“In that case, Captain, I shall give these documents my utmost attention.” Data shuffled the papers together and turned away, anticipating Picard’s next order.
“Make it so, Commander.” Picard watched the android stride effortlessly up the ramp to the turbolift, his movements so different from the four-legged walk of the Jarada. With a start Picard realized that he had gotten used to the insectoids’ odd, rolling gait. He had seen so many of them in the last day that they were starting to seem like the norm. Giving himself a mental shake, he turned his attention to the ship. “Status report, Lieutenant Chang,” he ordered.
Chang’s report was crisp and concise and very normal. With a feeling of pleasure mixed with relief that matters would be simple for a few hours, Picard settled back in his chair to command his ship.
The buzzer to Troi’s cabin door sounded as she was dressing after her shower. She gave her bright blue skirt a tug to settle it into place and reached for a band to hold back her hair. “Who’s there?”
“It’s Miles O’Brien. May I talk with you for a few minutes, Counselor?” The transporter chief’s voice sounded unusually tense.
“Of course.” Troi signaled for the door to admit him and ordered the computer to adjust the light level in her sitting area to its professional setting. She had known this discussion was inevitable since his fight with Keiko last night, although she had not expected it to happen so soon.
O’Brien entered and crossed to the sofa, his movements stiff and awkward. Troi didn’t need her Betazoid perceptions to realize that he was fighting a battle with himself even to come here. He perched on the edge of the sofa, his back as straight as a ramrod, and fidgeted with his hands rather than looking at her.
Troi let the silence stretch, waiting until she judged the time was right. “Is there something you wish to talk about?”
“Yes. No.” He twisted his fingers together, clenching them so tightly that his knuckles showed white against his fair skin. Finally, the words exploded from him. “It’s Keiko. Sometimes I don’t understand her. Like now, when she’s run off to that planet. It’s dangerous down there. She might get hurt!”
Troi closed her eyes, briefly probing O’Brien’s mental state. Beyond his anger and frustration, she sensed a deep puzzlement over his wife’s actions. Marriage had yet to improve O’Brien’s insight into the woman he loved, any more than it had increased Keiko’s comprehension of non-Japanese ways. “It upsets you, then, that your wife is doing her job on the away team?”
O’Brien’s cheeks flushed with anger. “She can do her job on the ship! If anybody gets in trouble on that planet, it should be a regular Starfleet officer who signed on for that type of duty.”
“If you’re so sure that there will be trouble, why are you here instead of in the transporter room, waiting to rescue her?” Troi’s voice was soft, deliberately pitched to make him work to understand her. Until he released his anger, there was little chance he would listen to anything she said. “Or are you afraid she will be angry over that too?”
“She always wants to do things her own way! She never listens to my opinion on anything!” O’Brien’s jaw set into a hard line. “I’m her husband! She should listen to me!”
The problem unfolded itself for Troi, complete with its misunderstandings and cross-cultural confusions. “Like your mother always listened to your father?” she asked in a gentle tone. O’Brien’s records showed that his mother had been a quiet woman who enjoyed family life and loved children, even to fostering troubled children after her own offspring had left home. Keiko could hardly be more different from O’Brien’s mother if he had set out to find his mother’s opposite.
His head snapped up, surprise written across his features. “Of course. Isn’t that what marriage is about?”
“That depends.” She paused, letting him wonder what her next words would be. “Have you ever asked Keiko about the marriage customs she grew up with?”
“No. Why?” He frowned, confused by Troi’s question.
A gentle smile played around the corners of Troi’s mouth. The idea that Japan’s traditions might still influence Keiko had never crossed O’Brien’s mind. “Have you ever considered how much of Japan she brings with her wherever she goes?”
“I don’t see what that has to do with our marriage.” O’Brien shook his head emphatically. “She rejected all that when she married me.”
Troi sighed, thinking that both O’Brien and Keiko came from backgrounds best known for trying to remold the universe to their own specifications. And that she would have to repeat this lecture on tolerance to Keiko, once the away team beamed back from Bel-Minor. “It is not surprising that you and Keiko are not understanding each other, Miles, when you know so little of Japanese culture. For example, did you know that in certain regions of Japan the husband is expected to take his wife’s name if her family is of higher rank than his?”
“No, I didn’t.” His anger returning, O’Brien glared at Troi as if, through sheer indignation, he could alter her words. “It’s a stupid rule, anyway. A man’s name is his heritage, his roots. It’s what he is.”
Troi nodded and smiled, as if he had agreed with her. “Precisely. In Japan, heritage and family are everything. It’s a high honor to become a member of an influential family. Sometimes, when a man shows promise of great achievement, he will be adopted into one of the senior families. In that case, he is proud to assume the name of his new family.”
“What kind of fool would want to change his name?” O’Brien’s mouth compressed into a hard line. He stared defiantly at Troi, but she waited, letting his irritation force him into making the next move. “What does that have to do with me? I don’t know anything about Keiko’s family. For all she’s told me, they could be the lowliest peasants.”
“I assure you they are not. And even if they were—by Japanese standards, a non-Japanese is lower than the lowliest peasant. In the more traditional districts, a man of Japanese descent from another country or from off Earth would be expected to adopt his wife’s family name.” Troi cocked her head to the side, studying his face as the words soaked in. Anger, disbelief, and outrage warred for control of his mind.
“That’s absurd. What right do they have to make me deny who I am? I’m just as good as any of them, and better than most!”
“I think Keiko’s inclined to agree with that, since it was you she decided to marry. But would you do me a favor, Miles?” She paused, waiting until he gave her a grudging nod. She could tell that he suspected a trap somewhere but didn’t know quite how she’d set it. “I’ll flag some references for you in the computer and I’d like you to read them. I think they’ll help you understand Keiko better.”
“I suppose.”
His agreement was none too willing, Troi sensed, but it was a start. Until O’Brien quit expecting Keiko to act like the tradition-bound Irish girls he had grown up with, and until Keiko quit assuming O’Brien lived in a world governed by the same rules as the latter-day samurai she was used to, their marriage was in trouble. “I will have the material ready for you when you come off duty this evening, Miles. Is there anything else you wish to discuss?” She knew there was from his agitation and the tension that remained in his posture. The question was—did he really want to talk about it?
O’Brien stared at his hands, again refusing to meet Troi’s eyes. It was a familiar pose, one she had seen more times than she could remember. Stronger even than the conflicting emotions he was broadcasting, the taut lines of his body screamed denial to her—denial both that he had a problem and that anything she said could help him. Troi gave him enough time to answer, but he said nothing.
Today, at least, Troi knew his pride was winning and he could not bring himself to admit to her that he was jealous of Reggie Tanaka or even that he had heard the rumors of the crush Tanaka had had on Keiko when he had first come aboard the Enterprise. Somehow, Troi thought that Tanaka’s inability to follow through on his infatuation would not carry much weigh
t with O’Brien just now.
“Everything will be all right, Miles. You’ll see.” She gave him a reassuring smile when he finally looked up at her. “And if you need to talk some more later, I’m always available.”
Seeing her words as permission to escape, O’Brien scrambled to his feet. “Thank you, Counselor,” he mumbled, and then bolted from the room.
Troi heaved a deep sigh and reached for her computer to flag the references on Japanese traditions. It was at times like this, when people tried so hard to justify their difficulties instead of overcoming them, that she wondered why she hadn’t gone into a simpler field—like theoretical n-space warp dynamics. At least those problems didn’t change at the precise moment you thought you’d gotten a grasp on them.
She logged off the computer and decided to visit Ten-Forward. After talking to O’Brien, she owed herself a break before the captain needed her to help unravel the Jaradan agreement.
Geordi discovered O’Brien in the far corner of Ten-Forward, shoving his sandwich around the plate. Through his VISOR, O’Brien’s hands showed cooler and darker against the warm colors of his body, a sure sign of stress. He got his lunch and crossed over to O’Brien’s table. “Mind if I join you?”
“Sure.” O’Brien’s tone said differently. Ignoring Geordi, he continued to toy with his food.
“That bad, huh?” Geordi slid into his chair and bit into his own sandwich while he studied O’Brien’s face. The wash of light from the table, coming from below and from such a short distance, distorted Geordi’s perceptions and made it difficult to read the nuances of O’Brien’s expression. Equally, O’Brien was not showing any great eagerness to help him out. “Want to talk about it?” he asked finally.
“What’s to talk about?” O’Brien muttered in a resentful tone. “My wife is down on that planet and everyone seems to think talking will help.”
“Oh.” Geordi took another bite of his sandwich. If he waited, he was sure O’Brien would spell out his problem in excruciating detail.
“Is that all you’ve got to say?” O’Brien’s face flamed brighter as Geordi’s VISOR sensed the angry heat in his cheeks.
“What do you want me to say?” Geordi kept his tone deliberately casual. In O’Brien’s present mood he was having trouble telling whether the transporter chief wanted reassurance or if he was trying to pick a fight. “That I don’t understand why you’re angry?”
“I told her not to go! She should be here helping me plan our six-month anniversary! How would you feel if your anniversary was coming up and it was your wife down there?”
How, indeed? Geordi thought, resisting the impulse to let his exasperation show. As much as he liked O’Brien and respected his abilities, there were times when his attitudes were too much. If he had wanted a full-time wife, why had he married a working scientist? And why did he keep expecting her marriage vows would convert Keiko into a traditional Irish woman raised in the Old Country? Geordi let the silence stretch while he considered his reply. “How I would feel is—my wife has a job and the captain expects her to do it. Sometimes personal holidays have to take second place to that.”
“But why is she teamed up with Reggie Tanaka? Why couldn’t she work with Leila Koryev?”
Geordi suppressed a shudder at the thought of working with Koryev on an away team. It wasn’t that she was incompetent, exactly, but disaster had a nearly miraculous way of finding her, the way iron filings materialized around a powerful electromagnet. “If it’s all the same to you, Miles, Keiko’s much safer with Reggie. Leila’d manage to pull down a lightning strike from a clear sky, or run them off a cliff, or something. Besides, I think the captain chose her partner, not Keiko.”
O’Brien scowled, not at all mollified by Geordi’s logic. “I still don’t trust him alone with her. I’ve seen the way he looks when someone mentions her name.”
Geordi decided to try another tack. “You work with Jennie Li all the time. How’s this any different?” As soon as he said the words, Geordi realized he should have picked another example. Keiko had made more than a few unfavorable comments about the easy partnership between O’Brien and Li.
“Jennie and I are just friends, that’s how.” Abruptly, O’Brien shoved his plate away and stood. “And just because you’re my superior officer doesn’t give you the right to pry into my personal affairs!”
“Cool off, mister!” Although Geordi kept his voice low, the order stopped O’Brien where he stood. “Being your commanding officer does give me the authority to order you to correct any problems that affect your job performance. And this definitely falls into that category. You’ve been impossible to get along with and your work has been substandard for the last day and a half. So I’m ordering you to talk to Counselor Troi or to your wife—or both—before you return to duty. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.” O’Brien’s glared at Geordi, his grudging tone saying how much he resented the order.
Geordi stared back, wishing his VISOR were better for such confrontations. O’Brien needed to acknowledge his jealousy, needed to come to grips with his doubts about himself that provoked his unreasonable reactions—and needed to understand his wife better to prevent such problems from continuing.
For a brief moment Geordi wished he could knock O’Brien’s head against the bulkhead until some sense penetrated it. Of course, someone would have to do the same to Keiko, who was showing no better judgment than her husband. Both were projecting all their personal insecurities onto their partner. If this is what love is about, I don’t want anything to do with it! It was a depressing thought that two people so strongly attracted to each other should have so much trouble seeing the other’s viewpoint.
“Dismissed.” He watched O’Brien leave, shaking his head. He had hoped that talking to someone would help O’Brien, but Geordi didn’t think he had done much good. The transporter chief seemed unwilling to listen to anyone.
Most of the lunch crowd had left Ten-Forward by the time Troi got there—after concluding an impromptu session with Ensign Handler in the corridor. Troi ordered a triple chocolate sundae and took it to the far comer of the room. The first half disappeared quickly, but then she started playing with it, morosely dabbling her spoon in the melting ice cream. Usually, chocolate helped pull her out of the doldrums, but today it didn’t seem to be helping much. Dealing with Chief O’Brien’s jealousy and his yo-yo moods was taking more out of her than she liked to admit, even to herself. When she finished the sundae, she stared at the empty dish, wondering if she should get it refilled. Maybe more chocolate would improve her mood.
“I recognize that look.” Guinan plopped another dish—chocolate-chocolate chip ice cream on a fudge-frosted brownie, topped with fudge sauce and more chocolate chips—in front of Troi before she took the chair opposite the counselor. She had a small dish of peach ice cream for herself. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Troi shrugged and took a mouthful of the ice cream. Her eyes widened in surprise at the rich, sweet-bitter contrast of the flavors.
Guinan gave a knowing smile. “Selvairian swirl. It’s four different flavors of chocolate ice cream mixed together like rainbow ripple. The food synthesizers hate that particular program.”
“I’ll bet.” Troi took a smaller bite so she could appreciate the individual flavors.
“That’s better.” Guinan’s white teeth flashed against her dark skin. “Now, do you want to tell me why you’re in here in a chocolate funk?”
“It’s Chief O’Brien. I just had another long talk with him. Nothing I say seems to do any good.” She scooped up some of the fudge sauce, wondering what Guinan had programmed for it. Nothing exotic, she realized as her taste buds reveled in the flavor, just a piece of chocolate lover’s heaven. Guinan had ordered up the best, richest, plain fudge sauce made from the galaxy’s premium chocolate.
“Have you considered that he may not want your help? Some people want to be right more than they want to solve their problems.” Guinan tasted her own
ice cream while she studied Troi’s troubled face. Who counsels the counselor? was not a subject that the Starfleet medical division considered often, and sometimes Guinan wondered if the top brass didn’t believe their recruiting literature a little too much. Sure, Starfleet officers were the finest individuals in the Federation, but that didn’t mean they were perfeet. All living beings had a certain amount of innate recalcitrance, which tended to surface at the most inopportune times. Chief O’Brien was certainly trying to prove the adage in a spectacular way.
Troi sighed, frustration written large in the frown that crossed her face. “I have considered it. I have also considered that it is my job to see that everyone else’s problems are solved. And I have considered the problems his attitude causes for everyone around him.” She stabbed at her sundae, taking out her anger on the brownie. On the third try she got an oversize bite to her mouth.
“And you concluded that the only cure for it was a chocolate binge.” Guinan grinned, a twinkle in her eye. “Such a waste of good chocolate, to spoil it with so dreadful a mood.”
“You’re right.” Troi’s voice was flat, lacking enthusiasm. “But I didn’t have any better ideas.”
The twinkle in Guinan’s eye grew brighter, more mischievous. “You could go program yourself a nice holodeck simulation, I suppose. One where you crack everyone’s head against the wall and they instantly see the light.”
In spite of herself, Troi began giggling. Once started, she couldn’t stop until tears ran down her cheeks. Guinan watched her with one eyebrow raised, a quizzical smile on her face. “Personally, I didn’t think it was that funny,” she said when Troi had quieted.
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