SHIP OF FOOLS

Chapter 03

"It is spectacular", said Ensign Storgat, of the Enterprise's Astrophysics department, his normally even voice and placid blue features betraying a hint of excitement at the data displayed on the monitor in front of him. Lieutenant Tom Rickett of Stellar Cartography, just dropped in with some test results, nodded vigorously. "Told you so."

"For all I know there's never been anything like it. It may mean we've discovered a new class of planetary atmosphere in the Hellicon Cluster. Christ, just look at that, sir. The sort of organism that could survive in conditions like these..." Ensign Dualle's voice dropped dramatically. Rickett nodded again. "I'm looking forward to getting back there. I liked the place. Of course we didn't have the time to get down to it, but..."

The three of them looked up simultaneously when the doors hissed open to admit Lieutenant Benedetto who stopped in the middle of the room, looking round with a more than usually belligerent expression.

"Can I help you, sir?" asked Dualle.

"Possibly. Where's Mayekawa?"

Dualle gave Storgat an uneasy look. "Commander Mayekawa is in the lab with the diagnostics team, sir. We're just holding the fort for him."

"In fact we've been gloating over some of the Hellicon Cluster data", Rickett added pleasantly. "Have a look, Benedetto. It's glorious."

Benedetto shrugged. "If you say so. I don't have time for that now. I've just had a meeting with Commander Riker."

"Really", said Rickett.

"Yeah. Really. And the Hellicon Cluster needn't concern you right now – we're not going back there."

"Hey, wait a moment! I thought –"

"We've changed course an hour ago", interrupted Benedetto. "I'll just have a word with Mayekawa, and then I'll need my people for that diagnostic, if you don't mind."

Rickett drew a measured breath the moment Benedetto was out of hearing. "Well. I'll be getting back to S.C."

"Sorry for that, sir", said Dualle. "Things are a bit tense here right now. He and Mayekawa aren't exactly hitting it off, you might say."

"You surprise me", said Rickett, flicked them a wry grin, and left.

"What is eating the guy?" Dualle asked when the doors had swished shut again. "It's just getting worse. I know he doesn't like it here, but that attitude isn't going to get him into the command division. Just shows the sort of bridge officer he'd make."

"He believes in his potential", replied Storgat, philosophically.

- - - - - - -

In Ten Forward, Lieutenant Worf was giving his account of the Mavvion mission for the benefit of Will Riker – who was trying very hard not to grin too broadly. Riker had finally managed to pry Worf away from the terminal in his quarters where the Enterprise's security chief was looking into the interference with targeting that could be expected inside the Mount Nebula, and by now he was enjoying himself thoroughly. "I'd have loved to meet them, you know", he said.

"No", replied Worf firmly. "They are a devious, dishonorable race. Their quarrels are despicable. The captain wasted his time on them."

"He did manage to get those treaties signed", Riker said with a shrug.

"It was not worth the effort. They will quarrel again. And he almost got himself killed over those... treaties."

"From what he said, he prefers to think of it as an accident."

Worf gave him one long look and applied himself to his prune juice.

"All right. I would like to hear your version of that one", said Riker.

"Very well", rumbled Worf, not altogether displeased. "On the third day of our stay the archont of Mavvion and some of the delegates gave the captain a tour of their government buildings. There was restoration work being done to parts of them, and local custom demands that such work must be done with traditional tools such as blocks and tackles. Accidents could happen easily. Security was everywhere. Perhaps you should know that negotiations had not been going well the day before. The captain had refused to agree with the claims of some of the delegates, and finally told them they might as well accept that Federation membership was not about demanding all and granting nothing..." Worf paused, tilting his glass to study the remainder of his drink, and not for the first time Riker found himself thinking that the Klingon's sense of timing was infallible.

"We had parted from the delegates, having completed the tour. We were walking along a passage with a vault propped up on wooden supports. Suddenly one of the guards yelled, pointed past me and fired his phaser. His aim was bad, and the setting must have been very high. He took out the nearest support, and the vault... collapsed." Worf took another sip of prune juice.

"Just like that."

"Just like that", nodded Worf. "We reached a doorway in time to take shelter there – the captain, myself, and some government official. We discovered that we could not open the door. It was metal, and all doors not in use had been locked by security. Splinters were flying. I managed to shield the captain. The official was injured. We could not get past the rubble – it blocked the entire doorway. Some time later someone unlocked the door from the other side. They were very surprised to find us alive. Two people had been killed by falling masonry. The man who had been firing and another said they had seen someone with a weapon moving in the shadow of a doorway, although I had not. Their officer backed them, of course. The captain told the Mavvionians that he felt he was wasting his time and had come to the conclusion that we should be leaving in the morning, and we returned to our quarters. The archont was very upset when he learned about it. There was a state banquet scheduled for that evening, and it would not have looked well if the captain had decided not to appear. Shortly afterwards a delegation of ministers came to apologize for the incident and ask him to extend his stay."

"And having every intention of doing that anyway, he gracefully consented", ventured Riker.

"Not straight away. He merely said he would reconsider his decision."

"Your suggestion?"

"My suggestion had been to leave immediately. In fact, while they were apologizing I took the opportunity to inform the captain that his shuttlecraft might be ready for him within a few minutes."

Riker snorted with delight. "Very subtle, Worf."

Worf gave him a withering look. "I felt we had been listening to their impertinence too long already."

"Of course. Sorry. Still, it didn't harm his position, did it?"

"He was not offended", conceded Worf.

"I take it there were no more accidents after that", prompted Riker.

"No. I saw to that. There was some trouble with their security chief, however."

Just then the waiter arrived with two fresh glasses.

"Synthehol, Commander. Your prune juice, sir."

"Thanks, Ben", Riker said absent-mindedly.

The waiter bent forward confidentially. "You know, there's been quite a lot of interest in that drink lately. Several people asked for whatever it was Lieutenant Worf was having. When we tell them what it is, they usually leave it at that. But someone actually said that a fortified version would make a great drink. We're working on it."

"A syntheholic version of prune juice? Now that should be interesting. Make sure you call in security before you try it out on anybody."

The waiter grinned. "To be honest, it's usually when security is in full view that people want to be seen drinking prune juice. And frankly, we don't expect anybody to order it more than once."

"Just as well", muttered Worf. The idea of being imitated didn't appeal to him.

"I agree, sir", said the waiter, collecting the empty glasses. Riker was about to answer in kind when the soft swish of the doors caught his attention. A slim young woman with straight fair hair entered the room and stopped just inside the door. He caught a brief, interested look that slid past him to rest on Worf's face for a moment, then the woman turned away to walk up to the bar. Riker watched her appreciatively. "Talking of imitation. There's Nagel."

"You won't hear her ordering prune juice, Commander!" protested Ben, shocked, and took himself off.

"No, she's just indulging herself with a bit of Klingon calisthenics every now and then. If I'd known your programs would prove that popular with lovely junior officers, Worf –"

Worf turned an uncomprehending frown upon him. "Your point, Commander?"

Riker chuckled. "Nothing. We've been interrupted. What sort of trouble?"

"Oh. The man suggested that as I was unfamiliar with the place and a stranger to the local culture, I might appreciate some assistance. What he meant was that Mavvionian customs and attitudes were beyond my understanding. He offered me a security detail to take some of the burden of my job off me."

"He referred to it as a burden, did he?"

"He did." Worf's eyes narrowed a little at the memory. "I declined. I told him that accepting such an offer was incompatible with my duties. Unfortunately he either did not understand, or he had some ulterior motive for persisting. He repeated his offer at a later occasion within hearing of both the captain and the delegates, representing it as a point of Mavvionian honor."

Riker whistled softly. "Good move on his part."

"Yes. It forced me to make my own point then and there. I could not risk being encumbered with an untrustworthy honor guard. The delegates were offended. There was a row. Finally the captain got them to calm down. He told them that he would have brought a security detail if he had felt there was any need for it, but had deemed it both unnecessary and impolite towards our hosts."

"Yes, that sounds like the Picard touch", Riker said appreciatively. "End of discussion?"

"It was, for the moment. However, after this I felt that the local security, or at least part of it, was not only an encumbrance but an actual danger. As the personnel was everywhere it was impossible to predict what might happen next. The only solution was to stay with the captain."

"Meaning you actually attended every single one of those infernal meetings?" asked Riker. "From what he said, he must have been bored out of his mind!"

"It was tedious", admitted Worf. "And irritating. I believe he thought so, too. Several of the delegates appeared to find my presence disquieting, which was what I had anticipated. But I believe I convinced him that his safety required no less."

You didn't, my friend, thought Riker. You just convinced him that he didn't stand a chance in hell winning that argument. Out aloud he said: "It sounds like you had one holiday of an assignment."

"Much talk to no purpose. A race without honor or courage. But", said Worf, and the sudden note of sheer hatred in his voice almost made Riker jump, "they were not Cardassians."

- - - - - - -

"You know, I still haven't grown used to you wearing that uniform", said the captain, refilling his tea cup. Troi smiled, serenely sipping her own Betazoid mallow tea.

"To be honest, I resented wearing it at first. But now I suspect that what I was resenting most was the form of the request and the fact that it came from someone who was... well, rather difficult to please. It does look more professional, of course. I'm not sure if I should wear it for appointments, but it was the right thing for those Federation envoys once I had ended up looking after them."

"I have been told about that. You must have done a very good job in a very difficult and trying situation. Thank you."

"It has been an honor", said Troi, trying to drop her voice by an octave or so, and they both smiled.

"Of course, that is not what I wanted to see you about", continued the captain.

"No. And we're not sitting here just to talk about Mavvion either – even though you made it all sound very amusing. You are a little preoccupied with something I think. May I hazard a guess, Captain? I believe you're unhappy with our new assignment, and uncomfortable with the prospect of handling another dubious Cardassian issue. You haven't got over what happened on Celtris III, and I think you don't entirely trust your own reactions."

Picard looked up, genuinely surprised. Troi didn't usually make mistakes like that. "No, that wasn't what I was going to address at all. I am unhappy with that assignment – we all are, and for much the same reasons, I believe. But I am fine, Deanna."

"Forgive me, but that was what you said after Wolf 359, Captain. I think you knew quite well that it wasn't true, and I knew that you knew."

"That –" He stopped himself. "That was quite different."

"Maybe. Very well." She tilted her head, studying him. "I'll take your word for it – for the moment, anyway. What is it that is bothering you?"

"In fact I'm a little concerned about this wire device Geordi is sporting these days. He was quite enthusiastic about it, and God knows I don't mean to interfere in his private business. But he said something about its being all over Engineering, and under the circumstances I would like to know what it is."

"You mean this?" She pushed a mass of dark curls back over her right shoulder, and sure enough, there it was: a slender arrangement of intertwining black wires, one strand of them terminating in a graceful spiral surrounding a small disk flat against her temple, the other emerging from under the lobe of her ear and following the line of her jaw for an inch or so before ending in another disk. Troi watched the captain frown at the sight, and smiled a little at his obvious discomfiture. "I can tell you one thing straight away, Captain – you needn't worry about it. This is the equivalent of, say, a daily centering exercise. It is absolutely harmless."

"So you sanctioned it?"

"It was I who recommended it to Geordi, in fact. I had an idea it might be just the thing for him, but I didn't realize at first how right I had been. Would you believe that it actually makes his headaches go away?"

"Oh?"

"You know how everybody always told him that he had to live with either this constant pain or a seriously impaired version of his sight. Well, he told me almost straight away that the pain was getting less. I always suspected that part of it at least was psychosomatic in origin. I am not surprised that he has since passed it on to others in Engineering. In fact I would ask you to allow him to wear it on duty as well."

"That's strictly against regulations, you know."

Troi smiled. "I do know. Ensign Ro's earring was against regulations as well, if I remember correctly. Not to mention Worf's sash. And both of those you allowed for the sake of the principle they represented, Captain. Now this is not a question of principle – it's a question of well-being, almost like a Benzite's breathing apparatus."

"Which is a question of survival", Picard said rather dryly. "Geordi, as we all know, has been functioning perfectly well without this thing, so let's not confuse the issues. That aside, if it does that for him he may wear it with my blessing. Provided he checks with Dr. Crusher, of course."

"I told him to do that. I'd tell everybody who uses the device to get regular checks, and I am doing the same myself."

"Well, just for the moment I'd feel more comfortable if you took it off. Frankly, your face looks a bit disconcerting to me."

"Of course." She removed it, deftly disentangling a stray lock of hair from the delicate wires, and put it down on the table in front of her. "No problem whatsoever, Captain. There. Is that better?"

"Much better. Now tell me, what is it about this device? I still don't like it much."

"It won't interfere with the running of the ship I assure you. It doesn't induce anything from outside – it provides a kind of interface between the conscious and the unconscious. In a way, it will help people become more of themselves – certainly not less."

"Very well, I'll take your word for it – for the moment. What does it do?"

"It..." She hesitated, frowning a little. "It's difficult to explain, actually – especially to so very rational a person as you, Captain." She flicked him a smile that held amusement as well as warm affection. "You see, most people carry some dream or goal inside them. Some sort of personal quest. Most of the time it's subconscious, or at least they are not fully aware of it – which is what gives psychologists such a hard time, of course. We're supposed to help people lead fulfilled lives, after all. Being able to realize your potential – your real goal – goes a long way towards ensuring that. In fact people can become seriously ill when they are denied it. Now all this device does is to stimulate your ability to get in touch with that part of your mind."

"How does it do that?" inquired the captain.

"Electromagnetic impulses moulded to your brainwaves. You see, it adapts to what it finds – it doesn't import anything. You'll have to ask Beverly. She did some experiments and declared it entirely harmless."

"And how did you come by it?"

"It was a gift originally. There was a half-Vulcan, half-Betazoid scientist among the people we took to the Fragan VI summit. Actually, you may have met him the day before you left for Mavvion, Captain. A psychologist. We saw quite a lot of each other. I have rarely met with more stimulating company. We spent hours talking about our respective jobs, and about personal quests. He had this theory about the Flow phenomen, and..." She laughed suddenly. "I'm going to lose you, sir. What it comes to is that the device does for the mind what regular meditation exercises would do – rather focused meditation exercises. The idea is to get closer to an awareness of what you perceive as your purpose in life. It is really nothing more than that. But the impression that you are gaining ground in that respect – that you can get past the obstacles, slowly, and communicate with that part of your mind – it's a glorious feeling. Geordi believes he's found a miracle cure." She smiled. "He hasn't. It's nothing of the sort, of course. But I can understand his euphoria. Those headaches – being in pain, all the time, buying his sight with the pain, and now... It makes me wonder about something."

"Which is?"

"Your headaches, Captain."

"Oh, no. No. That's entirely different. I'm not forced to live with contacts implanted in my temples, Counselor."

"You are living with psychosomatic headaches. The device cannot do anything about the sheer physical strain of those implants on Geordi's system, but it seems to have allowed him to get rid of some of the mental stress. You might want to try it yourself, sir."

"Certainly not," said Picard, setting his mug down on the table with a sharp little clack. "I have no intention of trying it – either as a cure for headaches or as a means of self-exploration. If you believe it to be beneficial for Geordi or other members of this crew I won't object. But as for experimenting with the thing myself – no."

"Not even for the chance of being whole, Captain?" she said, very gently, reaching out for his hand.

He pulled back. "I've come to mistrust those kinds of promises a long time ago."

"Because of your own experiences?"

"Quite possibly because of my own experiences. If they have taught me anything it is the need to remain in control – to try and keep some measure of control, at least –"

There was a short silence.

"Very well", she said finally, quite softly. "I won't suggest it again. I'll just say that the device has nothing whatever to do with control. But this is not really just about control, is it. You are simply frightened at what you might find."

"This is about control. I won't let anything be done to my mind, and that's the long and the short of it."

Deanna looked at him for a long moment, then she smiled. "You will do precisely as you see fit, Captain. I'll leave you to it." She got to her feet as she spoke, and went to the door with a quiet "Good night, sir." He didn't try to hold her back. She merely heard an equally quiet "Good night" as the door was opening before her, and on looking back over her shoulder saw him still sitting there, composed and a little thoughtful perhaps.

- - - - - - -