GUISES OF THE MIND Page 14

  Picard stepped away from the door to give Elana and Joakal what privacy he could. While they whispered intimately for a few minutes longer, Picard came to sit beside Troi and Mother Veronica. He noticed Troi was smiling.

  “Counselor?” he asked.

  “Their joy is quite infectious,” she explained. “They truly love each other.

  “The galaxy would be a much easier place in which to exist,” Mother Veronica added, “if all minds were as filled with such loving thoughts.”

  Troi nodded. Then her smile faded as she turned to the nun. “All the work we did,” she began. “Your shields—”

  Mother Veronica shook her head, her expression touched with weariness. “I can block out the worst of it,” she said. “But some thoughts are too strong. Beahoram’s hatred of his brother and his need for revenge—it almost overpowered me. Joakal and Elana’s love—the strength of their feelings is like sunshine, with warmth to touch even the shadows.”

  “Let us hope,” the captain said, “that it will bring a little light into our situation, as well.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  ELANA ENTERED THE TEMPLE once more. She slid into a back pew and knelt there in an attitude of pious meditation. Although her thoughts automatically issued half-formed prayers for guidance and success, her eyes were busy furtively assessing the activities of the other Servants.

  All around her they were preparing the temple for the coronation. From the steps outside the great doors, throughout the narthex, the loft where the Servants sat, the long central nave with its multitude of pews and kneeling benches, and the center aisle that led the way to the elevated great altar; all these had to be cleansed and purified before the solemn ceremony this afternoon.

  The ancient paraments and antependia had to be pulled from their places of storage, shaken, aired, and pressed before they could be used upon the altar. The long banners decorated with the colors and symbols of the thirty Gentle Houses must be unrolled, checked, and hung from the ceiling, fifteen to a side, to line the walls of the interior of the temple. Then, finally, the royal vestments and regalia, the sacred implements of crowning, had to be prepared and laid out in readiness for the ceremony.

  While the other temple inhabitants scurried on their tasks, Faellon was busy caring for the altar itself and for the sacred bowl. These, too, must be cleaned and polished, but only by the Chief Servant’s hands. Elana was relieved to see Faellon occupied and away from his office.

  Breathing one final prayer for success, she rose from her knees and began walking toward the transept at the head of the nave, the left arm of which led off to the Servants’ quarters, and to Faellon’s office. She dodged around the other Servants who were bent to their labors, and tried hiding her growing nervousness behind smiles and nods and greetings.

  The long aisle felt endless as she walked. Yet, too soon, Elana found herself at the end of it, standing before the high altar. Automatically, she bowed and made her obeisance to the God. When she straightened, she found Faellon’s eyes upon her.

  Immediately, Elana’s mouth went dry. Her heart began to race. It thudded in her chest and sent the blood pounding in her ears until she was certain Faellon must hear it, too. But he only smiled and, with a nod, returned to his work.

  It took Elana a full two seconds to realize he had looked away. She swallowed back a cry of relief and concentrated on keeping her posture relaxed as she turned to the left and headed for the small side door. Her feet wanted to run; her brain screamed at her to hurry, but Elana forced herself to walk slowly, calmly, pretending she had nothing more on her mind than reaching her own room for a time of meditation.

  But once Elana passed through the door and it had closed behind her, a sudden fit of shaking gripped her. She leaned back against the wall before her knees could buckle, grateful for the solid support of the stone.

  The door to Faellon’s office stood a few feet away. Elana eyed it suspiciously, as if it alone had the power to defeat her. For the first time in her life, Elana was truly frightened—for herself if she were caught; for Joakal, and for the people of this planet. What future did any of them have if Beahoram was not stopped?

  Elana took a deep breath and, gathering her courage around her like a cloak against the night, she entered the Chief Servant’s office.

  The room seemed bigger without Faellon sitting behind his desk, and much, much more silent. Elana found she was holding her breath. She let it out with a rush and hurried to the communications console.

  It was different from any system she had seen before. Elana sat down in the Chief Servant’s high-backed chair, propped her chin in her hand, and studied the controls, trying to find the way to make the system come to life.

  Precious seconds changed into minutes that slipped away unnoticed while Elana studied the board. Finally, she thought she knew how to turn the console on, but beyond that she was stymied. There were fourteen buttons grouped under the label “Temple,” six under “Palace” and eighteen marked “City.” But in the center of the board were twenty-seven buttons—Elana counted them—under no heading at all.

  What are they for? Elana wondered, her frustrations mounting and mingling with the urgency that continued to gnaw at the back of her mind. What if I press the wrong ones? Will alarms sound? Guards come running? Doors automatically lock?

  Did she dare to take the chance?

  Did she dare not?

  Elana chewed the corner of her lower lip. She knew that time was passing and with each moment of hesitation, the danger increased. She must act—for better or worse, she must act now.

  Her hand had only the slightest of tremors as she touched the button at the base of the console that she hoped was the power switch. The viewscreen filled with light and Elana breathed a silent thank you to the God. That had been her only sure move; from here on it would be by trial and error, pressing buttons at random and hoping she could disconnect before she was discovered. She would have to continue that way until she made contact with the Federation ship.

  Elana closed her eyes. The picture of Joakal’s face as he looked out at her from behind those bars took shape. She felt again his fingers entwined with hers as he whispered that he loved her—words she had given up hope of hearing again. The memories strengthened her and she reached again toward the console.

  “Elana!” a voice snapped. “What are you doing?”

  Elana looked up. Faellon stood in the doorway, surprise slowly turning to anger across his usually placid features.

  “What are you doing?” he demanded again as he stepped further into the room.

  Elana felt the blood drain from her face. The hand that had been stretched toward the console flew to her mouth. She stood. The chair grated across the floor, loud in the tense silence.

  “I . . . uh,” Elana began. Faellon came toward her. The door swung shut behind him, carried by its own weight. As the Chief Servant approached, Elana stepped backward until she felt the edge of the chair behind her knees. She could retreat no further, nor would she. For Joakal’s sake, she swallowed her fear.

  “Faellon,” she said, her voice sounding stronger than she felt. “You have to listen to me. The man who claims to be the King, the man you’re planning to elevate to the highest and most powerful position on our planet, is a liar. He is not Joakal. He’s Joakal’s brother—his twin.”

  Faellon stopped a couple of feet in front of Elana. The expression on his face changed again. Anger faded, to be replaced by a look of deep sadness. He shook his head slowly.

  “My dear child,” he said, “I thought your time among us had eased your burden and that the God had healed you of your delusions. Now I see that is not so, and I am sorry.”

  “No,” Elana cried. Desperation made her voice more shrill than she intended and she lowered it.

  “Faellon,” she began again, “I’m not deluded. I’ve seen Joakal, the real one. He’s being held captive in a cell below the palace. The Federation people are with him. They’re being kept th
ere by Joakal’s brother until after the coronation.”

  “And then what, Elana?” Faellon asked softly. “What does this brother then plan to do?”

  Elana knew then that Faellon did not believe her, but she continued anyway, hoping to somehow convince him that she was telling the truth.

  “He plans to strip away Joakal’s mind and take his place as Absolute.”

  Again Faellon shook his head. The sadness in his eyes deepened. “Elana,” he said softly. “There are no twins on this world—and the power you fear, the power to take another’s mind, is among the abilities which the God, in His wisdom, has taken from our people. Even the Absolute no longer possesses such power.”

  “But Faellon, I heard—”

  Faellon held up his hand to silence her. “I did not know the depth of your sorrow when you came to us,” he said. “I blame myself that I did not realize how unsettled your mind had become. I should have done more to help you.”

  Keeping his eyes locked on Elana’s as if willing her not to move, Faellon reached down and pressed one of the many buttons under the “Temple” heading. A few brief moments later the door to his office again opened. Two of the male Servants stood there.

  “I’m sorry, Elana,” Faellon said. “But this is for your own safety.”

  He made a motion with his hand. Elana looked up and saw the Servants coming toward her.

  “No—wait! Faellon, I can prove what I’m saying.”

  The Servants kept approaching. They came around the desk. Elana backed away from them, and ran into Faellon. His hands dosed around her arms, pinning her to him with more strength than she would have thought the Chief Servant’s old and frail body possessed.

  “Take her to her room,” the Chief Servant ordered. “And make certain that she remains there. The mind of our dear Sister in the God has been disturbed and we must protect her from herself.”

  The hands of the other Servants locked on to Elana’s arms. Faellon released her and she was pulled, gently but inexorably, toward the door.

  “Faellon—please, don’t do this,” Elana cried. “Listen to me. Come with me and let me prove what I’m telling you is true.”

  “After the coronation, my child,” Faellon said as Elana neared the door. “We’ll talk more then. And I promise, we will find a way to heal you. You must have faith, Elana.”

  Elana closed her eyes and hung her head. For the moment she was defeated, but only for the moment. She would not give up.

  She raised her head and met Faellon’s eyes. “You’re wrong,” she said as she felt one of her captors open the office door. “You’re wrong about everything. You say I must have faith. Well, I don’t want it—not your kind of faith. Your faith has blinded you to Truth.”

  Then she was pulled through the doorway and out of Faellon’s office.

  Once the door had shut, the Chief Servant sat down heavily in his chair, shaken by the encounter. How could he have been so blind to her condition? he wondered. He had thought it only the distressed imaginings, the self-delusions that too often come with intense and unrequited love. He had encountered such often enough in his role as Chief Servant of the largest temple in the land. Many people came to him for counseling and other reasons, and he usually was able to help them.

  But Elana—this was something more. What mischief had she been up to here in his office? What had she been trying to do? Faellon stared at the communications console as if it could give him the answers he needed. The screen was still lit, but there was no indication of whom Elana had been trying to call, or for what purpose. Faellon depressed the power button, turning the screen off, and sat back in his chair.

  Where had Elana come across such ridiculous stories? Faellon wondered. A twin brother of the King. There were no twins, not alive. The Law strictly forbade it. The Law—that must be where Elana found the idea. Faellon knew that Joakal had spent much of his time in these last years poring over the old texts. The Chief Servant had even provided many of the more ancient and obscure ones for the King to read. Elana must have read them, too, and somehow the idea of a twin had implanted itself in her subconscious mind, providing the reason for what she saw as the King’s changed behavior.

  The mystery solved, at least for now, Faellon ran a hand across his tired eyes. There was still so much to do. He had only come into his office to signal for more cleaning supplies to be brought up from the temple stores. As he reached out to depress the intercom to the Cellarer’s office, he felt the weight of his years settle a sudden burden on his back.

  I’m getting too old for any of this, he thought. Too old and too tired. I can no longer Serve as I should. One more duty and then I’ll name my successor.

  Faellon closed his eyes and leaned his head farther back against his chair. A smile spread across his features, softening the worn lines in his face. After tomorrow, he thought, I’ll retire to quiet Service at the temple near my childhood home. The North-march is so beautiful this time of year and I’d like to see the waterfall of Ennys again. . . .

  Will Riker sat fidgeting in the command chair on the bridge of the Enterprise. Midmorning had come and gone and neither the captain nor Troi had reported in yet, nor had they responded to any attempts to contact them. Mother hen or not, Riker was getting impatient.

  “Lieutenant Worf,” he called to his Chief of Security, who also manned communications. “Hail the palace. Let’s see if we can find out what’s going on.”

  “No response, sir,” the Klingon said a moment later.

  “Keep trying, Lieutenant.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Riker frowned. This was not like the captain, and Riker did not like it. No, he did not like it at all.

  “I am finally receiving a response from the palace, Commander,” Lieutenant Worf announced a few minutes later. Riker nodded and stood, unconsciously mimicking the captain’s habitual tug at his uniform top.

  “On screen, Lieutenant,” he said. Immediately the now familiar view of the planet was replaced by the head and shoulders of a man, several times larger than life.

  “I am Commander William T. Riker, on board the USS Enterprise,” Riker announced, unintimidated by the giant size of the vision before him. “I am trying to contact the members of our Away Team that beamed to your planet yesterday afternoon.”

  “Greetings, Commander. I am Aklier, Elder of the House Ti’Kara, member of the Ruling Council. I apologize for the delay in answering your summons, but I have only just been informed that your communications system has been signaling for some time.”

  “Apology accepted,” Riker replied, keeping the impatience he felt from his voice. “As I said, the reason we are calling is to try and reach our captain. He failed to report in this morning.”

  “Quite so, Commander. The reason for the delay in answering your call and the reason you have not heard from your captain are no doubt the same. Today at dawn, our King’s Vigil for his Coming to Age concluded and the ceremony for his entry into True Manhood took place at the temple. No communication devices are allowed within the temple where they might disturb the worshippers from their meditation on the God. If your captain and the rest of your—Away Team did you call it?—attended the ceremony, they would not have been able to contact you.”

  “When did this ceremony end?” Riker asked.

  “Why, only a short time ago, and things have been in turmoil ever since.”

  “It is most unusual for the captain not to have contacted us as soon as the ceremony ended. With your permission,” Riker continued, “I would like to beam another Away Team to the palace and verify the safety of our people.”

  “Commander,” Aklier replied, sounding shocked, “Capulon IV is a peaceful planet. I assure you that no harm has come to your people. As for more members of your crew coming here, I’m afraid that is quite impossible. As I said, things are in turmoil here. By a divine command which came to our King during his Vigil last night, the coronation has been moved to this afternoon. His Majesty must be empowere
d with the full Wisdom of the God to resolve his uncertainties over the treaty with your Federation. I know this was a concern of your captain’s. Your people are probably closeted with the King now, discussing the treaty, and have not had the chance to return to their rooms and retrieve their communication devices. If you will be patient a little while longer, Commander, I’m certain everything will be explained.”

  “But, Elder Aklier,” Riker said, “surely two more of our people would not cause any more upset to your preparations.”

  “I’m sorry, Commander Riker. The palace is very large and they would have to be guided. We cannot spare anyone at the moment. Furthermore, if your people are with the King, as I believe, they cannot be disturbed without offending His Majesty. Now, if you will excuse me, Commander, I have duties to which I must return. Good day, Commander.”

  The large viewscreen went blank. Then the sight of the planet loomed again, contact with the surface broken. Will Riker sat back down in the center chair and scrubbed his hand across his lower face, stroking his beard contemplatively.

  It all sounds so plausible, he thought, and I don’t believe a word of it.

  Cluck-cluck.

  Chapter Eighteen

  AFTER SEVERING COMMUNICATION with the Federation ship, Aklier fled to his rooms within the palace. He hid there throughout the day. Although he knew that he should be overseeing preparations for the coronation and for the banquet to follow, he could not bring himself to face the people of this world, the people he was betraying.

  Now the final hour had arrived. Too soon, Aklier knew, he would be called to the procession that would escort Beahoram to the temple and the ancient rite. Too soon, Aklier would have to play his final part in seeing Beahoram crowned Absolute and making him the God-embodied to his people.