To Storm Heaven - Esther Friesner [24]
He shook his head, marvelling over his bad luck.
That was when he became aware that he was not alone. The sensors in his visor that served him in lieu of eyesight touched off an uneasy feeling that he was being watched. He looked all around, but there was no one there. The corridor he had chosen to explore was empty, though there were several doors lining it, as well as many pillared alcoves made to display an assortment of Ne’elatian art treasures.
He considered knocking on one of the closed doors, in case anyone was in who could help him on his way, but Blumberg’s words echoed in his ears and he stopped short. It was one thing to ask directions of a Ne’elatian encountered in the hallway, quite another to go hunting up a native guide. Geordi couldn’t have explained the difference if anyone had asked him, but he knew at the gut level that doing the latter was tantamount to surrendering something very precious to him. A Starfleet officer was resourceful—took a healthy pride in being resourceful—but a Starfleet officer who was blind knew that resourcefulness was another word for independence, and independence was the most precious thing he owned.
As he stood there in the hallway, a cool breeze brought him the scent of alien flowers. Cautiously he followed his nose. Maybe I can find the gardens without asking directions after all, he mused as the scent grew more distinct. I shouM have thought of this before I lost Yee and Blumberg. It’s getting stronger.
We must’re been closer to the gardens than we thought.
The flowery perfume led him on until it reached him at a sharp angle, from a doorway to his left. Now it was so intense that he was sure that he was on the threshold of the palace gardens. He turned and went through, expecting to feel the sun on his face and to hear the sounds of the musicians tuning their instruments for the promised concert, an event specially staged to honor the visiting Starfleet crew.
Instead he felt the same cool, perfumed breeze and saw neither gardens nor musicians nor fellow crewmembers, but the startled face of a young Ne’elatian woman. She wore a plain green robe, and her hair was hidden by a veil of the same color, its gauzy material held in place by silver netting. She was very lovely.
Geordi smiled. “Excuse me, but could you please tell me how to get to the palace gar—?” She dropped to the floor before him, face pressed to the cold stone, arms extended and crossed above her head. “Let there be mercy for this one, unworthy as ! am to hear your words, starlord,” she said. She sounded as if she were on the verge of tears or panic or both.
Geordi’s smile was gone. He squatted down on his haunches and looked at the woman closely. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m just lost. I want to find the palace gardens. Could you please—?” She moaned and wrapped her arms over her head, as if cowering in anticipation of a blow. “Starlord, forgive me for having displeased you in this or in any desire you might have.” The words were muffled, but Geordi still managed to hear all she had to say. “My spirit is still imprisoned by the flesh; its flaws have led me astray. My glorious teachers warned us that we would do best to keep to our rooms while you deigned to walk with them in the undying light of Evramur. I disobeyed. I heard there was to be music, and there is no sweeter sound than the celestial songs of Evramur.
My greedy spirit thought it would do no harm to go secretly to hear it. I should have known that there is no thing that can be kept secret from the glorious ones. My sins are many. I admit them freely and give myself up to any penance necessary, even though it might be exile from the joys of Evramur.” Her slender shoulders shook ever so slightly as she began to cry.
Geordi stayed where he was, staring at her, completely at a loss. At last he reached out his hand and touched her gently. “Don’t cry,” he said. “Please.” She lifted her face, copiously streaked with tears, and asked, “Is this—is this your will, starlord?” “Yes. And also that you stop calling