounce the final blessing and dismissal. He held his hands out over the people.

  “Go in the Light of the God,” he said. “Walk in Peace and Wisdom—and may the God strengthen us all.”

  Faellon turned back to the altar. Out in the nave of the temple, those who had come to witness the ceremony rose from their seats and filed toward the great doors. There was no idle chatter. Their minds were too paralyzed by Beahoram’s announcement and all it would mean.

  Up in the loft, the Servants rose as well. All except Elana. Nine hours, the thoughts shouted in her brain. Nine hours, and before that time had passed, she must find a way to stop this coronation.

  She must find Joakal.

  Chapter Sixteen

  IT TOOK TROI several minutes to persuade Mother Veronica to help her try to reach the hidden recesses of King Joakal’s mind. The counselor knew she needed the help; she had no chance of succeeding in this type of endeavor alone. Yet, as she remembered Mother Veronica’s past, Troi also understood the nun’s hesitation and tried to go gently as she explained to Mother Veronica what it was they needed to do.

  Now Troi, Mother Veronica, and Joakal sat in a tight circle, holding hands. Their eyes were closed and their faces drawn up into frowns. Especially Troi’s. She had used several different techniques she had learned during her years of training on Betazed to try and reach the hidden depths of the young King’s mind. So far she had had no success. For the first time in several years Troi wished for full telepathic talents.

  Although Mother Veronica had agreed, albeit reluctantly, to allow Troi to establish the link with her mind once more, and the nun’s psychic strength was augmenting Troi’s own, Mother Veronica was untrained. They could not work truly in tandem. There was a part of Mother Veronica that was holding back. At times her personal horror at using her mind to invade that of another being, however willing, was so strong Troi found herself having to struggle through a backwash of Mother Veronica’s emotions while still trying to find the way through Joakal’s mental defenses.

  Finally, Troi sighed. She released her hold on the hands of her companions and opened her eyes. The captain sat a few feet away, watching them and willing them to succeed. Troi met his eyes and she shook her head in answer to his worried expression.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “Joakal’s shields are too strong. And they are shields, Captain. Now that I’ve touched them, I have no doubts.”

  “But I did feel something,” Joakal said. He searched for the right word. “A . . . a stirring, or something.”

  “Counselor?” the captain asked.

  “Perhaps, sir,” Troi answered, carefully keeping her voice neutral. She had felt no such response, but this was the first time since they had awakened in Joakal’s presence that she had sensed any positive emotion in the young King.

  “Maybe after we have rested,” she continued, “and any lingering effects of the drug have worn off. . . .” She let the statement remain unfinished; she did not want to deny their hopes or raise false ones.

  Again the captain’s eyes met hers, and she knew he understood exactly what she had not said, and why.

  “Very good, Counselor,” he replied aloud. “And you’re right, of course. I know that I, for one, still have a pounding headache.”

  “Someone should bring some food soon,” Joakal said. “My captivity may not be in the most comfortable surroundings, but Beahoram is quite insistent that I do not starve.”

  Picard nodded. “Then I suggest we all try to rest until the food arrives.”

  Their little group broke up. As Troi looked for a way to be comfortable on the cold stone of the cell, Joakal retrieved the blankets he had been given for warmth. He stood and shook one, then spread it on the floor.

  “Please,” he said, gesturing that Troi and Mother Veronica should use it. Then he handed Troi the other blanket for a covering. Troi was grateful. The material of the nightdress she was wearing, while comfortable to sleep in, did not give her much protection from the chill air of the cell. Mother Veronica was still in the habit and veil she had been wearing when she succumbed to the drug in their wine. She did not seem to notice the cold and Troi envied her the heavy material.

  “Thank you,” Troi said and she smiled at the King as she moved onto the warm thickness of the blanket. Mother Veronica joined her, and Joakal took a place next to where the captain sat with his back against the wall, his arms folded across his chest and his eyes closed.

  “Perhaps,” the captain said without opening his eyes, “while we rest, you could tell us more about your world and your people.”

  “Of course, Captain,” Joakal replied. “What would you like to know?”

  “I leave that to you. Any information will be helpful.”

  Troi watched the young King’s face as he tried to decide what to say. Her foray into his mind had made her sensitive to the nuances of his emotions and she knew how deeply he was hurt by his captivity. But now, she also knew the resilience of his spirit. Earlier, Joakal’s depression had been pervasive, a black melancholy held off only by occasional flashes of anger. Now that he was no longer alone and a single thread of hope had been offered, slender though it was, he had banished all thoughts of defeat.

  As she dosed her eyes, Troi shifted her attention to Mother Veronica. Troi could feel the nun’s weariness in both body and mind. The recent upheavals to her life were taking their toll on the nun. Yet she, like the King, possessed an inner core, a center of strength that was both tough and pliable. Troi had felt it often during their work together on board the Enterprise. She had felt it again here, when the nun struggled to overcome her personal repugnance and yield control of her telepathic abilities to Troi. That she had not always succeeded was irrelevant.

  Troi heard the rustle of cloth as Joakal shifted his position, ready now to speak. “Much of what I could tell you,” he began, “you have doubtless already learned in preparation for coming to Capulon IV. I would have in your position, and I am certain you are no stranger to the necessities of dip
lomatic encounters, Captain. I assume, therefore, you know the statistics on our industries and agriculture, our population dispersement, socio-political hierarchies, basic religious observances, and social customs. Am I correct?”

  “You are,” the captain replied.

  Joakal shifted positions once more. “I have already told you that our society is based upon the dictates of our religion. Harsh as some of those ways are, we are not an unfeeling people. We are a people dedicated to the Virtues of Wisdom. Before the door of every temple are four pillars. They represent the four faces of Wisdom: Patience, Honesty, Mercy with Justice, and Faith. The pillars themselves are called the Guardians of the Virtues and they are there to remind us of what we seek and what we value.

  “My ancestor whom I have already mentioned to you, Joakal I’lium the First,” the present Joakal continued, “was a great King, a King who had gained Wisdom. He is the example to us of what we strive to become. Of the many stories that have survived the generations since his reign, my favorite is this one:

  “There were two bakers in the royal city. They were both of fine old families. They both had well-established shops where each was reputed to bake and sell the finest goods in the world. A rivalry grew up between them. They decided to have a contest for the title of best baker and they asked the King to be the judge.

  “On the day of the competition the two bakers arrived at the palace to use the royal ovens and await the King’s decision. They baked all day, using secret recipes and skills they had developed over the years of their rivalry. Then they presented the products of their labor to the King.

  “The room was filled with spectators as the King began to eat. He sampled first one item then another, praising their virtues of taste, aroma, and texture. He tasted dozens of different breads and rolls and cakes and pies and pastries until he could eat no more. Then he went to his throne and sat in silence, contemplating his judgment. The minutes stretched on until finally the contestants could wait no longer. Tell us, they begged him, tell us who is the greatest baker.

  “King Joakal looked up. He was frowning and unhappy. ‘Today,’ he said, ‘I have tasted delicacies such as I thought could only exist in dreams. The God, himself, must be tempted to come and walk once more among us so that he might smell these smells and taste this food. But, I cannot name either of you the greatest baker. Each of you has qualities the other lacks. It is the one who can combine these talents who will be without peer.’

  “The bakers hung their heads and went away. But within the month they had opened a shop together. Once they realized they had things to learn from and to teach each other, their past rivalry died away—and the city reaped the benefits of their new partnership.”

  Lying on the soft blanket on the floor, Troi listened to the King’s tale. His low, polished voice relaxed her like a lullaby sung to a tired child. As he finished speaking, she felt herself drifting toward the place where sleep hovered, waiting to drop its mantle of dreams across her willing mind.

  Anger blazed. It flared with pyrotechnic fury behind Troi’s eyes and seared the slumber from her mind. She came awake with a start. Beside her, Mother Veronica moaned in agony. Troi put a hand on her arm.

  Shh, she thought to the nun, making use of the light, familiar link they had used during their long hours on the Enterprise. Let me listen.

  Cautiously, Troi opened one eye. Both the captain and Joakal were on their feet, confronting . . . Troi shifted her glance . . . Beahoram. Standing so near Joakal, the mirror likeness of them was even more striking. But the emotions, the inner qualities of mind and soul that Troi could perceive, were as different as their faces were the same. And Beahoram’s voice, when he spoke as he was speaking now, had an edge to it Troi had never heard from Joakal, not even when she had first awakened in this cell and felt his utter despair.

  “Your threats do not concern me, Captain Picard,” Beahoram was saying. “Neither does your Federation. I know about your Prime Directive. Once I am crowned, I will be the legal ruler. By your own laws and oaths, you cannot interfere with this culture if I choose to order you to leave, which I will. But in fact, Captain, I am grateful that you are here, grateful enough that I will let you live. But don’t presume too far upon that gratitude. For now, your presence has given me the excuse I need to move the coronation forward. In just a few hours I will be crowned the Absolute of Capulon IV.”

  “You . . . you can’t do that,” Joakal stammered.

  “Oh yes I can, Brother,” Beahoram said, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Joakal’s face. Another wave of anger, tinged black with hatred, surged from Beahoram and crashed through the room. “I have claimed to need the full Wisdom of the God in order to decide whether or not to join the Federation. No one has dared to challenge this claim.”

  Beahoram turned back to Picard. His voice took on a silken formality that was more chilling than the obvious enmity with which he spoke to his brother.

  “Of course,” he said. “I will not be able to release you and the others until after I have divested my brother of the contents of his mind. After that is accomplished, I doubt there will be enough left of him to be worthy of your support as a ruler, even if you were so allowed by your Federation laws.”

  “Beahoram,” the captain snapped, “what you’re planning is no different from murder.”

  Beahoram laughed; it was a cruel, dark sound.“Murder? No. Justice—a life for a life. My past, my rightful life here at the palace as the son of a King, was robbed from me. Now his future will be taken from him. It is Justice—and soon, Brother,” Beahoram said, looking again at Joakal, “soon I will have everything.”

  Beahoram turned on his heel and strode to the door. When Troi heard it clang shut, she sat up. Picard and Joakal turned to her. The young King’s cheeks had become ashen and she felt the slow coil of terror that was winding its way through his mind.

  “Beahoram believes what he just said, Captain,” Troi told them. “He believes that what he is doing is some strange form of justice. Beahoram’s need for vengeance is so strong that it has become his entire identity. His mind is so twisted that he cannot see beyond his own plans. He doesn’t care who pays the price for him to get what he thinks he deserves.”

  “Whatever Beahoram’s motives,” the captain said, “we cannot just sit here and wait. Are you and Mother Veronica sufficiently rested to try again to . . . what did you call it . . . unlock Joakal’s abilities?”

  Troi turned to the nun. Mother Veronica, like the young King, was white-faced and shaken. The force of dark emotions that had brought Troi awake had screamed painfully through the nun’s mind.

  Suddenly, there were soft, shuffling sounds from outside the cell and a woman’s voice was whispering Joakal’s name. He ran to the door.

  “Elana,” he cried out. While the others watched, Joakal tried, unsuccessfully, to fit more than his hands through the bars of the small window in the cell door. Dainty, white hands came up to meet his and their fingers caressed. Troi smiled at the sudden burst of joy that filled the room.

  “Joakal.” The woman’s voice was full of happy tears. “I found you. The God be thanked . . . I found you at last.”

  “How? Elana, tell me what’s happened. How did you—”

  “Oh, Joakal, did you think I wouldn’t know that he was not you? I came back early. I went to see you and to tell you that yes, I wanted to be your wife. But it wasn’t you!” Her voice wavered on the last word, as if the pain of that meeting was still fresh. There was a pause, then Elana’s voice began again, strong and clear.

  “I went to the temple,” she said. “I tried to convince the Chief Servant that something was wrong, but he wouldn’t believe me. I’ve been in retreat at the temple, and I thought and prayed and tried to understand why you had changed. Then last night your brother had his Vigil—your Vigil. I stayed in the temple loft. That’s when I learned the truth of who he is and what his plans are. I’ve been searching for you ever since. I love you, Joakal.”

>   “Elana . . . I thought I’d lost you forever. That was the cruelest pain of all.” Again his hands sought closer contact.

  The captain cleared his throat. “Excuse me, Your Majesty,” he said, addressing the King formally. “Time is short.”

  Joakal released one of Elana’s hands and turned. “Of course,” he said as he motioned for Picard to come to the door. “Captain Picard, this is Elana, First Daughter of the House E’shala.”

  “A pleasure, ma’am—circumstances notwithstanding,” Picard said summarily, trying to think of a way to bring Joakal’s mind back to their present problem.

  Elana did it for him. “Joakal,” she said, “your brother has moved the coronation to this afternoon.”

  “I know—he was here. We have to find a way out of this cell.”

  “Tell me what to do.”

  Joakal ran his free hand through his hair, then down across his beard as he stood thinking. Picard stepped closer to the cell-door window.

  “Do you think you could get to our rooms?” he asked Elana. “Our uniforms are there, and our communicators. With them, we could contact our ship and they would send help.”

  Elana shook her head. “There are too many people, too much activity now. My presence there would be noticed.”

  “Is there another communications system somewhere in the city that you could use safely?”

  Elana thought for a moment. “I have friends in the city,” she began. Then she shook her head. “No, their systems would not be strong enough. The only ones that could reach your ship are in the palace—and the temple.”

  Elana’s face grew animated. “Faellon has one in his office,” she continued. “With the coronation only a few hours away, they’re so busy at the temple I should be able to use that one unseen.”

  “Good,” the captain said, taking command. “Now listen carefully. The name of my ship is the Enterprise, and my First Officer is Commander Riker. Tell him where we are and that we’re being held captive. He’ll know what to do. Keep your conversation short and don’t take any risks you don’t have to. You’re our only contact with freedom. And thank you.”