“Captain, forgive me for the interruption, but I need to talk with you.”
Picard turned to Daniels, who had already risen, and was in the process of gathering the several padds he’d brought in and spread across the captain’s desk. “We can continue at your convenience, Captain. Counselor,” he added with a nod to Troi, just before heading out the door.
Once the door slid closed, Picard asked, “What is it, Counselor?”
“It’s my mother.”
The muscles of Picard’s jaw and shoulders involuntarily tensed at the simple mention of Lwaxana Troi. The Betazoid ambassador-at-large had been a regular guest aboard the previous Enterprise, and each time she visited, she seemed to bring with her her very own unique brand of chaos. The initial thought in Picard’s mind was that the counselor’s mother had scheduled another visit to his ship, and that he needed to find a way to avoid her.
That selfish line of thought was cut short as Picard considered the look of haunted concern on Troi’s face. “Is something wrong? Has something happened to your mother?”
Troi answered that question with a loud, humorless laugh. “Something has happened, yes. More than a few somethings.” She started to pace the small office, pulling nervously at the fingers of one hand with the other. “Thank heaven Worf, being Worf, had to check the station’s comm traffic records. Otherwise I never would have known…”
Picard held up a hand to stop her disjointed narrative. “Counselor, known what?”
“Known anything!” Troi shouted. “I’m only her daughter; why should I know anything?!”
Picard moved to lay his hands on her shoulders as she dropped her head, embarrassed by her outburst. “It’s all right, Counselor,” he said as he guided her over to the couch across the room from his desk. Once he had her seated, he moved to the replicator and ordered Yridian tea, a beverage she had recommended to him in the past for its soothing properties. He placed the warm china cup in her hands and lowered himself beside her as she slowly sipped at the drink. “Take your time,” Picard said as he waited for the counselor to regain her usual calm. “Perhaps you should begin at the beginning.”
“The beginning, yes.” Troi took a deep breath, then exhaled, as if forcibly expelling the tension from her body. “I’ve never told you that my mother remarried last year, have I?”
“No, you haven’t,” Picard said with surprise, more at the fact that Troi had never mentioned such a thing than at the news itself. Lwaxana had been on the hunt for a new husband for almost as long as he had known her.
Deanna scowled as she nodded. “She met Jeyal at a diplomatic reception on Betazed, where he was negotiating some trade agreement for the Tavnian government. She knew him for two weeks, in which time he’d convinced her to give up her ambassadorship and move back with him to Tavny. By the time word got to me on Earth, they were already halfway to the Umani Sector!”
Picard tried to think of what he knew of the Tavnian people, and realized it was very little: they were an unaligned race the Federation had first made contact with fifteen or so years earlier. They were described as a very traditionalist culture with strictly defined behavioral codes, particularly in terms of gender roles, in which the Tavnian males held complete dominance. He would have been hard pressed to think of a less suitable match for the irrepressible Lwaxana Troi. “I take it the marriage has not been going well?”
“Well, I never heard a word of complaint. All of her letters were about her beautiful new house, the gorgeous weather, the wonderful food and music…and all the while, she was virtually a prisoner in her own home. Heaven only knows how she finally managed to get away from him.”
“But, she did get away?” Picard asked.
“She got off Tavny, yes, but Jeyal came after her. She ended up on Deep Space 9.” Troi’s scowl seemed to deepen. “The Changeling security chief there…”
“Odo.”
Troi nodded. “I guess they’d become friends when she made a diplomatic visit to the station three years ago. He…convinced Jeyal to annul their marriage, and then put her on a transport back to Betazed.”
“My,” Picard said, trying to make sense of Troi’s story. He understood now how Worf managed to play a role in it, and he could understand how learning all of what had befallen her mother after the fact would have upset the counselor. But it didn’t quite explain the degree to which she clearly was still agitated. “It all sounds very harrowing; however, it does seem as if your mother’s crisis has resolved itself.”
Troi shook her head. “There’s one part I haven’t mentioned.” Picard nodded, and waited patiently as the counselor brought herself to say whatever it was she hesitated to reveal. Finally, Troi said, “She’s pregnant.”
Picard blinked slowly. “‘She,’ who?” he asked, certain that he must have missed the mention of some other female in the counselor’s narrative.
“My mother is going to have a baby,” Troi said, enunciating each word carefully. “My mother may have already had her baby, en route to Betazed. And if Worf hadn’t checked and called me, I still wouldn’t have the slightest inkling that I was about to become a sister for the first time in my memory.”
Picard fought to stay focused on the counselor’s words, and not on the image of Lwaxana Troi that had appeared in his mind. “And Lwaxana still hasn’t contacted you?”
“No, she hasn’t, Captain. And I can’t help but worry…with the trauma she’s just been through, on top of the pregnancy, on top of her age, on top of everything…” Troi looked up from her half-emptied teacup into Picard’s eyes. “Captain, I need to be with her.”
The captain did not even hesitate. “Picard to bridge.”
“Hawk here, sir,” came the response from the ship’s conn officer.
“Lieutenant, prepare to change course, for Betazed. What would our ETA be at warp five?”
“Approximately three hours, twenty-one minutes, sir.”
Picard saw Troi’s reaction to that, and said, “Set course and engage at warp six. Picard out.” He then offered Troi a small smile as he took the empty teacup from her and they both stood. “The conference on Starbase 19 is scheduled to run three days. If you need more time than that, we’ll make accommodations.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Troi said, beaming gratefully as Picard saw her to the door.
Picard nodded, and at the threshold briefly debated whether or not to voice the sentiment that had naturally come to his mind. In the end, he decided to dismiss any concerns that Lwaxana might misconstrue his words.
“Deanna,” he said just before she stepped out of his ready room, “please give your mother my best.”
CHAPTER
2
An ages-old human aphorism claimed, “Seeing is believing.” On Vulcan, the saying was, “The evidence of the eyes is often immune to logic.” In Tellarite culture: “That which can make itself seen, must be.” There was no similar saying on Betazed—the Betazoids’ telepathic perceptions trumped all other physical senses, none of which were considered any more compelling than any of the others.
And yet, Deanna Troi could not deny that the reality of her mother’s pregnancy did not fully hit her until she reached the front steps of her childhood home and the door swung wide open, spilling light into the Betazed twilight, revealing Lwaxana Troi. “Little One!” she exclaimed, beaming radiantly. She wore her most elegant platinum wig and a low-cut, fluorescent-blue gown of the finest Tholian silk…which did absolutely nothing to disguise her swollen and distended abdomen.
The visual lasted for just a second, until Lwaxana reached across the threshold, pulling her daughter inside the house and into a tight embrace. The press of her mother’s pregnant belly against her own stomach brought yet another dimension to Deanna’s perception of reality. “Oh, Deanna, isn’t this the most wonderful surprise, you being here? Whatever would bring you—” Lwaxana suddenly stopped, pushed her daughter back at arm’s length, and fixed her with a hard, concerned look. “You didn’t crash another
starship, did you?”
“What? No!” Deanna said, sounding just a tad more defensive than she cared to.
Her mother shrugged, and doing so released her daughter’s shoulders. “Well, I’m sorry, dear, but that does seem to be what it takes to get you to come and visit lately. Not that this house is in any condition for visitors. Mr. Homn!” Lwaxana shouted as she turned back into the house, leaving Deanna to close the front door and follow behind her.
Her mother’s valet was in the front living room, on his hands and knees, running a small handheld electrostatic cleaning appliance over the antique Eridat rug that lay in the center of the room. “Are you still dawdling at that?” Lwaxana demanded, exhibiting more ire toward her long-time employee than Deanna sensed she actually felt.
Mother, Deanna thought at her, in an effort to calm her somewhat.
But she wasn’t distracted from her harangue. “Perhaps you could make yourself of some use, and bring Deanna here a cup of that Swiss cocoa we have in the pantry.”
“Mother…” she tried speaking aloud this time.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do about him,” Lwaxana sighed once the giant manservant had risen (surprisingly gracefully) to his feet and exited toward the kitchen. “Look at this place! Look at what I had to come home to!” She gestured with a grand sweep of her arms that apparently encompassed both the room they were in and the entire house around it. Other than the light, vaguely stale scent of a house that had not been lived in for an extended period, Deanna saw nothing amiss, but her mother gave her no opportunity to say so, rambling on without pause. “I swear, I’m going to have to watch that man like a Tarkalean hawk from now on. All those years, all that trust, and—”
“Mother!”
Lwaxana spun around. “There’s no need to shout, Little One.” Goodness, there’s not even a need to vocalize, is there? she added telepathically. It really is such a difficult practice to break after you’ve been forced to do so for a stretch of time, isn’t it…?
“Mother,” Deanna said again, more quietly, but still aloud.
Yes, dear? What is it?
And now that she had her mother’s leave to speak, Deanna found she didn’t know how to start. Finally, after a long, awkward pause, she said, “You’re pregnant.”
Lwaxana cocked an eyebrow at her. All those years in Starfleet have truly honed your powers of observation, haven’t they?
“Mother, I spoke with Worf…”
Oh, Little One. I thought you had already learned the hard way that the two of you weren’t right for each other. Oh, I understand the pressure you must be feeling, what with your fortieth birthday looming…
Deanna sighed. “That’s not what I was speaking with him about, and I think you know that. We were talking about you, and Jey—”
All right, all right, Lwaxana said, quickly cutting her off. You talk to whomever you like, about whatever you like. I’m not one to stick my nose into other people’s affairs.
Deanna was about to respond to that particularly outrageous claim, but she admonished herself not to be derailed. “About you and Jeyal, and what happened during your time on Tavny.”
“Mr. Homn!” Lwaxana suddenly said, very much aloud. “How long does it take to make a blessed cup of cocoa? You see what I mean, about having to watch him?” she continued, addressing Deanna, though she was making a point of not looking at her, instead circling the room and straightening already straight picture frames and other objets d’art. “I don’t know why I keep him on, I truly don’t.”
Deanna crossed the room, putting a hand on Lwaxana’s arm to hold her still for a moment. “Mother, please, could you stop for a moment and—”
Oh, I’m sorry, Little One, Lwaxana thought, closing her eyes and pressing a hand to her forehead. I was cooped up in that cramped little transport for hours, now I’m just restless and overtired…I think I’m going to bed. Have Mr. Homn make up your old room whenever you’re ready to turn in.
Lwaxana leaned in to kiss her daughter on the cheek, then turned and walked out of the room, heading for the wide staircase that led to the second floor. Deanna started to follow, but then felt a giant hand fall on her shoulder. She turned and looked up at Mr. Homn, who was looking down from his impressive height and slowly shaking his head at her.
Deanna’s first instinct was to throw the valet’s hand off her shoulder and go after her mother. But she held herself as she felt waves of strong emotion coming from the direction of the main foyer.
Her mother had been diagnosed with Zanthi fever almost two years ago, which caused her telepathic controls to slip occasionally, indiscriminately loosing her emotional state onto those around her. Right now, Deanna felt a powerful sense of frustration and weariness coming from her mother. She felt the unyielding wooden banister her mother gripped with her right hand as she tilted her oversized body, swung her left foot up one step, then with tremendous effort shifted her weight and lifted her right foot up onto the same step. A tiny spark of relief flashed within her before she looked up again and saw how many more steps were still left to climb….
Deanna raised her own mental defenses then, blocking out her mother’s telepathic emanations. She realized Mr. Homn was right; her mother was clearly not in a receptive state of mind, and pushing her before she was ready would do more harm than good. The best thing she could do for her right now, she told herself, was to simply let her be, get some rest, and wait until she was ready to talk to her.
Slowly, Deanna turned and moved back into the living room, where she lowered herself onto the couch. She gratefully accepted the cup of cocoa from Mr. Homn, and as she sipped the hot drink carefully, she tried to tell herself that things would look brighter in the morning.
Sitting ducks.
Daniels studied the long-range scans on his tactical board as the Enterprise neared Starbase 19. Over forty starships, he noted, were already in orbit, out of sixty expected to be present by the time the summit started. Three score of the Fleet’s best ships and top crews, all in one spot. One well-placed bomb, and they could all be wiped out in a moment. Just like the Dominion did at Antwerp. Or Snowden and Nomine tried at Starbase 375. Someone could be there right this minute, just lying in wait….
Daniels forced himself to take a breath. Oh, you’re just full of sunshine and good cheer today, aren’t you, Pádraig? he chided himself silently.
Ever since taking on the responsibilities of chief tactical and security officer three months earlier, Daniels had been disturbed by his growing tendency toward pessimistic thoughts. Not that his experience as a munitions and explosives specialist really lent itself to an optimistic worldview, but at least then he was in a reactive mode, dealing with problems and threats after they came. Now, however, he needed to be proactive, to anticipate those threats before they presented themselves, in order to protect the hundreds of lives aboard this ship, and by extension, those billions of Federation citizens whose lives could well depend on the flagship. It was, he admitted to himself, difficult to maintain his new mindset, and not give in to the urge to just throw up his hands and run home to his wife Siobhan, forgetting everything but her and the family they’d talked about starting for so long.
“Approaching Starbase 19 now, sirs,” said Lieutenant Sean Hawk from the conn, breaking Daniels’s reverie.
“Bring us out of warp,” Commander William Riker said from his seat beside Captain Picard and directly in front of Daniels. The long streaks of starlight on the forward viewscreen shrank back to dots, and the huge, mushroom-shaped orbital station came into visual range. Daniels checked the chronometer on his console and noted that, even with their detour to Betazed, they were only three hours past their original ETA, still well ahead of the summit’s scheduled start time. That would give him almost seven hours, once the ship was secured at stationkeeping, to go back to his quarters, finish his latest letter home, and grab some (hopefully dreamless) sleep.
Daniels was distracted from his planning by a flashing comm si
gnal at his station. He tapped the blinking icon, then lifted his head to address the captain. “Sir, Admiral Hayes is hailing from the starbase, asking to speak with you.”
Picard turned in the command chair toward him, a curious expression on his face. Then he pulled himself to his feet and said, “On-screen.”
The image of the starbase disappeared, to be replaced by the face of Admiral Hayes, wearing an expression of dark annoyance. “Jean-Luc. What’s kept you?” the admiral demanded. “We were expecting you here three hours ago.”
Daniels found himself grateful he wasn’t the one on the receiving end of that look. Jeremiah Hayes was, of course, one of the Hayeses, a family whose involvement in Starfleet went all the way back to the pre-Federation days. He too had lived up to the expectations his famous lineage had given rise to, distinguishing himself over his decades-long career as a master tactician during the Tzenkethi and Cardassian conflicts. Daniels could think of no one better suited to help Starfleet recover from its recent scandals…and no one he would less want to cross.
From his vantage point at the rear of the bridge, Daniels noted the captain’s shoulders tense in reaction to the admiral’s tone. “We had to take a slight detour to Betazed; one of my senior officers had a personal matter to attend to there.”
A noise somewhere between a sigh and a growl escaped the admiral’s throat. “I wish you had informed me of the delay.”
“I apologize, sir,” the captain said. “I didn’t consider, seeing as the conference isn’t scheduled to begin until tomorrow—”
“I was hoping to take advantage of the time prior, before things got too hectic around here, to address a specific security concern with you.”
Daniels felt his own neck and back muscles tensing as well at the mention of a security concern specific to the Enterprise. “I’m available to join you at your convenience, of course,” Picard told the admiral.
Star Trek: The Next Generation™: The Insolence of Office Page 2
