GUISES OF THE MIND Page 4

  “Capulon IV,” he began, “is a class M planet in the Sigma Delphini system, near the Blanchard asteroid belt that is currently being mined by the Starfleet Corps of Engineers.

  “In terms of its technology, Capulon IV is on a level approximating that of mid-to-late twentieth-century Earth. However, when the Federation sent cultural analysis specialists there to observe, they reported that more advanced technology does exist, but is not used.”

  “A retrograde society?” Geordi asked.

  “No,” Data replied. “Not in the true sense of the word. It is not that they have lost the knowledge. It appears to be a willing abandonment of certain areas of advancement. However, the cultural specialists felt that the society, and especially the King, was ready for first contact. The contact was made five years ago and a preliminary treaty was signed.”

  “Why a preliminary treaty?” Riker wanted to know.

  Data looked at the captain, who nodded slightly, indicating that the android should continue.

  “The government of Capulon IV is a monarchy,” Data explained, “but it is not until the King reaches the age of thirty that he is allowed to rule. Until then, all governmental decisions are passed through the Council of Elders, a committee made up of representatives of each of the twenty-nine provinces, with the King presiding as Head of the Council. At the age of thirty, however, the King is said to ‘Come to Age’ and be wise enough to rule alone. He then goes through a new coronation, after which the King is said to become the God-embodied and bears the title of Absolute. Although the council may still act in an advisory capacity, the King’s decisions become an order of divine mandate.”

  Data’s fingers moved again and the planets disappeared. “The present King,” he continued, “is Joakal I’lium. He will turn thirty two days before we arrive at Capulon IV. His crowning as Absolute is set to occur the day following our arrival. The final treaty between Capulon IV and the Federation is due to be ratified following the coronation. King Joakal is reported to be very forward thinking and it was because of him that contact was made. According to all reports, the King is quite eager for his world to join the Federation.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Data,” Picard said. He leaned forward and clasped his hands before him on the table. “Our mission here is twofold. First, as the Starfleet Flagship, we are here as representatives of the Federation to witness the coronation and the signing of the treaty. We are also here, at the King’s request, to escort the Little Mothers to Capulon IV. The King’s reason for this request has not been announced. It is my intention to lead this Away Team.”

  “You, Captain?” Commander Riker spoke up.

  “Yes, Number One. Those are my orders. I understand their reason and I agree with them.”

  “But, Captain—”

  “Will,” the captain said, “Joakal I’lium is about to be crowned Absolute, and absolute monarchs do not deal with seconds-in-command.”

  Picard held up his hand to silence his first officer before he could object further. “Mr. Data,” the captain said as he turned again to the android, ignoring the scowl on Will Riker’s face. “What is our ETA to Capulon IV?”

  “At our present speed of Warp Two—twenty-three days, nine hours, eleven minutes, forty-three—”

  The captain made a quick gesture which stopped the android mid-word. “Very good,” Picard said. “Now if no one has anything to add, this briefing is adjourned.”

  Everyone except the captain stood. But as Troi turned to leave, Picard asked her to remain.

  “Counselor,” he said after the room had emptied. “During our tour of the ship yesterday, Sister Julian expressed an interest in spending some time with the children, perhaps helping in one or more of the classrooms. I know that you have occasion to work with the teachers and are more closely aware of their needs than I am. Do you think this might be possible? I’ve seen Sister Julian interact with the children and she does have an amazing rapport with them.”

  “I’m certain a number of the teachers would welcome her input,” Troi replied. “And there is also the recreation areas for the non-school-age children. There is always room for more help there.”

  “Very good, Counselor. Would you please see to the necessary arrangements?”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “Thank you, Counselor,” Picard said as he stood. Together they walked out of the briefing room.

  Troi went directly to the turbolift, all thoughts of a leisurely morning before her first appointments vanished. Maybe this evening she would have time for her workout.

  It had been another long day. Counselor Troi entered her quarters, slipped off her shoes, and thought how good a long, hot bath would feel. Maybe later she would truly indulge herself—lots of steamy water, scented candles, Mozart playing softly in the background. Peace. Quiet.

  Troi stretched, trying to work the tension out of her shoulders, then walked toward her favorite chair. As she passed her desk, she noticed the message light blinking on the computer. With a sigh, she sat down and pressed Display. Instantly a communiqué from her mother filled the screen.

  Little One, it began. It has been so long since I have heard from you, I was beginning to become concerned. Then I realized that if anything was wrong, dear Jean-Luc would let me know. Still, a mother does worry.

  I am on Celestra visiting our old friends Targ and Melli. You remember them, don’t you, Little One? You were so crazy about their son Sear when you were younger—before you met Commander Riker. Well, Sear is married and has three children now—two boys and a little girl. The girl is such a dear little thing. She reminds me so much of you. I look at the children and think. . . .

  Troi groaned. She was definitely not in the mood right now to read about her mother’s desire for grandchildren. The door chimed and Troi gratefully reached out and pressed the Hold button on her message.

  “Come in,” she called, prepared to greet any visitor with a smile. But when the door opened, Troi’s smile vanished.

  Mother Veronica stood in the doorway. Even from where she sat, Troi could see how the nun’s body trembled. Her face was ashen and there were dark circles under her eyes.

  “Help me,” she said, her voice a tortured whisper.

  Troi jumped to her feet and rushed to the nun’s side, trying to ignore the turbulence of Mother Veronica’s emotions. They stormed through Troi’s mind as if driven by hurricane winds and she was forced to raise her shields before she could help the nun into the room.

  Troi led Mother Veronica to a chair and the nun sank wearily into it. Troi sat down across from her and waited until the nun’s trembling subsided. Slowly, Mother Veronica’s breathing became more steady.

  “Talk to me,” Troi urged gently.

  Mother Veronica raised her troubled eyes to Troi’s face. “Please,” she whispered. “You said you could help me shut out the voices. I can’t stand any more.”

  Troi nodded. “I can help you—and I will,” she said. “But you have to give me someplace to start. Talk to me.”

  Mother Veronica reached up and began fingering the wooden cross that hung about her neck. That seemed to comfort her.

  “At the convent,” she began slowly, “at home, it was so peaceful. I had lived with the thoughts of the other sisters all my life. They were thoughts of God and of our work—calm, ordered thoughts. Then we received word of this new mission. A bishop came, sent from our Mother House on Earth, to speak with our Mother Provincial. His presence upset everything. He stayed for weeks, talking with Mother Felicitas, making arrangements for the sisters and priest who are to follow us, helping Mother Felicitas decide who was to stay and who was to go. Finally the Community was called together and told the decisions. I didn’t want to go, much less be named Mother for the new Community. Oh, my dearest God, I didn’t want to leave my home.”

  “Why didn’t you tell your Mother Provincial and the bishop?”

  “I . . . I couldn’t.”

  “But if they knew how much distress—”r />
  “No!” Mother Veronica jumped to her feet. “No—no one knows.”

  Troi, who had grown up as a member of a telepathic race, was puzzled by Mother Veronica’s outburst. What trauma is behind her fear? Troi wondered. She needed to keep the nun talking.

  “It’s all right,” she coaxed. “Tell me what happened then.”

  Mother Veronica sat back down. “We left Perrias and began traveling. Three other ships, two starbases —all filled with people thinking different thoughts—all gathering, repeating inside my head, never leaving me alone. They just keep getting louder and louder. I can’t sleep—I can’t eat. I can’t even pray anymore.”

  Mother Veronica’s hands were on her temples now, rubbing and pushing as though she could somehow force the sounds from her mind. Troi reached out and gently lowered the nun’s hands, then sat there holding them and waiting. She knew there was more to come.

  Mother Veronica took a ragged breath. “One of your crew members came to me. He wanted comfort and reassurance. His parents were religious people and he had been raised in the Church. His father had wanted him to become a priest but he had run away and joined Starfleet instead. Now his father is dead.”

  Ensign Marshall, Troi thought quickly. Many missing pieces clicked into place.

  “But I couldn’t comfort him,” Mother Veronica continued, the anguish in her voice mounting. “I couldn’t be in the same room with him. All his grief, all his pain—I ran. I left him sitting there and I ran away. Oh God, what kind of nun can I be if all I can do is run from someone who needs me?”

  “Mother Veronica,” Troi said, keeping her voice quiet but firm and even, “your reactions are normal. The name for your talent is telepathy. There are many telepathic races throughout the galaxy, and each of them has developed disciplines or techniques for putting a barrier between themselves and the influx of other people’s thoughts. A telepath must have ways of shutting out the voices or they’ll lose themselves. If you’ll let me, I can teach you my people’s disciplines for mental control. Will you let me help you?”

  Mother Veronica disengaged her hands from Troi’s and stood. She began pacing about the room. Troi slowly lowered the shields she had raised when the nun arrived and immediately felt Mother Veronica’s turmoil. Indecision, followed by waves of panic that crested and crashed through her, pushed by the nun’s powerful but undisciplined talent. The force of the storm was too much for Troi and she again put a barrier around her mind.

  Finally Mother Veronica stopped pacing. She turned and faced Troi. “All right,” she said. “Please.”

  Troi slowly let out the breath she found she was holding. “I’ll rearrange my schedule,” she said. “We’ll begin tomorrow morning.”

  Mother Veronica nodded. “Thank you,” she said, and turned away. When she reached the door, she glanced back over her shoulder. Her eyes locked briefly with Troi’s. Again the counselor was reminded of a wild, trapped animal, and again she wondered about the source of the nun’s terror.

  The door slid shut. Troi immediately touched the comm button on her uniform. “Troi to Captain Picard,” she said.

  “Yes, Counselor?” his voice came almost at once.

  “Captain, I need to talk to you. It’s important.”

  “Very well, Counselor. I’m in my quarters. Please come join me.”

  “Thank you, sir. I’m on my way,” she said as she reached out and turned off the display panel of her computer. Her mother’s letter would have to wait.

  “A telepath,” the captain said, his voice sharp with surprise.

  “Yes, Captain—a very gifted one. But she’s had no training at all. In fact, she fears her gift.”

  “Any idea why?”

  “Not yet.”

  The captain sat back in his chair and took a sip from the cup of tea he was holding. Troi did the same; the hot liquid was soothing and the smell of the bergamot, distinctive to Earl Grey, was like a restorative—as was the captain’s company.

  Sitting here in the captain’s quarters, Troi was surrounded by the personality of the man. An individual of eclectic tastes and interests, he was an intellectual: a philosopher and adventurer, a student of the arts and of history, and a dreamer who yearned after the strange, new worlds of their charter. Yet, above all, he was The Captain—strong, disciplined, a leader of indomitable will who had infused the ship with his personality and yet never lost the ability to be compassionate. Troi liked him and liked serving with him.

  “What is it you want to do?” he asked, bringing Troi’s thoughts back to the problem of Mother Veronica.

  “I want to help her, to teach her the Betazoid method for shielding the mind. You have to understand, Captain, a telepath without shields cannot survive. Her sanity, and her life, are in danger.”

  “Her life, Counselor?”

  “Yes, Captain. When I studied at the hospital on Betazed, there were cases of telepaths who had been unable, for one reason or another, to develop their mental shields. Some of them were Betazoid, some were from other races brought to us for help. But we were not always able to reach them. Believe me, Captain, the anguish of an unshielded mind, of a mind imprisoned by the constant cacophony of other people’s thoughts, other people’s emotions, is a terrible thing. You remember Tam Elbrun, don’t you? He was one of the lucky ones. It is a brutal existence that most choose not to continue. I don’t want that to happen to Mother Veronica.”

  “I agree, but are you certain you can help her?”

  Troi nodded. “The fact that she has survived this long with her sanity intact means that her mind and her will are very, very strong. I know I can help her develop at least rudimentary shields, but it will take time. I’d like your permission to be excused from bridge duty. I’ll also rearrange my appointment schedule to free as many hours as possible to work with Mother Veronica.”

  “Very well, Counselor. I’ll inform the bridge officers. We’re due to reach Capulon IV in just over three weeks. Do you think you can do what needs to be done in that time?”

  “I hope so, Captain.”

  Picard’s forehead creased into a frown. “One thing, Deanna,” he said. The use of her first name warned Troi that whatever the captain was about to say was of deep, personal concern to him. She listened very carefully, hearing the nuances as well as the words.

  “You are an excellent ship’s counselor,” he said, “and I don’t presume to tell you your job—nor do I claim to understand, except in passing, the nature of telepathy. But I do know something of the faith that allows the Little Mothers to do the work they do. Are you certain that in helping Mother Veronica to develop these shields, which you say she needs—and I believe you—you won’t be interfering with that faith, or taking from her the essence of who she is as a nun?”

  Troi looked down and studied the tea in her cup, then looked back up and met the captain’s concerned, questioning eyes.

  “Only Mother Veronica can answer that, Captain,” she said. “My work is with her mind, not her soul.”

  Troi finished her tea and left the captain’s quarters, prepared to go back to her rooms, call up tomorrow’s schedule on the computer, and begin juggling the appointment times. But as she stepped off the turbolift, she saw Ensign Marshall waiting outside her door.

  He looked up as she approached. Troi saw that his eyes were red and swollen, as if he had been crying. His catharsis has begun, she thought. He’s ready to talk.

  With more confidence that she had felt in many days, Troi smiled at him. “Come in, Johann,” she said.

  Chapter Six

  ON THE PLANET Capulon IV, Elana, First Daughter of the House E’shala, strolled aimlessly through the rooms of her childhood home. She had been home for over a month now. During that time she had visited all the favorite haunts of her childhood. She had climbed trees as if she were still a young girl, and gone on picnics, wandering through the fields where she used to play. At night she had spent many long hours watching the stars through her bedroom windows. Ye
t she was not trying to recapture those lost days, but to discover her future.

  Still she could not choose between the two paths that lay before her. The first path that led to life at the temple was the one she had always thought to follow. Since she was eight years old, Elana had dreamed of becoming a Servant and of dedicating her life to the God—perhaps, even becoming an instrument of the God’s Voice.

  Nine years ago, when her father had been appointed to the Council of Elders that would advise the new King, Elana and her mother had accompanied him to the royal city. Elana had been ecstatic, for in the royal city stood the most ancient temple on all of Capulon IV. To Elana, it was the most holy place on their world and it was there she dreamed of making her Oblation of Service.

  Her father, as Head of the House E’shala and member of the Council, had stayed at court. Through him, Elana had met Joakal. Elana often remembered that day: Joakal sitting on the throne in the Great Chamber, looking ill at ease as he received the oaths of his newly appointed Council of Elders; the way their eyes had met; the smile that had tugged at the corner of his mouth when he looked at her. Somehow over the last nine years, that shy attraction they had both felt had changed into friendship. Somehow, some when, that had deepened into love.

  She loved him; Elana admitted her feelings, but her questions remained: Did she love him enough to give up her dream of Service to the God? Did she love the God enough to face the future without Joakal? More and more, the answer to the second question was no. She had only been gone from him a month, yet she found herself listening for the sound of his footsteps, his laughter, his voice calling her name.

  Elana E’shala was finding the world to be a very empty and silent place without these sounds.

  Troi waited for Mother Veronica in the observation lounge on the port side of Deck 35. It was a small room and the view here was not as panoramic as from many of the other observation ports. That was an advantage, for they were less likely to be disturbed and Mother Veronica would need this quiet to concentrate. There was so much for her to learn and so very little time.