Resistance - J.M. Dillard [7]
In the midst of his reverie, his communicator chirped. He pressed the badge. “Picard here.”
“Ensign Luptowski, transporter room two, sir. The new counselor should be arriving in approximately two minutes.”
“On my way.”
Picard stood next to the transporter operator—a recruit from the academy, twenty years old if he was a day—and watched as the shimmering miasma on the pad slowly coalesced into humanoid shape.
The body formed first. It was short, very slender, decidedly feminine. The hair that appeared was blue-black, with a fringe of carefully trimmed bangs that partially covered a high forehead and upward-slanting eyebrows. The eyes were heavy lidded, large, and almost as dark as Deanna’s; the nose was long, narrow, the lips classically rosebud. The ears were delicately formed, close to the skull, culminating in decided points. The effect of such Renaissance beauty in a Starfleet uniform seemed incongruous. If Leonardo da Vinci had ever sketched a saint or angel with Vulcan features, Picard decided, this would be the result.
Her expression was placid, beatific; Picard had never known a Vulcan to generate the peculiar quality humans termed “charisma,” but that was indeed what this female possessed. She took in Picard, Ensign Luptowski, and the transporter room with a single, encompassing glance, one that shone with breathtaking intelligence and absorption of detail.
She stepped from the pad and gave Picard a low, respectful nod. “Captain Picard.” Her voice was arresting, authoritative, larger than her physical form—a match for the captain’s most commanding, sonorous tone. “Greetings. I am Counselor T’Lana.”
Picard did not smile—he wished to be sensitive to her Vulcan distaste for displays of emotion—but her relaxed, gracious demeanor made him feel comfortable in exhibiting warmth in his expression and tone. “Counselor. Welcome to the Enterprise.”
His warmth was genuine…but there was a slight discomfort hidden beneath it. He had requested another Betazoid, of course, but there were only a handful of them in the fleet and their empathic abilities were in high demand. He had grown used to the incredible advantage of being able to know what opponents were feeling, even across the vastness of space.
But Command had been swift to underscore T’Lana’s qualifications. Her counseling skills had been honed after two decades of service to the fleet. She had spent the bulk of her career specializing in diplomatic counseling, advising commanders who found themselves enmeshed in negotiations with warring groups. As such, she had been transferred often, to the place where she could do the most good. More recently, she had had a permanent assignment aboard the Starship Indefatigable. When the ship had been destroyed in battle, T’Lana had earned commendations for rescuing wounded comrades. Afterward, she had specifically asked to be assigned to the Enterprise as soon as a position was available.
Her record was sterling. She had the Vulcan coolness needed to calm overheated antagonists; at the same time, she possessed uncanny insight into the intentions and character of beings far more emotional than herself. She had garnered commendation after commendation with each simmering conflict she resolved, each war she helped avert, each battle she brought to a halt.
And while she could never compete with Troi’s ability to “read” another being on another ship, a distant world, T’Lana’s talent as a touch-telepath was exceptional. Most Vulcans worked for years to enhance their telepathic abilities; T’Lana had worked for years to contain hers.
Picard was honored to have her aboard. And though he was certain she would serve the Enterprise impeccably, he was privately concerned about her ability to provide him with personal guidance. Deanna had been warm, nurturing, nonjudgmental—a friend with whom he could let down his guard, to whom he could express the most painful feelings. He could never have recovered emotionally from his experience as Locutus without Deanna