Dark Mirror - Diane Duane [38]
Data shook his head again. “If I were reading this signal from the optical comms network, it would have the usual packet-header information on origin and so forth. But the RF network is usually used for emergencies only and does not employ the headers.”
Data stopped again as the turbolift doors opened, and someone came in. Riker’s jaw dropped, and he stood up in astonishment.
“My God,” he whispered.
Deanna Troi stood there, a little behind Worf, coolly looking the bridge over. It’s not just faces that change, Riker found himself thinking, as much in horror as in wonder. The Deanna Troi he knew, true to her training, tended to be nonthreatening, held her body and her vocal and mental attitudes in neutral ways that invited others to reach out. But this woman—she stood there erect and dangerous-looking, not trying in the slightest to minimize the effect. She carried herself like a banner, like a weapon. Like an unsheathed knife.
“Not the usual uniform,” Worf said, managing to sound both disturbed and impressed.
“You’re right about that,” Riker said. The only thing this woman’s uniform had in common with Deanna’s usual uniforms was that it was blue. The harness—there was almost too little of it to call it a top, or even a bodice—seemed to be made of woven gold, like the ornamental sashes. More woven metal, blue this time, bordered it, and the bordering met and gathered up at the left shoulder to support the parabola-and-knife insignia. From the gather, over the shoulder, fell several folds of the blue fabric, the gold interwoven with it, down to about waist height. The right shoulder was bare, as was this Troi’s midriff. Then, quite low on the hips, the skirt began—that blue metallic fabric again, gracefully flowing down just past the tops of the above-the-knee boots this Troi wore, but cut right up to the weapons belt at the hip on the right side, leaving a handspan’s space bare between its attachment to the belt at front and back. A phaser hung holstered there, and in a neat sleeve down on the outside of the right-hand boot lived the dagger, which Riker was now beginning to think was standard wear for officers.
Ensign Redpath was staring at all this wide-eyed. Riker could hardly blame him. As they watched, the other Troi made her way down to the command level, looked at the main viewer for a moment, then turned to Riker and simply gazed at him, the kind of look, Riker thought, that a barbarian queen might turn on some jumped-up commoner who dared to sit in her chair.
The other Riker simply leaned back for a moment, looked at her lazily, and smiled slightly. The thought that seemed to live behind that smile actually made Riker go hot with embarrassment: he was irrationally glad that Deanna wasn’t on the bridge. After a moment, the other Riker said something, then tilted his head to one side to watch Troi’s reaction.
She made none: that lovely face seemed frozen. But Riker’s face changed abruptly. He got up out of the center seat in a way that suggested he was trying not to make it look as if he were in a hurry—though he desperately was. Troi watched him get up, let him stand for a moment, just watching him. Their eyes locked again, and once again, the other Riker was the first to look away.
Then Troi stepped forward and sat down in that center seat, like a queen enthroning herself, and looked at the viewscreen for a long moment, then up at Riker.
And smiled—an expression of pleased threat and absolute mastery, an expression like poison over ice.
Riker’s heart seized inside him. The screen went blank. He wanted to say to Data, “Get that back!”—except that he wasn’t really sure he wanted it back.
“Scan discontinued at the other end,” Data said after a moment. “I will try to lock on to another.”
“Who was running that scan, I wonder?” Riker murmured.
Data looked thoughtful. “It is a question I had been considering. Normally surveillance scans are done by personnel superior in rank to those who are being observed. But in this case …” Data shook his head.
Riker breathed out. “How much sleep has the captain