All Good Things__ - Michael Jan Friedman [17]
Then she realized that there was one other singleton among all the tables in Ten-Forward. It was Counselor Troi, who’d come aboard shortly after the security chief herself. An~d the Betazoid was looking at her.
A moment later, Troi turned away. But it was too late. Tasha had noticed the scrutiny. And being the kind of person she was, she decided to do something about it.
Picking up her maltmilk, she approached the counselor’s table. And without waiting for an invitation, she sat down. Troi smiled, though not without a bit of curiosity in her eyes.
Tasha didn’t believe in casual conversation. “You were staring at me,” she observed. “Don’t deny it.”
The Betazoid’s smile faded. “Yes,” she admitted after a moment. “I suppose I was.”
Her honesty surprised the security chief. But it didn’t make her bristle any the less. “Because you find my case intriguing,” she suggested. “Or maybe just because you had nothing better to do.”
Troi’s brows came together above her perfectly shaped nose. “I beg your pardon, Lieutenant?”
Tasha grunted. “So what do you think?” she asked. “How does my childhood on Turkana Four stack up with some of the other personal histories you’ve had the pleasure of dissecting?”
She felt herself stiffen as the memories flooded her. None of them were good.
“I mean,” she continued, “do most of your patients see their parents killed in a cadre crossfire at the age of five? Do they spend their lives sleeping in cold, wet tunnels—or rather, never sleeping, because they’ve al-ways got to keep an ear out for cadre foragers?”
The counselor shook her head. “Lieutenant… Tasha… I—”
“I know,” said the security chief. “You’re a professional. You’re not the least bit shocked about the things I had to do in order to survive. About the blood I had to spill. About the lies I had to tell, or the alliances I had to forge, or the… compromises I had to make in order to get off that festering wound of a world.”
Troi frowned. “I am sorry,” she said, “but I don’t know what you’re talking about. Or at least, I didn’t— until now.”
Tasha looked at her. The counselor seemed sincere, and yet… “You’re a Betazoid, aren’t you? You read minds,” she declared, her tone one of accusation.
“Actually,” Troi explained, “I’m only half-Betazoid. My father was human. As a result, I can only sense emotional states.” She paused. “Growing up a non-telepath on Betazed was a distinct disadvantage— though nothing like what you’ve experienced, apparently.”
The lieutenant felt her cheeks turning hot with embarrassment. “You can’t read my mind?” she said. “Then why were you staring at me just now?”
The counselor looked apologetic. “I know,” she admitted. “That was rude. It’s just that I was wondering about you. I mean, I knew a little from your personnel file, but there was a lot I didn’t know. And it’s my job to develop an understanding of every officer on this ship.”
Tasha sat back in her chair. “Then you weren’t prying into my mind? You weren’t reading my thoughts?”
Troi shook her head. “Even if I could, I wouldn’t. As much as I need to understand you, I can’t go delving into your psyche without your permission. It wouldn’t be ethical.”
The security chief looked at her. She felt absolutely .. stupid. “It seems an apology is in order, Counselor —but from me to you, rather than the other way around.”
Troi shook her head. “That is not necessary. You made a mistake—and not even a big one. I am willing to forget it if you are.”
Tasha smiled. “Done.” As she gazed across the table at the Betazoid… or rather, half-Betazoid… she hoped that someday they might become friendsú That would be nice, considering the fact that they were both senior staff members, and would likely be working closely together for a long time to come.
Also, it was good to know that there was someone on this ship she could depend on—someone she could call on in a crisis. Given the captain’s already apparent idiosyncrasies, she wasn’t sure she would want to call on him.
Suddenly, Troi’s eyes opened wide,