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By Root 989 0

emotional level in that other mind was consonant with that to be experienced in someone who was in meditation or a centering exercise. But underlying the calm was slow, pleased rage; this, too, had a habitual feel to it, as of someone who was more or less permanently furious with the world, and more or less permanently punishing it for whatever transgression it had committed. It was perfectly strong and steady, a mind unused to being denied anything it wanted. Deanna moved slowly and steadily away from the fringes of that mind, withdrawing her presence, resisting her own near-loathing. It was like looking into a mirror and finding the image warped, or rather, quite clear—but frowning back when you were looking into it without expression. And perniciously the question arose, which is more real? Which side is the mirror?

“Anything?” Geordi said.

Troi shook her head.

“You all right?” Geordi said, seeing what she quite understood must be a most shocked look on her face.

“You were right about my quarters being occupied. Don’t fall foul of her, Geordi. Don’t.”

He nodded. “That’s odd—what about that other door?” He lifted the tricorder, scanned the doorway. Then he shook his head, shrugged, turned away. “More living quarters.”

“Connecting to the captain’s? Maybe—”

Then Troi stopped, interrupted by the soft singing hum of the transporter. Geordi threw Troi a look of shock when he saw the phaser in her hand, leveled on the spot where the materialization was starting. “You sure you’re all right?” he said as the captain’s shape began to become apparent.

She shook her head, unable to get rid of the memory of that aura of leisurely calculation, amusement: a thinking mind, an anticipating mind, more frightening in its way than the unleashed emotion there was to feel elsewhere aboard this ship.

The captain finished materializing, looked around him somewhat hurriedly. He, too, Deanna was glad to see, was holding a phaser, and the expression on his face on seeing them was relieved. “How long have you been here?” he said.

“About a minute now,” Geordi said. “Captain, you’d better get changed.”

“First things first,” he said, and went directly to the little terminal on the desk. “Computer, this is Capt. Jean-Luc Picard.”

“Acknowledged,” the computer said. He motioned Geordi over. Geordi produced the isolinear chip with the search program in it, tucked it into the reader. “Computer,” Picard said, “read program in hard data reader.”

It chirruped softly.

“Execute.”

“Program requires coded authorization from security officer,” the computer said.

“Authorize run of program,” said the captain sternly.

“Program requires coded authorization from security officer.”

The captain sighed. “Abort.”

“Aborted.”

“Merde,” Picard said softly. “Well, it had to be tried. But normally I can authorize any function on this ship to be performed by anyone I please. What kind of ship—” He shook his head. “No matter: we’ll soon enough get a better idea. I’ll get changed.”

He went back to the closet, reached into it dubiously. “The problem is working out which one to change into. There doesn’t seem much to choose between them.” He looked over the uniforms and reached out for one in particular.

“What do you think the odds are that he’s wearing that one today, Captain?” said Geordi softly.

Picard made a wry face. “At this point, odds aren’t something we can accurately judge. I’ve simply picked the one I’d be least likely to wear if I had any choice in the matter. Excuse me.” He took himself off into the bathroom to change.

“Now this is strange,” Geordi was saying. He was still poking around in the closet.

“What?”

He pulled out a uniform top, like the one they had seen the alternate Riker wearing. It was a sort of wraparound vest that left the arms bare, though the shoulders on this one were capped, and from each of them to the neckline ran a band of the glittering gold, as braid. The top itself was a rich dark maroon like congealed blood that glittered the same way the blue material in Troi’s skirt did.

She raised her eyebrows at the sight of it.