by Peter David
“Because, Will,” she said quietly, “it’s one of the methods I use to stay in touch with myself.” At his blank expression, she continued gamely, “In order to fully understand others, you must learn to understand yourself. Only by being in touch with what motivates you can you then grasp what motivates others.”
“I studied this in the Academy. The course was called Dynamics of Command.”
“Commanding who?”
“Other officers. Crewmen.”
“Yes, well, you see…here the only person you’re trying to command is yourself. Now…I want you to look at the painting and tell me what it says to you.”
“This is supposed to talk to me, too? Can’t anything on this planet keep its mouth shut?”
His comment came out sounding a bit more sarcastic than he would have liked, but Troi appeared undeterred. “On Betazed, we believe in full communion. Communion with each other. Communion with our world. But before any of that can occur, we must have communion with ourselves.”
“What’s the painting called?”
She stared at him in confusion. “What?”
“What’s it called? What’s the name of the painting? At least I’ll have some clue to what the artist was trying to put across if I know what he called the damned thing.”
“The ‘damned thing’ doesn’t have a name. That would be presumptuous…it would be as if the artist were trying to impose his own worldview upon the viewer.”
“Terrific. Look, maybe we can start with another painting? Something that looks like something?”
He started to rise and she pulled him back down again. “Will, you’re not even trying. You said you were going to cooperate.”
“I’m sorry,” he sighed. “I’ll try, all right?”
The problem was, every time he looked at her, he kept thinking about trying to get her clothes off. But he knew that such unguarded thoughts were only going to get him into trouble again. So, gamely, he focused on the picture again.
It was swirls. Splashes of color. No matter how long or how intently he looked at it, it still looked like jumbled paints and nothing more.
“You’re trying too hard.”
He blew air through his lips in exasperation. “First you tell me I’m not trying at all, and now you tell me I’m trying too hard. Now which is it?” He looked at the painting. “Would you mind telling me what it is you want of me?”
Then he felt two strong fingers at the base of his skull, squeezing together and massaging him. Deanna’s arm moved in a steady, circular motion.
He started to feel tension that he didn’t even know he had ebb from him. He was glad that he couldn’t see his face because he had the distinct, detached feeling that he had a rather goofy expression at the moment.
“Now,” she said softly, “while you’re relaxing…look at the painting and tell me what you see. Learn to look below the surface, beyond the superficial. What is there to learn from the painting…and what can we learn from ourselves?”
His head swayed back and forth in gentle rocking motions. He stared at the painting for what seemed an eternity.
“I see…”
“Yes?”
He was silent for a moment and then said, “I see…paint swirls.”
She stopped the rubbing. “That’s it?” she said with flat disgust.
“That’s it. I’m sorry.” He turned to her, not sure whether to be more irritated with himself or with her. “You wouldn’t want me to lie to you…and I doubt I could, even if I wanted to. I see paint swirls. Big, goopy paint swirls.”
“Goopy? This is a word? Goopy?”
“I don’t have much taste for abstract art. When I look at something, I like it to look like something.”
She paused, her hands carefully arranged on her lap. “Tell me, Lieutenant. As you further explore the galaxy, you will inevitably run into things that don’t look like anything you’ve ever imagined that anything could look. What are you going to do in those instances? Are you going to decide that they’re inferior somehow? Or that there’s something wrong with them? How are you going to judge? By their degree of goopiness?”
“In those instances, when encountering new life-forms beyond my experience, I’ll have instrumentation to help me. Sensor arrays. Medical scans. Instantaneous translators and communications devices. I won’t have to—”
“You won’t have to depend on yourself.”
“Now I didn’t say that.”
“No, you didn’t. But that’s what it boils down to, Lieutenant. And believe me, you’re going to find yourself in situations where all the instrumentation in the world isn’t going to do you a bit of good. They can guide you, but you’re going to have to rely on something beyond that. As a matter of fact, I’ll wager that there will be times when you have to act in ways that are contrary to what instrumentation is telling you…that are contrary to what people are telling you, for that matter. And you have to be fully conversant in why you think what you think, because otherwise you’re going to find yourself heading down the wrong road.”
“Thank you for your opinions, Miss Troi…drawn, no doubt, from your many years of experience with Starfleet.”
“I don’t have to be experienced with Starfleet, Lieutenant, in order to be aware of the importance of knowing your own mind.”
“Really?” He took her hand in his and squeezed it firmly. “And what does your mind tell you about your feelings for me? Hmmm?”
She met his gaze levelly. “It tells me that perhaps we have to begin with something a bit more fundamental than this.” She stood. “Come on. We’re getting out of here.”
“Where are we going?”
“Back to basics.”
The tree towered over them, its trunk brown and gnarled. There were no leaves on it, and its branches seemed to stretch up forever.
The trunk was so twisted that climbing up it was easy. Deanna did so and gestured for Riker to follow. He climbed, relieved that this was at least something that was mildly entertaining…particularly because he liked watching the play of Deanna’s muscles under her tight clothes.
She stopped at a point about ten feet above the ground. Large branches stuck out in either direction. She sidled out onto one, and when Riker started to follow her, she shook her head and indicated that he should go in the other direction. With a shrug he did as instructed.
“Your problem, Lieutenant, is that the demands of your body have too much sway on your mind,” she said once they were both perched on their opposite branches.
“What do you mean?”
“Your attraction to me, for example. Indeed, your attraction to most women, I would think. It’s purely hormonal. It’s being fueled entirely by your sex drive, which is biological, not intellectual. But you are more than willing to turn your intellect over to the requirements of your biology.”
“What about what you were saying before? About love at first sight being something you believe in? Where does biology figure into that?”
“It doesn’t. Love at first sight is spiritual. You’re too primal for that.”
“You’re saying”—he smirked slightly as he spoke—“that I’m incapable of falling in love with someone at first sight because I think with my glands and that automatically pushes out all higher emotions?”
“That’s correct.”
“Well, thanks a lot, Miss Troi.”
“It wasn’t a compliment,” she said primly. “Higher emotions are what separate us from the lower orders of life.”
“Is that all?”
“Higher emotions, and table manners.”
“Tell me, Deanna, have you ever had really good sex? Or is that just a theory to you?”
She actually laughed at that. “You really can’t figure me out, can you, Lieutenant. You think that all you have to do is smile at me, wink devilishly, overpower me with your charm and strength, and I will willingly succumb to your overwhelming manliness.”
“Something like that.”
“Commander, welcom
e to the twenty-fourth century. I don’t know what goes on on Earth, or even aboard starships…but on Betazed, a woman wants more from a man than for him to simply be a strong hero figure. Someone who is going to carry the helpless damsel off in his big, muscular arms, causing her to swoon and give herself over to him in hot and sweaty throes of passion. Women aren’t like that here. I’m not like that.”
“No, of course not. You’re much too busy doing precisely what Mommy tells you, and being precisely what she wants you to be, to let yourself be influenced by anyone as down-and-dirty as me.”
Her expression was not a particularly pleasant one. “Listen, do you want to do this or not?”
“Sure. Sure. You were going to show me how to separate the needs of my mind from the needs of my body.”
“All right. It’s very simple, really. I want you to get a solid grip on the branch, just like I’m doing.” He followed her demonstration and she continued, “Then we’re going to just drop off from the branch and hang on for as long as possible.”
“This is a test of muscular strength…which seems kind of silly, since obviously I’m stronger than you. So if this is some sort of competition…”
“The only one you’re going to compete with, Lieutenant, is yourself. And furthermore, it has nothing to do with muscular strength because muscles, and the body, invariably have limits, no matter how well trained they are. You reach a point that can’t be surpassed. But the properly trained mind, on the other hand, has no limits. Ready? And…go.”
Deanna dropped down off the branch and hung there, her feet suspended more than a meter above the ground. Riker did likewise.
He stared at her, noticing that her toes were not pointed downward, but rather were straight out. Her eyes were fluttering closed as she said in a low, melodious tone, “Now…sooner or later, your fingers will want to release. Your instinct will be to fight this impulse. Do not fight it. Instead…simply ignore it. Banish it to the inner core of your being, and instead focus on something else.”
“Like what?”
“Like anything. Anything that will take your mind away from your body—the sky. The clouds. Birds in flight. The creation of a star. Anything to disassociate yourself from the demands of the physical. Now do what I’m doing—bring an image to mind, a focal image. Close your eyes. Breathe slowly and steadily, in through your nose, out through your mouth, like this,” and she demonstrated. “Slowly, steadily, gradually…that’s it.”
Riker had closed his eyes, but now he turned and peered again through narrowed lids at Deanna.
She seemed perfectly at ease. Her breasts were rising and falling so slowly that the motion was almost imperceptible.
Clear his mind. Think about something else other than the fact that his fingers were starting to ache a bit, and his upper arms were feeling a tad numb.
He thought about Deanna.
He pictured her as he had first seen her at the wedding—naked and smiling.
She stood on a beach, having just come out of the water, her body covered with thin rivulets of moisture. She shook her head in slow motion, water spraying out in all directions from her thick hair. Then she came toward him slowly, smiling, her arms outstretched toward him, her fingers gesturing for him to approach her…
Her fingers waving…her arms outstretched…
He felt an ache growing beyond his ability to ignore it. He opened his eyes and found that his fingers were covered with perspiration and were slipping, losing their grip. He tried desperately to readjust, but now his fingers felt nerveless. He had no idea how long he had been hanging there, for he had lost track of time…but however long it was, it was enough for him to have lost all feeling above the elbows.
With a low, muttered curse, he dropped from the branch and landed with a hard thud.
He sat there, dusting himself off, and looked up.
Deanna was still hanging there. Serenely. Calmly. Looking as if she had all the time in the world. Her eyes were still closed, her breasts still rising and falling at the exact same pace as before…no. As a matter of fact, they were moving even more slowly.
He sat there and watched her, shaking his arms to try to restore circulation.
Deanna hung there.
As blood began to return to Riker’s upper arms, he felt a fierce pain, and he winced as he touched the abraded skin on his palms. He looked back to his teacher.
Deanna hung there.
And hung there.
He had no idea how long it was…ten, maybe fifteen minutes. Maybe longer. Her slim body continued to display no ill effects whatsoever.
After what seemed an interminable length of time, Deanna began to rock back and forth, slowly and gently. Her eyes remained closed. She gained enough momentum to swing upward like a gymnast, wrapping her legs up and around the branch and bringing herself back to sitting.
“What are you doing down there?”
“What are you doing up there?” he countered. “Finally get tired?”
“No. I could have continued that way for quite some time. A shame that you couldn’t. Maybe the weight of all those muscles dragged you down. What an inconvenience, being so much stronger than little me.”
He stood, brushing himself off, and walked toward the base of the trunk. As he did so, Deanna clambered upward, standing on the branch as if she were a tightrope walker. She looked completely at ease.
“All right, you’ve proven your point,” he said, trying to keep the disgust out of his voice. “You can climb down now.”
Deanna took a step toward the trunk so that she could get a grip and descend…
And her foot slipped.
Her arms pinwheeling, and with a startled shriek, Deanna lost her balance and tumbled off.
Riker, still a short distance away, moved like lightning. His arms outstretched, he skidded in and caught Deanna before she hit. But he hadn’t had time to brace himself, and the weight of her carried him down. He dropped to his knees, the shock rattling his teeth, but he still held on to her.
Reflexively her arms had gone around his neck. She tried to compose herself, automatically doing the breathing exercise to regain her equilibrium. Riker, meantime, shook his head briskly. Then he looked at her…and grinned ear to ear.
He got to his feet, still holding her in his arms. “You okay?”
“I’m fine. You can put me down—”
Their faces had been mere inches from each other, and Riker now seized the initiative. He kissed her full on the lips.
They held like that for a long time, and he felt her body go limp. And then she just seemed to melt against him, and reflexively her hands squeezed his shoulder blades, as if afraid he might vanish, or the moment might end.
But ultimately it was she who ended it, breaking off with an audible popping sound. “Put me down,” she whispered.
He grinned and said, “But we were just getting—”
Put me down NOW!
He dropped her.
He hadn’t intended to do it. But the imperative was so startling and so overwhelming that it caught him completely unawares. She fell at his feet and, quickly scrambling to hers, backed away from him.
“I heard you,” he said, “in my head. That must mean I’m getting better at this. Right?”
“You couldn’t have heard me in your head.”
“I know I—”
“You couldn’t have!” she said with an infuriated stomp of her foot.
She turned away from him in an obvious attempt to compose herself. He made no move toward her, stayed as far from her as he could.
She was in pain. My God, she was in pain over him.
At that moment, he cleared his mind because instinctively, he didn’t want to think or even feel anything that she might pick up on and cause her more distress. Just like that, he was suddenly thinking about nothing at all. And he felt totally relaxed.
“Deanna—”
She said nothing. Her hands were pressed against each other, palm to palm, and she h
ad slowed her breathing down. When she did turn back to face him, all the confusion was gone. Instead she was lit with inner calm.
“Your problem earlier,” she said, sounding very clinical, “was that you were once again entertaining erotic thoughts about me. All that did was focus you on the needs of your body. You can’t put yourself beyond those needs if you use that as your focal point. You should watch out for that, Lieutenant.”
“Really.” He took a step toward her. “Well, you know what I think, Miss Troi. I think your body and mind aren’t quite as synchronized as you like to think. I think your body wanted to fall into my arms, contrary to what your mind might think of me. And so your ever-so-sure feet deliberately betrayed you.”
“I subconsciously threw myself at you, is what you’re saying?” She laughed lightly.
“It’s possible, yes.”
Again she laughed. “No, Lieutenant. It’s not possible. For your information, a piece of bark broke off, and that’s what caused me to slip. That’s all. If you look around on the ground, I’m sure you’ll find where it fell. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”
She turned and walked off. He called after her, “When is our next lesson?” But she didn’t respond.
He spent the next twenty minutes searching every inch of the ground, trying to find the stray piece of bark.
But he never did.
Twenty
Dinner that night in the Troi household was subdued. The only sound was a persistent and gentle chiming as Mr. Homn stood at the middle of the table repeatedly striking the small instrument that gave thanks to the gods of Betazed for the food being eaten.
Lwaxana kept glancing up at Deanna. Her daughter seemed preoccupied this evening, her gaze and thoughts focused entirely toward herself. When, out of habit, Lwaxana sent a gentle and subtle probe into her daughter’s mind to find out what was troubling her, she was astounded to find that her mental inquiry was turned aside. She could have, of course, immediately pushed more deeply and with more force, but that would have been utterly out of line. Casual mind brushing was one thing; shoving one’s way in after meeting initial resistance was quite another thing entirely.