GUISES OF THE MIND

by Rebecca Neason

  “Good morning, Sister,” he replied. “Isn’t Mother Veronica joining us?”

  “No, I’m afraid not. This traveling has been so hard on her,” Sister Julian said with a sigh. “I have traveled before, but not Mother Veronica. She came to the convent when she was only four years old, abandoned one night on the convent steps, and this is the first time she has left it.”

  “Why now?” Picard asked as he and his companion began walking back down the corridor toward the turbolift.

  Sister Julian shrugged. “Mother Veronica has a talent for order and organization that will make her an excellent leader for our new Community. I think this is why traveling, with its constantly changing routine, is so upsetting for her.”

  “But surely, if leaving her home planet causes her so much distress, she would better serve your Order where she was.”

  Sister Julian stopped walking and turned to the captain. She stood for a moment studying his face. “If you were ordered to give up the Enterprise, would you do so?” she asked.

  “Of course. It would be my duty as a Starfleet officer.”

  Sister Julian resumed walking. “We have duties also, Captain,” she said. “And we are vowed to obedience. Do not let her current indisposition cause you to underestimate Mother Veronica. She has an extraordinary gift for working with children, especially troubled children. She will be needed where we are going.”

  They reached the turbolift and while they waited for the doors to open, Captain Picard changed the subject. “Are your accommodations satisfactory?” he asked.

  “Our accommodations are more than satisfactory, Captain,” Sister Julian replied. “They are quite luxurious. A stateroom converted for our use, and a chapel—it is most generous and kind of you. It is a delight to pray in that beautiful chapel. We have been on three transports and two starbases, and they have not contained anything so lovely.”

  “Thank you,” the captain said. “It is a copy of the parish church in my home village on Earth, in France. I had it replicated for your use.”

  The turbolift arrived. “Where would you like to start your tour of the ship?” he asked as he and Sister Julian stepped inside.

  “Is it true, Captain, that you have whole families, even children, on board?”

  “Indeed.”

  “Then that is where I would like to start—with the children.”

  The captain and his guest spent the morning visiting the classrooms and playrooms. At each of the stops, Sister Julian sat among the children, patiently answering their many questions. Picard was fascinated by the instant rapport between the children and the nun.

  As he watched, Picard realized how his own attitude toward children had changed over the years he had captained the Enterprise. When he accepted command, he had thought the inclusion of entire families on a deep-space vessel, especially children, to be one of Starfleet’s less intelligent decisions. Now he knew that they had been right and he wrong. Having spouses and children on board made his crew happier. That aided in their performance of their duties and gave his ship a greater sense of community. Picard was now pleased to count the children of the Enterprise as part of his command.

  After leaving the classrooms, Picard took Sister Julian to one of the holodecks and showed her several of the programs that were commonly used for family outings and “outdoor” play. Now they were on their way for a tour of the medical facilities.

  As Picard and his companion neared sickbay, a young ensign stepped out into the corridor. When he caught sight of the captain and the nun coming toward him, the color drained from his face. He looked for a moment as if he would faint. Then he shook himself and hurried in the opposite direction, but he kept shooting quick, frightened glances back over his shoulder.

  Picard had rarely seen anyone move so fast without actually running. He almost called out to the ensign; he would have, had he been alone. Instead, Picard could only wonder whether it was himself or the nun that had so terrified the young man. I will have to mention this to the counselor, Picard thought.

  Deanna Troi sat in her office waiting for Ensign Marshall. She glanced again at the chronometer display on the wall: fifteen minutes late. This was not like Marshall. He might come to her office and say little or nothing during their entire session, but he always showed up—and on time.

  “Computer,” she said aloud. “Location of Ensign Johann Marshall.”

  “Ensign Marshall is in Ten-Forward.”

  Something’s definitely wrong, Troi thought as she headed for the door.

  She found him sitting in one of the far corners of the lounge, staring at the cup in front of him. Even from across the room Troi could feel the turmoil raging inside him. She glanced at the bar and caught Guinan’s eyes.

  “He’s been here for a half an hour,” Guinan said quietly. “He ordered a cup of coffee, but he hasn’t touched it. He just stares at it.”

  Troi nodded. Steeling herself to endure the young ensign’s emotions, she walked over to his table. He did not look up when she approached; his eyes never strayed from the dark liquid in the cup.

  “Johann,” she spoke his name softly. The ensign flinched at the sound of her voice, but he blinked once and looked up.

  “Johann,” she said again. “We had an appointment. When you didn’t show up, I was concerned.”

  “I’m . . . I’m sorry,” he stammered. “But I can’t talk to you now. I can’t—”

  Something’s happened, Troi thought. Go softly, Deanna. This could be the breakthrough he needs. Softly now. Gently.

  Troi sat down. “We won’t have our appointment today,” she said. “We’ll just sit here and have a cup of coffee together. There’s no need to talk if you don’t want to. All right, Johann?”

  The ensign nodded. Troi looked up, prepared to signal Guinan, and saw the Ten-Forward hostess already coming toward her, cup in hand. Troi smiled; somehow Guinan always knew.

  Aklier, Head of the House Ti’Kara, member of the Council of Elders, was not at the palace. Although he lived, worked, and spent most of his time at the royal residence, he also owned a small holding outside the city confines. Most of the Elders who served on the Council had second homes somewhere in or near the city where they could get away from the pressures of court and still be near enough to return quickly if the need for them should arise. Yet, to Aklier, this small house and the five acres on which it stood was more than a refuge. It was the home of his happiest and most bittersweet memories. This was the place that held his heart.

  The house and land had been a gift to Aklier and his wife when they were newly married and their early years together had been spent here. When Aklier’s father had died, Aklier became Head of the House Ti’Kara. He had inherited all of the lands and titles, but it was never the family seat in which he felt at home. It was here, where he and his wife had known so much happiness. Here their daughter, their only child, had been born, and it was here that Aklier’s ife had died and was buried, among the gardens she loved so well.

  Aklier walked down the long path toward those gardens. He strolled slowly beneath the fruit trees they had planted together. How strange it was now to remember that these trees that shaded him from the sun’s glare with their fruit-laden branches had once been little more than twigs he and his wife had labored to put in the ground.

  She could make anything grow, Aklier thought as he neared the gardens. She had been dead for almost fifteen years, but he almost expected to see her amid the flowers and shrubs, wiping the dirt from her fingers as she stood up and smiled at him. He could see her, with his mind and his heart.

  The sun was hotter here, out from under the trees, and the scent of the flowers and the soil rose like a cloud of perfume around Aklier as he passed. He breathed it in deeply; it was her smell.

  Aklier walked to the heart of the gardens where his wife was buried. The grave was marked only by the stones that encircled it. They were barely visible now, almost overgrown with the abundant vegetation. Aklier knew that was h
ow she would have wanted it. With his own hands, he had planted the small purple and white flowers that had been her favorites on her burial mound.

  He sat on one of the stones and began idly pulling out the weeds that had sprung up among the flowers. He often came here, to sit in her company and tell her of his hopes and frustrations, just as he had throughout the years of their marriage. And today, today particularly, he wanted to talk to her.

  “I’ve done it, Ilayne,” he said out loud. “Just as I promised I would. Not another child will have to die the way our daughter did. That law will be abolished soon. At last I’ve found the way to give her death, and yours, some meaning.”

  Tears welled in Aklier’s eyes; he missed her so much. “Oh, Ilayne,” he whispered. “Are you with our daughter now? Have you ceased to grieve at last? I pray the God will forgive me for what I have done. I’ve betrayed my King, Ilayne. I had no choice. I did it because I love you and because I hate the law that caused you to grieve yourself to death. It’s almost over now, Ilayne. It’s almost over.”

  Aklier did not bother to wipe away the tears that wet his face. The sun would dry them.

  While Aklier sat in the warmth and sunlight of his garden, Joakal I’lium sat on the floor of a small, bare cell. The luminous green veins in the stone of the walls cast an eerie light through the room. Joakal knew where he was. This stone had been used in only two buildings—the palace and the temple; Joakal was not in the temple. This cell, and several others like it, were in the subbasement of the palace. They had not been used for generations.

  When Joakal had first regained consciousness, he had tried calling for help. He had screamed until his throat was raw and his voice gone. No one had answered. No one would come looking for him in this silent, lonely place.

  He sat now as he had sat for hours—in the far corner of the cell, his back pressed against the wall and his head cradled on his knees. The cold from the stone felt as though it had entered his body and penetrated through to his soul. Time was measured in breaths and heartbeats.

  It was the sound of a key turning the lock of the cell door that finally brought Joakal out of the stupor that had taken hold of him. He tried to jump to his feet, but the cold had entered his muscles and made them stiff and unresponsive. Using the wall for support, Joakal had barely gained his feet when the door swung inward. His captor stepped through.

  Joakal gasped. Even in the dim light of the cell, it was like looking in a mirror. The same face, the same hair, the same body—only the eyes were different. The eyes that met his own burned with a hatred Joakal had never before encountered.

  “Who are you?” he whispered, his voice still hoarse and painful.

  His captor’s eyes narrowed. “I,” he said, “am your brother.”

  Joakal slowly shook his head. “I have no brother.”

  The man’s lips twisted into the parody of a smile. “You do,” he said. “And not just a brother—a twin. I had the misfortune to share a womb with you—and to be born a few minutes late. That made me an abnormality,” he spat out the word. “My life became forfeit.”

  “You’re lying,” Joakal whispered.

  “Our dear mother,” the man continued as he came further into the cell and began to pace back and forth before the still open door, “was required by law to leave me at the temple to die. But she wanted someone else to do her dirty work for her, so she gave me to a guard. He had more compassion for me than my own mother. He took me home to his wife and they raised me, but it was a life of secrecy and fear. As I grew older, we moved farther and farther into the country, always afraid that someone might see my face and think of you. My—parents—never let me forget who I was. Who I am. When they died I swore I would come to the palace and take back my own. I am Beahoram. Beahoram I’lium.”

  As Joakal listened, a part of his mind screamed that this could not be real. He had planned to abolish this law as one of his first acts when he became Absolute. The Little Mothers who were on their way here—they would help him take care of those children already abandoned. That was why he had sent for them. It was inconceivable that this law was the reason he was locked in a cell and facing—what?

  “Beahoram,” Joakal said. “I would be glad of a brother. Come with me to the Council of Elders. I’ll make them accept you.”

  Beahoram laughed. Joakal’s mind raced, quickly searching for something to say to break through the arrogance he felt emanating from the other man and the anger he saw clearly on Beahoram’s face.

  “Listen to me,” Joakal said. “I said I would be glad of a brother, and I meant it. You could help me. I’ve made plans for so many changes for our people. You could be part of making those changes come true.”

  Beahoram’s eyes narrowed. “What changes?” he asked in a guarded voice.

  There are so many, was Joakal’s instant response. Which ones would mean anything to his brother? he wondered.

  “The old law condemning abnormal children,” Joakal began, “the law you were victim to—that will be the first to go. I’ve already begun arranging for that to change. And the law of isolation that has kept us locked on this world. There are people on their way here now, people from an organization called the United Federation of Planets. Our world is going to join them.”

  Joakal felt himself growing excited, in spite of the situation. “There are many other laws, too,” he said. “The ban on scientific studies and technical advancements beyond our current level—in my studies I’ve learned that we once honored the sciences and used them. I want that to happen again. Our law says too much technology is an offense to the God. I don’t believe it. I believe we are meant to use our minds. Once I’m elevated Absolute, I’ll be the Voice of the God and I can change the old ways. I want our people to be part of the future.”

  “I almost believe you,” Beahoram said. “But it doesn’t matter. For thirty years, you’ve had everything and I’ve had nothing. I watched my father work himself into his grave, accepting any job he could find to put food on the table. I watched my mother wither into an old woman, always afraid that someone would drag her ‘son’ away. And all the while, wherever we went, I heard your name. Joakal—what a good prince he is, how studious, how pious; what a good King Joakal will make. I grew to hate the very sound of your name. Well now, Brother, now it’s my turn.”

  “Beahoram—listen to me,” Joakal pleaded. “I’m willing to share it all with you. You don’t have to kill me to get what you want.”

  Beahoram laughed, a low grating sound. “I’m not going to kill you, Brother.”

  “Then what—?”

  “Have you ever wondered about the old legends, Brother?” he asked. “They’re true, you know. All my life I’ve felt the truth of them within myself. I have your face. I live in your place in the palace and I answer to your name. Everyone who sees me thinks I am you. Soon I will wear your crown and then you will learn how true the legends are. When I am crowned in your place, when I am elevated and the power of Absolute comes to me, I will strip your memories from you one by one and make them my own. I will not take your life, my brother—I will take your mind.”

  Joakal could not keep the horror from his face, or the icy chill from his heart.

  Chapter Five

  TROI AWOKE at seven o’clock the next morning. It was later than she had planned to arise, but she felt no rush. She had checked her appointment schedule the night before and although her duty shift began at eight, her first patient was not scheduled until ten o’clock. Since she was not needed on the bridge, her morning plans included a workout in the gym, a half-hour of T’ai Chi, then a bath and a leisurely breakfast. She spent so many hours sitting in her office listening to her patients, that this morning routine had become increasingly important to her. The exercise kept her body toned and flexible and allowed her a safety valve of sorts, a way to vent the pressures and frustrations, especially the subliminal ones, that went with her profession. The fluid movements of T’ai Chi helped her focus her mind for the d
ay ahead. The long soak and a lingering breakfast that she planned for today, were luxuries she added only when time allowed—not very often.

  Troi ordered a cup of ginger tea from the food dispenser. She sipped on it as she began brushing the night tangles out of her hair. The hot liquid and delicate bite of the ginger were invigorating. By the time Troi had finished brushing her hair and gathered it into the clasp that would keep it out of her way while she worked out, she had finished the cup. She ordered another as she went to her closet and pulled out her favorite turquoise and pink exercise suit.

  After she had dressed, she glanced at the wall chronometer. It read 07:38. Still plenty of time, she thought as she headed for the door. Just then the captain’s voice came over inner-ship communications.

  “Counselor Troi,” he began. “Will you come to the briefing room at oh-eight-hundred hours? Now that we are underway, I think it time to review our mission to Capulon IV.”

  “Certainly, Captain,” Troi said evenly, stifling a mental groan.

  “Thank you, Counselor. Picard out.”

  Troi turned back around, sighed once, and pulled the clasp from her hair.

  Twenty minutes later, attired now in the deep crimson jumpsuit she, as ship’s counselor, wore instead of a standard uniform, Troi stepped off the turbolift and onto the bridge. She crossed to the briefing room where she found Data, Worf, and Will Riker already waiting. A moment later, Beverly Crusher and Geordi arrived. They had all just taken their seats when the door opened a final time and Captain Picard stepped through.

  “Good morning,” he greeted them as he took his place at the head of the long table. “As I told each of you,” he began, “I think this an opportune time to review our mission. Mr. Data—if you please.”

  “Certainly, Captain,” the android said. His fingers played across some buttons set into the table before him and the holographic image of a planetary system appeared in the air.