Slings and Arrows 01_ Sea of Troubles - J. Steven York [28]
“Picard,” the false Linda said, “I expected you to be alone.”
“Mr. Hawk is simply here to observe and ensure that you don’t attempt to replace me. He is not part of this negotiation.”
The Changeling turned and smiled at him. “If you prefer. I have no objections to the lieutenant. He and I have-history.”
The words hit Hawk like a punch to the gut, and he had to fight just to keep his lip from curling in revulsion. Probably the Changeling was trying to provoke him, or test his reactions. He wouldn’t offer the satisfaction of a response.
Picard simply glared at her, as though she were a green ensign who had somehow provoked his ire. “I find the shape you have taken objectionable. No matter the circumstances of Lieutenant Addison’s death, it is an insult to her memory for you to continue to mimic her form.”
The Changeling again smiled slightly. “As you wish.” Its shape shimmered back into liquid and it changed, resolidifying in a form no less familiar, that of Counselor Troi.
Picard still looked annoyed.
“Really, Picard, I can’t be offending her memory. She’s quite well as far as I know.”
“Why don’t you show yourself to me as you really are?”
The Changeling laughed softly, and it was disturbingly like the real Counselor Troi. “You solids still don’t even begin to understand what it means to be a Changeling. This is as I am. I am Counselor Troi. I am Lieutenant Addison. I am that pitcher on the podium. I am a tree, or a rock, or a padd, or a Denebian slime devil. A Changeling is not defined by a form. It is whatever form it becomes. If your mind can’t grasp even this simple concept, then there can’t be much for us to talk about.”
“Why Counselor Troi?”
“Why not, Captain? She is someone you know and are comfortable with. It could have been anyone. I’ve studied your files and logs in some detail, including most of the secured ones. I am a spy, after all. I could take the form of someone else in your life-Beverly Crusher, or Vash, or Kamala, or Nella Daren.”
Other than Crusher, Hawk didn’t recognize any of the names, but he could see Picard tense at the mention of each one. It was clear that they had some strong personal meaning to him.
The Changeling continued. “Would it be better if I adopted the form of some stranger? From my perspective, I find Troi’s pleasing enough. Changelings do not have gender as you understand it. I could become anyone, male or female, but I find I prefer the elegant curves of the typical female humanoid to the more angular male form.” She slid a hand along the curve of her hip, as though smoothing the fabric of her uniform against her skin. “The aesthetics of shape are important to me. Strangely they seem to increase in importance the longer I stay away from the Link.”
“Perhaps,” said Picard, “you are becoming more of an individual. Perhaps, despite your words, you seek a shape to define as your own.”
“One shape, to return to day after day? What a repugnant idea! I hardly understand how you solids endure it. Your lives are fascinating in small doses, but to be trapped in one, like an insect in amber.” The Changeling shuddered and crossed its arms, gripping its shoulders in a gesture that was, again, eerily reminiscent of Counselor Troi.
Hawk tried to develop some understanding of the Changeling that would be helpful, but it was difficult to force his own anger and revulsion out of the way. This is not how you were trained, Hawk! Straighten up!
Picard grimaced. “‘Wert thou the unicorn, pride and wrath would confound thee and make thine own self the conquest of thy fury.’”
“Quoting one of your poets?”
“Shakespeare, from Timon of Athens. ‘I am Misanthropos, and hate mankind. For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog, that I might love thee something.’”
The Changeling seemed puzzled by the quotation. “I do not hate mankind, Picard, nor your Federation, nor solids. In a manner of speaking, I’m quite