GUISES OF THE MIND

by Rebecca Neason

  Imzadi, Troi sent as the image, and the well-remembered sensation of their minds entwined, sharpened. Imzadi, help me. Come to me. I need you. Imzadi. . . .

  At that moment, Elana was nearing the completion of her own escape, or so she hoped. She had made it around the outside of the Servants’ quarters onto the covered walkway connecting the Servants’ quarters with the temple itself, and finally onto the temple roof. From there, the going had become easier and she had quickly covered the distance to the front of the building. Now she had only to find a way to the ground without being seen and reported, and she would be free.

  She crouched on the corner of the roof that covered the narthex. In front of her sloped the porch roof that covered and was held up by the Guardians, the four carved pillars at the top of the temple steps. If she could make it to one of them, she could slide-climb down.

  There were people crossing in the city square in front of the temple. Soon a crowd would gather to watch the coronation recession and cheer the new Absolute. Elana knew it was now or never.

  She started forward, staying as low to the roof as she could and trying not to attract attention. She kept her eyes on the passing people as much as she dared, but the roof tiles were slippery with accumulations of moss. Time and again she was forced to watch only her feet and hands and pray that no one would see her.

  She reached the end of the roof. She lay down flat and prayed now that her luck would hold and her strength remain just a little while longer. Prayed that the God would not abandon her yet.

  It seemed the God heard her, for the people crossing the city square went on their way. Suddenly the square was empty. Elana raised herself on her hands and knees. Taking a deep breath, she turned and swung her legs over the edge, scrambling through the air until they finally made contact with stone. She immediately wrapped her legs around the pillar. Using them to brace herself, she began to descend.

  Here, as with the carvings at the corners of the Servants’ quarters, the symbols on the stone had been deeply engraved. Her fingers found easy purchase, but these same carvings rubbed off the soft skin of her inner legs until the final feet of Elana’s descent were agony. She knew she was leaving traces of her blood on the stone, but she dared not let it stop her.

  The pain grew. It seared and burned until, finally, she could stand no more. Her legs fell from the pillar and she dropped the final few feet to the temple steps. A new pain jarred through her left ankle. Elana could not move. Her breath caught in her throat.

  No, her mind screamed. If she was caught now, then it was all for nothing. She forced herself to her feet and started to hobble down the stairs. With each step, new fire shot up her leg, combined with the other aches the long travail had created in her body, and caused her to cry out. Tears sprang to her eyes and fell down her face. She bit her lip, forcing herself to breathe through her torment and to keep going. She had to reach the palace. Somehow, somewhere, she had to find someone to help her.

  Will Riker sat at the desk in the captain’s ready room, staring at the display screen of the computer. Trying to fill the time and keep his mind occupied, he had called up the reports of all contacts and treaties with the planet below them, all Capulon IV’s recent history. But the pages were passing by unread, and had been for several minutes.

  Finally Riker reached out and switched off the screen. He could not concentrate. He had waited hours for the captain to report in. He had reminded himself of everything from Picard’s personal training and abilities to Starfleet’s Prime Directive. But he could not shake the feeling that something was wrong, and his patience, never his strongest attribute, was at an end.

  Riker pushed the chair back from the desk and stood, looking out the long, narrow viewport. From here only the edge of the planet could be seen. Surrounded by the infinity of space, it was a sight to stir the heart of any poet and the soul of any Starfleet officer. Will Riker was usually no exception. From the day of his first training cruise as a new cadet, he had known his home, his greatest joy, was among the stars.

  Today even their beauty failed to enrapture him. With a sigh, he turned away and headed for the door that would take him again onto the bridge.

  The bridge—the command chair—more waiting and worrying. Cluck-cluck, his mind said; shut up, he told it.

  The doors opened with their near-silent hiss. Will Riker stepped through and as he did, his eyes met those of his Chief of Security. The Klingon said no words, but Riker saw his own doubts about the safety of the Away Team mirrored on the warrior’s face. Riker’s intentions crystallized.

  “Lieutenant Worf,” he said as he strode across the open floor of the bridge. “Open a channel to the palace. It’s time we got some answers.”

  “Aye, sir,” the Klingon said eagerly, his approval spoken by the posture of his body and the glint in his eyes.

  Riker sat down, preparing himself for a possible confrontation with whichever palace official answered the ship’s hail. He would not sign off this time until he got what he wanted.

  The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Riker ran a hand across them, but the sensation did not go away. It intensified. It was as if someone had just poured itching powder between his shoulder blades.

  He twitched and shifted in his chair. Nothing eased it. He stood and began to pace, aware that the other officers on the bridge had turned to look at him. He did not care; the discomfort continued to grow. He was about to call Doctor Crusher when he realized what he was feeling was not physical.

  Deanna? he wondered. He tried to remember what she had taught him about opening his mind to her touch. It had once been so easy.

  Imzadi? he thought, standing still and silent on the bridge. He closed his eyes and searched for her, not caring what the other officers on the bridge saw or thought. If Deanna needed him, all that mattered was that he hear her. Imzadi? he thought again, calling this time, and he picked up the faint but unmistakable essence of her mind reaching for his.

  I’m coming, Deanna, he thought to her, not knowing if she could hear him. Hold on, I’m coming.

  He turned to Lieutenant Worf. “Discontinue hail,” he said, “and come with me. Have a security team meet us, with phasers, in Transporter Room Three. Whether they like it or not, we’re beaming down to that planet. Something’s going on and I intend to find out exactly what it is. Mr. Data,” Riker said over his shoulder as he began to stride up the ramp toward the turbolift, “you have the conn.”

  Will Riker did not bother to watch the android leave his seat at Ops and take the command chair. Everything on the Enterprise would run efficiently. What Riker did see was the gleam of combat readiness in Worf’s eyes as the Klingon met him at the top of the ramp. Riker knew the same light could be seen in his own.

  Hold on, Deanna. We’re coming.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  USING THE COORDINATES given to the first Away Team, Riker, Worf, and the six-man security team from the Enterprise beamed down into one of the reception halls of the palace. This time there was no delegation of Elders awaiting them. The room was empty, and the late afternoon sun that slanted through the windows created long pools of light and shadow.

  Will Riker took this all in at a glance, then he looked over his shoulder to check the rest of his personnel. The security team stood at ready, phasers in their hands, and Lieutenant Worf held both his phaser and a tricorder. Riker waited while Worf moved the tricorder from side to side, adjusting its sensitivity while he tried to pick up the captain’s communicator signal through the layers of thick stone that surrounded them. All the while, the subliminal call that had driven Riker here was growing more insistent.

  Hold on, Deanna, he thought, hoping that he remembered enough of what she had taught him, hoping she would know he was on his way.

  “Got it, Commander,” Worf finally announced. With a quick nod, Riker led the way to the great double doors across the room and cautiously, not knowing what waited on the other side, he eased one of them open. Riker could h
ear voices in the distance, and the sound of running feet, but this corridor was empty. He slipped through the open door. Quickly and quietly, the others followed. Once all eight of them stood in the hall, Riker gestured for the Klingon and his tricorder to lead the way.

  Worf was ready. He led them down the labyrinth of corridors, turning right or left or right again with unwavering certainty. The noises of the palace inhabitants grew louder: voices shouting orders, pans clanging, dishes rattling. Once a door opened and as Riker ran past, he saw a liveried servant, eyes wide with surprise, framed in the doorway. There was no time to stop or explain and Riker only hoped they could find the captain before the servant called the guards.

  They turned another corner and found a staircase. The sounds of the kitchen crew preparing for the coronation banquet were louder here. That explains the empty hallways, Riker thought as he and the others began to climb the stairs.

  He took the steps two at a time, wishing there was some way to go faster. Second floor; another corridor. Riker’s heartbeat quickened. The servant they had passed could have called the guards by now. This was taking too long.

  Worf stopped. “In here,” he growled, motioning to two doors. The security team split up, four to a room, one team led by Worf and the other by Riker. Riker met the Klingon’s eyes. No words were needed. Simultaneously, they opened the doors.

  And found the rooms empty. Quickly they fanned out and searched, opening doors to closets, bedrooms, and baths. The furniture was neat and in place, no sign of a struggle—or of the room’s inhabitants. Riker saw Deanna’s uniform lying on the floor near a chair, and he picked it up. Her communicator was still attached.

  “There’s nothing here,” he said, heading back to the corridor. The security team fell in behind him.

  Worf met him out in the hallway. The Klingon held the captain’s uniform just as Riker held Deanna’s. Riker tapped his insignia, activating the comm link with the ship.

  “Riker to Enterprise,” he said.

  “Enterprise, Data here,” came the answer.

  “We’ve found the captain’s uniform, but there’s no sign of the captain or the others. Have another security team standing by for my signal. I don’t care if we have to take this place apart stone by stone, I’m going to find our people.”

  “Very well, Commander. A security team will be ready.”

  “Riker out.” He turned to Worf. “Recommendations, Lieutenant?”

  “The captain and Counselor Troi would not leave their rooms without their uniforms. They must have been carried off during the night. We should return to the lower floors and find a palace servant to act as guide. Wherever the captain and Counselor Troi are being held, it will not be in a place as easily accessible as this.”

  “Agreed,” Riker said with a nod. “Let’s go.”

  Again the Enterprise personnel sped down the corridor, retracing their steps. A part of Riker listened for the sound of pursuing footsteps or a call for them to stop, but all remained calm and silent. He knew from his recent reading about this planet that the palace had guards—why hadn’t the alarm been raised?

  They reached the stairway and began to descend, passing the floor on which they had entered and continuing toward the sounds of the kitchen below. The stairwell turned; there was someone crouching in the shadows. Riker held up his hand and the others behind him stopped, all phasers trained on the half-hidden figure.

  The head slowly turned. Before Riker could make out any other details, he saw the fear in—her—eyes. Disheveled hair framed a pale and dirt-streaked face. She stood and at a glance, Riker took in the torn green robe, the scrapes and bruises, the look of exhaustion and the signs of a long and arduous ordeal.

  “Who are you?” she whispered.

  “Commander William T. Riker, First Officer of the Enterprise,” he answered. The woman leaned back against the wall, her hand on her chest, and looked for a moment as if she might faint.

  “The God has heard me,” she said. Then she looked Riker in the face again, all trace of fear gone from her eyes. “I know where your people are. Help me.”

  With that, she started to crumble. Riker rushed to her side and caught her before she could hit the ground. As he lifted her, he noticed her torn and bloody hands, the swollen left ankle, and how very tiny she was—smaller even than Deanna.

  Deanna, he thought/sent with all his might. I’m almost there.

  “Where?” he asked.

  “Down the stairs,” the woman said. “But don’t turn into the kitchen. We have to go through the wine cellar and the pantries. There is a hidden door in the room where the tapestries are stored for repair. That leads to a subbasement and the cell where your people are.”

  “Why are you doing this?” Riker asked.

  “Because Joakal is with them,” the woman whispered fiercely. Her eyes blazed with a spirit Riker knew he would not care to have turned against him.

  “I’ll explain more as we go,” she assured him, “but we must hurry. And be careful—there are traitors in the palace and not everyone wishes to see the true King freed.”

  Riker turned and looked over his shoulder at Worf, grinning at the tone of command in the woman’s voice. “You heard her, Lieutenant,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  They moved cautiously, one by one slipping past the kitchen door. Riker thought they were going to make it by unseen until, just as the last man was sliding past the opening, dishes crashed to the floor. Conversation in the kitchen stopped. A moment later a shout went up. That’s it, Riker thought.

  “We’ll hold them here while you find the captain,” Worf told him. “It is a defensible position.”

  Riker nodded. “Call the Enterprise if you need help,” he ordered. Trusting the Klingon to guard his back, Riker looked down at the woman in his arms.

  “Which way?” he asked. She pointed and he began to run. The sound of occasional phaser blasts provided the music of retreat.

  True to her word, as Riker carried her through the palace cellars along a route as complicated and mazelike as the corridors upstairs, the woman filled him in on her identity and her knowledge of the Away Team’s capture. She also told him of her own escape from the temple. That explained her condition. Riker was amazed at her strength and courage. Her words also explained why no guards had been called; the servant Riker had passed must have been one of the accomplices.

  They finally reached the tapestry room and found the hidden door. It was locked.

  “I’ll have to put you down for a moment,” Riker told Elana. “Can you stand?”

  She nodded and gritted her teeth against the pain Riker knew the movement would cause her. He set her down gently where she could lean against the wall, and pulled out his phaser. It took only a short blast to release the lock. Then he picked Elana up again.

  They went down yet another set of stairs, down to the cold subbasement of the palace. There was no mistaking the purpose of this area. Riker shivered, sick at the thought of Deanna, of anyone, being held prisoner in such a place.

  “Down there,” Elana told him. “The sixth cell on the right.”

  “Captain,” Riker called out as he walked forward. “Deanna.” For a heart-stopping moment, there was no answer. Then Riker heard the captain’s voice.

  “Over here, Number One.”

  Riker reached the cell door. Again he put Elana down. With her back against the wall, she slid to the floor on the far side of the corridor.

  “Stand back,” Riker told the prisoners as he again drew his phaser and fired. This lock held out longer than the one upstairs, and tiny sparks flew from it as the metal melted under the heat of the phaser beam. Finally, the door snapped open. Riker put his hand through the bars of the window and pushed until the door swung wide. Captivity was at an end.

  Before Riker could step into the cell, a young man pushed past him and ran to Elana. He pulled her into his arms. Riker could hear their happy murmurings behind him as he stepped into the cell where Picard, Troi, and
Mother Veronica waited.

  They stood in a group looking cold and tired. Riker was relieved to see there was nothing more wrong with them, no signs of injuries or abuse. He glanced at Mother Veronica and nodded to the captain, but his eyes, and his heart, were fastened on Troi. Her smile, as she met his eyes with her own, assured Riker that she was all right.

  Riker held out her uniform. “Imzadi,” he said softly, for her ears alone, as she lifted the uniform from his hand. Then he turned to the captain.

  “I’m afraid I don’t have your uniform, sir,” he said. “It’s with Lieutenant Worf.”

  “Where is the lieutenant?”

  “Guarding our avenue of escape.”

  “Very good,” Picard said. “Let’s step out while the counselor changes and you meet the King. Our work here is far from finished.”

  The captain put his hand on Riker’s upper arm in an affectionate gesture, but there was no circumventing the friendly pressure that turned Riker toward the door. Still, he could not resist one glance over his shoulder, one more look at Deanna’s smile. Then he was out of the cell and the captain pulled the door partway closed to afford the counselor the extra privacy.

  “Your Majesty,” Picard said to the young man now sitting beside Elana with his arm around her shoulders. “May I present my First Officer, Commander William Riker. Will—this is His Royal Majesty, Joakal I’lium, King of Capulon IV.”

  “Your Majesty,” Riker acknowledged with a bow. “Elana has told me everything. I have a security team, headed by Lieutenant Worf,” he added to the captain, “stationed up by the kitchens and another standing by on the Enterprise.”

  “Then as soon as the counselor is ready,” Picard began.

  “I’m ready now,” Troi said, stepping out of the cell. She was dressed in her familiar one-piece uniform, with her nightgown draped across her shoulders. Although her feet were bare, she looked much more comfortable. Mother Veronica came out of the cell with her and stayed close by the counselor’s side. Riker found himself wondering who was lending whom support.