Part 2 (1/2)
Vaughn didn't turn, but stopped long enough to say in a quiet voice, ”I believe in the same thing you do, Jean-Luc. I believe in hope.”
Without another word, he strode from the observation lounge, leaving Picard alone with his misgivings.
Chapter Three.
R IKER WAS SEETHING. No small part of his anger was directed at Vaughn for the man's presumption and insensitivity, but he'd also reserved a good portion of his rage for himself. During the silent turbolift ride back to Troi's quarters, he'd had ample time to give more consideration to Vaughn's proposal. And to his chagrin, Riker had realized that in the larger strategic context of the Dominion War, arming Betazoids with the ability to fight telepathically wasn't such a bad idea. The plan had a potentially horrific downside, to be certain, but even Riker could see it had definite benefits, if they could pull it off.
The problem, he knew, was whether a culture as idyllic and peaceful as Betazed's could survive the transformation that might take place if the population's most cherished ability-to share their very thoughts-was turned into a means of waging war. Such abuse of their psionic talent was anathema to Betazoids, a corruption of their moral center.
It was these very issues, he knew, that Deanna was struggling with now. Even if he hadn't known her so well, Riker's heart would have gone out to her. Contemplating this decision might rip her apart. She had to make a desperate choice: go against the basic tenets of Betazoid society and her conscience-or resign herself to her world's loss of freedom.
Once again in the privacy of her quarters, he placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. ”What are you going to do?”
She tilted her head with a defiant thrust of her chin and glared up at him. ”What do you think I should do?”
He released her and shook his head. ”You know I can't make this choice for you. The risks are astronomical at every level. But in the short term, you'll be behind enemy lines on a planet under Jem'Hadar control, trying to get off it with a dangerous prisoner who may not even want to cooperate.”
”I've been in danger plenty of times before.” She studied him with an intensity that made him struggle to keep from squirming. ”The danger's not really what's bothering you, is it?”
”d.a.m.n it, Deanna, don't you dare turn counselor on me. This isn't a therapy session. I do worry about you-”
The smile he'd come to love played across her face, and she placed her hand on his sleeve. ”I'm sorry, Will. I appreciate your concern. But we both know what the real issue is here.”
Given the opening, Riker took the plunge. ”What'll happen to Betazed if Vaughn's plan is successful?”
She folded her arms across her chest. ”My homeworld will be free.”
”Free, yes,” Riker agreed. ”But adopting a serial murderer's abilities-”
Her temper flared and she held up her hands. ”Stop it, Will. Please,” she nearly shouted. ”I understand that you want to make sure I've looked at it from every angle, but this isn't helping. I know the risks, and I know the stakes. I also know that ultimately, this is about more than just Betazed. The fate of the Federation could hang on whether or not we can force the Dominion out. And we both know that Betazed- my Betazed, the world I know and love-may need to pay the price for a Federation victory. I hate that, Will! I hate the fact that Starfleet can't do its job for Betazed! I hate that my own people are willing to risk the very things that define them! And most of all, I hate feeling like I have to make a deal with the devil to have any kind of hope at all! Because I'm just not sure which is worse-what the Dominion's done to Betazed, or what Tevren might do to it.”
They stared into each other's eyes for a long moment, and Riker knew with certainty that her decision was made. ”You're going,” he whispered, and he found his throat constricting around the words as he said them.
”I don't really have a choice, do I?” Troi said bitterly. She gazed up at him, dark eyes flas.h.i.+ng. ”If it's this or nothing, I can't afford the luxury of worrying about what could go wrong. All I really know is that for the first time since the invasion, I have a chance to make a difference. That has to be better than doing nothing.”
”I hope to G.o.d you're right, Deanna,” Riker said quietly, ”because no matter how this mission turns out for Betazed, or even the Federation, I'm most worried about how it'll turn out for you.”
”Come.”
It was later that day at Picard's invitation that Deanna stepped into the captain's ready room. ”You wanted to see me, sir?”
Picard rose from behind his desk and waved her toward a sofa on the far wall. ”Have a seat, Counselor.”
She settled onto the sofa. The captain had had little to say during Vaughn's briefing, but she'd sensed his reservations about the commander's mission to Darona and the request of the Betazed resistance.
Picard moved to the replicator. ”Cocoa, hot.” He removed the fragrant cup and handed it to her. ”Comfort food,” he explained with a sympathetic expression that helped put her at ease.
She wrapped her fingers around the mug, grateful for its warmth. She'd felt chilled ever since Vaughn's first mention of Tevren and wondered if the resistance had any idea of the monster they planned to unleash.
The captain ordered tea for himself and joined her on the sofa. ”You know why I've called you here.”
”To discuss Commander Vaughn's mission.”
Picard had never been a man to flaunt his emotions, but the tight smile he gave her now was filled with compa.s.sion. ”Actually, I called you for another reason altogether.”
Deanna sipped her cocoa and waited. The captain wasn't a man to be rushed. His actions were always planned, deliberate, and precise.
”There isn't a person on this s.h.i.+p you haven't helped in your capacity as s.h.i.+p's counselor,” he finally began.
”That is my job, sir.” His sudden change of subject left her puzzled.
”Myself included,” Picard added. ”Your steady presence has helped me through some of the most difficult moments of my life.”
Deanna remembered well the many emotional traumas the captain had suffered, from a.s.similation by the Borg to Carda.s.sian torture to the intense mind-meld he'd experienced with Amba.s.sador Sarek. Any one of those experiences would have destroyed a lesser man.
”After our meeting this morning, I asked myself,” Picard continued, ”to whom does the s.h.i.+p's counselor talk when she has a problem? I decided to offer my services as a listener.”
At the captain's sudden and unexpected kindness, tears misted Deanna's eyes. ”It's different with the shoe on the other foot. I don't know where to begin.”
”Tell me about this Tevren. His name isn't mentioned in our Starfleet database on Betazed. No one knew he existed until we received the resistance message.”
”I'm not surprised. Most Betazoids have never heard of him-and for good reason.”
Picard frowned. ”If the information's cla.s.sified-”
”It is, but since my own people have opted to divulge their best-kept secret, I see no harm in sharing it with you, sir. Especially since you'll be leading the attack on Sentok Nor.” Deanna nodded, took a reinforcing sip of hot chocolate, and thought back to the day she first learned of Hent Tevren. ”Seventeen years ago, during his first year of incarceration, I had just begun my advanced behavioral psychology interns.h.i.+p at Darona's prison for the criminally insane... .”
When her shuttle landed at Jarkana s.p.a.ceport on a bright summer morning, twenty-two-year-old Deanna was both excited and somewhat awed at the prospect of her new responsibilities on Darona. A uniformed attendant met her.
”Deanna Troi?” he asked.
She nodded, recognizing the prison insignia on his uniform sleeve.
”I'm Director Lanolan's personal aide. He's sent his private air car for you.” Without another word, the stocky attendant had gathered her luggage beneath both arms and steered her toward the waiting vehicle.
He'd remained silent as they soared low over the landscape for her to see the view, but she hadn't minded the lack of conversation on the short trip to Jarkana, Darona's capital city. She'd been too busy taking in the fields of young grain and cavat, and many exotic plants she didn't recognize. In the distance, nestled among trees near meandering rivers, stood experimental farms and their outbuildings. Also lining the highway below were neatly fenced pastures where unusual specimens of farm animals from all over the sector grazed, and beyond them, to the west, the dark crags of the Jarkana Mountains rose in a ragged skyline against a rose-colored sky.
Deanna recalled holos she'd seen of prison locales of other cultures, harsh and unforgiving sites with climates of frigid cold or searing heat that did nothing to heal a sick or wounded soul. She was proud that her own people cared enough to rehabilitate even their worst offenders in an atmosphere of serenity and natural beauty.
Betazed itself was similarly parklike, lush and green over most of the habitable surface of the planet, but somehow she found the air on Darona different. With a start, she recognized the elusive feeling: freedom. For the first time in her life, she was completely on her own. She loved her mother dearly, but until today, all Deanna's trips and adventures had included Amba.s.sador Lwaxana Troi, and her mother, like a force of nature, had a way of sweeping her daughter along in her plans with scant regard for Deanna's preferences. For the next four months, however, Deanna would be responsible to no one but Director Lanolan. Her weekends and holidays would be hers to spend as she wished. The prospect made her giddy with antic.i.p.ation.
The air car hovered over the city, which by Betazoid standards wasn't a city at all but more a large village. Less than a hundred squat, square houses, built of adobe made from the indigenous red clay, lined the broad avenues. Extensive gardens surrounded each residence, and the scent of exotic flowers filled the air.
A few larger buildings made of st.u.r.dier industrial materials rose above the others in the center of the capital, and as she pa.s.sed, Deanna read signs that identified them as government offices and research facilities. On the side of the city opposite the s.p.a.ceport, the driver drifted to a halt in front of an imposing home whose red adobe walls had been whitewashed until they sparkled in the brightness of the sun.
The director, a tall, slender man with thick brown hair graying at the temples and a gentle expression, met her at the gate. ”Welcome to your new home.”