GUISES OF THE MIND

by Rebecca Neason

  But continue it did, for one hour and into the next, through more and more complicated questions. Standing next to him, Picard could tell that the counselor was growing increasingly uncomfortable. What is she sensing? he wondered. Before he could ask her, he saw Mother Veronica lean over and whisper something to Troi. The two of them conferred in quiet tones he could not overhear. Then Troi turned to him.

  “Beahoram is reading Joakal’s mind to gain his answers, Captain,” she told him.

  “Are you certain, Counselor?”

  “Mother Veronica is. She can hear it.”

  “But how? The two of you were unable to penetrate Joakal’s shields, despite your best efforts.”

  “I don’t know, Captain,” Troi said. “Perhaps it is because Joakal and Beahoram are twins and having the two of them together changes the frequency of their thought patterns. Maybe it’s . . .” she shook her head. “I don’t know,” she repeated. “But I have been feeling Beahoram’s growing confidence for quite some time. Of all the emotions in this room, it is the most dominant. If something doesn’t happen soon to stop him, Joakal may still lose everything.”

  Picard turned to Elana. “I heard,” she said before he could explain. “And I agree—we have to intervene. Your Mother Veronica can hear thoughts, and Counselor Troi can read the emotions of other people?”

  “Yes,” Picard answered.

  “How accurate are they?”

  “I’d trust them with my life.”

  Elana nodded. Without a backward glance, she strode to the center of the room and stood between the seated twins. Picard and the others followed a step behind. Elana held up her hands in imitation of the pose Faellon struck for prayer.

  “Cease this travesty,” she ordered. “There is neither Truth nor Justice being discovered here.”

  “Elana,” Tygar stood, angered by her outburst. “You were admitted here because you are E’shala, First Daughter of one of the thirty Gentle Houses. You are being allowed to observe, but you have not been called to participate.”

  “As First Daughter of the House E’shala, and as the future wife of Joakal I’lium who is King and true Absolute of Capulon, I claim and call upon an ancient right. I claim Rhii’cha.”

  There was a stunned silence around the table. Faellon, who had sat mute through all the time of questioning, raised his eyes to Elana’s face. “The powers necessary for Rhii’cha no longer exist among us, Elana,” he said. “The God took them away.”

  “Just as twins do not exist, Faellon?” she asked him. He flinched at her words and at the unforgiving hardness in her voice.

  She saw his reaction but did not relent. “As twins exist,” she said, “so do these powers.”

  Elana motioned for Troi and Mother Veronica. “This one,” she said, indicating the nun, “is granted the gift of Mind-share such as our ancient fathers possessed. And this one,” she motioned to Troi, “is able to read the soul of a being, and to know the truth or falsehood of their words.”

  “These people are not Capulonii, Elana,” Tygar said. “How can you say they have the Voice of the God within them?”

  “They have the gifts. Are we not taught that all such gifts come only from the God?” she countered. “Do you deny our teachings?”

  Faellon looked at the captain. “Do you and your people agree to this?”

  Picard hesitated. What is this Rhii’cha, he wondered, and how will Starfleet interpret my agreement to participate?

  “There is no other way,” Elana whispered to him. “Do not abandon us now.”

  Picard met her eyes. He saw the conviction and the pleading there. He nodded to Faellon.

  “We agree,” he said.

  “Very well,” Faellon replied. He stood. “The ancient way of Rhii’cha has been claimed. According to the ancient laws, it must be performed in the temple, before the altar of the God. The Rhii’cha will take place at dawn tomorrow, and there, by the Voice of the God, we will learn who has the strength and the courage necessary to best govern our world. So let it be.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  JOAKAL AND BEAHORAM were led away to be kept under close watch until morning. The Servants, led by Faellon, returned to the temple. Picard, Troi, and Mother Veronica went once more to their rooms in the palace. Elana joined them.

  The first thing Picard did was report to Commander Riker and appraise him of the situation. After the communication ended, the captain turned to Elana.

  “Now,” he said. “Tell me what we’ve agreed to. What, precisely, is Rhii’cha?”

  “It is a very ancient ceremony, Captain,” Elana replied. “There are not many people on our world who even know of its existence any more. Faellon, as Chief Servant, and perhaps a few other Servants who are interested in the ancient ways. Joakal and I learned of it almost by accident.”

  “What do you mean?” Picard asked.

  “Joakal will make a great ruler,” Elana said, lifting her chin a little as though daring them to disagree with her. “He truly cares. He has spent most of his life studying the old ways and looking for the means to improve the future of this world. He found many old and forgotten texts, both here in the palace and at the temple, writings that had not been looked at in centuries. Among them was the Book of Valpet. It is a codex of laws and rituals dating from before the last wars. It is in this book Joakal discovered the rite of Rhii’cha.”

  “What does this rite entail?” Picard again prompted.

  “According to the old texts, those who are skilled in the art of Truth-saying, those whom you call empaths and telepaths, are brought before the altar and purified by ‘the touch and prayers of the Servants of the God,’ ” she quoted. “A laying on of hands. Then the accused are brought in and made to prostrate themselves before the altar. It is then the duty of those who are performing the rite to probe the minds of those before them and proclaim what is there. Especially in this, when the outcome is of such importance to this world, it will be demanded that Counselor Troi and Mother Veronica reveal not only who they discover, but what and why.”

  “Counselor . . .” Picard turned to Troi. “What problems do you foresee?”

  “None with the ritual itself,” she answered. “On Betazed, much of what we now understand scientifically is still practiced in the form of religious ritual. We have found that it both opens the mind and allows us to focus on our inner realities. I believe this Rhii’cha will be much the same. But I am worried. In the cell, despite our best efforts, Mother Veronica and I were unable to reach past Joakal’s most surface thoughts. These were easily read—you saw Beahoram do it. But I don’t know about a deeper probing. What if we fail?”

  “You must not fail,” Elana said. “The laws in the Book of Valpet are very clear; those who will not proclaim what is revealed in Rhii’cha are guilty of an offense against the God. This offense is punished by death.”

  Mother Veronica, who had been sitting with her head bowed and her right hand clutching the cross about her throat, sprang to her feet. She looked from face to face.

  “No,” she said loudly, emphatically. “No more.” Then she turned and ran from the room.

  Picard turned to Troi. His eyes said it all. Troi stood.

  “I’ll go to her,” she said. “But I don’t know how much good it will do.”

  Mother Veronica was staring out the window when Troi entered the room they shared. The nun held her back straight, her body calm and still, but Troi could feel the emotions that churned and heaved within her.

  Troi came further into the room and sat on the edge of the bed, facing her companion. Mother Veronica did not turn away from the window. She gave no indication she was aware of Troi’s presence until she spoke.

  “I want to go back to the Enterprise,” she said.

  “Mother Veronica—”

  The nun spun around quickly. Her eyes were filled with hurt and anger, and Troi could feel her rising panic.

  “No more,” she said again. “I can’t do it. I can’t go throug
h it again. How can you ask it of me?”

  “I need your help,” Troi said.

  Mother Veronica turned away again. She began pacing the room. “You need my help,” she repeated, her anger winning for a moment. “The planet needs my help. The children need my help. Everyone needs, whether I want to help or not. Well I don’t—not this time.”

  Troi sat still, letting the nun vent her anger, knowing that Mother Veronica could not deal with her feelings until she faced them.

  “It was bad enough,” Mother Veronica continued, “before we came to the Enterprise. Since then, there have been so many minds all pressing in on me. I thought you wanted to help me. You did, it was better for a time. Then we came here. The cell . . . Joakal . . . forcing my mind to touch . . . to invade . . .”

  The anger was spent. All the pain and despair of her many years of suffering was beginning to boil to the surface. Her steps faltered.

  “Beahoram . . . so much hate . . . I can’t touch . . . I can’t . . .”

  Mother Veronica began to cry. She dropped to her knees and buried her face in her hands. Troi went to her and, kneeling beside her, put her arms around the nun’s shoulders.

  After a moment, Mother Veronica’s sobs subsided. “Please,” she said without raising her head. “I want to go home.”

  Troi took a deep breath. She could not force the nun to stay, and in her present state Mother Veronica would be more of a hindrance than a help. If Troi was to have any chance of succeeding at the Rhii’cha, she knew she could not afford any distractions. Unless Mother Veronica could help her willingly, with a calm and steady mind, Troi knew she was better off on her own. She stood and stepped to one side. Then she tapped her communicator.

  “Troi to Enterprise,” she said.

  “Enterprise, Riker here.”

  “Will, Mother Veronica wants to return to the ship. She’s here with me now.”

  “All right, Deanna. I’ll see to it.”

  “Thanks, Will. Troi out.”

  A moment later the transporter beam caught the nun. When she was gone, Troi returned to the captain’s room where Picard was still talking with Elana.

  “Mother Veronica has gone back to the ship,” she informed them.

  “Will she return by morning?” Picard asked.

  “I hope so,” Elana said.

  “So do I,” Troi replied. Troi knew that Elana hoped for Mother Veronica’s return for the sake of Joakal, and Picard hoped the same for, perhaps, the good of the planet. But Troi hoped Mother Veronica found the strength to return for Mother Veronica’s own sake.

  In the far west wing of the palace, Aklier had also returned to his rooms. It was over. Aklier knew that in a few hours the true Joakal would be proclaimed and Beahoram’s plots revealed. With that revelation, Aklier’s betrayal would also become known. For nine years Aklier had served on the Council. He knew the law. He knew he must die for his crime.

  Aklier found he was trembling; a traitor’s death was not an easy, painless one. He sat in his favorite chair by the window. Outside the darkness of evening was spreading across the city, and overhead the stars were beginning to twinkle in the velvet heavens. The city was beginning to twinkle, too. Lights shone out from the windows of homes and shops until the city looked like a mirror of the sky. It was too beautiful; Aklier could not bear to watch. He stood and pulled the heavy drapes shut, then touched a small switch on the wall to bring up the room’s lighting.

  The artificial brightness did not comfort him. He could still feel the darkness. It was waiting for him, waiting like the thick, rough braid of rope that would soon close about his throat in the traitor’s noose. Aklier could already feel the abrasion on his skin as the rope grew tighter and tighter, cutting off his air, taking his life. . . .

  Aklier choked some air into his lungs, forcing it past the terror that filled his throat. He lurched away from the window on unsteady feet. He kept moving; he could not bear to stay still.

  He should not have come here. The room was suddenly too small; the walls felt as if they were pressing in on him. He should have gone to his other home, to the place where he had once been happy, and waited there for his death to arrive. He should have waited where he was surrounded by the memories of his wife, the things she had touched and loved.

  Aklier stumbled about the room. On the sideboard by the door were a flagon of wine, a bowl of fruit, and a platter of cheese. In the cheese was a knife. Aklier rushed to it. He would not wait for the noose. He would end his life now, by his own hand.

  A part of him welcomed the thought. A part of him had found life a burden for many, many years and was glad to be casting aside the lands and titles and responsibilities, and the bitter, aching loneliness.

  He held the knife up to his heart. One quick jab and it would all be over. He would be reunited forever with Ilayne and with their daughter. He would go into the peace of the God.

  No, he would not. The thought stayed his hand, stopped him just as the point of the knife began to press against his flesh. The guilt of his betrayal hammered at him, yet he knew that from it he still had some hope of the God’s mercy. If he took his own life, he would be condemned to eternal darkness. It would be an eternity tortured by the shame and regret that filled him now. There would be no reunion, no peace after all.

  Aklier dropped the knife. It fell to the floor and lay gleaming in the pile of the carpet. Aklier stared at it a moment, then turned away. He crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. It was too late now to wish things were different and that he had never met Beahoram. The most he could hope for now was to see Joakal before he died, to talk with him and, perhaps, hear his words of forgiveness.

  It would be one less regret to carry with him when he faced the God.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  ALL NIGHT LONG, Mother Veronica struggled with her conscience. She was torn between the friendship she felt for Troi, Troi’s need of her, and her own desire to be left alone.

  She knew what her Order demanded of her. Saint Francis of Assisi, the patron of the Little Mothers, had once prayed, “Lord, make me an instrument of thy peace. . . .” and the words of his great prayer had become a credo for all those who followed his Rule. Yet right now, Mother Veronica could not find it within herself to seek to “sow pardon instead of injury, faith instead of doubt, hope instead of despair, or bring light into the darkness.”

  Other than a perfunctory greeting for Sister Julian, Mother Veronica said no word and her Sister, catching her mood, left her alone. Through the long hours, Mother Veronica sat in her quarters staring out the viewports. She did not eat or sleep or even pray. It was the longest night she had ever endured, and as dawn approached on the planet below, Mother Veronica knew she must go to the chapel. Maybe there, she thought, amid the familiar furnishings of her faith, she would regain the sense of who she was and who she was meant to be.

  She left the stateroom and walked across the ship’s corridor that had been dimmed to artificial night. The mental shields Counselor Troi had endeavored to teach her to use were in tatters, dissolved by her own inner tumult. Mother Veronica felt the weight of the many sleeping minds around her.

  She entered the chapel and reached automatically for the holy water font. As she crossed herself, she saw a figure rise from one of the front pews and turn to face her. It startled her; she had not felt the presence of another in the room. Then, in the dim light of the altar candles, she saw the gleam of pale golden-white skin.

  It’s the android officer, she thought, trying to remember back to the dinner party when she had first come on board and the name she had heard. It was no use. She had been in too much misery to remember anything she heard that night.

  “I did not mean to disturb you, Mr.—”

  “Data,” the android supplied. “You have not disturbed me.”

  “What are you doing here?” Mother Veronica asked. The question came out harsher than she had intended and she tried to soften it.

  “I’m sorry,” sh
e said. “I didn’t mean . . . You’re welcome here, of course, but I didn’t think an android . . .” Mother Veronica let her words falter.

  “I am here trying to understand what draws humans to such places,” Data said. “Can you explain it to me?”

  Another need, Mother Veronica thought as she dropped to one knee in a genuflection toward the altar. More questions. How can I answer his when I can’t answer my own?

  “Why is it you want to know?” she asked as she rose again to her feet. She walked toward Data. As she approached, he stepped back into the pew and Mother Veronica followed him.

  “I am an android,” he reiterated once they were both seated. “I was built by a human. I serve in Starfleet among humans, and although it is true that I do not possess emotions such as desire, it is also true that if I were to be granted one wish, it would be to become human.”

  “And since you cannot become human, you study them,” Mother Veronica added.

  “Exactly,” Data said. “I am currently endeavoring to understand the nature of religious belief. Before you and your companion came on board, I had given no thought to that aspect of human behavior. In the last three weeks, however, I have read everything in the ship’s library on the subject. I have found that it has occupied a great deal of human thought over the centuries.”

  “I see,” Mother Veronica replied. “If you have done all this reading, you have been in contact with far greater minds than mine. What can I possibly tell you?”

  “Why did you become a nun?” Data answered.

  Mother Veronica blinked. Data’s question stabbed at the heart of what she had struggled with through the long hours past. She stared at the altar, at the candles and crucifix as if her answer might be resting there. But there was only silence.

  “I don’t know anymore,” she said softly, honestly. “I thought I did once, but now I’m not so sure.”

  “Then you no longer believe there is a God?” Data’s question, asked so innocently, was again like a knife thrust.