Dark Mirror - Diane Duane [66]
She was moving slowly toward his seat. In just as leisurely a manner, Picard slipped past her and sat down, looking up at her in the manner of a superior expecting a report from a standing subordinate. Troi made an expression of amusement and surprise and sat down beside him as if she had intended nothing else.
“Since our last contact,” she said, “nothing concrete. A general unfocused sense of low-level anxiety. Not, I must admit, what we would expect from the crew of a ship in the other one’s predicament.” She frowned slightly. “It might indicate that they didn’t understand the predicament they’re in.”
“Surely they will have worked it out by now,” Picard said dryly. “I think you underestimate them, Counselor. Such tendencies are dangerous.”
“If they have worked it out,” she said confidently, “then their behavior is exactly what we would have hoped from these people, at the very best, and closely conforms to the old reports.” The scorn in her voice was considerable. “They’re busily running away, doing their best to avoid us. Whether they know we have both the strategic and tactical advantage of them is hard to say. There’s some indication that their sensors may be better than ours. It hardly matters if they are. Our agent aboard got us the necessary information about their weaponry before his”—she smiled slightly— “unfortunate demise. We’ll be ready for the next phase shortly: within a matter of a couple of hours.”
“Very well,” Picard said then, getting up. “Until then, there are some matters I wish to attend to. Feel free to call me if I’m needed.”
He moved toward the turbolift doors. Barclay, standing there, waved the doors open for him and started to go in ahead of him. Picard let him look the ‘lift over, but then shook his head minutely and gestured with his head toward Troi. “Keep an eye on her,” he said softly.
Barclay looked alarmed. “Sir—”
“It’ll be all right. I want to know what she does.”
“Yes, sir.” Barclay dropped his voice to a whisper so slight that Picard could barely hear it and said, “I’ll send someone after you. Be careful, sir—she has eyes everywhere.”
Picard nodded and stepped into the ‘lift. The doors closed.
“Deck thirty-eight,” he said. One thing had to be done, and he thought it was safe to do it here, since Barclay hadn’t been afraid to speak to him about Riker. Quickly Picard touched his badge, bent his head right over it so that his lip movement couldn’t be seen in case someone was scanning this area visually, and whispered, “Mr. La Forge—don’t answer. Add the terms switchback and inclusion to your search: it’s important. Ou.”
He leaned against the ‘lift wall and breathed out hard, letting it all go just for a second. He still had trouble thinking of it without shuddering, that sensation of something trailing across his mind—not so much the feeling itself, but what it implied. This Troi definitely was differently equipped than his own counselor. Or could Troi do such things? He much doubted it. At any rate, there had been no pressure behind that touch, but he had caught, dimly, the implication that there could have been, if she had wished. That this Troi had wanted him to realize that, or more likely to be reminded of it. There was also something uncomfortably sexual about the touch, like being fondled without permission or desire. This Troi’s manner suggested that such minor harassments were a pleasure to her, one she indulged whenever she liked. And from the fear the other crewmen seemed to evince in her presence, no one was safe. Not even Riker, Picard thought, remembering the look of reluctant, sullen rage as he moved out of the center seat to let her sit there. Here was a danger as concrete as any of the obscenities down in the holds of this ship, the planet-killing weapons, the atomics ….
The ‘lift stopped. Picard stepped out slowly, looking carefully around him. In this universe, at least, it seemed safer to stay with the paranoid tendencies in order