The Eyes of the Beholders - A. C. Crispin [87]
Fortunately, there weren’t as many patients as Selar and Beverly Crusher had worried there might be. Once the artifact’s malign field had been turned off, many of the depression and withdrawal cases had begun to recover spontaneously.
But Counselor Troi still had her hands full, counseling them, since the artifact-inspired dreams had awakened issues and events many would have preferred to have kept buried. However, lately she had seemed encouraged by her patients’ progress. Thala had overheard her saying to Beverly Crusher that there were only one or two cases that still had her concerned about their full recovery.
Many of the patients being transferred to the starbase’s medical facility were scheduled for transshipment to the Vulcan Science Academy, where the telepathic healers could gently help them to repair their damaged psyches.
Finally, after waiting a full two hours since the Enterprise had docked, Thala rose from her seat, took one last “look” around her home, then left the cabin. She walked out into the corridor and headed left, toward the nearest turbolift, her destination the transporter room.
As she went, she said a silent farewell to all that she had known. She refused to let herself think of Selar. Her steps were quick and unhesitating, and she did not look back.
“Counselor, are you busy?”
Deanna Troi sat at her favorite table in Ten-Forward, eating one of Guinan’s exquisite hot fudge sundaes lavishly sprinkled with chocolate chips. She swallowed thickly and looked up at the diffident hail. “Oh, Data!” she exclaimed. “No, I’m just indulging one of my favorite vices. Sit down, won’t you?”
“Thank you,” the android said, and did so. Troi noticed that he was carrying a box with him. She delicately licked chocolate from the corners of her mouth, then patted her lips with a napkin. “How are you?” she asked. “Entirely recovered from having your circuitry recalibrated?”
“I am completely recovered,” Data assured her. “And you, Counselor?”
“Data, we’re relaxing here. Call me Deanna, please.” She smiled warmly at him. “I am also fine, thank you. At the moment, I am rewarding myself for all the hard work on the trip back. My patients are all recovering nicely.” She took a final bite of the sundae, let the exquisite taste fill her mouth, then swallowed and sighed. “Wonderful stuff, chocolate. Poetry for the palate, as well as the soul.”
Data’s golden eyes gleamed. “Speaking of literary matters, Deanna … ,” he said, and he placed the box on the table beside him.
She glanced at it curiously. “What have you got there?”
The android hesitated, then said, “I would like your honest opinion on a manuscript I have written. Would you please read this scene and tell me what you think?”
“A manuscript?” She stared at him in surprise. “You mean that you’ve written a book?”
“Yes. A novel. It is a romantic adventure set in the earliest days of space travel, about the relationship between one of the first starship captains and the woman he loves.” He paused, then continued, in a rush, “I have asked the opinion of several people aboard the ship, but Doctor Crusher suggested that I get an additional woman’s opinion, so I thought of you.”
The counselor shrugged. “Okay, I’ll read it, but I want you to know that one of my best friends back on Betazed is a well-known author. Kathella used to ask me to read her stories, because she valued the fact that I am a tough critic. She told me once that her books would not have been half as well written if I hadn’t given her astute literary criticism and advice.”
“That is what I want,” Data said firmly. “Here is the same scene I had Doctor Crusher read, except that I have rewritten it since she perused it.” He handed over a small sheaf of pages.
Deanna settled herself in her seat, licked the last traces of chocolate off her lower lip, and read:
Scarcely had Margaret returned to the botanical garden to resume her interrupted stroll before she caught sight of Mr. Rodriguez, who was walking toward her with a most singular