“Won’t Joakal be surprised when these Federation people are brought to his cell? I wish I could be with you to see my brother’s face as he sees the foundation for all of his dreams of the future lay in drugged bundles at his feet. He wanted to talk with them. Now he can talk all he wants until after the coronation. Once I’m crowned and the power comes to me, I’ll need everything I can learn from Joakal’s mind, every plan and dream, every nuance of memory. After I’m done, he might not have enough mind left to talk, let alone to dream and plan.” There was another shorter burst of laughter. “I’ve won. Nothing can free Joakal now. I’ve truly won.”
Elana sat back, stunned. This man who wore the King’s robes, who spoke with the King’s voice—this was not Joakal!
The darkness that had enveloped her lifted. The stranger whose lips had fastened on hers so greedily was Joakal’s brother, and he was bent on revenge of some kind. She did not know how such a thing could be, but she knew this man was wrong. Someone could still help Joakal. She could—she would. Somehow. She leaned forward and listened again.
“You’d better go now,” the not-Joakal said. “Use the rear entrances and be certain you’re not seen. Once it’s done, come back here. I want to know everything.”
Elana saw the Elder stand and head for the side entrance to the temple. She sprang to her feet, thankful for the soft-soled slippers and the dark green robe that would allow her to move noiselessly and hide in the shadows.
While Aklier walked toward the side door, Elana glided down the loft stairs and out the main entrance to the temple. The evening air was chilly after the warmth of the loft and she shivered slightly. She pulled the hood of her Servant’s robe over her blond hair as she began to run down the temple steps and around to the side of the building, trying to keep to the dark areas and praying that the light of the moons would not reveal her.
She saw Aklier emerge. Like herself, he also preferred the shadows, but he did not move silently. His boots scraped and pounded on the stone alleyways the material of his clothing hissed as it rubbed together. Elana found the noise comforting; it made him easy to follow and covered any sound she might accidentally make.
She followed him around the backs of the buildings until he reached the courtyard of the palace. The open area where she had so often walked hand in hand with Joakal no longer seemed like the beautiful setting so fond in her memory. The patterned stones of the courtyard had become a hazard to her purpose, for they reflected the light of the moons and illuminated the area too brightly for her to cross unseen. She would have to wait until Aklier had entered the palace before she moved. O, Great God, she prayed, please let this work.
Aklier stepped out of the shadows and began to walk boldly across the courtyard. Of course, Elana thought, who would dare to question an Elder? She watched until she saw him finally reach the palace, open the door, and step inside.
Elana took a deep breath and began to run, still wordlessly praying for the help of the God. She reached the door and paused a moment until her breathing returned to normal. Then she, too, entered the palace.
She was by the back stairs that led from the kitchens to the rest of the palace. Below her, she could hear the cooks and servants talking and the occasional clatter of dishes and pans. Aklier was nowhere to be seen, nor did Elana know where to look for him. She tried to guess which of the many guest rooms might have been given to the Federation people, but the palace was large and she quickly gave up. Instead she climbed the stairs to the next floor, entered the first room she reached, and, leaving the door slightly ajar so she could see the stairwell, sat on the floor to wait. The servants would have to use these stairs when they carried the dinner trays, and Aklier would have to meet them—somewhere.
Seconds stretched into fruitless minutes of slowpassing time. Elana began to ache with frustration. Now that she knew the truth, she wanted to be up and away, working to free her beloved. But there was nothing more at the moment she could do, and she forced her impatience back under control.
Finally, Elana heard voices on the stairs. She raised herself to her knees, straining to hear over the sudden pounding of her heart.
Two servants passed carrying large, laden trays. Aklier was not with them. Elana stood and followed, carefully staying several paces behind, hidden by the bend in the stairs and the indifference of the servants.
At the second floor the servants turned into the corridor. Cautiously, Elana moved her head around the opening that led from the stairwell. She saw Aklier waiting for the servants in front of guest rooms a third of the way down the hall. Again Elana slid to the floor and watched from where she would not be seen at eye level.
Aklier greeted the servants, then took the tray from one of them and dismissed him. He turned back around and started to walk toward the stairwell. Elana felt a surge of panic. Where could she hide? Quickly she stood and ran up the stairs to the third floor and waited. She counted slowly to one hundred and back again, giving the servant time to return to the kitchens before she climbed back down the stairs.
She took up her vigil in time to see Aklier hand a small purse to the remaining servant. Then he knocked on the door to the guest rooms and went inside.
Elana sat back and let the air slowly from her lungs. Should she go to the Federation people and warn them of Aklier’s duplicity? They did not know her; why should they believe what she said? Should she hurry back to the temple and try again to convince Faellon? Elana shook her head; the Chief Servant had already made his position clear and changing his mind, if possible at all, would take too much time. And, most important to Elana, neither of these actions would lead her to Joakal. Elana knew her only choice was to stay close to Aklier.
She heard the Elder’s voice again as he bade goodnight to the palace guests. Elana stood and rushed back to the room on the first floor where she had watched for the Elder. Soon he and the servant came down the stairs. They paused briefly by the door that led to the courtyard, and Aklier whispered some words Elana could not hear. Then the servant turned away. Aklier opened the door and stepped out into the night.
He’s going back to the temple, Elana thought. She would give Aklier time to cross the courtyard, then she would follow. She would return to her place in the loft and there she would wait and watch and listen until she found a way to free the man she loved.
Picard, Troi, and Mother Veronica dined together in the captain’s rooms. Aklier had apologized for the simple dishes, but their meal was a mini-feast of roast fowl in thick, spiced sauce, three bowls of colorful steamed vegetables, freshly baked bread, two cheeses, and a small basket of fruits, all served with a decanter of sweet, golden wine.
Troi found the sauce on the fowl to be too rich for her taste, but the vegetables were delicious and crisp. The bread was hot, flavored with little red seeds, and the cheeses—one tangy, one smooth and soft—went well with the fruit.
She noticed that like herself, Mother Veronica ate none of the meat, but the captain attacked it with gusto, saying it reminded him of a dish his mother used to make. The conversation during the meal was pleasant and informative, centering on the work of the Little Mothers. As the meal drew to a close, Troi found her eyelids growing heavy and she had trouble concentrating on the words of her companions. She saw the captain stifling a yawn.
“I think, Captain,” she said, “that it is time Mother Veronica and I went back to our rooms. We’re all tired.”
“Hmm . . . yes, Counselor,” the captain said around another yawn. He stood; the women did the same. “Thank you for joining me. It has been a very enjoyable evening.”
“Good night, Captain,” Troi said.
As Troi turned toward the door, she heard the nun mumble a good-night, but her words were indistinct. Troi looked at her and saw that Mother Veronica’s cheeks were flushed and her eyes slightly glazed.
Troi thought about the wine. It had not tasted that strong, but it was also not the synthehol she was used to drinking on the ship—and neither she nor M
other Veronica had had much rest in the last twenty-four hours.
By the time they reached their rooms, Troi noticed that the nun’s step was unsteady as she walked over to the bed and dropped heavily to her knees. Troi grabbed the nightclothes she had had beamed down from the Enterprise and went to change as Mother Veronica bowed her head and began her evening prayers.
With each passing second, Troi found her movements becoming slower and more difficult. By the time she reentered the sleeping area, dressed in a pale pink nightdress and her uniform draped over her arm, it was a struggle to keep her eyes focused. The bed across the room looked miles away.
Troi saw that Mother Veronica had fallen asleep where she knelt, her head on the mattress, her arms outstretched as if in supplication. Troi dropped her uniform onto a chair and started to cross to the nun and help her into bed. She took a step; her balance became a precarious thing. She could barely . . . put one foot . . . in front . . . of the other. . . .
Troi fell, unconscious, to the floor.
Chapter Fourteen
FIVE THOUSAND KILOMETERS above the planet’s surface, the USS Enterprise maintained her synchronous orbit with exact, unperturbed efficiency. It was ship’s night and the computer had lowered the lighting throughout the corridors and public areas, in simulation of the hours after sunset. Beta-watch, the 4:00 P.M. through midnight shift, was nearing its completion and still Will Riker, temporarily in command of the Enterprise, could not sleep.
He walked down the dim corridors on his way to Ten-Forward, fighting the urge to return to the bridge. Although, being in command, he was technically always on duty, his next watch was not for another ten hours. His presence on the bridge now would be an unwelcome intrusion, a signal of his lack of confidence in the officers stationed there.
Riker’s trouble was not with the duty roster, or with any one on board. None of his activities this evening, not even the hour he spent playing his trombone, had been able to pull his thoughts away from Picard and Troi on the planet below.
Riker was never happy when the captain decided to lead an Away Team, even when the mission appeared to be as peaceful as their present one. The captain’s safety was Riker’s responsibility and part of his duties as first officer. Despite Riker’s casual friendliness, which had made him so popular with the crew, despite the quick, disarming grin that he wore so easily, William T. Riker took his duties very seriously.
Riker reminded himself once again of the captain’s expertise at diplomatic negotiations. If trouble does arise, Riker’s thoughts continued, he knows how to handle himself. Jean-Luc Picard hasn’t always been a captain, after all. He has faced his share of danger and survived.
But knowing these things did not alleviate Riker’s uneasiness. He still worried, like the old mother hen Picard had once called him.
Well, cluck-cluck, Riker thought wryly. He ran his right hand over his mustache and beard in the gesture that had become so habitual he was no longer aware of it. As he stepped onto the turbolift and gave his destination to the computer, he hoped Guinan would have something to say that would set his whirring thoughts to rest.
Will Riker was not the only one on board who wanted to have a few words with Guinan. Data was already in Ten-Forward. It had, in many ways, been a confusing two and a half weeks for the android. In his search for spiritual understanding, everyone with whom he had spoken so far had had something different to say.
He had spoken with many crew members besides Worf and Geordi. Not everyone he spoke to claimed to have any religious beliefs; some, in fact, were quite adamant that they did not. Others spoke of religion and religious practices in terms of family history and traditions rather than personal beliefs. They reminded Data of something Keiko and Miles O’Brien had said shortly before their wedding.
Keiko’s family still followed the Ryobu-Shinto traditions which united the earth mysticism of the Shinto with the teachings of Buddhism. O’Brien’s heritage was Irish Catholic. Data knew that historically these two religions were opposed, sometimes violently, to one another, yet rather than be disturbed by the differences, as their ancestors would have been, Keiko and Miles O’Brien welcomed the diversity and claimed it added a richness to their marriage. Data wished Keiko and Miles were still on the Enterprise so that he could discuss this further with them.
Data had also spoken with Beverly Crusher. Her opinions reflected her idealistic and passionate love for all life-forms, but they were as personal and elusive as Geordi’s. Then Data had talked to others, including Yeoman Joshua Stern who followed the ancient Earth religion of Judaism, and with Chief Thomas Greycloud whose heritage was Amerindian of a tribe called Sioux. Each of them had shared with Data some of the rich tapestry of legends that made up the history and definition of their cultural backgrounds.
Data found both the disparity and similarities a fascinating study, but none of the vast influx of information he had gained from his readings and from contact with his crewmates had provided any form of personal enlightenment.
When Data took a place on one of the bar stools, the hostess of Ten-Forward was serenely wiping the already immaculate bar. Guinan put her cloth away and came to stand before him.
“I was wondering when you’d get around to me,” she said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Data, everyone on ship knows about your current —quest.” Guinan’s mouth quirked quickly toward a smile and back again. “Some find it admirable, others find it amusing. I think it was inevitable and I was wondering when you’d get around to asking me.”
“I have many questions.”
“I know.”
“And you do not mind answering them?”
“No.”
“Thank you,” Data said. “I have sensed a certain hesitancy from many of the people I have talked to.”
“That’s only natural, Data.”
“Why?”
“Because most people, even those who follow an established tradition, spend much of their time trying to reconcile belief with experience.”
“And you do not?”
Again, the half-smile danced across the mouth of the enigmatic alien. “Yes I do,” she said. “I’ve just had a little more time and practice. So ask me your questions.”
“Do you believe in God?” Data began.
“Yes.”
“Which one?”
“There’s only one, Data.”
“In the last several days, using the computer at top speed, I have read all of the major writings on the myths and religions of Earth. I have also read many of the Vulcan teachings and most of the writings from Betazed. I have encountered the names of several thousand deities.”
“No, Data. There has been only one.”
“If there has been only one, how do you explain the multitude of definitions and practices, each claiming to come from divine inspiration?”
Guinan clasped her hands together and studied the android. Data, to whom impatience was null-programing, waited while the bartender chose her words.
“You’ve missed the point,” she said at last.
“I would appreciate it then,” Data said, “if you could explain—the point—to me.”
“The point, Data, is that this—something—this power we name God—and God is a good name; short, simple, easier to say than many—is beyond our definitions. Whether you call it a force or a being, whether you make it male or female or androgynous, whether you break its characteristics into a thousand different aspects or gather them together into one all-powerful being, God—true God—is beyond all that.”
“Then no one is correct in his beliefs.”
“On the contrary, Data, everyone is correct.”
“Then how does one choose which expression of beliefs to follow?” Data asked.
“Like the rest of us, Data, you’ll just have to follow your heart.”
“But, Guinan—I have no heart.”
This time Guinan’s smile was not fleeting. “Oh yes, you do, Data,” she sa
id.
Data looked puzzled. “I am a constructed being made up of component parts of—”
“You have a heart, Data,” Guinan repeated. “Not a muscle in your chest, but a heart.”
“I do not understand.”
“Let me ask you a few questions, Data,” Guinan said. “If Geordi were in danger and the only way to save him would mean the end of your existence, would you do so?”
“Yes, but that—”
Guinan held up her hand. “What about Worf, or Picard, or any of us?”
“Of course, but—”
“When Keiko and O’Brien were having trouble on their wedding day, did you put aside your own interests and try to help them?”
“They are my friends.”
“When you rescued the little girl, Sarjenka, and talked the captain into using the ship’s resources to relieve the tectonic stresses that were tearing her planet apart, she was only a voice over subspace.”
“She needed our help.”
“That’s my point, Data. I’ve never known you to turn away from anyone. That’s love, Data, that’s heart. You’re mistaking the emotion, the warm, fuzzy feeling of being in love, for the reality. Love isn’t just about emotion; it’s about choices and action. That’s why I say you have a heart, and like the rest of us, you just have to learn how to recognize what it’s telling you.”
“How?”
“No one can answer that for another individual.”
“Thank you, Guinan,” Data said as he slid off the bar stool. “You have given me much to consider.”
“One more thing, Data,” Guinan said. “In all the reading you’ve done, have you come across the teaching that man—sentient life—was made in the image of God?”
“In several different expressions and philosophies.”
“You’ll come across it in countless more. If man was created in the image of God, and you were created in the image of man, aren’t you part of God, too?”
With a smile, Guinan picked up her cloth and began again to wipe the bar. Data cocked his head slightly to one side, his positronic brain pondering her final question on several levels. Behind him, Data heard the door open and recognized the sound of Commander Riker’s footsteps.
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