by Dalton S. Spence
Part VII - Face to Face
"It has been over three weeks since Deanna woke up, and we are no closer to knowing anything about her past than we were when I brought her down here. Father asked Diana Bennett to try and find out more about our guest, but so far there is no evidence that Deanna Troi ever existed Above. Ordinarily this would be a cause for concern, but both Father and I agree that her silence on the subject is meant more to protect than to deceive. She no longer tries to claim amnesia, but simply refuses to talk about herself, except in the most general of terms. And the few hints she does let slip are confusing (to say the least), filled with strange knowledge and even stranger ignorances. Although we have yet to meet face to face, she does seem to be aware of me when I watch from the shadows.
When I told Father of the empathic abilities I had sensed from her, he was at first startled, then thoughtful. Deanna adapted so quickly to life Below, I was surprised when Father discouraged me from introducing myself after the standard two week probation period was over. Father then explained his concern that our shared talent might be generating a false sense of intimacy that could be affecting my judgement. I conceded he might be correct.
However an additional week of observation by 'objective' parties has failed to discover anything to her detriment. Indeed, her willingness to become part of this community has gained her many friends here. Mary is full of praise for her way with children. William's desserts seem to be involving more chocolate than usual. And Mouse, normally very shy around strangers, has taken to following Deanna around and showing her his latest gizmos (much to Jamie's consternation). Father finally had to admit he could see no reason why we should not meet. So we will, tonight."
Deanna looked at her new friend in disbelief. "Chocolate Cheese Nuggets? Sorry, I don't think so." She wondered yet again what strange quirk of genetics and environment had managed to make her old friend Dolores Bennett from the 24th century into a virtual duplicate of her 20th century ancestor, Diana. That they were related Deanna had no doubt. They had the same keen investigative minds, the same ability to get into the thoughts of others by using the physical evidence of their lives. They even had the same sense of humor. Even though she had to be more careful around Diana than any of the others, Deanna was glad to have a friend with a familiar face.
They had met when Diana came to ask her a few questions to find out about her past (at that time she was still clinging to the myth of amnesia), and Deanna was very grateful that she had spotted Diana first. By the time they were introduced, she had managed to compose her expression into one of polite curiosity. Deanna had exchanged her Starfleet uniform early on for a long, warm dress of blue wool, and topped it with a green sweater under which she hid her ever present communicator pin. This made an interesting contrast to Diana's grey sweatshirt and jeans. They immediately became friends, as some people do who should have nothing in common.
The two of them had offered to help Rebecca prepare the special candles for the upcoming celebration of Winterfest. Although most of them could be left on the doorsteps of those Helpers who lived within the city, a few had to be packaged for mailing to old friends who had since moved away. For these candles, with their bright colored bands, were not only an invitation to the festivities, but also served as a passport to the world Below. As such, packaging them properly to prevent breakage was important.
As the red haired detective put the foil packet back in her coat pocket, and turned to lay the candle in the box filled with scrap newspaper, she said, "That's what I said when Joe first offered them to me. But he swears by them. Says they're great for breakfast." Ignoring the gagging sounds from beside her, she continued, "Knowing the way you love ANYTHING chocolate, I thought you might be interested." She smiled, to let Deanna know she wasn't TOO serious.
They were interrupted by a tapping on the pipes. Deanna recognized the code for her name that Pascal had devised, and Father's signature, but the rest of the message went too rapidly for her rudimentary skill at pipe language. Diana interpreted the message for her. "Father wants to see you in his chambers when it is convenient."
"We are about done here anyway," Rebecca added, as she hung a rack of candles from a conveniently placed hook in the chamber ceiling. "These will take a while to harden, and it's almost dinner time." The candlemaker smiled at Deanna. "I hear William is trying his hand at eclairs tonight. Better not be late."
As Deanna carefully made her way to Father's chamber, she thought fondly over the events of the last three weeks. Everyone here was so friendly. After a short period of caution while everyone got to know her, she had been accepted without question. It was becoming increasingly difficult to conceal those parts of her past that must remain secret from those who trusted her so completely with their own secrets. She had heard many stories of tragedy and hope, of despair and joy, during her career as a ship's counsellor. But seldom had she seen such a consistent display of courage and love as she had here. Qualities apparently inspired from primarily one source.
Vincent. Whenever someone mentioned his name, there was a momentary impression of awe, affection, and trust. It was as if he was a myth that had chosen to live among them. He defined the essence of their community, what they hoped and needed it to be. He was the guardian who in turn needed to be protected. He was the proof that ideals could be made into reality. And at the same time, he was a constant reminder of why they must remain apart from the world Above. Even to his closest friends, those who loved him the most, he was as much a symbol as he was a man.
As far as Deanna could tell, from the stories she had heard, only two people in Vincent's life had ever been able to relate to him directly as a person first, or had even truly attempted to. The first was Father's only natural child, Devin, who had been the closest thing to a brother Vincent had ever had. The few tales of their childhood exploits seemed innocent enough to Deanna, but were consistently delivered in scandalized tones, as if Vincent were a prince who should have been above such shenanigans. He, of course, was never blamed.
The other was Catherine. In a way, it was inevitable that the one who caught Vincent's heart should be an outsider who first came to know his mind. When Deanna had first labelled the pair as Imzadi, she had been unaware of the empathic bond between them. Even though she was aware that such bonding between mated pairs of psionicly sensitive beings was not uncommon in the galaxy, she was surprised that such a bond should spontaneously spring forth between such disparate individuals. But perhaps it was destined, she mused, as it had been between Wyatt Miller and his Tarellian.(1)
It often amused Deanna just how much Vincent's friends could tell her about Vincent, while managing to avoid describing the difference in his appearance. The goal was obvious; to prepare her for their first meeting. Whether to soften her shock, or to spare Vincent's feelings, the message was clear: do not allow his appearance to interfere with your judgement of him. They could not know that she had no prejudices in that regard. And even if she had, she already knew what he looked like.
It was with these thoughts in mind that Deanna entered Father's chamber. As always her eyes went to Father's vast library, with the many shelves and stacks of books, some neatly ordered, others in comfortable disarray. The first time she had seen it, her immediate thought had been, "This is the Captain's idea of heaven." This was only the first of many similarities she was to discover between Jean Luc Picard and Dr. Jacob Welles, the Father of this community. It was these similarities that allowed her to so quickly adapt to her situation. In many ways, this place was a starship underground.
As she approached Father's desk, she noticed a game of chess set up there. The pieces were obviously Cullen's work, intricately carved and quite beautiful. The white king has a very accurate rendition of Father, looking very regal. The queen was Mary, who cared for the children, and who could have taken the title Mother if she had chosen to. The rest of the white pieces all had faces of people she had met below, save for one. She picked up the queen's knight, and examined it more closely. Behind her she heard a noise, then a soft voice asking, "A remarkable likeness, don't you think?" She turned, to look into the eyes of the one she had waited so long to meet.
Trust was implicit because of their mutual abilities, on a level that the head blind find difficult to understand. It was not a concept that was ever consciously or even subconsciously considered (except in explanations to the head blind), but an intrinsic part of the nature of the communication, such as air vibrations are a part of human speech. While Deanna was used to integrating such emotional subtexts into her conversations from her childhood on Betazed, this was a totally new experience for Vincent, one that left him more than a little off balance.
Because of this trust, Vincent had felt no need to raise his hood, as he usually did before these first meetings. Such ploys seemed superfluous, given how well they already knew each other through their gifts. While they did not share a bond, such as Vincent had with Catherine, there was a link between them that neither could deny. It was through this link that Vincent watched for any signs of distress at his appearance.
"You aren't afraid," said Vincent, a tone of wonder slipping into his voice, "not even the slightest bit. I didn't expect you to be surprised, somehow, even though I can't imagine where you could have seen a picture of me. But never, in my whole life, has anyone looked at me, and not felt even the slightest twinge of fear. Not Father. Not even Catherine."
Deanna smiled at him, sending out waves of reassurance. "Would you be more comfortable if I was a little afraid? It would be hard, but I think I could fake it."
"NO!" replied Vincent, startled into a smile, "I don't think so. It just feels so strange. Usually at this point, I would be trying to reassure you that I don't mean you any harm. Maybe I should be the one doing the asking." He paused, a brief look of suspicion crossing his eyes. "You wouldn't happen to have seen someone who looks like me, have you?"
"No, I don't think so. Although I may have seen people who looked stranger than you, who turned out be good people. Maybe even good friends."
"But you can't tell me for sure."
"No, I'm afraid not, but I'd be willing to bet money on it," she said regretfully, using a phase she had picked from her friend Diana.
Vincent looked at her, asking a question with his mind. What he said was, "I suppose we all have our secrets."
She nodded an affirmative answer. "Yes, I suppose so."
Unsure how to continue, Vincent turned to leave. Deanna, unwilling to let him go just yet, stopped him with a hand on his arm. Empathy was fine in its place, but the only way for her to understand the way he thought was to talk with him. She realized this was something she wanted to do very badly, for reasons she was not yet ready to examine. She searched around for something to say, and seized on the first idea that occurred to her.
"Vincent, could I ask you something?"
"Certainly," he replied, preparing himself for the usual unanswerable question about his origins. But she surprised him.
"Have you made any plans for Winterfest yet?"
"Plans?" he replied, confused.
"I mean, are you going with someone?"
He smiled, suddenly catching her drift. "Are you asking me for a date?" he said gently, not wishing to embarrass her, but finding he needed to know her answer.
"Yes, I guess I am," Deanna answered, blushing a little, and feeling like gawky teenager. This would be a perfect opportunity to get to know him better, she rationalized, refusing to acknowledge the deep physical response she had at the first sight of him.
"I would be honoured, my dear," Vincent replied, sketching a courtly bow. Deanna curtsied in reply, and was about to make some witty comeback, when a rapid tapping on the pipes caught their attention. They both stopped and looked at each other. In senatorian tones, Vincent announced "Dinner is Served."
They both straightened, and Vincent offered his arm to Deanna. She took it, and they strolled out of Father's chamber.
Neither noticed the two flies on the wall behind them. "Well," said one, "it certainly took him long enough. But at least the ball's rolling."
The other replied in a feminine voice, "Wait and see, just wait and see."
At the Project Orpheus counselling center, Dr. Verbena Beeks turned her thoughts to the woman who had just left. Although her physical therapy was almost complete, there had been no sign yet of her memory returning. She rewound the tape of their latest session, then listened once again to the two voices.
"Tell me about the dream. What was different about it this time?"
"It started as it usually did. I was in a forest. It was winter, there was snow on the ground, and all the trees were bare. There was a man standing some distance away, hidden by the trees. He was tall, and wore a dark cloak that hid his features. I knew he could show me the way out. I called to him, but he couldn't hear me. When I tried to go to him, the trees blocked my way, and wouldn't let me past. But this time, I heard a woman's voice, calling to him from beyond the trees. He heard HER, he was going to HER, and leaving me behind. That's when I woke up."
Verbena shut off the tape, and studied her patient's file. She had been held prisoner for six months, given birth, then was found in her apartment with what should have been a fatal dose of morphine in her veins. She had been pronounced dead at the scene, but at the morgue the coroner had detected faint life signs. A federal agent (present for reasons unstated) had arranged for her secret transfer to Project Orpheus, and had replaced her body with a Jane Doe. Her captor was later found dead, shot with a revolver containing shells bearing her fingerprints. Quite a trick, Verbena mused, considering she had been in the Project's intensive care ward at the time. There was evidence that the child had been cared for by his mother's captor for a time, but had not been found at the scene.
Verbena yawned then, looking at the time, put the file and the tape away and put on her coat to go home. "This place is getting to me," she sighed, as she got together all the passes and ID she needed to get in and out of the facility. Maybe I should take that job offer in New Mexico, she thought, shivering in the late November chill as she made her way to her car. At least it would be warm. Although what a prize winning physicist needed her for she couldn't imagine.
REFERENCE
1. ST:TNG, Haven, SD: 41294.5