Текст книги "The Red King "

Автор книги: Michael Martin

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Chapter Nine

STARDATE 57028.3

“Please, come in, Admiral,” Deanna Troi said, looking up at the towering, snow-haired man who stood in the doorway of her office.

“I understand that you requested to see me, Commander?” Admiral Akaar ducked slightly as he entered the room. He remained standing, not quite at full attention, but remained straight enough to be more than a little imposing. “What can I help you with?”

Troi stood from behind her desk and gestured toward the plush turquoise settee near the one wall that was lined with crowded bookcases. “Please, sit, Admiral.”

Akaar regarded her with a silent stare for a moment, then moved to the couch and sat. “Should I assume I am here for a professional visit, Counselor? Are you sensing that I require therapy?”

Troi smiled as she sat down on a nearby matching chaise longue. “Professional, yes. Therapy, no. I wanted to get some more background on the Neyel.”

“Then I suggest you speak to Frane. Or perhaps one of our other Neyel guests.”

“I’ve already done that, Admiral. And the captain and I have both learned quite a bit about the Neyel that way—and the non-Neyel aliens who accompanied Frane—despite the reticence I sensed from several of our guests after they learned about my Betazoid talents.”

“And what new insights have you gleaned?”

“Well, for one, the non-Neyel aliens we brought aboard are all members of races the Neyel Hegemony treats as second-class citizens.”

“Former slaves?” Akaar said.

“Evidently. I’m glad the Neyel seem to have done away with slavery as an institution, but they have a long way to go in terms of establishing equality.”

Akaar offered her a small smile. “No one knows better than I that such things take time, Counselor.” Troi knew that he had to be talking about his homeworld of Capella IV, which would no doubt enter the Federation someday—though probably not during the admiral’s lifetime.

Troi nodded sadly. “I have also learned that the Neyel people’s pride in their self-reliance seems to be quite ingrained. It explains their continued insistence that they don’t need outside help to deal with the current crisis.”

Akaar nodded soberly. “That is not surprising. The earliest generations of Neyel overcame almost unimaginable adversities merely to survive. And those adversities made them understandably distrustful of outsiders.”

“Yes, it’s certainly understandable. But their ‘go it alone’ attitude might be working counter to the survival of their species now.”

“I agree. How may I help?”

“I want to try to get a better sense of who these people are,Admiral, based on what we know about who they were.Fortunately for me, I have two primary sources to consult: Commander Tuvok and yourself.”

Although Akaar’s face remained impassive, Troi sensed a flare-up of intense emotion being restrained when she mentioned the Vulcan tactical officer’s name.

“What can I tell you that was not already in my report, or in Captain Sulu’s?” Akaar asked. “Remember that it hasbeen eighty years since I last set eyes on a Neyel. I do not enjoy admitting that I am growing old, Counselor. Yet here I am, eight decades older, more stubborn, and—some would say—none the wiser.” His smile returned. “What do you wish to know?”

She was tempted to ask Akaar who might have any reason to question his wisdom, now that he and her husband finally seemed to have worked out the differences that had brought them into conflict during the recent diplomatic mission to Romulus. Then she considered the tension she had been sensing lately in both the admiral and his old Excelsiorcrewmate Tuvok whenever circumstances forced the two men into close proximity; she realized that she had answered her own question.

Putting those ruminations aside, she said, “I’m trying to get a sense of just how much these people and their culture may have changed over the past eight decades.”

“Because of the influence of Ambassador Burgess.”

Troi nodded. “Exactly.”

“I have noted that Mr. Frane speaks with a definite Federation Standard accent that the Neyel did not possess eighty years ago,” Akaar said. “Doubtless a result of the time Burgess spent among his people.”

“She was definitely influential. I’ve learned that Burgess died about two decades after beginning her work on the Neyel homeworld.”

Akaar looked intrigued. “I was not aware of this. How did the ambassador die?”

“By violence. It was a political assassination.”

Akaar nodded sadly, and his gaze took on a faraway aspect. “It is the fate of all too many peacemakers and great shapers of history, I am afraid.” Troi couldn’t be sure, but she imagined he was thinking of his own father, who had been assassinated by political rivals shortly before Akaar’s birth.

“That’s unfortunately true,” she said. “Burgess clearly represented the prospect of hope to many, but also stirred up the fears of others in Neyel society. She became a martyr to those who wanted to look forward, and a dangerous, justly slain villain to those who couldn’t or wouldn’t let go of the past.”

“A war of ideas. So your next question must be: which idea seems to be prevailing now?”

Troi nodded. “And it’s a difficult question to answer accurately under our current circumstances.”

“I suppose a Neyel military detachment, a pair of Neyel cultists, and a handful of aliens from species we have never encountered before does not qualify as a representative sampling of Neyel society.”

“Exactly, Admiral. But what I can’t learn from the present I might learn by studying the past. Can you remember anything else that might be significant about the Neyel of 2298 that isn’t in Excelsior’s mission logs?”

“I do not believe so. But I will certainly contact you if I recall any other pertinent details not reflected in the reports.”

Troi nodded. “Thank you, Admiral. Perhaps Commander Tuvok might be able to give me some additional insight,” she said, thinking out loud.

Akaar squinted, leaning forward before answering. Troi suddenly became keenly aware of how much larger than her he was.

“The commander had less direct contact with the Neyel than I did. Although in his uniquely Vulcan way, I imagine that he feels that he has a deeper insight into them than the rest of us do. But I sincerely doubt it. Commander Tuvok is not the expert on humanoid behavior that he often pretends to be.”

Troi stopped herself from raising an eyebrow at Akaar’s remark, and at the now-familiar emotional tension she sensed in him. “Is there some conflict between you and Commander Tuvok that you wish to disc—”

“No.” Interrupting her, Akaar stood, tugging at his uniform tunic as he rose. “Whatever passed between Tuvok and myself in the past belongs precisely where it is—in the past. Now, if you will excuse me, other duties require my attention.”

Troi stood and extended her hand, trying to radiate all the calm she could muster. “I’m sorry if I brought up a sensitive subject, Admiral. Thank you for your time.”

He turned to leave without taking her hand, and the door slid open in front of him. Before he crossed its threshold he turned back toward her.

“I regret that I could not be of more help with your questions about the Neyel, Commander. And I sincerelyhope I never discover that this interview was actually an attempt by Riker’s senior counselor to dig into my past relationship with Titan’s current tactical officer. If that were to be the case, I would consider that a gross violation of trust. Please see to it that I neverdiscover any such thing, Commander.”

The azure-colored door whisked closed after Akaar stepped out into the corridor, and Troi quietly considered the admiral’s stern warning.

Well,that certainly didn’t end well, did it?she thought, chastising herself.

Suddenly, she wasn’t quite so keen on calling in Tuvok to chat about the past.

Chapter Ten

STARDATE 57028.4

“All right. So poker’s not your game,” Riker said, pushing his deck of cards and two piles of chips to the left side of the table.

He watched as the young Neyel eyed the gaming accouterments with undisguised suspicion. “We are a conservative people. Games of chance have never held much appeal for us. Chess, however, was one of the games that our Oh-Neyel ancestors deemed worthy of preserving.”

“I suppose survival is as much a game of skill as it is a game of chance,” Riker said.

Frane nodded. “Exactly.”

When Frane had asked to be taken aboard Titan,Riker had exulted, as though the Neyel had just formally applied for repatriation to mainline humanity. But now he was beginning to wonder whether Frane’s request had been motivated more by a desire to get away from his Romulan hosts’ “hospitality” than by a need to rejoin his terrestrial cousins.

I guess this is where I learn how much diplomatic expertise I picked up on Romulus,he thought wryly, feeling entirely inadequate as a stand-in for Deanna.

“Let’s try chess, then,” Riker said, rising. He crossed the mess hall, stepping past the Blue Table, where Cadet Torvig Bu-kar-nguv sat in quiet conversation with Melora Pazlar and Zurin Dakal. The one-meter-tall Torvig’s multijointed bionic arms were swiftly arranging piles of colorful foodstuffs into something that resembled a sandwich; this skillful multitasking apparently distracted none of the fur-covered, ostrich-like engineering trainee’s attention from whatever doubtless highly technical topic was presently being mooted about the table.

From the corner table just beyond, Riker retrieved a flat, two-dee chessboard. Moments later he had set it on the table between himself and Frane, opened it, and laid out the pieces randomly next to the board.

Riker smiled, he hoped ingratiatingly, toward his prospective opponent. “Choose a color, Mr. Frane.”

Frane eyed him speculatively for a long moment. “Red,” he said finally.

“That puts you in charge of the Red King, then.”

The Neyel appeared somewhat startled by this, then quickly settled into a task with which he was obviously familiar. He sat silently as his large but surprisingly dexterous hands moved rapidly, arranging the red pieces on his side of the board into two neat ranks. He began with the king and queen, then moved outward toward the board’s edges with his bishops, knights, and rooks, all of which soon stood behind a protective stockade of pawns. All the while, Riker studied the intricate braid of colored beads, shells, and fine chains he noticed adorning the Neyel’s right wrist.

Riker took his time setting up his white pieces, allowing his languid movements to stretch out the silence that ruled the table. “You and your friends have been aboard Titanfor almost a whole day. I’m surprised you’re still being so quiet.”

Frane shrugged, staring at the red pieces before him over steepled fingers. “What is there to say?”

Riker returned the shrug. “I suppose I just expected you to be more talkative than the other Neyel we brought on board. Particularly the ones in uniform.” And a “thanks for the rescue” might have been nice, too,he thought.

“They all no doubt believe they are your prisoners.”

“I’ve asked Commander Troi to assure them otherwise.”

“She has,” Frane said, nodding. “Repeatedly. And I don’t doubt that she, at least, sincerely means us all well.”

Riker eyed the board, its sixty-four spaces pregnant with unrealized possibilities. True, chess had never seized his imagination in quite the way poker had, but the ancient game nevertheless satisfied a need for tactical one-up-manship in ways that made even fast-paced strategema tournaments pale in comparison.

Deciding that caution wasn’t likely to increase his opponent’s garrulousness, Riker decided it was best to get his “light brigade” of bishops, knights, and rooks ready for a skirmish as quickly as possible. He picked up the knight on his left and set it down again at c3.

“She told me she’s shown you our comparative genetic profiles, too,” Riker said.

“Yesterday,” Frane said evenly. “You, your first officer, your head nurse, her son, some of your bridge crew—even Commander Troi herself—all possess genes that originated on Auld Aerth, just as we Neyel do.”

Riker took this as an encouraging sign. Still, the Neyel seemed to have all his shields up, and at maximum intensity. “So what’s the problem? Why do I still get the feeling that you don’t trust us much more than you do the Romulans?”

Frane mirrored Riker’s move, then turned his head, apparently to look at the variegated group of perhaps a dozen or so Titancrew members that was present. To his right, Riker glimpsed Lieutenant Kekil, the large, pale green Chelon biologist, chatting with the golden brown-scaled, quadrupedal exobiology trainee Orilly Malar. Dr. Onnta, the gold-skinned Balosneean physician, crossed the room toward one of the replicators.

“Imprisoned by the Romulans, imprisoned by you,” Frane said. “What’s the difference?”

Riker leaned forward and got his other knight into play, setting it down on f3. “You’re not saying you want to go back aboard the Valdore,are you?”

Once again, Frane mirrored Riker’s move. “No,” he said, a vague smile playing against his hard, gray lips. The thin—and, according to Dr. Ree, very recent—scar that ran along his shorn temple flushed a dark, angry red. Human blood, and human emotion.

“Frane, if you and your friends really were prisoners here—”

“I would not describe all of them as my ‘friends,’ Captain Riker,” Frane said, interrupting. “Other than my Nozomi, all the other Neyel you recovered are soldiers who once answered to my late father. I believe I recognized Subaltern Harn among them.”

This piqued Riker’s interest; in a few seconds, he’d just learned more about Titan’s other Neyel guests than he had since they first came aboard.

“This Harn is in charge now?” Riker asked.

“He’s probably the ranking officer, now that my father has gone to his reward.”

Riker nodded, understanding at once that he’d struck a filial nerve. It was a sensitivity that he could easily relate to. “Friends or not, if the lot of you really wereour prisoners, then don’t you think we’d have made a serious effort to…break you before now?”

Frane and Riker exchanged their next several moves in silence, each player getting his pawns into motion just enough to enable the bishops to join the fray with the knights.

“Aren’t your counselors really nothing more than alternative, more-devious-than-usual interrogators, Captain?”

“Our counselors are an important means of maintaining the emotional health of Starfleet crews on long voyages. They’ve been indispensable aboard our vessels for nearly half a century now.” Riker couldn’t help but wonder whether the sainted Aidan Burgess would have succeeded in stranding herself in Magellanic space in her crusade to reform Neyel culture had a competent counselor been present aboard Excelsior,just to keep an eye on her.

“So says Commander Troi. Maybe she’s even right about that. But…” the Neyel trailed off.

“But?” Riker captured one of Frane’s pawns, and the Neyel responded in kind during his turn.

“But your chief counselor belongs to a telepathic species,” Frane said.

Frane’s misgivings didn’t surprise Riker in the least. “You really have been studying up on us, haven’t you?” he asked, impressed by the younger man’s initiative. Although none of the Neyel appeared to be able to read Federation Standard, the universal translator was able to translate any of the texts stored in Titan’s computers into Neyel-intelligible audio.

“You did give us unlimited access to your Federation historical records, Captain. Did I misunderstand something?”

“Only partly. It’s true, Betazoids are telepathic. But Commander Troi is only half-Betazoid. Her telepathy isn’t as well-developed as other members of her kind. She’s primarily an empath.”

“Meaning she reads emotions rather than thoughts?”

“Mostly.”

“Somehow I find that even more disquieting.”

“If you’d be more comfortable dealing with one of Titan’s other counselors, there’s Huilan—”

Frane shook his head. “Bizarre creature. I can remember playing with something that resembled him when I was small.”

“All right. Maybe you should schedule a session with Counselor Haaj. He’s a Tellarite, and one thing nobody’s everaccused him of being is overly cuddly.”

In the turns that followed, Riker lost a bishop and another pawn, then took down one of Frane’s knights. Frane castled, moving his king toward the right-hand side of his board.

All the while, the young Neyel kept glancing uneasily over his shoulder toward the various crew members who were using other areas of the room, eating, conversing, or strolling to or from either the food service areas or the wall-mounted replicator units.

“Something’s still bothering you,” Riker said, pausing in mid-move. “And I don’t think it has anything to do with our counseling staff.”

Frane turned back to face Riker. “No. It had more to do with the many…nonhumans I see aboard this ship.”

Riker’s eyebrows rose, then he reminded himself that the Neyel Excelsior’s reports had described had been nothing if not xenophobic and paranoid. Discovering that Frane perhaps shared those characteristics should have come as no surprise. Still, the thought came as something of a disappointment, considering the close relationship between humans and Neyel.

“Are you referring to any particular member of the crew?”

“At the moment…yes,” Frane said, and nodded toward a table located near the exit. Admiral Akaar sat at the table, quietly sipping a hot beverage that might have been tea. He was looking over his mug directly at Frane.

“His eyes,” the Neyel said, almost inaudibly. “So dark and cold and judgmental. He reminds me of my father.”

Riker suppressed a smile. Welcome to the club,he thought, recalling those all-too-infrequent occasions when his own father, the late Kyle Riker, had been present for mealtime staring contests of this very kind.

Riker suddenly felt a much greater degree of emotional rapport with Frane than he had since the Neyel had first asked him for permission to stay aboard Titan.

“I could go over there and ask him not to stare,” Riker said quietly, leaning forward conspiratorially.

Frane started at that, apparently having taken the suggestion more seriously than Riker had intended it.

“I was kidding,” Riker said, taking one of Frane’s rooks. Somehow, he hadn’t expected Frane to play the game so inattentively. “Whatever’s bothering you, I can tell there’s more going on than simple rudeness from Starfleet’s admiralty.”

Frane appeared to realize all at once that it was again his turn to move. His knight took the bishop with which Riker had captured the red rook. “You’re right. It’s not just your admiral.”

“What, then?”

“It’s…your entire crew.”

That blunt declaration brought Riker up short. “I’m quite proud of this crew, Mr. Frane. It’s the most diverse group of sentients currently serving in the entire fleet.”

“I don’t doubt that for an instant. But…”

Riker sighed, his impatience getting the better of him. “But?”

Frane cleared his throat and started over. “You keep assuring me that your intentions are benign. Yet you’ve acquired slaves from just about every world across your galaxy.”

Riker was glad he wasn’t drinking anything at that moment; he almost certainly would have sprayed a generous amount across the chessboard and into Frane’s lap. “Slaves?”

“You run this ship and command her crew, don’t you?”

“Titanis under my command, yes.”

“And you’re a human. Commander Vale, your first officer, is also a human. Commander Troi, your diplomatic officer—whom I’m given to understand is also your wife—is half-human, and certainly looks human enough to pass for one, as does that staring admiral—”

Nettled, Riker interrupted. “What are you saying?”

“Only that this ‘diverse’ crew of which you are so proud answers to a small group of powerful humans—or else to beings who so resemble humans that no one can tell the difference. Just as most of the elder species of M’jallanish space answer to a relative handful of their Neyel overlords.”

Riker watched in stunned silence as a cold-eyed Frane moved the red queen, placing Riker’s white king in check. The Neyel began absently playing with the bracelet on his wrist as he continued looking down at the board.

“You obviously missed a lot of the nuances of our historical database,” the captain said at length. “Our Federation is based on mutual cooperation. Not conquest.”

Frane looked up at him. “Then why do humans seem to be at the top of all of the Federation’s most significant hierarchies?”

Riker castled, buying himself a move or two. “The Federation Council has always had equal representation, Frane, and a good number of nonhuman presidents. Bolians, Grazerites, Andorians, Efrosians—”

“But a human sits in that office presently. Correct? And humans have held it more often than any other single species.”

Riker found that he was back in check yet again. “Humans are a big constituency in the Federation, Neyel racial guilt notwithstanding. So, yes, garden-variety humans are bound to get into the Palais de la Concorde from time to time. But that doesn’t make us conquerors. I admit that humans have assumed a large role in running the Federation. It’s a heavy burden of responsibility, but it’s one we share freely with many other species. Humans also assume our fair share of the risks involved in maintaining and defending the Federation. But the Federation is a big place, and we don’t see ourselves as having—or deserving—a dominant position in it.”

Frane looked impressed, if not altogether convinced. “What about that large, white-skinned fellow I saw when I visited your doctor in sickbay?”

“You mean Mekrikuk. He’s a Reman—they’re recent wartime allies from outside the Federation—and he came aboard temporarily just before the…accident that brought us here.”

“Ah. I noticed that he seems to be confined to your infirmary, even though very little appears to be wrong with him. Is his enslavement justified by his being from ‘outside the Federation’?”

Riker sighed, unused to such cynicism, particularly from someone of Frane’s tender years. “Mekrikuk is no slave, Frane. At least, not since we freed him from those who hadenslaved him and his people. At the moment, Dr. Ree is still keeping him under observation. But I won’t lie to you—Mekrikuk does present us with certain…security concerns.”

Riker felt uncomfortable being reminded that he wasn’t going to be able to keep Mekrikuk detained this way forever. Once he was well enough that Ree felt he could discharge him, the Reman would have to be declared either friend or foe, bound for either guest quarters or a security cell. And Mekrikuk himself had complicated matters greatly by having made a formal request for political asylum.

Riker was also beginning to feel discomfiture about something else: the notion that some of the prejudices Frane was projecting onto him might, even in some small way, be real. He considered the initial revulsion he’d felt when Deanna had introduced him to Dr. Ree. And Frane’s trenchant observation that despite Titan’s highly variegated crew, humans dominated the ship’s command hierarchy. Am Ireally as species-blind as I’ve always given myself credit for being? When I chose Chris to be my exec, was itreally because I thought she was the best candidate? Or was it because I thought I might relate better to a human first officer?

It suddenly became very important to Riker to end this particular debate. “Let me ask you something, Frane: Should I assume the aliens we found with you in your escape pod are yourslaves, just because of your people’s history as slavers?”

“But they wereslaves of my people, in reality if not in legal fact. At least, that’s very much how it seemed before we came together in common brotherhood as the Seekers After Penance.”

“Ah. Your pilgrimage to wake up the Sleeper. And to punish the Neyel for being slavers, as well as everyone else around here for having allowed the Neyel to enslave them.”

Frane gave a rueful nod, his eyes haunted. He looked as though he was ready to bolt. Riker decided that now might be a good time to change the subject.

“That’s an interesting bracelet,” he said, looking down at Frane’s gray wrist. The Neyel’s tail suddenly rose behind him, going rigid as his other hand pulled the sleeve of his robe down to cover up the bracelet. Obviously, it meant a great deal to him.

Riker tried to make his tone of voice as soothing as possible. “Relax, Mr. Frane. Remember, you’re among friends.”

Frane reached forward and moved one of his rooks. “Checkmate. Thank you for the game.” He stood. “Please excuse me, Captain. I wish to be with Nozomi and the others, to meditate.” And with that, he headed for the exit. Riker watched the Neyel’s retreating back long enough to see Lieutenant Hutchinson from security discreetly following.

Riker continued sitting, and stared dolefully at the board and its scattered game pieces as though he were surveying an ancient killing field.

“How’d it go?” said a gentle voice from across the table.

Riker looked up and saw that his wife had somehow taken Frane’s place without his having noticed.

“I think this is the last time I’ll try working your side of the street, Counselor.”

“That bad?” she asked, extracting his right hand from the wreckage of battle and holding it between both of her own.

“Let’s just say he’s got ‘daddy abandonment issues’ that make mine pale by comparison.”

Deanna, with whom he had been sharing every fact he’d been able to tease out of Frane to date, fixed him with a look of mock surprise. “No. Do you suppose he’s auditioning you as a replacement for his own late, emotionally distant father?”

“Very funny, Counselor. You really think I’m ‘emotionally distant’?”

“Not at all,” she said, squeezing his hand. “But the relationship Frane had with his father strikes me as very similar to the one you had with yours. Maybe he’s picked up on that, and therefore sees you as a kindred spirit.”

Riker shrugged. “There’s a lot more going on with him than father-figure issues, though. He’s also carrying around at least a couple of centuries worth of collective racial guilt on his shoulders.”

“That much was fairly clear to me from the beginning,” she said, nodding. “My impression is that ‘slavemaster guilt’ attitudes such as Frane’s are fairly common among Neyel of his generation. His reverence for the native religious tradition of the Sleeper may even be part of a growing Neyel countercultural movement. And another thing about Frane is even clearer to me now as well.”

“What’s that?”

“I already knew that he doesn’t want to talk to me because he perceives me as untrustworthy because of my empathic talents. But what I didn’t realize until now is just how much he genuinely seems to like you. I think he trusts you on some very fundamental level. Or at least he wants to, if he could only let himself do it.”

Riker chuckled. “He could have fooled me.”

“You’re just hearing his own self-hatred and fear talking. As well as his deep contempt for his people’s past excesses.”

“Why do you think he trusts me?”

“I’ve overheard bits of some of your conversations about your relationships with your respective fathers, and I’ve sensed that you’re right about his issues in that regard. You’ve definitely got that in common.”

“Wonderful.”

“It might not be much, Will, but at least it’s something.Besides, he knows that humans and Neyel are related, and I think he’s drawn to you because of that as well.”

“So what should I do?”

“Keep after him, but go gently.”

He chuckled quietly. “Isn’t ‘gently’ more your department than mine?”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Will. Remember, Frane isn’t as apprehensive of you as he is of me and my staff. That makes you the best chance he has of successfully rejoining humanity. And maybe the best hope his entire people have of successfully finishing what Ambassador Burgess started eighty years ago when she began trying to teach the Neyel how to live without war and exploitation.”

“To think that humanity’s relationship with the Neyel might all come down to whether or not I start giving Frane trombone lessons…” he said, trailing off.

“That might not be a bad idea,” she said, nodding.

Riker thought that Deanna’s assessment of his importance might be more than a little grandiose. Then he considered the dozen-plus Neyel soldiers who were even now sitting in uncommunicative silence in their guest quarters aboard Titan.So far none of them had shared anything of themselves beyond their names, ranks, and the local equivalent of serial numbers.

Maybe Frane reallyis the best shot the Federation will ever get at making a successful re-contact with the Neyel,he thought, wishing, as always, for broader shoulders whenever such a crushing load of responsibility seemed determined to settle onto them.

“He’s obviously projecting his people’s historic motivations onto us,” Deanna continued. “As well as his own related personal feelings of guilt. It’s certainly understandable, considering his cultural baggage. The Neyel have spent the last few centuries building a star-spanning, hegemonic empire across the backs of whole worlds of indigenous slaves. It’s probably difficult for Frane to imagine that our own Federation could have come about in any other way.”

Riker nodded, though he had to suppress an inward shudder. There but for the grace of blind luck and even blinder gods go we,he thought.

“How did your own Neyel-related fishing expedition go this morning?” Riker said, content that there was little else to say at the moment about Frane.

Deanna turned in her chair, apparently to make certain that her subjects weren’t eavesdropping. She faced him again a moment later, and spoke very quietly. “I’m not sure yet. The only thing I amsure of is that Akaar and Tuvok still have some unresolved issue between them, though both refuse to discuss it.”

“Do you sense it might be anything I need to worry about?” Riker asked. What he didn’t need now were distractions stemming from old interpersonal conflicts.

Deanna shrugged. “That’ll have to be up to them.” She gave him a wry smile. “Remember, Will, I’m an empath, not a precog.”

His combadge chirped, interrupting the discussion. “Vale to Captain Riker.”