Hunter
Troi woke groggy from nine hours of uninterrupted sleep.
As she leaned against the wall in the sonic shower with her eyes shut, she dreamed of nine more hours of uninterrupted sleep.
She slowly drew on her uniform, hoping the lethargy wouldn't develop into something more unpleasant. She had wanted sleep – had been certain yesterday one more night would cure her - return her sense and memories.
Now, here she was: awake, but with her head feeling too heavy for her to register anything. Not even disappointment. But she did know one thing. Behind the fog seeping into her brain, something black and brooding waited. And as bad as things seemed now, she had a premonition they were going to get worse. And maybe it would be better to stay in the shelter of the fog.
She awoke with a gasp.
"I don't know about you, doctor, but when I get shore time I'm gonna check out the Comparative Industrial Technologies Park. Word is the detail gone into the warp core section is phenomenal – every Federation planet's journey to warp speed laid out in a display the size of three Enterprises."
Troi caught the end of LaForge's comment to Beverly Crusher when she met them heading to the ready room. She marveled that the chief engineer could think of shore leave when so many questions still needed answers. She kept the thought to herself though and replied brightly when Crusher, on seeing her, asked what she planned to do during her shore leave.
"I don't know - I haven't given it much consideration," she replied. With so much going on, who would have time for more than a basic exploration of the planet?
"I've heard some of the textile exhibitions are unbelievable," Crusher said. "I've always wanted to see how Cheltan silk is prepared. Apparently, the spiderworms have been bred in captivity off-planet for the first time ever. Want to come with me to see them?"
"Ah, sure," Deanna said, concealing her surprise as she side-stepped an inattentive crewman.
The Enterprise was six hours from reaching Ark11, and Captain Picard had called a meeting to reassess their progress. Geordi and Beverly's lack of urgency threw her. With an unsolved murder - and whatever else was happening on board - she had expected the engineer and the doctor to show more interest in the subject. The captain was unlikely to sanction any senior staff shore leave while so much remained unexplained.
"Are you okay, Deanna?" Beverly's hawk-like eyes watched as Troi put a hand to her temple.
The counselor waved off her concern.
"Just woke up on the wrong side of the bed. In fact, if the captain okays any rest and relaxation today, the only place I'm headed is back to bed."
"You don't want a medical opinion?"
"I just had a bad night's sleep is all. I'll live."
"You can't ask for a better prognosis," LaForge joked.
Beverly grinned. "Let me know if you change your mind."
They reached the ready room just as Riker turned into the corridor from the opposite direction. LaForge and Crusher entered, but when Deanna started to follow them, Riker halted her.
"How are you?"
His feelings revealed his question's deeper intent. Water never quenched a throat more than the way his concern satisfied and touched her.
A look told Troi the ready room hadn't filled – Data and Christine were yet to arrive. She studied Riker. Their connection infused her with comfort and relieved some of the unease she had been feeling all morning – but she certainly didn't feel obligated to fill him on every little detail of her life. He was looking at her expectantly.
"I'm fine, Will."
"But your empathy?" She was pleased he wasn't treating her or the subject like some delicate flower; wasn't afraid of approaching it head on.
She rewarded him with a straightforward response. "Almost back, I think."
Riker gave her one of his patented boyish smiles.
"Thank goodness. I've kind of missed you not knowing and interpreting my every whim."
His mood didn't tally with his smile. His loneliness swamped her – that and, of course, he was lying – but about what she couldn't discern. Perhaps lying was too strong a word ... but he was definitely concealing something.
Maybe I'm losing my edge, she thought.
She wondered if the whole staff was acting bizarrely today. Did Riker think her empathy loss extended to himself? That she couldn't feel him? Did he not know? Had no one told him this wasn't true? That in her cold, bleak world of detachment, he was her one warmth?
Captain Picard had been the one to inform the senior staff about her disability. Will must have assumed it included him. He should have been able to tell that wasn't true. Shouldn't he have instinctively known? What in hell was happening to them?
They may have had their share of ups and downs, but a lack of communication had never been one of them. Why had he not been able to feel her? She was glad he couldn't see her face as she passed ahead of him into the room. If she had been confused before, now she was disorientated – spun from her own orbit.
But now was not the time to discuss the matter further – Data and Vale were just behind them and she could see Picard at the conference desk looking twitchy. He was eager to proceed, but even he appeared more settled than she had been expecting.
It didn't take her long to learn why. It was the first thing on the agenda – and it cleared her confusion. When Data had taken his seat – the last of them to do so – Picard started.
"For those of you who haven't heard, Mr Data has furnished us with a likely explanation for some of our recent occurrences. Mr Data?"
The senior staff turned to the android officer.
Data didn't prolong the suspense.
"I believe I can provide evidence that the person or people responsible for the death of the man who attacked counselor Troi never boarded to the Enterprise."
That lightened the mood of the room.
It made sense, but it would be good to know for certain. There was no comfort thinking the ship's security had been breached.
"Using junk data included in a transmission from the Fleur-de-lys, I was able to analyse the ship's environmental and life support controls. Passenger and crew lists indicate no one officially boarded or disembarked from the ship twenty hours prior to rendezvous with the Enterprise.
Data indicated figures on a chart on the viewer.
"However, you will note before Sem boarded the Enterprise, there was a six-hour period when carbon dioxide levels on the Fleur-de-lys were elevated, with no corresponding variable changes in the environmental controls of the ship."
It was basic science – so elemental most people probably would have missed it – or never bothered to look. This story involved a stowaway – but not aboard the Enterprise. Data was proposing that someone had slipped on board the small ship.
"Was the ship in orbit at that point?" Dr Crusher asked.
"No," replied Data. "The Fleur-de-lys was already in transit, on its way to Starbase 313 to rendezvous with the Enterprise."
"Could she have encountered another ship during that period?" LaForge queried.
"Not according to Captain Kogaru. The information she supplied us confirms this. However, security systems on the Fleur-de-lys are not as robust nor as sophisticated as a Federation vessel. Hence, the ship is grounded at Starbase 313 while the moratorium on inadequately shielded vessels is in place. Captain Kogaru accepts a breach likely occured – but she has not be able to identify if or when data was tampered with to conceal the breach."
Vale frowned. "So you're suggesting a stowaway boarded the Fleur-de-lys, rigged Sem up with the poison patch, and then left undetected? And that's a reasonable explanation?" She didn't look convinced. "How do we explain where Sem's body was found?"
Dr Crusher took over from Data. "It will help you to know, Christine, that old fashioned though it is, this method of homicide isn't unique."
She looked around the faces at the table. "I've learned just this morning that snake patches used to be a popular way of dispatching organized crime associates – those who have usually been branded traitors, in fact. The variety of venom was considered a calling card. Anyone eager to venture a few guesses as to where this charming practice arose?"
Vale looked disgusted. "Let me go out on a limb - Volln'm?"
Dr Crusher nodded. "The poison was a neurotoxin which worked on Sem's central nervous system. Perhaps he knew something was wrong, panicked and climbed into the Jefferies tube to hide himself. He would have started to convulse. The paroxysms would have caused him to thrash around. He might have jammed himself quite successfully down the tube, without a helping hand."
Troi had flashes of shadows and pain – half-remembered feelings from the man's dying minutes. He had attacked her - she had no doubts about that - but she struggled to make sense of his lack of malice. She blinked when she realized Data had taken over again from the doctor.
"Despite careful examination, no trace of a third person was ever found at the scene. It is the simplest explanation."
The doubtful expression on Vale's face didn't abated. "But is it enough for us to step down our security?"
"It's enough to shift the investigation back to the Fleur-de-lys for the time-being," Picard said, forestalling her opposition. "And it means we can let our passengers go without unnecessary delay. Granted, we still have little information about the impostor Festa Sem, but if the fatal blow, as it were, was delivered on a private trading vessel, investigation into his death no longer falls within our jurisdiction. It will be up to the Federation Security force to oversee the rest of it."
Riker had been unusually quiet during the meeting. He chose now to speak, indigation racking his voice.
"An attack on one of our staff must still be investigated, surely?" Around the table the others nodded. The criminal act that led to Sem's death may not have happened on their ship, but Troi had been struck down in a corridor on the Enterprise.
Picard looked troubled. "And it won't be forgotten, Number One. But until we have something solid to go on – who Sem was, who he was working for, who his associates were – we can't take the matter forward. These are questions the security force is in a better position to look into. Data will act as a liaison with the chief investigator, who officially takes over the case when we reach Ark11 orbit."
Picard looked at Troi. "Counselor, no doubt the security force will want to interview to you about the attack as soon as possible."
"Aye, Captain."
The was no trace of tension on her face, but she had to strain to maintain her concentration.
As the meeting wore on she had become increasingly aware of a buzzing centered in the back of her head. She failed to pin down the source; it was like a mosquito zizzing just beyond her vision, but she knew the noise was in her mind. And it was distracting. She gripped the arms on her chair to prevent herself squirming in discomfort.
Picard continued, oblivious. With the most pressing issue dealt to, he ran through the progress (or lack of it) on other matters. The Bounty was still missing, and no more had been ascertained about a possible nuclear explosion destroying a ship in this sector of the galaxy. Since, again, neither strictly fell within the Enterprise's jurisdiction, they were not regarded as immediate priorities.
If Picard suspected there was a link between the two incidents, he kept it to himself. For the time being their primary goal was to get their guests safely to Ark11. Once that mission had been completed, it was probable they would be routed to take a closer look into the peculiar space debris.
In the meantime, discussion was directed to shore leave.
Now that the investigation out of their hands, the crew was free to experience the planet's opening celebrations for themselves. A week ago that news would have had bad reception from the majority of the lower deck crew. Not so any longer. Troi was too tired to smile at the thought now; that a crew - the whole crew of a large star ship – did not want leave wasn't the norm on a Starfleet ship. But somehow, in the space of a week, something had happened to turn that feeling about – sadly, without her benefiting emotionally from it, she mused.
Schedules for shore leave were quickly mapped out.
Even with time taken up talking to Federation Security, Troi could see even she was not going to have any excuse for not exploring Ark11. The ship was scheduled to be in orbit around the planet for several weeks.
Later, during a spare fifteen minutes in her office, she tried to get enthusiastic about the planet and its cultural extravaganza. There was plenty going on – one extended month of opening celebrations; plenty to attend and do – but she had trouble summoning the energy to care or get excited.
It all came back to the dream.
The others might have been satisfied with Data's stowaway theory, but Troi doubted it was the end of the Enterprise's involvement.
After several minutes of pointless staring at the wall in front of her, she groaned. It was just so frustrating. By 'it' she meant everything.
Riker acting idiotic, time and circumstance preventing them from having that discussion she thought she wanted, her sensory blindness, her lost memories, the stupid buzzing in her ears, stupid dead men dying and leaving their stupid dead mysteries behind them.
And underpinning it all was a horrible, mushrooming feeling of ... despair? Anguish?
But whose?
Had she been herself, she would have employed a structuring technique to examine and understand better her situation. Today, when she thought about the problem, all she seemed able to do was wallow – just as she had for the last three days.
Dealing with other people's problems hadn't been difficult, but when it came to affairs of her own soul: inertia.
If only she could work out what she wanted to do – about any of it. If only she could think straight for more than five minutes. If only, she thought, sighing.
Her mental storm broke towards the end of the day – but it brought no relief to the counselor. She had known it wouldn't.
The dull, brooding sense and the annoying buzz she had been experiencing all day shattered at the end of a session with an ensign assigned to the ship's security staff.
Ensign White had been responsive throughout the hour, but as her appointment with Troi was coming to an end, Troi noticed oddities in her behavior. She looked attentive, but her foot was tapping. Every so often she would glance at the door, and her answers to Troi's questions became shorter and more agreeable.
"Talking to Haj about my concerns is definitely the best thing I could do, Counselor. I've been avoiding the whole issue – deliberately ... I can see that now. I can also see nothing's going to change unless I choose to make it change. I'm going to get right onto it ..."
Troi, at standing at the replicator, had her back to Ensign White. The ensign didn't see the look of shock on Troi's face.
"If that's the way you feel, Mary, then I won't keep you from it. The sooner you clear the air with him, the happier you'll both be."
Ensign White stood, relieved at her dismissal. She wasted no time, bounding to the door. Only when she reached it did she look back to thank Troi.
"Are you okay?"
Troi gave her a paper-thin smile.
"I'm fine, Mary. Nothing to keep you from talking to Haj."
Troi felt a wave of guilt wash over her. Not her guilt.
Mary did intend on talking to Haj - but that wasn't the reason she was so keen to leave Troi's office right now. She was excited to be heading somewhere. That much Troi could tell.
Alone at last Troi fell back in her chair.
Her empathy was back – and so were her memories. She clutched her stomach. Instead of release, sickness overwhelmed her.
There was a problem on board – some kind of wound, festering and septic; a stealthy character hiding in shadows and creeping through the bowels of the ship unimpeded, guarding a secret.
Something terrible had happened to someone on board the Enterprise – something that couldn't be seen in the open, something hidden and secret.
Troi scoffed at herself. What problems weren't hidden behind layers of self-deception and denial?
But this problem ... it wasn't that it was worse than anything else she'd ever experienced. It wasn't a presence of evil or of fear – it was just so loud.
The loudness was what got her up three nights ago. She had tried to go to bed early - she couldn't shake the residue of Riker's malaise during their conversation about transfer requests. Twisting in her sheets, the fitful moments she had slept had been filled with erotic images of Will and herself. Over and over in the dreams she would end up reeling away from him, a nightmare as Dream Will dissolved into a husk – a Nightmare Will - and Troi felt lonely.
Then she had woken and heard it - a cry for help.
She hadn't been able to pinpoint it.
In a daze, she had rolled from bed, pulled on her evening gown, and headed from her quarters. At the back of her mind she had feared the problem – as she now referred to it – and Riker were one and the same.
The imposter Sem had ended that search when he stunned her with a blow to her head.
She would do things differently today. She would be more careful. This time she would hunt down the intruder; root out this ill feeling which smothered her and made her head an unpleasant place to be.
She stood for seconds in the corridor outside the counseling suite, trying to orient herself to the source of the ship's noisiest mental breakdown.
When she set off there was purpose - determination - in her stride.
Hunter, by Bjork
