Hunter
Troi woke groggy from nine hours of restless 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 gone to sleep believing it would be the key to recovering 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 knew 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 Geordi LaForge's comment to Beverly Crusher when she met them heading to the ready room. She marveled that the chief engineer could think of leave when so many questions still needed answers. She kept her thoughts in check when Crusher, on seeing her, asked what she planned to do once she was free to explore Ark11.
"I haven't given it much consideration," she replied.
She had plenty to do before she could take time off, including sessions with a number of crew members.
"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 beyond 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 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 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 stopped her.
"How are you?"
His concern touched her. It felt like days since she had seen him.
Troi 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 in on every little detail of her life. He was looking at her expectantly.
"I'm fine, Will."
"But your empathy?" He always had a way of approaching hard topics head on. She appreciated it.
"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 wondered if the whole staff was acting bizarrely today. Did Riker think her empathy loss extended to himself? That she couldn't sense 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. Riker must have assumed it included him. He should have been able to tell that wasn't true. Shouldn't he have instinctively known? Their bond was fine. What was wrong with him? 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 sense 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.
There was no time to talk to him properly – Data and Vale were just behind them and she could see Picard was eager to proceed.
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. Data?"
The senior staff turned to the android officer.
"I believe I can provide evidence that the person or people responsible for the death of the man who attacked counselor Troi never boarded 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 environmental and life support controls of the ship. 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.
"Yes," replied Data. "But records account for everyone that legitimately beamed aboard."
"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 a Federation ship. Hence, the ship is grounded at Starbase 313 while the moratorium on inadequately shielded vessels is in place. Captain Kogaru accepts a breach likely occurred – but she has not been 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 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 that worked on Sem's central nervous system. Perhaps he knew something was wrong, panicked and climbed into the Jefferies tube to hide himself. 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 abate. "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. "This appears to have links to organised crime on Volln'm. 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 quiet during the meeting. He chose now to speak, indignation 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 you about the attack as soon as possible."
"Aye, Captain."
There 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 from 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.
Now that the investigation was out of their hands, the crew was free to experience the planet's opening celebrations for themselves. That news would have infuriated half the lower deck crew a week ago. Not so any longer.
On one level Troi was happy for the crew.
During a time of war, it was normal for an entire crew to spurn shore leave. Starfleet officers were dedicated to duty. How could you relax when worlds around you were suffering?
But the war was over. As much as she struggled to accept it, it was right that others were starting to deal with and put aside their survivor guilt.
Although Troi could be happy, she was also conflicted. She wasn't at that point of acceptance – and she resented those who had moved on when she couldn't.
Be honest – it's not only that.
She should have been able to feel the change in emotions – and draw comfort from it. Instead, she had to look on, knowing the crew was experiencing something that she couldn't.
This is envy I'm feeling.
Schedules for leave were quickly mapped out.
Her duties would be no excuse. The ship was scheduled to be in orbit around the planet for several weeks. She could stay on board brooding – or she could suck it up and explore Ark11 like everyone else.
Later, back 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. She had woken from it feeling as though she had bathed in waves of unease. It was as if she was in a storm of only one feeling.
It was so dreadful she found herself wishing to feel nothing again.
She forced herself to think about something else. 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 ... she couldn't put a word to it. Despair? Anguish? Pain?
Could it be the collective trauma of the crew? A week ago, she might have thought so.
But how can it? Not now. Not after the change in atmosphere.
She was so close to having an answer.
Had she been herself, she would have employed a centering technique to examine herself better. 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 heart: 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.
She sighed. If only.
Her mental storm broke towards the end of her shift.
She was standing at the replicator, fetching water for her client.
Ensign White had been attentive through the hour, but as their time wound down, Troi noticed the ensign's tapping foot and furtive glances at the door.
Her statements grew shorter, more rapid and more agreeable.
"Talking to Haj. That's the answer, Counselor. I've been avoiding the whole issue. Deliberately. I see that now."
Troi decided to give the ensign space and used the excuse of water to move away.
"Nothing's going to change until I change. I'm not a slave to my memory. I'm going to get right onto it ..."
Troi's back was to the ensign, who never saw the shock roll over her face. Troi managed to keep unsteadiness from her voice.
"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."
She turned back to Ensign White.
"We're finished? I can go?" Ensign White stood, relieved at her dismissal. She wasted no time, bounding to the door. At the last moment, when she looked back to thank Troi, she noticed the counselor hadn't moved.
"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. Two, actually.
Will had been hiding something from her. Hiding his pain from her for weeks. And she'd only just been able to see it.
The other problem was arguably worse: a 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 – it was just so loud.
Being stuck between the loudness and Will's distress – that's what had woken her 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 alone.
Then she woke up and heard them – two unconscious screams for help.
One was Will. The other, she couldn't pinpoint.
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, and 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 Björk
