The Captain Pro-tem slid onto a stool two seats down to Data’s left. Data watched as once more the Enterprise’s favorite hostess put her bar cloth away and went to stand in front of her troubled customer.
“What would you like, Commander?” she asked. “Actually, Guinan, I’d just like to talk.”
Guinan turned and gave Data a small Mona Lisa smile. Then she leaned on the bar in front of Riker and said, “Sure, Commander. Anything particular on your mind?”
Chapter Fifteen
IT WAS THE PAIN in her head that finally reached through the heavy fog that enveloped Troi. Even lying still, she felt as though a hundred horses were galloping through her brain. At first that was all she could feel. Even the slight movement of breathing was torture. Then, slowly, she became aware of the other sensations in her body. Her tongue felt thick and her mouth felt as if it had been filled with a wad of cotton. And she was cold. The floor beneath her was not covered with the thick carpet she remembered.
She lay there, unable to move yet, and tried to piece together the last events she could recall. Dinner with the captain, the wine, Mother Veronica asleep by the side of the bed . . .
Troi heard a groan next to her. The captain? She opened her eyes, and although it made her feel as if sharp knives were being stabbed into her brain, she kept them open until she could focus and look around.
She was lying on cold, hard stone. It was everywhere she looked: floors, walls, ceiling. It was the same luminous green stone she had seen in the corridors and audience chamber. Its pale light cast a sickly hue through the room and over the faces of her companions lying on the floor next to her.
Moving with care, Troi eased herself into a sitting position. The movement caused the room to spin. She raised cold, shaking fingers to her forehead and fought back a wave of nausea. Beside her, the captain moaned again and started to sit up.
“Go slowly, Captain,” she warned him.
“Counselor?” His voice was hoarse. Troi saw the muscles in his jaw working as he clenched his teeth and forced himself to sit. He opened his eyes to a narrow slit and looked at her.
“What happened?” he asked.
“I think we were drugged.”
“You were,” came a man’s voice from the far corner. Troi turned her head. Too quickly; instantly she regretted the movement.
“Who are you?” she heard the captain demand while she waited for the second wave of nausea to pass. There was a burst of laughter from the same corner. Even in her current impaired state, she could sense the hysteria and the surges of bleak despair that swelled through the laughter.
Troi again opened her eyes; they focused more easily this time and she saw the man crouched in the far corner. He looked like a nightmare version of the King.
His laughter subsided. “I,” he said, “am Joakal I’lium, King of Capulon IV.”
“You’re the King?” the captain said. “Then who—”
“My brother,” he said. “A twin I never knew existed. He decided it was his turn to rule. So, with the help of a trusted friend, he took me prisoner. He usurped my place and I am left with only this cell for a kingdom.”
While their new companion was talking, Troi noticed the captain reach up toward the left side of his chest, as though to tap his communicator and signal for help. But, like Troi, Picard had changed into sleeping attire before the drug had knocked him out. They had no communicators with them; there would be no easy rescue.
The captain struggled to stand. Troi saw the color drain from his face and he swayed unevenly on his feet. She automatically reached out to help him, but again a wave of nausea gripped her. Picard waved her away. He began to stumble about the circumference of the room, his hands searching the walls.
“There is no way out, Captain Picard,” the King said. The captain shot him a startled glance and the younger man nodded.
“Yes,” he said. “I know who you are. I was informed of your identities when you were dumped here. You’re wasting your time. I’ve pushed and pulled on every stone. I’ve rattled the door a thousand times. We are all—guests—of my brother until he decides otherwise.”
On the other side of Troi, Mother Veronica at last began to stir. The counselor quickly switched her attention to the nun. She crawled over to Mother Veronica’s side and began whispering to her, reassuring her through the first painful moments of awakening.
Picard finished his inspection of the cell. He came over and lowered himself to the floor beside Troi, who was helping Mother Veronica to sit upright. The nun’s eyes were closed and her face was ashen.
“Are you all right?” he asked. Troi nodded. “And Mother Veronica?”
“She will be. Although she drank very little of the wine last night,” Troi said, “she ate almost nothing. That’s why the drug has hit her so hard.”
Picard nodded curtly before he turned to Joakal. “I want to know everything,” he said in a firm voice of command.
The King shrugged. “I’ll tell you what I can,” he said. “I don’t know for certain how long I’ve been here or what has happened in my absence. I’ve been here weeks, I’m sure—weeks of being locked alone in this room . . .” his voice trailed off. Then after a moment his whole body shook sharply. He pulled himself back to the present and told his listeners of his capture, of the visits Beahoram had made to the cell, and of Aklier’s betrayal.
“You keep mentioning your brother,” Picard said when Joakal had finished. “The twin of whom you had no prior knowledge. Explain.”
Again the captain’s voice allowed no argument. “To understand that,” Joakal answered, “you must understand the ways of my people.”
“We have to understand,” Picard countered. “We have to know everything you can tell us if we’re to find a way out of here.”
Joakal jumped to his feet. “There is no way out!” he shouted. He paced a few steps back and forth, running his hands through his lank, matted hair.
“You may have given up,” Picard said. “But we haven’t.”
The King stopped pacing. He stood absolutely still for a moment. Then he shrugged again and sat back down.
“It will pass the time,” he said, more to himself than his companions. For another long moment, the King was silent. Troi wondered what he could say that would shed some light on their situation.
“Our ways,” he began. “Our society and laws are based upon what we believe to be the Will of our God. This is the first thing you must understand. Everything we are has been shaped over the centuries by our faith. The oldest teachings of our faith tell of a time when the God walked upon this planet and had direct communion with the world he had created. All was peace then, the Teachings say; all was in harmony. The world remained this way for untold ages, until the God returned to his place beyond the heavens. He left the people of this world to be the caretakers over his domain.”
Joakal stopped and looked again at the faces of his listeners. Troi felt the intensity behind his scrutiny, as if he was trying to measure how much of what he had just said they could accept. His expression was serious and the look in his eyes was almost beseeching.
Captain Picard gave him a small nod. “We have such a legend on the planet that is my home,” he said, “and we have encountered similar ones many places throughout the galaxy.”
“Ah—then you know of the God.” Joakal gave a smile that wiped some of the weariness from his face. “I am glad.”
Troi was struck by this expression of faith. These simple words sounded naive in the light of a universe filled with science and technology, but simple words, words like love and hate and mercy, often carried the greatest power. Was that also true of faith? she wondered. Was a simple faith also the strongest?
Joakal took a breath and continued. “The legends also say that before the God departed from our world,” he said, “he granted a gift to the people here. He opened our minds to one another, in a gift the ancient writings call Mind-share. We are told that we were given this gift in order
to protect the world over which we were left in charge.
“But without the God among us, the peace did not last. Over the ages we ceased to be one people and one world, united in our service to the God and our care of his creation. We became divided into a multitude of little kingdoms, each vying for dominance over the others. Over the centuries, science took the place of religion. Our technology grew and soon wars came and went and came again. Each time they were more devastating. Soon we were using our scientific knowledge that could have done so much for this world to build weapons capable of killing millions.”
Joakal stopped again and rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Then the final wars came,” he said after a pause, “wars of a terror worse than death. They were a hundred generations ago. Although our science had a part in them, the most devastating weapon came from within ourselves. These were the Mind Wars and they were fought with the very gift the God had given us for peace.”
Joakal sighed and leaned his head back against the wall, keeping his eyes closed. “The old histories tell of the terror of those years,” he continued. “Terror-filled years. The gift of Mind-share had been turned into a weapon from which no one was safe. Thoughts and plans could be ripped from the mind of an enemy. The weak could be forced to serve the more powerful; even their bodies could be manipulated against their wills. Peace-loving people were turned into puppets of destruction, The wars dragged on for over a generation. Then, suddenly, the power began to fade. Children began being born without the ability to Mind-share. The God had stripped his gift from us.
“Now a new fear took over—fear of the God and of his anger. The people abandoned the sciences, maintaining only those, such as communication and transportation, basic heat and water sources, necessary to keep the planet from total collapse. People flocked back to the old temples. They begged the Servants to help them find the way to appease the God. Sacrifices were made. Kingdoms toppled until we became a united people again. But it was not enough; the gift did not return to us. Stronger measures were called for and new laws were passed, decreed by the King, sanctioned by the temple. These laws demanded that all that was not perfect be eliminated from our society. Nothing was exempt, not even our children. Any abnormality, and that includes the birth of a twin, was to be left on the temple steps to die. This was our offering to appease the God. It was pronounced the only way to display the depths of our faith, and our repentance.”
For several seconds the only sound in the cell was the harsh breathing of its inhabitants. Joakal opened his eyes and met those of his listeners. Troi knew how stunned the King’s last words had left her. She looked and saw her feelings mirrored in her companions’ faces, Mother Veronica’s in particular. The pale cast to her cheeks and the fever brightness of her eyes was more than the residual effects of the drugged wine; it was horror at what she was hearing.
“And this law—” the captain began.
Joakal nodded. “Is still in effect. Oh, we have ceremonialized it. The infants are not now left to die on the temple steps. They are euthanized gently and buried in special crypts below the temple—returned to the God, it is said. But this is the reason I asked the Little Mothers to come to Capulon IV. I wanted them to help me abolish this law and others like it that have kept this world from moving forward. Now it’s too late.”
“This—law—was not mentioned in any of the reports on your culture,” Picard said.
“Would you, Captain, allow such a thing to be known about your people?” Joakal asked. “Would you even speak openly about it among yourselves, except in the most general terms? When your observers heard the term ‘returned to the God,’ do you believe they thought more than that the child had died? But you asked how Beahoram fit into this. He was the second to come from my mother’s womb. He was supposed to die. Instead, he has come back to take my place and my future, and soon there will be nothing anyone can do to stop him.”
“Why?” the captain asked harshly. “Why can’t you fight him, stand up for yourself and claim back—”
Joakal again barked out a laugh. It was filled with bleak, sardonic humor. “You don’t understand, Captain,” he said. “The gift of Mind-share has returned in a very small measure. It is very rare among the population and it never comes with the power of the ancient times. But it comes often enough for the people to keep hoping. That is what has continued to give this law its hold over my people.”
“When does this gift show up and to whom?” Picard asked. “Is there any way of predicting it?”
The young King shook his head. “Usually, if someone feels any stirrings of the old gifts within them, he or she enters Service at the temple. But not all the Servants claim to possess these gifts, and even in the ones who do, it is very weak.
“What does this have to do with Beahoram?”
“The first of my House, after whom I am named, was a Chief Servant here in this city. Then one day, when he was at the altar, something happened to quicken his mind and return to him all of the old gifts. The writings do not tell us exactly what happened, they say only that the God entered him. He was proclaimed King and Absolute. My House has ruled ever since. Each time the King has been crowned to Absolute, the God has entered him in the same way. The Absolute is the only one to whom the gifts of the God are again granted in full.”
Joakal stopped. He turned his face toward the ceiling, his eyes closed tightly against his despair. “I was to be the thirtieth generation of I’lium Kings,” he said. “The sacred number fulfilled, and in that fulfillment I was going to guide my people forward. A new age—that was my dream. Now it will be Beahoram who rules instead.”
Troi had sat quietly during the King’s long recitation, riding the Gordian knot of his emotions as they mutated through shadings of despair to resignation to troubled conviction and back to despair. As he said his last words, she sat forward, her eyes blazing with sudden insight.
“Captain,” she said, “it all makes sense now.”
“What, Counselor?”
“Everything—the feelings of anger and arrogance I received from Beahoram, the two minds that Mother Veronica sensed. Joakal, here, is the other mind.”
Troi raised herself to her knees, eager to make Picard understand. “Don’t you see, Captain?” she said. “Beahoram is a telepath. Joakal is, too. I’m certain that most of the people of Capulon are telepathic, but with abilities locked behind shields no one remembers how to lower. In wars such as Joakal has described, only those who could learn to shield their minds would survive. This ability would be passed on from one generation to another until it became . . .” she searched for the word, “. . . instinct, a product of survival. Those who then learned how to release their psychic talents would appear amazingly powerful—God-embodied.”
The captain’s eyes were fixed on her and Troi could almost see him quickly sorting through possibilities. “Why would this happen when the King is crowned?” he asked.
“Joakal said that many of those who enter Service have rediscovered their psychic identities, at least in part. It’s my guess that during the coronation, when the King is the willing focus of so much psychic energy all united to the same purpose, it acts as a trigger and unblocks the King’s own talents.”
“Could you and Mother Veronica do the same thing for Joakal—here, now?”
“I don’t know, Captain,” Troi answered. “I’m willing to try.” She turned to Mother Veronica, but the nun shrank back.
“No,” she whispered. “I . . . I can’t.”
Troi glanced at the captain. “Let me talk to her,” she said.
Picard nodded and went to sit by the King, giving the women as much privacy as the situation allowed.
Joakal did not open his eyes. “It won’t work,” he said as the captain sat down.
“How do you know?”
“Because it is a gift from the God, and you are not his Servants.”
“Mother Veronica is. Her life and the lives of the others like her, her work and her Order are all de
dicated and vowed to the service of God.”
“Is it the same God—the true God?”
Picard was suddenly reminded of his Second Officer. Had Data found his answers to questions such as this? Picard knew his own, and he gave a little smile.
“Is there more than one truth?” he asked. “And isn’t all service to the truth rendered to the same place?”
“A wise answer, Captain,” Joakal said, the hint of a smile appearing on his face. “Perhaps this will work, after all.”
It was just after dawn. The members of the Council of Elders, the Gentleborn who were in the city for the King’s coronation, and many high-ranking officials and merchants were gathered at the temple to witness the final ceremony for the King’s Coming to Age.
Elana sat once more in the loft surrounded by the other Servants. Below her, the rite was just drawing to a close. The man she now knew to be Joakal’s brother had received his knee-length Vest of Manhood. But to Elana, the deep crimson color made it look like a cloak of blood, Joakal’s blood, overlaying the purity of the white clothes in which Beahoram had kept his vigil.
Faellon’s hands were lifted high in the final invocation. Elana was not listening; she was watching Beahoram and Aklier. In the darkest hours of the night, after the first moon had set and the small, second moon was in its descent, she had followed Aklier once more to the palace where she had seen him and his hirelings carry the inert bodies of the Federation people from their rooms. She had tried to pursue, but she soon lost sight of her quarry in the maze of palace corridors and back stairs. Elana was determined not to let that happen again. Today, tomorrow, however long it took, she would keep dogging their movements until they led her to Joakal.
The drone of the Chief Servant’s prayer ceased. Before he could dismiss the assembled officials, Beahoram raised himself from his knees, interrupting the rite before its completion. He turned to face the half-filled pews.
GUISES OF THE MIND Page 12
