GUISES OF THE MIND

by Rebecca Neason

  “Oh no, Mr. Data,” she cried, turning to face him. “Never that. It’s not God—it’s me.”

  Mother Veronica turned again to the altar. It was more than her eyes that were fastened on the linen-draped altar and its golden crucifix this time. It was her soul.

  “For so many years,” she said at last, “I believed that my mind was an aberration and that by possessing such a mind, I was flawed, less than human in some way. I became a nun partly in reparation for this fault. I became a nun because of faith, because of a love for God, certainly, but also because at the convent there was safety. That safety is gone now.”

  Mother Veronica stopped. She finally tore her gaze away from the altar and closed her eyes. Her next words came out slowly as she fought through the pain it was costing her to say them.

  “We came on board and Counselor Troi discovered I was a telepath. She offered me a way to keep all the voices out of my mind. I thought that was why God had brought me here. I thought that He had forgiven me at last. Finally, I was to be free of the stain of my sin.”

  Again, Mother Veronica stopped. The memory of that feeling brought a small smile to her lips, but it quickly faded. She opened her eyes once more, and once more she would look at nothing but the altar.

  “Then we arrived here at Capulon IV,” she continued. “Almost from the moment we set foot on this planet, rather than have those abilities locked away as I craved, I have been forced to use them. And I have heard the very abilities I grew up hating called God’s hand, God’s gift, God’s voice. Now I don’t know what to think, or what to do.”

  “Is it not then,” Data said, “a question of faith?”

  Surprised, stunned, Mother Veronica turned to look at him.

  “Most of the religions I have encountered,” he said, “contain the teaching of divine guidance and providence. Isn’t yours the same?”

  Mother Veronica nodded. “For we know that all things work together for good to those who love God.”

  “Romans 8:28,” Data replied. “Perhaps I have misunderstood the quote.”

  Mother Veronica’s eyes were once more drawn to the altar. The candles seemed to glow slowly brighter as the first light of personal epiphany dawned.

  “No, Mr. Data,” she said after a long moment. “You have not misunderstood. I have. I have misunderstood all my life. My sin has never been the abilities of my mind, but my fear of them. ‘For the gifts and callings of the Lord are without repentance,’ ” she quoted.

  The final words of Saint Francis’s beloved peace prayer whispered through Mother Veronica’s mind. She understood them then as she never had before. “. . . It is in giving that we now receive; it is in pardoning that we now are pardoned. . . .”

  Her hand reached for and closed around the cross that hung at her breast. “I was brought here,” she said, “not to close my mind, but to open it. To offer it. To learn to use it. That is the only way to gain the peace I have prayed for.”

  Mother Veronica stood and turned to Data. “Thank you,” she told him. “I may not have answered your questions, but you have answered mine.”

  * * *

  The soft light of dawn was just washing the sky when Troi, Picard, and Elana left the palace and walked across the city square toward the temple. Troi had no eyes for the beauty of the awakening day. Mother Veronica had not returned and Counselor Troi was worried, both about the nun and about the ritual ahead.

  There was so much that could go wrong, she thought. I’m an empath not a telepath. Do the people here understand the difference? Will they accept it?

  They reached the temple steps were they found a small delegation of five Servants and five Elders waiting to escort them into the building. Elana did not stop to greet them, but marched straight up the steps and into the temple. Troi and Picard hastened to keep up with her. The Elders and Servants fell into step behind.

  Faellon waited at the altar with his back turned toward them. The royal regalia still rested on the sacred stone table, still watched over by the palace guards. Joakal and Beahoram were nowhere to be seen. The Servants who lived at the temple and the remaining Elders filled the front pews, but other than that, the temple was empty. There would be no large crowd of spectators to witness this ceremony as there had been for the interrupted coronation.

  The procession reached the base of the altar steps. As the official delegation slipped silently into the pews they were to occupy, Faellon turned around. His eyes slowly slid over Elana, Picard, and then Counselor Troi.

  “Where is the other one?” he asked.

  “She has gone back to our ship,” Picard answered.

  Troi felt the anger mount in Faellon. “You agreed to this rite,” he said. “It is sacred. Would she go back on her word to the God?”

  “No, she would not,” a voice answered from the back of the temple. Troi turned to see Mother Veronica marching down the aisle. She and Captain Picard hurried to meet her.

  “Mother Veronica,” Picard said before Troi had a chance to greet her former student. “We’re glad you are here. I know this is not the reason you came to Capulon IV, but we need you to use your telepathic abilities once more on our behalf.”

  “And I am ready, Captain,” she replied with more equanimity than Troi would have thought possible a few weeks, or even a few hours ago. Something had changed for the nun. There was a new confidence in her voice and a peace in her thoughts. Troi hoped they would last through the ordeal ahead.

  The three of them walked back to the base of the altar steps. Faellon stared at Mother Veronica for a moment, then he turned again to the altar. He placed his hands on either side of the golden bowl and looked down into the remains of the anointing melange. He did not speak for several seconds while the tension in the temple slowly built.

  Finally, he raised his head. Without turning, he called to Liiyn, who had assisted him yesterday. She hurried to the Chief Servant’s side. After a few whispered words, she turned and rushed from the temple, using the small door to the left side of the transept. She returned a few minutes later carrying a large book, bound in dark green leather and closed with a golden clasp.

  “That is the Book of Valpet,” Troi heard Elana whisper.

  Faellon stood silently a moment longer, as if reluctant to proceed. Finally, he turned to face his assistant. She opened the book. Faellon read, renewing his memory of the ritual to come.

  When Faellon finished reading, he turned toward the waiting assembly. “For the first time in more than thirty generations,” he said, “there are two who claim the throne of Capulon IV. Each demands the right to the crown and power of Absolute. Because of our shame and our fathers’ offense against the God, there are none among us who possess the ancient gifts that would show us the Truth and the Way of Wisdom. Yet, the God is not without mercy. He has sent from other worlds those who hear his Voice. They have vowed to accept our laws. Through them, the ancient way of Rhii’cha has been invoked. Through this rite, all things will be revealed.”

  Once more, Faellon stared at the group gathered at the base of the altar steps. His eyes lingered on each one, finally stopping at Elana.

  “Elana,” he said. “I give you one final chance to withdraw your call for Rhii’cha. Are you determined on this course?”

  “I am,” she said. “We all are.”

  Faellon stared at her a moment longer, as if trying to read her heart and measure the depths of her determination. Satisfied, he gave a curt nod. He lifted his gaze and let it flow again over Troi and Mother Veronica.

  “Are you willing to dedicate yourselves in Rhii’cha?” he asked them.

  Troi hesitated only a moment. Once begun, she knew there would be no turning back until this ceremony was completed. She wished she had time to talk with Mother Veronica, to find out what had happened to bring about the change she sensed in the nun. Troi wanted to know, needed to know, whether this new strength would falter just when she needed it most.

  But Mother Veronica did not hesitate. She spoke
loudly and clearly for all to hear. “We are willing,” she said.

  “So let it be. The Rhii’cha will begin.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  ALTHOUGH SHE WAS PREPARED, Faellon’s last words still sent a chill up Troi’s spine. Once again she thought of all that could go wrong, even with Mother Veronica’s help. How deeply would they be expected to probe the minds of Joakal and his brother? Were they to be allowed to blend their abilities and perform the Rhii’cha together? What if they could not find a path through Beahoram and Joakal’s shields? Troi caught the echo of Mother Veronica’s thoughts whispering across the link the two of them had forged long ago

  . . . . For thou has delivered my soul from death, my eyes from tears and my feet from falling. . . .

  The words comforted the nun, but they did little to calm Troi’s own fears.

  Faellon spoke again. “Elana,” he said, “you and the captain must leave your companions now. You may not speak or otherwise interfere until the Rhii’cha is completed. What must be done, you cannot do.”

  Elana laid her hand on the captain’s arm. “You must have faith, Captain,” Troi heard Elana say as she drew Picard outside the circle of Servants.

  Faith again, Troi thought. That word and all the feelings, positive or otherwise, that it evoked had filled Troi’s world since the Little Mothers had first come on board the Enterprise.

  Once Elana and Captain Picard had moved away, Faellon turned his attention to Troi and Mother Veronica. “You are unfamiliar with the demands of the God,” he said. “Therefore I will grant you a greater leniency in your behavior than I would to one of our own, and I will direct you. You will now come and kneel here.” He indicated the third step to the altar. “Then you will bow low, touching your forehead to the step before you, in humble submission to the God. In your hearts, you will make your dedication to the God, offering your minds for use.”

  Together, Troi and Mother Veronica climbed the altar steps. But as they knelt, Troi found herself wondering to what she could make her dedication. To the God whom the people of this world embraced? No, nor to the God and the religion Mother Veronica followed. Truth and Life, these were the things in which Troi believed. They were the only articles of her faith, and she had pledged herself to them long ago. She would do so again. She made her bow.

  Faellon extended his hands over them and began the ritual prayers. “O, Great and most Holy God,” he intoned. “Infinite Source. We bow before you, offering to you all liberty, memory, understanding, and will. Purify us by your Divine Light. Let darkness and deception be banished forever. Let your Voice be heard.”

  Faellon lowered his hands. Troi and Mother Veronica again straightened their backs and looked up at the Chief Servant.

  “You have bowed before the God and heard the words of our prayer,” he said. “Are you now prepared to be consecrated unto the act you have undertaken?”

  Troi glanced at Mother Veronica and saw her slight nod. “We are ready,” they said in unison.

  “Very well,” Faellon replied. “But be warned, in the God’s hallowing there is no mercy.”

  Troi felt a touch upon her head, her shoulders, her arms. All around, those of the thirty Servants who could not make contact with her or Mother Veronica, linked hands with one another until an unbroken circuit of energy was formed. Faellon again raised his hands in prayer.

  “Circle of Light,” he chanted. “Circle of Truth. Holy. Eternal. Unbroken. We enter the center where the God abides. We receive; we give; we receive again, bound and sanctified unto the God, forever consecrated unto the Holy.”

  The Chief Servant dropped his hands to Troi’s and Mother Veronica’s foreheads. His touch completed the circle. Troi felt a surge of energy fire through her brain, like a blinding flash of pure white light. It did not ebb. It kept growing, reaching toward the farthest corners of thought and the deepest centers of emotion. Troi struggled to hold her own identity against the combined presence of thirty other minds, all united for a single, unwavering purpose. She had once told Will Riker that her own emotions did not matter, but suddenly they mattered very, very much.

  Automatically she tried to raise her shields and protect her mind. They would not respond. The energy pouring into her continued to build. It coursed through her mind and through her body. Troi felt as if she were standing in the middle of a pillar of fire. Her heart started to pound; she could not draw air into her lungs and still the flow of power did not relent. Troi wanted to scream for them to let her alone.

  Then, suddenly, the light turned golden and receded. Troi’s mind was her own again.

  I was right, Troi thought. The Servants may no longer function as telepaths, but they are psychic triggers. This whole ceremony, the laying on of hands, is to unlock the psychic potential of the recipient. That’s why the King is empowered at his coronation. His shields are released through the touch of the Servants. If this is the energy level it takes to break through, no wonder Mother Veronica and I could not do it alone. Can we do it now? she wondered.

  Contact was broken. Hands were removed and Troi felt herself being helped to her feet. She opened her eyes and saw that the same had been done for Mother Veronica. Troi tried to reach out and touch the nun’s mind. She wanted to know that Mother Veronica was all right and still able to proceed. To her surprise, Troi found the nun’s mind shielded with strong, disciplined shields.

  Mother Veronica looked at her and gave a small shake of her head. “Not yet,” she whispered. Before Troi could respond, they were closely surrounded and led off to the side while Joakal and Beahoram were ushered forward for their preparation.

  When Troi and Mother Veronica were escorted back toward the altar, the scene had changed. Joakal and Beahoram were lying face down, prostrate before the altar with their arms outstretched above their heads. In this position and in their identical clothing, there was no way to tell them apart.

  Between them stood Faellon. He held the Sword of Justice in his hands. It was not as long as the great Sword of Wisdom Tygar had wielded, but it was thick and double-edged, and from the way the light reflected off the blade, Troi had no doubt that it could sever a man’s head or cut deeply into a body with a single thrust. The look on Faellon’s face proclaimed as loudly as any words that he would not hesitate to do his duty.

  “Kneel there between them,” Faellon ordered, and he pointed with the sword.

  Troi and Mother Veronica knelt. Again, the Servants gathered in a circle around them. There was no touching this time, but Troi could feel the psychic force of their presence. She looked up at Faellon for direction.

  “Singly or together, it makes no difference,” he said. “Read them now, and proclaim the Truth.”

  Troi reached for and found the familiar link between herself and Mother Veronica. The rapport established quickly, as if this time the nun had been reaching for it.

  I don’t know what to do, Mother Veronica’s thoughts immediately spoke in Troi’s mind. The counselor was once again surprised, this time by the order and clarity with which the nun communicated.

  Don’t worry, Troi told her. You’ve been hearing other people’s thoughts most of your life. This will only be more focused, like a fine-tuned scanner.

  But how? There are so many people here. How do I tell one mind from another?

  I’ll guide you, as we did in the cell. Release control to me. This time I need it all. I can’t do this if you fight against me. Are you ready?

  I understand, Mother Veronica’s thoughts assured her. I promise I’ll try. I’m ready now.

  Troi strengthened the link between them. As the nun completely lowered the shields Troi had taught her to use, Troi’s own mind became bombarded by the cacophony Mother Veronica had daily endured. Once more the counselor marveled that Mother Veronica had survived; that she was sane and that now she was offering to help. Troi was not certain that in the same situation, she would have been this strong.

  Quickly, Troi brought her own training into play. With
cool efficiency, she blocked the external stimuli until the only ones she and Mother Veronica could sense were Joakal and Beahoram.

  The emotions that flowed from the men battled against each other. They clashed and clattered in Troi’s mind, like frenzied war drums. Images of people and places, half-remembered conversations whirled across the flow of mental energy. The separation of these thoughts was muddled, as if their proximity to one another was causing Joakal and Beahoram’s minds to merge.

  We must go deeper, Troi told Mother Veronica. Down into their Self.

  Troi felt the nun falter. The link between them nearly severed. Troi could feel Mother Veronica fighting not to close her mind and back away. Troi hurried to reassure her, afraid that if Mother Veronica stopped now, a deeper reading would become impossible. What was more, Troi was certain that if Mother Veronica did not successfully complete this task, the nun would never consider furthering her training and becoming the skilled telepath she was meant to be.

  Sometimes in order to heal, Troi shared, a physician must cut into the flesh. And sometimes, in order to heal a mind, the barriers must be stripped away.

  “If thy right hand offend thee, cut it off. . . .” Mother Veronica quoted and Troi felt the nun’s confidence return again. Once more the nun yielded to Troi’s direction.

  Troi focused on reading only the thoughts of the prostrate form on her left. She expected to encounter Joakal, whose mind they had already touched and whose gentle inclinations would help ease this ordeal for Mother Veronica.

  It was Beahoram. His confidence was in tatters, yet he had not totally given way to the fear that lurked and darted around the edges of his mind. He held it at bay by anger, the same dark and brooding anger that had driven him through most of his life. Both Troi and Mother Veronica recoiled from its touch.

  Troi felt the cold point of the sword touch the base of her throat. It bit into her flesh, not deeply enough to draw blood—not yet. She opened her eyes and looked into the unyielding gaze of the Chief Servant towering over her.