Ghost Ship - Diane Carey [17]
“That’s what confuses me, sir,” she said steadily. “While I see images of destruction, there seems to be no intent behind it, even though it’s definitely the product of a mind and not natural phenomena. As I said, no violent intent.”
“That’s reassuring, at least.”
“But, sir, you don’t understand.” She stopped him from rising with a light touch on his forearm. “I shouldn’t be getting concrete images at all. It’s simply not among my abilities to receive visions and forms. As such,” she added reluctantly, “I’m not certain you should trust my judgment.”
A soothing smile appeared on Picard’s princely features. “I trust your interpretation, Deanna.”
“But she’s a telepath,” Dr. Crusher pointed out. Until now the doctor had been a silent observer, fascinated both personally and professionally by Deanna Troi’s story of unwelcome impressions and unfocused dreams, and as her voice cut through the distinct tension, it added a touch of common sense they needed right now. “She’s not a psychic. There’s an important distinction, you realize.”
“Yes, that’s true,” Troi said, looking at her gratefully. “That’s what I mean. The difference between what I can do and what I’m somehow being forced to do.”
Piecing it all together and still getting a choppy mosaic at best, Picard nodded. “Tell me what you’re feeling,” he said, “in one word.”
She didn’t answer immediately. Several long and anxious minutes went by as she selected and discarded a number of possibilities. Those around her watched as each crossed her face, each perplexing her with its inadequacy.
Then she found it. Or the one that came closest. For the first time in all those minutes of searching, Troi fixed her gaze on Jean-Luc Picard and worked her lips around a word.
“Misery.”
When she spoke, the misery shone in her eyes. She was caught in empathy for that instant, empathy for the beings whose impressions she was being given, or being forced to receive. It was as though she were asking, imploring, for help. After a pause she drew a breath and sighed, her lovely brows drawn tight as she realized the full impact of that word was somewhat lost on them. After all, they weren’t feeling it.
Picard saw the change in her face. “Misery can be many things, Counselor,” he said to her.
She nodded. “Yes,” she agreed. “Clinically I would call it a kind of dysphoria. But I’d be inaccurate to say there was no physical suffering. Yet I don’t perceive a sense of body. It’s quite confusing, sir. I’m sorry.”
“Permission to stop saying that, Counselor,” Picard offered. He placed his hands on his knees and stood up. “Now, let’s see about these ships.” He led the whole crowd up to the extra-large monitors at the aft science station, where Worf was moving aside to let everyone curve around his post. The captain spoke up immediately. “Computer, show me various military vessels from-when did you say?”
Troi stepped forward, somehow managing to stay close to Riker, to gather strength from his presence. “The most familiar one was late nineteen-eighties, Captain. An Aegis cruiser, according to records.”
“Computer, engage as specified.”
On the screen, almost instantly, a 2-D image of the Aegis appeared.
Picard asked, “Is this the right ship?”
“Oh, no, sir. Simply the right … idea. The right age.”
“Computer, expound upon this index.”
The Aegis was replaced by a different vessel, then another, and another, while the balmy female voice ticked off descriptions.
“Destroyer, United States Navy … PT boat, United States Navy … computer support vessel, Royal Canadian Maritime Command … light amphibious transport, United States Navy … nuclear submarine, Navy of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics … Invincible-class V/STOL carrier, Royal Navy of Great Britain … CV-type conventional-power aircraft carrier, United States-“
“Stop!”
Troi drew back from her own outburst, but continued to point at the screen. “This is very close.”
“Close, but … ” Picard prodded.
“But … I don’t know. I know very little about surface vessels.”
“Computer, specify this vessel.”
“U.S.S. Forrestal, CV-59,