Perchance to Dream

by Howard Weinstein

  * * *

  Arit knew it wasn’t much of a council that met in a briefing room doubling as a storage facility. Crates of provisions lined the walls, piled from deck to ceiling, leaving barely enough room for the eight council members to sit around a battered darkwood table on a wobbly pedestal.

  On the way down, she had explained to Picard that the House of Valends was the executive branch of Teniran government, while the Guiding Council members were the legislators responsible for carving out the laws that the Valends were supposed to apply to the operation of Teniran society.

  As she looked around at the conferees, she was all too aware that this gathering was starkly symbolic of the decimation her people had suffered. Egin was the last survivor of twenty-five Valends, and the eight Councilors here were all that remained of the one hundred who had made the laws back home on Tenira.

  The faces around the table were sober ones. The Councilors knew why they had been called together. Arit had not expected overt joy, but she’d hoped for a touch of good cheer, perhaps—or relief, at the very least. After all, the Council was actually going to consider something many Tenirans believed they would never live to see—the decision of whether or not to disembark from the Glin-Kale and get on with the building of a new society.

  She introduced Picard and endorsed both his honesty and his interest in helping the Tenirans. As he made his succinct presentation of the facts, she watched the faces watching him, searching for some reaction to the facts about Domarus and the Shapers, some hint as to how the Council members might vote.

  But there were no such clues to be found. With a sinking sadness, Arit wondered if her people had been emptied of all emotions but fear. Had they lost all capacity for hope? Or were they simply too afraid to risk crushing disappointment again? How strange that people apparently so afraid to dream were being invited to share a planet with creatures whose existence seemed literally to be driven by dreams.

  Picard finished his presentation. “I am aware that this is quite a bit to digest in one swallow,” he said. “If the members of the Council have any questions, I shall be happy to respond to them.”

  He was answered by subdued silence. Not a single comment. Arit restrained her urge to jump up onto the table and scream. How can they just sit there after what he’s said? Or are they so numbed by what we’ve been through that sitting in silence is all they can do?

  And was she really any different herself? Here you are, sitting all prim and proper and gutless, too—just like they are.

  According to parliamentary procedure, as First (and only) Valend, Egin was nominally the chairman of the session. With an exaggerated gravity that almost made Arit laugh, he looked at his fellow Council members.

  “No questions at all? Very well, then. Thank you, Captain Picard. Captain Arit, it is now your turn to make a statement before the Council retires to exercise its sacred right and responsibility of debate and decision. Unless, of course, in the interests of time, you choose to forgo such a statement.”

  Arit rose with a sarcastic half-smile. “Sorry to disappoint you, Egin, but I will make my statement.” She bowed her head, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. She knew she could address them in only one way—straight from the heart. “I . . . I wish you had been able to show some happiness as Captain Picard briefed you. Because I think this is the most promising day we Tenirans have seen in longer than I would care to remember. We’ve pressed on, and on, and on— long after we’d lost the will, I think—long after most of us stopped believing we would ever really find a new place to live. So what kept us going? I can’t even begin to count the number of times I’ve asked myself that question. And the answer? Sometimes I think it was nothing more than momentum and habit.”

  Arit circled the table slowly, at times looking off into the distance, at times gazing directly into the unrevealing eyes of one or another of the Councilors. “Had we not found this planet—had the strange and wonderful events of the past few days not happened—I believe we might have continued as we were, expecting failure and accepting it until we were all dead. Maybe even beyond that, if no one had bothered to anchor the Glin-Kale to keep her from drifting on into eternity.

  “But we are here now. And we have a choice to make—to continue the road we know, terrible as it may be, or to stop here and take on a new and perhaps more frightening challenge.” Arit paused to absentmindedly nibble on her lip. “You may not believe this, but right up until I opened my mouth to talk to you, I wasn’t sure how I felt about this choice. In many ways, it would be easier to leave this unknown world, with its Shaper creatures who are so different from us. What if we can’t get along with them? What then? I don’t know. Nobody knows.

  “But I do know this. It has taken all our courage to get this far . . . and it will take all the courage we have left to choose to stay.” She paused. “But I hope with all my heart and soul that that will be our choice.”

  As anxiously as she had searched the faces of the Council before for some sign of their feelings, she no longer felt that need to know. She had made her own peace with circumstances, and now the rest was up to them.

  “Captain Picard,” she said, heading for the door, “let’s leave the Council to its deliberations.”

  “What do you think their choice will be?” Picard asked as he and Arit walked slowly down a Glin-Kale corridor.

  “I honestly have no idea. I’ll let you know as soon as they’ve reached a decision.”

  “Do you think they’ll take long?”

  Arit shrugged. “I have no idea about that either.” Then she shook her head and laughed briefly.

  “You find something amusing?”

  “More odd than amusing, I suppose. Tell me something, Picard—as a commander, does it bother you to be out of control?”

  His head inclined noncommittally. “To some extent, I suppose. Why do you ask?”

  “Just comparing notes. I used to hate being even the slightest bit out of control—of anything: my ship, my daughter, my life. But so many things have been so far out of my control for so long now, that waiting for this”—she thumbed a gesture over her shoulder, back toward the briefing room where they’d left the Council—“doesn’t bother me at all.”

  “I can understand that.”

  “I suppose you’ll be transporting back to your ship now?”

  “Actually, while we waited, I thought we could make some positive use of the time.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Well, I made a conditional promise to your daughter that I should like to keep—if her mother doesn’t mind.”

  “Her mother doesn’t mind at all.”

  “Where would she be now?”

  Arit had to think for a moment. “Uhh—she should be in our cabin doing her lessons. I always thought if we ever did find a homeworld, it would help if Keela were properly educated,” she said wryly. “Making tea is a valuable skill, but there is more to life than that.”

  “Sometimes,” said Picard. “Sometimes not. Never underestimate the power of a good cup of tea.”

  They did find Keela in the family quarters. But their arrival caught her by surprise—though she was seated at the computer terminal, it wasn’t a formal lesson occupying her. Instead, she had a stylus gripped in her hand and she was using it to draw a picture of the starship Enterprise.

  “I’m—I’m sorry, mother,” she stammered. “I know I should be doing my mathematics studies.”

  “Normally, I would be quite angry with you,” Arit said sternly, “but we actually came to ask you if you’d like to go with Captain Picard to visit his ship.”

  As much as the Guiding Council’s opaque self-restraint had initially bothered Arit, Keela’s squeal of pure delight more than made up for it.

  Chapter Eighteen

  THE DOORS TO Ten-Forward slid aside and Picard led Captain Arit and Keela into the starship’s spacious lounge. Two steps inside, Arit stopped and stared, and Picard tried to measure how much of her reaction w
as appreciation and how much envy.

  “When you said ‘lounge,’ I never pictured anything like this,” she said. “A few tables, a little food—but this is incredible.”

  “Mother,” Keela chided with a roll of her eyes, “you’ve used that word over and over since Captain Picard started showing us around the Enterprise.”

  “For a very little girl,” Arit said, casting a reproachful eye down at her daughter, “you have a very tart tongue. I’d suggest you keep it under control, and show a little more respect. Don’t you find this ship amazing?”

  “Of course I do. But one of us has to maintain the family dignity.”

  Picard stifled a snicker and decided this was the right moment for a diversion. “Why don’t we sit over there by the observation windows?” He guided them to an empty booth and signaled to Guinan at the bar. “Keela, how would you like a very special treat?”

  Her brow furrowed guardedly as she gave it some thought—not quite the eager response Picard had been conditioned to expect from his previous shipboard encounters with young children. But then, he reminded himself, Keela was far from typical.

  “Is it something childish, Captain?”

  “No, not at all. It’s true that humans first learn to love it as children, but most of us continue to enjoy eating it—usually in very generous quantities—for the rest of our lives.”

  “Well, Keela,” Arit said, “does that make it sufficiently adult for you?”

  “Yes, mother—I think so.”

  Guinan reached the table and greeted Picard and his guests with her usual smile. “Captain Arit, Keela—welcome to Ten-Forward.”

  “How do you know who we are?” Keela asked.

  Her mother, too, seemed surprised to be addressed by name. Picard knew this was simply one of Guinan’s many unexplained knacks—one he had always found amusing. “This is Guinan, the host of Ten-Forward. She knows quite a lot of things she shouldn’t know . . . and I have never been able to explain it.”

  “For instance,” Guinan said, “I believe the captain was going to suggest that you both try chocolate ice cream sundaes.”

  “Correct as usual,” Picard said. “And I would like to indulge in one myself.”

  “Coming right up, Captain.”

  Guinan left and Keela clambered up onto her knees, pressing her face to the window for a better view of the planet below.

  “Mother, is that going to be our new home?”

  “That’s what the Council is deciding.”

  “Would you like it to be?” Picard asked.

  Keela drew her lips into a thoughtful line, with one fang left peeking out. “I don’t know, Captain. Though after seeing your ship, I’m not sure I want to go back to ours. It’s kind of old and dirty—and much too crowded.”

  Guinan returned to the table with a tray and served three substantial classic sundaes, topped with whipped cream and cherries. Keela grabbed her spoon, but glanced at her mother for final permission. Arit gave her a nod. Still, the girl hesitated.

  Picard noticed, then took the lead. “I should warn you, Keela—if you don’t eat ice cream quickly, it melts. So I’d suggest we begin.” He did, shoveling a large helping into his mouth.

  Keela sliced into the double-scoop mound, but came up with a demure sliver of ice cream barely covering the tip of the spoon.

  “Captain,” Arit said, “Keela isn’t terribly enthusiastic about trying new things.”

  The downy hair of Keela’s mane bristled, a reaction Picard guessed to be the Teniran equivalent of blushing.

  “Mother, that’s not true!” Keela dug down again, lifting a heaping spoonful—and then biting off a cautiously tiny mouthful. However, her expression left little doubt that she liked what she tasted, and she happily licked the rest of the spoon. “This is very, very good, Captain.”

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  * * *

  Wesley and Ken entered Ten-Forward, spotted Picard’s group just finishing their round of ice cream sundaes, and crossed directly over to them. “Captain Picard,” Wesley said, “we’ve completed that special special programming assignment you asked us to do.”

  “Ahh, very good, gentlemen,” he said, exchanging a fleeting but significant glance with Arit.

  “Did you have enough basic information?” Arit asked.

  “Yes, Captain Arit, we did,” Ken said. “We think it turned out well—but that’ll obviously be up to you.”

  “Well,” she said, “I’m sure you did an excellent job, under the circumstances. Captain Picard assures me that he has complete confidence in your skills.”

  “Indeed I do,” Picard said. “Thank you both for attending to it so quickly.”

  “You’re welcome, sir,” Wesley said.

  Ken nodded. “Anytime, Captain.”

  “That will be all for now, gentlemen.” He paused.“Unless you’d care to join us in sampling your handiwork.”

  Now it was the two young men who exchanged a meaningful glance. “Thank you, sir,” Ken said seriously, “but we’ve got some pressing business we need to discuss.”

  Ken’s comment seemed to make Wesley shift uncomfortably. “Maybe we’ll join you there in a little while, sir.”

  “Very well, then. Carry on,” Picard said as he and his Teniran guests stood. He gestured toward the exit. “On to the last stop on our tour.”

  Ken and Wesley remained standing until Picard, Arit and little Keela had gone, then slid into the vacated booth, hunching conspiratorially over the table. Before they’d said anything, Guinan had arrived.

  “What can I get you gentlemen?”

  “Coffee,” Wesley said without hesitation. “Cream and sugar.”

  “And you, Ken?”

  “Uhh . . . coffee for me, too . . . Uhh, make it black.”

  Wesley stared at him, while Guinan’s eyebrows rose in mild surprise. “Two coffees it is,” she said. “We’ve got some delicious pastries . . . I think you might like them.”

  “Thanks, Guinan,” Ken said as she started to turn away.

  “On second thought, Guinan,” Wesley said, “make mine tea.”

  “Earl Grey?” she said with a knowing smile.

  “Yeah,” Wes grinned. Then he refocused his stare at Ken.

  “What’re you looking at, Crusher?”

  “Since when do you drink black coffee?”

  “I’ve always liked it,” he lied. Then he took a deliberate breath. “So . . . what’re we going to do about this?”

  Wesley shrugged. “How am I supposed to know? This was your idea. I didn’t even want to have this discussion.”

  “I just thought it would be more civilized, that’s all. I mean, you may be a pain in the butt sometimes, but we are friends. Right?”

  “Sure. I guess.”

  “So,” Ken said again, “do you like Gina?”

  Wesley’s cheeks shaded to a faint red. “Sure I like her. What’s not to like? And what about you? Do you like her?”

  “I guess so. And . . . now I think maybe she likes me, too.”

  Wesley looked mildly surprised, both at what Ken had said—and the simple fact that he’d actually said it. “You think she does? Ken, there’s only one way to find out.”

  “How?” Ken’s tone was guarded.

  “You know how—ask her out.”

  “But you’ve already gone out with her.”

  “We haven’t gone out out,” Wesley said with a dismissive wave. “Not like real dates. We just sort of do things together. It’s like I tried to tell you—Gina and I are just friends.” As Ken’s expression revealed his serious consideration of dawning possibilities, Wes added, “So far.”

  They were interrupted by Guinan’s return with their food and drinks, and they straightened abruptly and tried to make the awkward pause in their conversation seem nonchalant. Wesley could tell that his little addendum had shaken Ken’s barely stirring confidence—which was the exact reaction he’d hoped for. In fact, Wesley had at times thought of Gina as
potentially more than just a friend. Perhaps much more.

  But he also knew the reality of circumstance, and in all likelihood, he’d soon be leaving the Enterprise for Starfleet Academy. As much as he might like Gina, he didn’t know if it would be a good idea to start a relationship that would have to be suspended by separation. From everything he’d heard, the first year at the academy was anything but easy. He had been warned to keep distractions to a minimum—and what could be more distracting than a long-distance relationship? I don’t need to be pining away for someone when I should be studying my brains out.

  Besides, Wesley had no real idea if Gina was interested in a more serious relationship. He’d never asked her. So, all things considered, he’d made up his mind to encourage Kenny to go for it. But he didn’t want to make things too easy. He hoped the specter of competition might motivate Ken to boldly go where he hadn’t had the nerve to go before.

  As soon as Guinan had put their tray down and departed, Kenny hunched forward with a worried furrow across his brow. “What do you mean, ‘so far’?”

  “Oh, nothing. Just that maybe I might ask her out—unless you beat me to it.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe she doesn’t like me,” Ken moaned, his resolve deserting him. Then he sipped his coffee, swallowed painfully, and made a disgusted face. “You’re right. I don’t drink black coffee.”

  “That doesn’t mean you can’t ask Gina out. What’s the worst that could happen?”

  “What’s the worst that could happen?” Ken rolled his eyes. “She could say no.”

  “So? Then you’ll be no worse off than you are now.”

  “Except for my fragile ego getting stomped flat on the deck.”

  Wesley gave his friend a sardonic half-grin. “Trust me—egos are reinflatable. I read it in one of my mom’s medical texts.”

  Ken managed a laugh, then spotted something across the room that brought a plainly pained expression to his face. “Uhhh—this whole discussion may just have been rendered academic,” he said, looking past Wesley.