Part 6 (2/2)
Silence again. And again, it was Storm who ended it.
”I know what it is like to lose people close to you. I lost my parents when I was very young.”
Picard saw the pain in the woman's eyes. ”It must have been hard for you to go on.”
”It was,” she answered frankly. ”Very hard. Even as an adult, I have nightmares about it.”
The captain was surprised to see how vulnerable Storm could allow herself to be. To this point, he had seen her only as a warrior and a leader. Now he saw the lonely child in her as well, and he felt privileged to have the opportunity to do so.
Her eyes seemed to lose their focus. ”How lovely,” she said.
Picard didn't understand. ”To what are you referring?”
Storm pointed to the Ressikan flute he kept on his desk. A small, simple instrument made of a tinlike material, it was one of the few personal items he had been able to salvage from his quarters on the EnterpriseD.
She turned to him again. ”Do you play it?”
The captain nodded. ”On occasion. I love the music that comes out of it-but it represents another tragedy, I'm afraid. The death of a civilization on a planet called Kataan.”
”You mourn the death of an entire civilization?” Storm asked.
”In a way,” he said. ”You see, when the people of Kataan were dying, they wanted desperately to be remembered-so they sent out a s.p.a.ce probe containing the memories of an ironweaver named Kamin. As it happened, I was the one who received Kamin's memories, as well as the flute and the knowledge of how to play it.”
She looked at him. ”There is more.”
”More?” Picard asked, surprised.
”Yes. Something about the flute you have not mentioned.”
Suddenly, he realized what she was talking about. ”I had ... a friends.h.i.+p with someone a few years ago. She played an instrument as well. We enjoyed partic.i.p.ating in duets.”
Funny, the captain thought, how dry he managed to make it sound. How lifeless. But then, he was unaccustomed to opening up to someone as he was opening up to the mutant.
”You no longer have these ... duets?” Storm asked. It wasn't so much a question as an observation.
”No longer,” he said. ”Our careers got in the way of our ...
”Friends.h.i.+p?” the mutant suggested, using Picard's word for it.
”Yes. I found I could not act effectively as her commanding officer and care for her at the same time.”
Storm digested the remark. ”Leaders seldom enjoy stable relations.h.i.+ps. It is one of the burdens one must bear when one a.s.sumes responsibility for the lives of others.”
”So I learned,” the captain responded.
”Except ...” she said.
He looked at her. ”Except?”
Storm returned his scrutiny for what seemed like a long time. At last, she shook her head.
”Nothing,” she told him at last. ”Sorry. I did not mean to pry so into your personal life.”
Rising, she picked up her cup and saucer and returned them to the replicator slot. Then she turned to Picard and smiled.
”Thank you again,” Storm said. ”For everything.”
The captain stood, too. ”It is nothing,” he a.s.sured her.
With a last glance at him, she crossed the room and left through the sliding doors. A breeze seemed to attend her, making her hair and her garments undulate in response.
Picard sat back in his chair and sighed. He would have given much to know what thought Storm had declined to finish.
Chapter Seven.
HIS ARMS FOLDED across his chest against the late-afternoon chill, Erid watched the shadows lengthen in the fortress's yard. They had already reached the opposite wall and climbed halfway up its stone surface.
Soon, the guards would call down to the transformed and send them back to their rooms. It was difficult enough to keep an eye on the growing prisoner population during the day; at night, it would be nearly impossible. At least, that was how the transformed interpreted the situation.
Suddenly, Erid experienced an unexpected sensation. He felt as if someone were whispering in his ear, though he couldn't see anyone within several meters of him.
And it wasn't exactly a whisper. True, there were words in his head, but they seemed to manifest themselves without sound.
”Don't be afraid. My name is Paldul.”
Erid looked around. He saw the youth with the green pockmarks in his forehead sitting among some of the other transformed. The others were talking, but Paldul didn't seem to be listening to them. His eyes were closed, his head tilted back slightly.
”Yes,” Erid thought. ”I know your name. I heard someone say it the day you arrived here.”
”And yours?” asked the telepath.
”Erid. Erid Sovar.”
”Pleased to meet you, Erid.” There was an undercurrent of something like humor. ”I'll bet you've never spoken with your mind before.”
”That's true,” Erid replied.
”Neither did I,” said Paldul, ”before my transformation. Now, I do it quite a bit. Every chance I get, in fact.”
”How many others have you spoken with?” Erid inquired. ”Here in the fortress, I mean?”
”Almost everyone,” Paldul told him. ”Except for Mollic, of course.”
”Mollic?” Erid had never heard the name before.
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