Kerzoinky Blue Part 1

1.

Evenings were the hardest.

Deanna watched the stars outside the viewports in her bedroom for a while. The *Enterprise* was on course for the next system in their series of surveys of new worlds and new civilizations, a welcome change from all the confrontations and battles lately. Now that the Dominion was defeated and restoration begun, now that the Borg were beaten back for the moment, Starfleet allowed the flagship of the Federation to return to its original mission.

She knew Jean-Luc suspected something, some covert shift within Starfleet. Deanna sensed his unrest, even though he expressed little of it. They had had several counseling sessions following the confrontation with the Borg in Earth's past; he'd seemed to recuperate from that quickly. Now that she thought about it, perhaps it had been too quick, and not so much a recovery as he claimed.

She tied her robe more tightly around her and wandered into the living area of her quarters. Though she'd taken care to decorate in warm, earthy tones and fill the wall spaces with comforting watercolors, she still didn't feel at home in these rooms. Beverly liked to cultivate flowers and miniature trees, and had given Deanna one of her smaller evergreens; it stood in the corner, most of the leaves brown. So much for plants being a soothing hobby. The tree mimicked her mood.

Deanna sat down and stared at the clear coffee table, where her distorted reflection looked back up at her, and tried to pinpoint when her unease had started. It wasn't when Riker and Data left; she'd felt something was off prior to the farewell party several months before. But the feeling had grown, slowly accumulating beneath the calm facade she presented to her fellow crew. Something was wrong.

Perhaps it had something to do with the strained looks on crewmembers' faces. Perhaps it was all the sessions with those who had been involved in skirmishes with the Dominion and lost fellow officers, even ships. Several had made it to life pods and rescue, and had been reassigned to the *Enterprise*. Others had been stationed on Federation worlds that had come under attack by the Breen or other Dominion-allied vessels.

Whatever it was, Deanna felt it on a subliminal level, and knew at least part of the unease was external, exuded by the people around her. What she wasn't certain about was the degree to which the unease was personal.

Beta shift, and no freedom from sorrow in sight. Sighing, Deanna paced around the room and considered putting on some clothes and heading for Ten Forward. "Computer, where is Doctor Crusher?"

"Doctor Crusher is in sickbay."

"Where is Guinan?"

"Guinan is in her quarters."

So much for her two favorite confidants. Not that she particularly wanted to see Beverly; she would simply return to the same questions she'd asked earlier that day over lunch. Deanna didn't know why Beverly insisted that Worf or Will had something to do with her malaise. She just felt blue -- wasn't that the way life was, sometimes?

Deanna wandered back to her bedroom and dimmed the lights. Tossing her robe across the foot of the bed, she crawled under the covers and curled up on her right side. The sheets were cold. In silence and darkness, she lay quietly, trying to relax.

When she woke, she couldn't remember going to sleep. "Time."

"Twenty-one hundred hours."

Just a couple hours after she'd gone to bed. Why had she awakened? She remembered fleetingly her dreams, images blurred and receding, laughter, a velvety voice, a vague impression of blue. *Kerzoinky Blue.* The words remained, even as the images faded.

Not the same dreams as she'd had before, but not coherent, either. Confused, she sat up and ordered up the lights, intending to get a cup of warm milk. When her eyes found the bouquet on the table, she froze.

Rekedzia. The red blossoms reminded her of her mother. Lwaxana Troi loved the flowers and grew several colors of them in her back yard. The blossoms wilted rapidly when cut; these were still fresh and still carrying their faint perfume.

Her feet found the floor. Coming out from under the warm covers, she felt a bit cold in the teal satin shift she wore. She crossed to touch the petals, bury her nose in them and inhale, and as she did so she heard something.

She straightened and looked around in alarm. The silence drew on for a few long moments. Deanna decided she must have been hearing things, probably a product of her startled imagination. How had the flowers gotten into her quarters while she was asleep?

"Computer, has anyone else entered my room in the last three hours?"

"Negative."

"Oh, sure." She pulled a blossom from the plain crystal vase, sniffed it, and put it back. "I suppose fairies left these."

"Please rephrase the question."

"Computer, lock the door. A glass of warm milk."

"Temperature?"

"Use Aunt Adele's recipe."

2.

"Did you deliver the flowers, my dear?"

"I should not have gone without finding out the ship's time of day. She was asleep."

"Did you speak to her?"

"You know better than that. I cannot give her cause to go to her captain, and she would be bound to do just that. Starfleet has regulations about aliens and first contact, and so do I."

"Oh, it would hardly be first contact for her. You're an old family friend. But thank you for taking the flowers for me. She's been so depressed lately. I hope they cheer her up. Now, why that face?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing, indeed. You found her in her nightgown, didn't you?"

"I do not wish to discuss that with you."

"You're not usually such a prude. I'll bet you think she's attractive."

"I must be going now."



3.

Jean-Luc Picard reflected that, all things considered, life had been kind to him. The dangers of adventuring in space might have killed him hundreds of times over -- but then, narrow escapes went with the territory. Command suited him. He'd weathered the less desirable consequences of being on the *Enterprise* -- children, animals, diplomatic missions, milk runs, and the odd omnipotent alien putting them to the test -- and enjoyed many of the joys of exploration and making first contact with new life forms. He'd made friends and enemies. He'd braved Lwaxana Troi. He'd suffered loss of dignity, loss of hair and loss of control. Borg, angry Klingons, scheming Romulans, weird rifts in space that created carbon copies of him, transporter accidents, mentally-deficient ambassadors - bring them on!

But damn it all, they could've at least given him his lion fish.

He peered into the empty tank at the coral. The Enterprise E was a magnificent ship, in most respects. At her commission ceremony, every dignitary Starfleet could find had passed through on endless tours. He remembered well the rubbery-arm syndrome afterward, from shaking too many hands, tentacles, claws, paws and pseudopodia. His hand had smelled like a lab experiment from the mixture of dozens of varieties of sweat. He remembered seeing, during all the chaos, a technician quietly tending to his ready room aquarium.

Then the grand exit from spacedock at Utopia Planitia, the fanfare, the farewell. Two weeks later, he'd finally slowed down long enough to look in the tank.

No fish.

The Borg, and then the Dominion war, had intervened, and the smaller niceties of life in Starfleet sometimes fell by the wayside. He'd not thought about the lion fish when it was possible to procure them, and then the Enterprise had been given new orders, sending them into new territory. The lion fish were not likely to make their appearance any time soon. As many species as they had in the E's zoology department, somehow lion fish had been overlooked. On a long tour of exploration of new sectors, they wouldn't be near Starfleet bases nor likely to run across Starfleet ships. No chance of cashing in a favor and having a fellow captain ferry out some fish as they were crossing in the night.

It was the least of his worries, actually, but it rankled.

He turned from the aquarium as the computer chimed the arrival of his first officer. "Come," he called, returning to his chair. As he spun to face the door, Steichen came in, balancing that imaginary book on his head and emotionally blank as a Vulcan. Ah, for the days of Camelot, as Beverly referred to their years aboard the 1701-D. Riker would've had a smile and possibly a sly comment. Losing him to the *Rampage* was bittersweet.

"Good morning, Commander," Picard said pleasantly. "Would you like something to drink?"

Deanna's prescription of 'killing with kindness' wasn't working. Steichen looked at him blankly, holding the PADD in his hand as if it were nothing more than a prop.

They went over the day's duties quickly, and reviewed yesterday's activities. Steichen didn't smile as he spoke; he reminded Picard of a bad actor reciting lines in monotone.

"Is that all, sir?" Steichen asked. He had a thin, reedy voice, washed-out blue eyes, and wore his bleached hair in a stark buzz cut. His adam's apple bobbed often; he swallowed a lot, the only indication of emotion. Deanna had commented that Gregory Steichen must have had some training in the Vulcan mind discipline while he'd been stationed on that desert planet; she found him difficult to read. Steichen had earned a commendation by taking the helm in the heat of battle against the Dominion, after his captain and the first officer died. His actions had saved the crippled ship. The decisiveness and vitality implicit in the report of the incident weren't present in the man standing before Picard in his ready room. Something was wrong.

"Yes, thank you. That will be all." No sense in prolonging it. Steichen nodded and left, stiff and upright as always.

Picard ordered another cup of tea, called up the last set of reports Deanna had given him, and scanned through them. Yesterday, yet another crewman had initiated a session with the counselor to talk about how to deal with Steichen.

"Picard to Doctor Crusher," he said.

"Yes, Captain?"

"Please report to my ready room."

"On my way."

Beverly arrived shortly after, smiling as she came in. "Something wrong?"

"I was hoping you had some positive news after your discussion with Deanna yesterday."

"We didn't finish. I'm afraid I may not be able to finish." Worry crept into her blue eyes. "She doesn't want to talk to me, for some reason. We've discussed our personal lives before, and she's always come to me when she just needed to talk. This isn't like her."

Picard sighed. The counselor had been distant and listless since Will had left, as though the finality of it had hurt her. "But she must have given you some indication."

"She mentioned not sleeping well, and feeling blue. And dreams, which must be unusual for her, if she's so concerned by them. She claims loneliness. I think there's more to it than that. She didn't become upset when I brought up Will -- resigned would be a better word, perhaps a little regretful. But she wouldn't talk about Worf. She's never talked about him, not with me." Beverly's seriously-urgent expression added weight to what she was saying. "Remember how Lwaxana seemed slightly subdued at the commission celebration? And then she went into overdrive, almost as if making up for lost time. I think she tried to talk to Deanna and failed."

Picard heard a soft noise, like the scuff of a shoe on carpet, behind him. He turned but nothing was there. "Did you hear something?"

"No. Are you hearing things?" It was a half-tease, not unusual from Beverly. He replied half-seriously.

"Possibly. Between worry for Deanna and the difficulties with Steichen--"

"Thank God," Beverly blurted. "I'm not the only one! I saw him in the corridor on the way here and nearly caught a chill. Is it my imagination, or is he really that cold and distant?"

"Deanna has met with him, but given her current condition I'm not certain what good that will do. She doesn't seem up to the challenge, and he's definitely that. Something must be done about him; crew members have been requesting counseling sessions, trying to find help in how to deal with him. I know I'm not the most affable person in the galaxy, but I've gone out of my way to be friendly to the man. I can't understand why he's behaving this way. Data at his most inept showed more concern for fellow crew."

"Why would a Starfleet admiral recommend him? Have we really lost so many personnel that we're promoting men with no social skills?" Beverly looked angry. "One of my nurses complained about him. She said he criticized her based on an offhand remark she made while talking casually with a friend in a corridor. She was telling her friend about some difficulty she had with one of our Lemnorian crew, and he told her maybe she should return to the Academy for more training."

"I wish I'd been there," Picard muttered. "But unless she makes a formal complaint, there's not a lot I can do about it."

"What are you going to do?"

"I already tried to discuss it with him, which ended with his promise to take it up with Counselor Troi. Perhaps he'll settle in. The change of command personnel can be difficult at the best of times. Perhaps he's feeling somehow unable to fill Will's shoes. He does have rather large ones to fill. I've been cautioning myself not to judge Steichen too quickly - I nearly did that with Data, remember?"

Beverly smiled a little at the memory. "I miss him, and Will. I almost miss Worf, but in a way, I blame him for Deanna's condition. I never understood their relationship, and I'm doubting I ever will. He's so violent, and she's so peaceful."

"She's done her share of fighting."

"But she doesn't relish it. She only did so in the line of duty."

"True." Picard steepled his fingers thoughtfully. "Do you think it would do any good for me to talk to her?"

"I think she's almost expecting it. I told her you had expressed concern."

"Well, then. I shan't disappoint her."

4.

Deanna weathered the discussion of Steichen's case well enough, she thought. The captain showed none of the personal concern for her that Beverly had mentioned. As always, his demeanor while they discussed crew business remained professional. She listened as he thought aloud about what to try next, her mind drifting a little to last night's dreams.

"Counselor."

Deanna raised her eyes from her PADD. "Yes, Captain?"

Picard looked at her with concern and question in his eyes, and sipped his tea. "I don't believe you've heard a word I've said for the last minute. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Help?" She tried to remember what he'd been saying, and chastened herself for losing track of the conversation.

"You took no time during the transition to the Enterprise E. Your performance was admirable, your counseling skills indispensable in putting together a new crew with me. And you worked diligently throughout the crisis with the Borg and everything that came after, including the latest crew changes, and the pace hasn't slowed. I think you're due. You look tired, Deanna."

Deanna smiled, trying to put her best face forward. "I didn't sleep well. Too many dreams. I'm fine."

Picard's comforting smile faded. "I've been worried about you for some time. Are you going to force me to pull rank on you?"

Deanna pursed her lips. "I talked to Beverly about this and reassured her that I'm fine. I see no real cause for worry -- it may be that I'm simply picking up the unease of others around me. It's no secret that most of the crew is still recovering from the aftermath of the war. Even ones who were not directly involved have lost friends and relatives."

"So you want me to believe that your depression is due to the emotional stress of dealing with others' anxiety?" He held up a hand as she was about to protest. "I may not be a counselor, but you've been acting depressed. I know you well enough to know something's amiss, at any rate. And your mother has expressed her concern to me as well."

"My mother?" Deanna exclaimed. "What -- "

"Lwaxana sent me a short message a month ago. It seems she believes your subdued demeanor at the commission ceremony warranted concern, and she has received no indication of improvement from your brief messages home since then. I thanked her and told her I'd look into it, with no intention of intruding upon your personal life. I wondered if she weren't being an overly-concerned mother and nothing more. But I think your depression is worsening, Counselor."

"Captain, my mother's paranoia notwithstanding, I have a job to do. There are people aboard this ship who need my help."

"Starfleet gave you a small staff because they recognized that. Take some time off. Before I have to order you to."

She sighed. "All right. Maybe I should."

"Good. I'll expect you on duty again in a week."

"I wasn't thinking of taking that much time. . . . Yes, sir." At the impending scold in his eyes, she acquiesced quickly, and received a smile for her cooperation.

"Deanna," he said, more softly now. "If there is anything I can do. . . if you need to talk, I'd like you to know that I'm here for you as a friend as well as a captain. We've served together for a long time. I'm hoping we will continue to do so -- but you have me worried."

"I'll work it out," she said. "And thank you for the offer." She rose, came to stand beside his desk, laid a hand briefly on his arm, and took her leave of him.

She decided to change out of uniform, since Jean-Luc was going to be that way about it. She contacted her staff to take over her appointments for the week while riding the turbolift and reached her quarters, thinking of holodeck simulations she wanted to try. But first, a long, luxurious bath.

She almost made it past the vase of rekedzia on the table in her bedroom. The wilted blooms from the previous night had been replaced with fresh ones, this time yellow instead of red. Now that she was awake, and confronted with another intrusion into her quarters, she reacted more appropriately. She walked around the room, glancing back and forth from the vase to other surfaces, trying to ascertain if anything had been disturbed.

"Computer, who has been in my room since I left?"

"No one entered the room."

"Did these flowers on the table get here by magic?" she exclaimed in frustration.

"Insufficient data. Please rephrase the question."

"Were these flowers transported in?"

"No transporter beams have entered this room."

"Were they replicated?"

A short pause while the computer scanned. "Negative."

"Are there any rekedzia growing in the arboretum on the Enterprise?"

"Negative."

"Then how did real live rekedzia appear in my room, if it wasn't replicated or transported in?"

"Insufficient data."

Deanna stalked around the room, looking at the vents, and tapped her communicator. "Troi to LaForge."

"LaForge here."

"Geordi, I have a problem. I've been finding flowers in my room, and don't know who's putting them here. I asked the computer to monitor and let me know the instant someone else comes in, and now there are more flowers and the computer tells me no one's been here, transported them in here, or replicated them in here."

"Sounds like you have a secret admirer who knows how to get around the computer." He chuckled. "Seriously, unless you were very specific about how the computer was supposed to monitor the room, it probably just watched the door. The computer's programmed specifically not to spy on people in private quarters."

"Okay, so can you help me come up with a way to find out who's doing this? Can you program the computer to pay better attention?"

"Sure, I'll work something up for you. You sound upset, Counselor."

"If someone were getting into your room and taking care not to be discovered, wouldn't you be?"

Geordi paused. "Probably. I'll have something for you by shift end."

"Good. Thanks, Geordi."

At least Geordi was still around. She trusted him, and this situation was so unusual she needed that. Deanna changed clothes and left a message for Beverly to find when she came off shift, and headed for the holodeck, her bath forgotten.

Beverly found her a few hours later, sitting in a hot spring in the middle of a steaming jungle. Deanna smiled up at her and beckoned, saluting her with a strawberry-banana daiquiri.

"Come on in, the water's great."

Beverly laughed. "What, no mud bath?"

"My mother's not here to enjoy it with me. I just finished a nice long walk on Betazed, and this was the perfect thing for a few sore muscles."

Noting Deanna's lack of attire, Beverly stripped and dabbled a toe before stepping in. "Mmm, just what the doctor ordered. I suppose you have some masseuses waiting nearby?"

"That can be arranged."

From Deanna's pile of discarded clothing came the chirrup of her communicator. "LaForge to Counselor Troi."

"Ergh," Deanna groaned, reaching and dragging the clothing closer, then fishing out the commbadge. "Troi here."

"I finished that program. You should hear from the computer the instant someone other than yourself enters your quarters, regardless of how much effort they put into reprogramming it. They'll have to have better clearance than I do."

"Thank you, Geordi. I appreciate it."

Beverly stiffened in alarm. "What's going on?"

Sinking back into the water, Deanna propped her head against the edge of the pool. "Someone left flowers in my room. I asked Geordi to write me a program to find out who it is."

"Flowers? Oooo, you have a secret admirer," Beverly said, grinning mischievously.

"If he was worth anything, he'd have left chocolates. It bothers me that there's no note, and it bothers me that it keeps happening without the computer detecting his coming and going, even when I told it to."

"No theories as to who it is?"

"Nope. I'll find out soon enough."

"I bet it's that lieutenant in engineering. He looked at you like a lovestruck puppy in sickbay last week."

"He did not. You sedated him, remember? He was looking at the captain the same way. And I don't know why he was on that away team, either. He was too inexperienced for such an assignment. A seasoned crewman would've known better than to pick flowers he didn't recognize on a strange planet."

"Are you questioning the first officer's judgement?"

Deanna sniffed. "Mr. Shrike hasn't impressed me yet."

"I wonder if he knows about his unofficial nickname?"

"I have no idea, but I haven't met anyone yet who hasn't slipped and called him Shrike. I don't think it would annoy him to call him that to his face. He'd probably just look at you with that impassive, stony disregard he's so good at."

Deanna had spoken to several people wanting to know how to deal with Steichen, and Steichen had responded badly when she had gone to him and discussed the issue with him. Rather than behave professionally, he'd taken to stiffening up even more in the presence of those he suspected of going to Deanna about him. It was taking forever to dissect the cause and effect of it all, subtly smooth ruffled tempers, and reassure Steichen without approaching him directly. She disliked the unease around her that so far as she was concerned was Steichen's fault, and she grumbled about it, but only in Beverly's presence.

The conversation ventured further afield into more pleasant topics. Deanna was on the verge of asking the computer for another drink when the computer contacted her.

"Counselor Troi, someone has entered your quarters."

Deanna stood up, water trickling from her hair and body in rivulets, and reached for her clothing. "Lock the door."

Beverly jumped up and raced to get dressed, too. "Caught him!"

"I hope so."

Abandoning the holodeck, they ran for the nearest turbolift. Geordi met them in the corridor outside Deanna's door. "I had it set to let me know."

"Open the door," Deanna instructed the computer, and the three of them walked in. They found a box on the table in the bedroom.

"It's not flowers," Geordi said. He waved a tricorder at it, then flicked the lid off with a finger. "Chocolates."

"Not just any chocolate." Deanna selected a piece. "My favorite kind. I used to beg my mother for these."

Beverly took a piece, too. "Hey, these have liquor in them!"

"Why do you think I had to beg? And Mother loved them, too. So, where is he? She? It?" Deanna closed the box, picked it up, looked around the room. "No note. No PADD. No messages. Worse, no trespasser. The door was locked the instant I was notified."

Geordi shook his head. "Computer, who was in this room?"

"Unknown."

The engineer frowned. "It's not supposed to say that. If it was a crew member, it should've identified the intruder."

"Did the intruder reprogram the computer?" Deanna asked.

"I don't think so. I encrypted the subroutine before I ran it. About the only one I can think of who might be able to crack it in such a short time would be Data, and he's not here. Wish he was, though."

"What could he do with the computer that you couldn't?" Beverly asked.

"Not a lot, but he could do it faster. Besides, I miss the guy." Geordi scanned the room with the tricorder. "I think you ought to call security, Dee."

"This is ridiculous," Deanna exclaimed. "Who could just pop in and disappear again like that?"

"Q?" Beverly asked.

"This isn't like Q at all. He'd taunt us for a while first. Or, he'd just kidnap me and get it over with."

"Maybe it's a different Q?"

"I don't think so. There's got to be some rational explanation. One of the crewmembers must have some enormous ability to get around the computer. Geordi, what else can we do?"

"I guess you could set a trap. I could program the computer to record any movement or sound so you could review it, but that means you would be recorded too. If you want to do that, you should move to temporary quarters."

Deanna bit her lip. "Well, the gifts thus far have been harmless. And I'm certainly not going to let myself be driven from my quarters!"

"Security?" Geordi said.

"I'll call security when there's a reason to. It's making me nervous that we haven't caught him in spite of our better efforts, but I'd like to try a more peaceful resolution than having security standing outside all day. Security might even frighten him away, and then we'd never know who it was or how he got in. And I really think we ought to do our best to find out. This is a security loophole. It's got to be. I'll talk to the security chief about it and let him know what's going on, and that we're trying to find out who it is."

"All right. Let me know if you need any more help with the computer." Geordi looked at his tricorder. "Ha! Too simple. Here's an idea. Leave a tricorder running when you leave."

Beverly laughed. "Here we've been swatting flies with a starship, and all we need is a little old flyswatter."

"I'll set parameters for you - there, you can hide this in plain sight somewhere in the room with a clear view of the table, and next time your friend makes his appearance, you'll have him. It's set to start recording when it detects motion, with a short delay so you can leave the room, and you can reset it easily enough."

"Thanks, Geordi."

Deanna found a place in her bookshelf for the tricorder and left with Beverly and Geordi.

"Next time you get a present, it better be something less addicting than these," Beverly said, snatching another chocolate from the box Deanna carried.

5.

That night, Deanna read herself to sleep, and remembered the tricorder after breakfast in time to reset it before heading down to the gymnasium for some exercise. The lap pool was empty; she backstroked and crawled to and fro until her arms hurt.

A week would be too much time off. She needed a distraction. Chiding herself for ceasing to have dreams the minute she had plenty of time on her hands to sort them out, she showered and toweled her hair, then headed for her quarters. Her leisurely journey was interrupted by the computer.

"Counselor Troi, someone has entered your quarters."

"Who is it?"

"Unknown."

She almost broke into a run. "Lock the door."

The front room was empty. So was the bedroom. "This is getting monotonous," she groaned as her eyes fell upon yet another object left on her table. She picked up the book and froze, staring at the cover.

"This was in my room," she said aloud. "On Betazed. It shouldn't be here."

"Please rephrase the question," the computer replied pleasantly.

"Oh, shut up, I wasn't talking to you." Turning, she took down the tricorder and found it turned off. Nothing recorded but a few moments of an empty room. Her idiot-proof surveillance method had failed; obviously, the intruder was observant enough to notice it on his way in.

The old picture book was one she'd had as a child, given to her by her father. It was about a little boy who wanted to fly, and roamed the countryside begging birds to teach him how. Each bird apologized because although each one tried, none of the birds were able to help him get off the ground, and each bird gave him a single feather as a gift. At the end of the story the boy had so many feathers that he made wings for himself and flew. Deanna sat on her bed and turned the pages, thinking about her father reading it to her.

As she turned the final page to the brilliant illustration of the boy finally rising into the sky, a beatific smile on his face, she found something written on the page under the boy, in strong, sweeping strokes.

'It's your turn, Kerzoinky blue.'

Deanna clapped the book shut. Her breathing shuddered as she fought to control the anxiety and extend her senses. It was no use.

"Computer," she exclaimed, voice wobbling. "Record a message to Lwaxana Troi."

"Recording."

"Mother, I keep having these dreams, about blue, and there's a man. . . a blue man. I want you to go upstairs, look in my room for the picture book about the boy who wanted to fly, and tell me it's still there. If it isn't there, I want you to tell me how -- " Deanna struggled not to swear at her mother, "how is it that the book appeared here in my quarters. I want you to explain what 'kerzoinky blue' means. Please don't tell me to come home. Encrypt the message if you have to. For God's sake, Mother, what's going on? Computer, send message!"

"Message sent."

She replicated some wine. When her hands no longer shook, she settled down with a book. The story didn't keep her interest. Her mind wanted to chew on the mystery of kerzoinky blue, so finally she let it, to no avail.

"Computer, record personal log."

"Recording."

"I'm still having trouble remembering. It's like groping for something that's just out of reach, like... being in a cage, and the key is close enough to touch but too far to grasp. The storybook I found today used to be my favorite. I used to want to fly -- "

Suddenly another flash of memory, the strong impression of wind on her face and landscape far below. She sat silent for a few moments, processing the confusing tidbit.

"I wanted to fly," she continued uncertainly, "and now I seem to remember flying. Could it be that I'm remembering what I want to remember? No, that's not right. It's very clear. So frustrating! I could be pounding on a brick wall for all the good it does me. Why can't I remember?"

Deanna gave up on her log after ten minutes of stream-of-consciousness rambling did no good. Finding a new hiding place for the tricorder and hoping the intruder would think she'd given up on it, she went to Ten Forward. When Guinan brought over her order, Deanna asked her to sit.

Guinan settled into the chair across the table and smiled benignly at Troi. "How are you enjoying your vacation?"

"Not very much." Deanna described the impossible-to-catch intruder and the measures she'd taken.

"Perhaps you're trying too hard." Guinan didn't lose her serene expression, and inclined her behatted head toward some newcomers. She didn't seem surprised by the story of the gifts, or by their significance.

"Whoever it is knows what my favorite things are. He can come and go as he pleases. Any guesses? Have you sensed anything?"

Guinan tilted her head as if to deflect the question back at Troi with the enormous flat hat she wore.

"Do the words 'kerzoinky blue' mean anything to you?"

Guinan's smile remained pleasant and unsurprised. Was it even a little smug? "Why do you think they would?"

"They must mean something. They were part of my dream, and they were written in the back of the book I just found."

"An interesting puzzle, Counselor. If you'll excuse me, I have -"

"Guinan," Deanna pled, and the hostess settled back into her chair. "Do you know any race other than Q who could be doing this?"

"I know of several."

"At least tell me if I should be frightened."

Guinan shrugged. "Do you think you ought to be?"

"There's someone the computer can't catch and can't identify getting into my rooms. Security thinks there's cause for alarm."

"Then maybe there is cause for alarm. But you don't seem very alarmed. Whoever he is, you seem to think he has good taste in gifts. Maybe you ought to see what happens next."

Guinan rose and went to greet someone. Deanna ate her chocolate ice cream slowly, focusing on each bite and waiting for the computer to sound the alarm again.

6.

Captain Picard left his quarters and, on his way to the turbolift, noticed Lietenant-Commander Stollen scanning with a tricorder in the corridor. Picard stopped to speak to the security chief.

"I am scanning the area for anything unusual," the Vulcan said. "Counselor Troi reported a trespasser in her quarters."

"What? Is she all right?" Picard glanced at her door, several yards away.

"She was not in her quarters at the time. She reported that flowers, a box of chocolates and a book have appeared in her bedroom. Moreover, she insists the book she found is one that should be in her mother's house on Betazed." As he spoke, he concluded his scan. "No anomalies present in this part of the ship. No sign of tampering with the vents or the door."

"It sounds like someone is playing pranks," Picard commented. "Let me know if you find anything, Mr. Stollen."

"Yes, Captain. It should be simple -- Commander LaForge has instructed the computer to alert the counselor and security the instant the trespasser returns." He nodded and turned away, closing his tricorder.

Picard watched the Vulcan's stiff back as he marched away. "Computer, location of Counselor Troi."

"Counselor Troi is in Ten-Forward."

"Good," he muttered. Glancing again at her door, he shook his head. Could she have been sensing this trespasser before he came along? It might explain her restlessness. If a crew member were unbalanced and fixated on her, she might have sensed it. Heaven knew there were enough unbalanced officers in Starfleet at the moment.

In his ready room, Picard settled down with a cup of tea. He reached for the preliminary report on the next system; he knew he'd left on the right corner of his desk. But the padd contained a monthly engineering report from Geordi.

He searched through some other padds and found the right one. He remembered Steichen bringing in the preliminaries and handing them to him, and then he'd placed it by itself on the corner of the desk where he'd be certain not to lose it among the others. It hadn't been among the archeological newsletters and assorted departmental reports, he was certain. Yet that was where he'd found it.

Yes, something was definitely going on. Someone had been in his ready room, poking through his desk.

"Commander Stollen, to my ready room, at once."

7.



"I'm not going back there. That was the last time."

"I thought you said -- "

"Forget what I said. She doesn't remember me, even though she should. I've caused her enough alarm. Why are you looking at me that way, Zakhad?"

"I know you. You'll go back."

8.

Deanna ran out of leisurely pursuits within two days. Caught up in anticipation of the intruder's return, she spent most of her time trying to distract herself from thinking about it, with minimal success. Beverly found her in the holodeck late in the afternoon of her fourth day off.

"This doesn't seem a very entertaining program," Crusher said, walking up behind her on the cliff's edge.

"It's a peaceful one. I've been watching the birds go by." Another flock winged up the canyon as she spoke.

"Any more unusual gifts?"

"Not yet."

"You really wanted to fly as a kid?"

"It's a common enough fantasy," Deanna said absently. "Lots of children dream of it. It's one of those super powers they wish for."

"That, and x-ray vision. Or is it only the boys that want that?" Beverly smiled and watched a raptor soaring overhead. "Wesley had a thing about eagles for a while. He even tried to make paper wings. Jack used to hold him up in the air, and he'd flap his chubby little arms, and they'd soar all over the house."

"Have you heard from Wes lately?"

"No. I think he's immersed in whatever he's studying lately, and hasn't realized he's forgotten to call Mom. I'll start to worry if he doesn't make contact in the next month."

"What are you saying? You're already worried."

"That's what I get for hanging out with an empath, I guess. Can't even indulge in a little healthy denial." Beverly turned pensive, studying Deanna critically. "You look tired. You're not supposed to."

Deanna hugged herself and shrugged. "I can't sleep at night. More dreams."

"I think you should take a tranquilizer tonight, just to sleep better."

"I'll think about it."

The computer's voice interrupted them. "Counselor Troi, someone has -"

"Computer, lock the door, and tell me if that person leaves!"

Beverly kept up with her all the way to her door. As they were racing down the corridor, the computer said, "Intruder has gone."

Deanna stopped and stared at the closed door. They were within sight of it when the computer sounded the intruder's retreat, and it hadn't opened. No one else was around. "Computer, how did he leave?"

"Unknown."

Beverly inhaled audibly. "Dee, call security."

"In a minute. Computer, unlock the door." At her approach the door sighed open and she went in to see what had been left this time, the doctor slowly following.

A piece of folded paper sat like a pup tent in the center of the table. "Finally!" Snatching up the note, she cried out in shock.

"What, what," Beverly demanded.

"It's my mother's handwriting! 'Dear Little One, I cannot respond to your request. Please understand that it's for everyone's good, and that when you come home again, we'll talk about everything. I love you.' She's answering a message I sent her."

"That's a good thing," Beverly exclaimed. "Your mother would never send anyone dangerous to deliver a note. Maybe she sent you the chocolates, the flowers and the book, too. The gifts could be her way of trying to comfort you."

Deanna didn't stop to ask how Beverly knew Lwaxana had been concerned. "This is a bad thing! No crew member could have gotten a note written by my mother. The stationery is even scented with her perfume." She paced in a circle frantically, glaring at the note.

The doctor gaped at her. "I've never seen you this worked up about a few gifts."

"Do you think the captain will appreciate my mother sending an unknown somebody to deliver a note, when the unknown somebody seems to appear out of nowhere and disappear again? He's going to think she's befriended Q. There's a loophole in our security."

"So let security find it, as Geordi suggested, and move into temporary quarters. What about the flyswatter?"

It took a moment to realize that she referred to the tricorder. Deanna raised the blouse she'd artfully draped over it on the dressing table, and was gratified to see that it hadn't been turned off. Unfortunately, video pickup had been blacked out by the sleeve of the blouse.

"At least you can hear him moving around."

"That isn't good enough." Deanna looked around for a better hiding place. "And I'm not going to let an intruder who's too cowardly to show his face run me out of my quarters. I've dated a Klingon, for God's sake - I'll replicate a bat'leth to sleep with."

"You're angry."

Deanna glared at Beverly. "And that's a bad thing?"

"I've just never seen you angry. Not often, that is. Maybe I should take pictures."

"If you can't be supportive, leave."

"Oh, Dee, if you've gotten past whistling in the dark, there's no hope at all. Seriously, all he's done is trespass and leave you presents. He's polite enough to wait until you're not at home. I know Jean-Luc will have his knickers in a knot about someone invading his ship without permission and the implications of it are going to drive him up the wall, but he's not going to stomp around puffing out his chest about it. I'm taking it seriously, but I'm trying to treat it lightly until we know there's really a threat. You gave me that advice, once."

Beverly left her alone to make the obvious connections herself, and Deanna sighed, collecting her thoughts.

"Troi to Stollen."

"Counselor?"

"I think we need another security sweep."

9.

While the security team conducted their investigation of her bedroom, Deanna waited in the front room impatiently, wracking her brain. Futile as it was, she tried to remember more about the blue man, and why her mother would refuse to discuss him.

Jean-Luc Picard came out of the bedroom and sat down next to Deanna. "Counselor, they aren't finding much. A few of what appear to be fingerprints, but they don't belong to a human, or any other species we have on board. Whoever this is, he isn't leaving much behind. I suggest you move into other quarters."

"This is my mother's fault."

"Unless this alien is somehow -"

"Why would any alien go through all this trouble to make me think he's my mother?" Deanna exclaimed. "I know we've run across some unexpected things and that sometimes the truth has been almost unbelievably complex and mind-boggling. But sometimes, it's as simple as it seems. I've sensed no danger, and Guinan is being too ambivalent about it."

"You've spoken to Guinan?"

"She knows more than she's telling me. I can tell."

Picard glanced up at the three security people coming out of the bedroom and shaking their heads at him as they left. Before the door closed behind them, the captain was on his feet, tugging his uniform straight.

"Come with me, please."

Deanna followed him, predictably, to Ten Forward, which at this time of the afternoon was occupied by Guinan and three customers lingering over crumbs on plates and empty glasses in a far corner. Guinan put down the glass she was cleaning as the captain approached.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Are you apologizing for something you've done, or something you can't tell us?" Picard took a seat at the bar, and Deanna sat next to him.

"Deanna told me about her dreams and the things left in her quarters. I'm afraid I can't help you with that."

"I can accept that. I've had to accept it before, after all. But you could at least -"

"I can't. Sorry."

"Guinan, this is my ship. Someone is coming and going at will, and if this surreptitiousness continues I'll have to assume hostile intentions," Picard snapped, letting his frustration escape at last.

"That would be an incorrect assumption." Guinan dropped her gaze, lining up glasses under the bar. "I think all the war lately has made everyone a little jumpy. We're supposed to be exploring peacefully, not looking for battles."

"Would we be having this conversation so peacefully if it were your quarters being invaded?"

"Invaded is a strong word for it, don't you think?" Guinan looked up and rested her hands on the counter. "If you're going to assume that's a hostile act, you're going to need some proof of it, and chocolate isn't exactly a declaration of war. If it were my quarters, I'd have spoken to him by now." The hostess moved off suddenly, toward the remaining three customers.

"Maybe my mother has made friends with the Traveler," Deanna ventured. It gained her a sour look from the captain. "Well, what else is there? I seriously doubt my mother has anything to do with Q, or he with her."

He studied her intensely, and she could sense his mind hard at work. "You've tried to reach your mother, I assume."

"The note responds to a message I sent her demanding explanations. She won't talk to me unless I go home."

"Maybe you should go home, then."

The suggestion startled Deanna. "But, it's so far away. I'd have to take one of the shuttles, at least as far as the nearest starbase. I'd be gone for a month."

"As infuriating as she can be, I know Guinan is trustworthy. She apparently sees no cause for alarm. I still have difficulties with the thought of a phantom visitor; I want to know who he is and how he does this. If the only solution is to send you, in person, to tell your mother to call off her delivery boy and solve the mystery of how he's getting into the ship without setting off an intruder alert -- and crossing light years in no time at all, apparently -- then it should be done. If only for your own peace of mind." He was being rational, but she could tell he was angry at the loss of control over who came and went on the Enterprise. It showed in his eyes, if his emotions weren't already storming her mental shields. "You need a vacation, and this is the perfect opportunity," he added, as if trying to convince himself, too.

"I'd like to try something first, if you don't mind."

"What haven't you tried? Geordi is still puzzling over how to program the computer to deal with this. It's something he's thought about since Q first appeared. If he can solve this mystery, he may find a way to give us advance notice if Q, or any other suddenly-appearing presence, comes aboard."

"Beverly likened our approach to swatting flies with a starship. I would like to fall back on the simplest approach possible. Guinan is right - we're assuming this is a hostile entity at the outset. Being defensive when our territory is invaded is a natural reaction, but it isn't necessarily warranted. I think my defensive reaction was due to the invasion of my personal space, my bedroom, and that everything that's been done has reflected that protectiveness. Perhaps there really isn't anything to protect ourselves from."

"So what are you suggesting? Leave cookies and milk for the bloody nuisance?"

"Something like that. I'm going to do as Guinan suggests and talk to him. I'll write him a note."

10.

*And I'd give up forever to touch you
Cause I know that you feel me somehow
You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be
And I don't want to go home right now*


"What are you listening to? Don't turn it off, what is it?"

"I've been listening to some of my father's music collection, that's all."

"Going to pass along some of it, too, it looks like. Or are you just recording favorites to make them more accessible? You're still thinking about her, aren't you?"

"Unfortunately. I shouldn't have gone back."

"So you're sitting here in the dark, listening to old Earth music, drinking -- what is this? Smells like you're trying to marinate something. Get to bed, old man."

"In a while."

"I told you you'd go back. What's she like?"

"I can't talk about it yet. I'm sorry, Zakhad, but it's not something that's easily explained."

"You can't explain what she's like?" Quietly, in the darkness, claws tapping on the floor. The soft clink of claws on a ceramic cup. "I'm going to bed. Please, don't torture yourself like this. Get some sleep."

"Can't sleep. That's how I ended up here."

"If she's going to become an obsession, make contact. At least you will be able to resolve your feelings, one way or the other."

He waited until she moved to the other side of the house. He heard the cup put in the kitchen, heard her move to her room.

"Computer, access personal log. Time index. . . ."



11.

The wait was agonizing, but Deanna set herself a sizable distraction. When she woke early the following morning, she holed up in her office and began writing that paper on post-battle trauma in Andorians she'd been thinking about doing. She'd been treating the handful of Andorian crew members who had participated in the Dominion war and been reassigned to the Enterprise, with unexpected developments. Her research meant tapping into various psychological studies on Andorians, and she became so absorbed in reading that before she knew it, her stomach was growling and several hours had passed.

She ordered breakfast from the replicator and had it half eaten when the computer interrupted. Geordi must still be tinkering with the program; the prompt was different. "Counselor Troi, a life form has entered your quarters."

"Lock the door. Tell me if it leaves." Deanna ran, covering the distance between her office and her quarters in record time, thankfully without running into anyone.

Ordering her door open, she burst into the room and lost all momentum at the bedroom door. Her intruder was standing at the table, reading her note, and the sight took her breath away.

He didn't look at her right away, which gave her time to recover from shock and take stock of his appearance. Humanoid and tall, he looked like a cross between a man, a bird and a bat - not a fair comparison, but falling back on describing a new species in terms of animal attributes was a natural reaction. Huge wings, like a bat's; a tail, long and apparently prehensile, lying on the floor in a near-perfect circle around his feet; and wind-tossed straight hair. All blue as a sapphire. Her dreams must have been about him.

The wings lay along his back in a relaxed but tight fold, the joint on top rising above his head and the tip at the nether end falling short of the second joint of a leg obviously meant for four-legged travel. He stood on long, clawed toes meant for gripping; what would have been the heel was a joint six inches from the floor, and from there down, the skin was as blue as the wings. The outer pair of the four toes seemed able to pivot backward. His short-fingered hands were also blue, but his torso and the upper parts of his limbs were similar to human flesh, and appeared to be darkly tanned. He looked like a man wearing gloves on hands and feet.

Strange. She had difficulty sensing him. Her empathic sense couldn't touch him, giving her the strange sensation of trying to grip a slippery ball. When he moved, it startled Deanna, even though all he did was turn his head. His blue-green eyes had no white, but at least his pupils were round. Their eyes met.

"You don't remember me."

"I do," she managed, sounding like she needed air. Clearing her throat, Deanna forced a more relaxed pose.

The door chime interrupted. He glanced anxiously into the front room, and Stollen's voice over her commbadge said, "Counselor Troi, this is security. May we enter?"

Deanna had looked at the door, following the winged man's gaze, and when she turned back he was gone. She went to the door and when it opened, she looked innocently at the Vulcan, who held a phaser and a tricorder.

"The computer indicated unauthorized entry of your quarters. Are you all right?"

"Yes. I. . . sensed something, but it seems to be gone now. Nothing left behind, this time."

Stollen glanced into the bedroom, then left. Deanna meandered to her bed and sat down. "Computer, disable the security program for my quarters. Lock the door."

"Program disabled. Door is secured."

She saw a movement out of the corner of her eye, and turned. He was back, and moving his hand away from what she had taken for a large belt buckle.

"A cloaking device? I'm surprised the tricorder didn't pick up the energy source."

"We've refined it quite a lot -- it's much more efficient than the cloaking devices you've encountered." He put his hands on his hips. "I frightened you, by leaving those things I brought from your mother. That was not my intention."

The voice and the face were close enough to human that she could almost think of him in those terms. Then her paradigm shifted, and he stopped being a collection of animal anatomy and started being a sentient being. The only article of clothing he wore was a black cloth, wound around his narrow hips. It was probably the only clothing he could wear, given the size of his wings and the configuration of two sets of shoulders.

"I wish I could remember more about you."

He tilted his head, thinking. "Your mother's been very worried. She wanted me to make contact before now, but it's difficult - you aren't the only one with a Prime Directive, you know. My superiors may be seriously considering opening negotiations with the Federation, but they haven't decided yet. I could be in a great deal of trouble if your fellow officers see me."

"They know you exist." He was claiming a prime directive, implying that his people were more advanced than the Federation. The thought threatened to distract her, but she thought of her mother, and how long she'd known him, then shoved the whole issue aside to listen to what the alien was saying.

"You were frightened. I would expect you to react exactly as you did. Because I took steps to keep you from revealing my existence when you were small, you are now threatening to reveal me anyway. A perfect lesson in choices and consequences."

Deanna's chin dropped. "You're a telepath," she exclaimed. "A strong one. You put a block on my memory of you."

"The words in the book I left for you were supposed to dissolve the block. A defect in my handiwork."

"So what is kerzoinky blue?"

"Your childhood mispronunciation of *kahzan'kahliu.*"

As he said the word, the memories flooded back to her, and Deanna staggered. He pulled out a chair and stood aside, stopping short of touching her arm. She took the chair gratefully and tried to assimilate the rush of released memories. In the midst of her confusion, the blockage of her empathy cleared, her sense of him resolving into a familiar presence, solid and strong.

"Wrong trigger word, wasn't it?" he asked. "I used the wrong version. Your mother was even more worried when you mentioned the key word I told her I'd used. She thought I'd damaged you somehow."

"Gwaheer," she said, grinning, looking up at him with wide eyes. "I remember. How are you?"

"Much happier, now that you remember my name, thank you. Do you understand now why I have been so secretive?"

"A lot of what's happened makes sense, now that I remember." She realized he was scanning her, had been doing so since she had arrived, and that his telepathic skills were far more advanced than most Betazoid telepaths she knew. To conduct a probe so skillfully that an empathic mind being studied didn't detect it immediately -- that took considerable talent and discipline.

"Yes, I'm scanning you," he said, affirming her thoughts. "But only superficially. I need to reassure your mother. When I left her, she was talking to her travel agent and had Homn looking for rogue ship captains who would deliver her to the Enterprise in uncharted territory."

"So you're taking a mental picture of me."

He chuckled, gently touched her hair where it lay across her shoulder. "You've become a beautiful woman, *kahzan'kahliu.*"

Warm velvet, his voice. She felt as well as heard the affection.

"How am I going to explain you? Geordi is working on the loophole in the computer programming that allows you to come and go as you please."

"Perhaps I should warn my co-workers."

Deanna blinked. "Do your people spy on the Federation?"

"It is a question of perspective. 'Spy' implies we are seeking information with malicious intent. We are not malicious."

"How long have you been watching us?"

Gwaheer turned a chair and sat, tucking his tail forward between his legs. It coiled on the floor like a pet snake. "Since before there was a Federation, really, and not all of the represented races were under surveillance. The humans, yes. Such a contradictory, viable species."

"There are only a few flying races in the Federation. Have you ever studied any of them?"

"You ask very different questions now that you are grown. The last time we spoke, you wanted to know why I walked on my knuckles." He held out his hand palm up, and she remembered his hands, and why she had found them so fascinating. His fingers above the knuckle were longer, and shorter between the knuckle and fingertips, which actually had modest claws not unlike his feet. In fact, he had four fingers, and the two outer digits seemed equally able to act as thumbs. The claws settled into thickly-calloused indentations in his palm and the thick pads on the knuckles acted as fingertips as well as a walking surface.

"Are you adverse to answering my questions?" she asked.

"Not precisely. I know that I can trust you, but we must consider that your captain and crew must also be able to maintain their trust of you."

"If I don't know, I can be truthful about not knowing."

"Yes." He smiled, happy that she understood so quickly.

"Why haven't you made yourselves known to the Federation?"

"Why haven't you made yourselves known to any of the more primitive peoples under your observation?"

"We aren't primitive."

"As I said, we are about to make contact. The decision isn't mine to make. Until it's made, I'm bound by certain regulations." His wings moved, and she thought that must be his equivalent of a shrug.

"This isn't fair. What am I going to tell the others? The captain especially will want to know who and what you are."

"You can honestly tell him that the unknown alien has not returned."

"Because I know you now, so you're not the unknown alien. But that isn't going to be enough. You know it won't. And I'd like to be able to see you again," she added plaintively. "I would have missed you, if I knew to."

"It's good to see you again, too."

"Why did you come back? Another gift from my mother?"

"No." He put back his ears and seemed uncomfortable. "I. . . was concerned. By the time I realized how much my visits were upsetting you, it was too late. I hated to leave you not knowing who had been in and out of your quarters. You have enough emotional turmoil to deal with, without my adding to it."

"What has my mother told you?" she asked sharply.

"Your mother confided in me her worries, but even if she hadn't, I could have sensed your lack of inner peace. You're irritated that I mention it -- why?"

"I'm irritated that everyone seems to think something's wrong."

Gwaheer stared at her. "I should be going."

"So soon?"

"I cannot be away for protracted periods without rearranging my schedule." He pulled out a data cartridge he'd tucked under his cloaking device. "This is for you. A collection of some very old Earth songs, some of which you may recognize."

"When will I see you again?" she blurted as he turned to go. He hesitated, looking at the floor.

"I should not visit the *Enterprise* again. I had not done so until your mother begged me to deliver the flowers because you are here. Frequent visits would make it too difficult not to interfere."

"But I'd like to get to know you again. You knew my father. There aren't too many people I know who knew him. And I have such good memories of playing games with you as a child."

"If you would like to spend more time talking, perhaps we should schedule a meeting."

"How about dinner?"

"Today?"

"I could program some of Mother's recipes. Come on, I've nearly caused a ship-wide panic over you. You owe me."

"I suppose I do." He seemed amused, but Deanna could tell he was hiding something; it didn't show in his face, however. "Your days are on a different schedule than mine."

"How about eight hours from now? Does that work?"

"It should. Until then." He bowed, then vanished, without sound or warning.

Deanna put the cartridge he'd given her in the slot on her bedside console. Familiar voices from the past began speaking, and she sat on her bed and remembered.

"Daddy, what are you doing?"

"I want to make a recording. It's for Gwaheer."

"Why?"

"Deanna, must you always know why?"

"Yes!"

Laughter, from her father, and from Gwaheer. "This little one will be a scientist, the way she asks questions," Gwaheer said.

"Whatever she does, she'll break hearts. Such eyes. Go on, Deedee. Let me finish what I'm doing, and then you can go flying with Gwaheer." Over the retreating footfalls, her father sighed. The door closed softly. "I'm not sure what to say."

"She'll only get this if something happens to you, and circumstances are such that my people will be contacting the Federation. Say what you would want to say, if you die in the line of duty."

"Are you certain you're willing to take on the responsibilities I've requested of you? Because if you think you will change your mind -- "

"Ryxi do not promise things lightly, Ian. You asked me to look after them if anything happens to you, and I shall. You even went to the trouble of learning how to make the request in my own language. I am bound to it, you made sure of that. Finish your recording."

A long pause. "I can't do this."

"Would it help if I left?"

"No, no -- just a minute. Okay. I need to hurry up before Lwaxana comes home. She'll think this is the most morbid. . . . Okay. Now, you promise you'll be around to give this to her?"

"I promise that I will assign the duty to someone else in my estate, in case I am not. Is that sufficient?"

"I'm sorry, I'm just -- "

"Nervous. Try closing your eyes and imagining you're talking to your Deanna as an adult."

Another sigh. "Okay. Deanna, my dear, you know that I love you. No matter what you do or where you are, you'll always be my little girl. I hope you remember that. I've given this message to my friend, Gwaheer, because I know he'll find a way to get it to you -- knowing your mother, she might one day decide this whole idea's just morbid and destroy it."

He paused, cleared his throat. "That's another thing. Please let your mother know how much I love her. If this gets to you, I'll be dead, and I don't want her to live like she died with me. I hope you'll always take care of each other -- look after your mother, dear. I've asked Gwaheer to, he's even got some custom that I followed to request it, but he's not really family.

"I realize it probably won't be easy for you to stay close to her. I know how unconventional your mother can be. She's like a butterfly, and I can tell already that you'll be different. You're only five now, but you can be such a serious little girl.

"But you're your mother's girl, too. Always doing something to surprise me. Finding you on the roof, or in a tree, or that time you ran away from home and were determined to walk all the way to the Alamo -- for once, I agreed with your mother that I'd read too many old westerns to you as bedtime stories."

He paused, and Gwaheer said, "Why don't you sing her the song you always sing when she can't sleep?"

"Good idea. You can join in, if you like. She'd like that."

"I don't know if the equipment was built to stand that kind of punishment."

"What the devil are you complaining about? You've got a perfectly good voice. Now, sing. I'll bet you can even do harmony."

"It's your recording. I suppose if you wish to ruin it. . . ."

"Yes. Now, sing."

*Down in the valley, valley so low
Hang your head over, hear the wind blow
Hear the wind blow, dear, hear the wind blow
Hang your head over, hear the wind blow.


Roses love sunshine, violets love dew
Angels in heaven know I love you
Know I love you, dear, know I love you
Angels in heaven, know I love you.*


Deanna paused playback when the computer chimed to announce someone at the door. Wiping tears from her face with her sleeve, she composed herself and went to see who it was.

Beverly stepped in as the doors opened. "I heard security was called to your quarters -- Deanna, what's wrong? Have you been crying?"

"Yes, but it's nothing wrong. Something's right at last." Deanna cut herself short. She couldn't tell Beverly anything!

"Did you catch him?"

Deanna turned away and tried to think quickly. "No. But I don't think I'll be having any more uninvited visitors in my quarters."

"Really?" Beverly's tone indicated more of a challenge than a question.

"I left him a note asking him to stop. He took it." Deanna forced a smile, then forced it to relax. As she faced Beverly again, the door chimed again. "Come."

The captain strode in. "Stollen tells me the alarm went off in your room again, but that no one was here. Is everything all right?"

"Yes, Captain. I was just telling Beverly, I don't think there will be any further problems."

"Really? How can you be so certain?"

"I left him a note asking him not to sneak in any more. If he wants to give me things, he should give them to me in person."

"And you think that will work."

"Captain, if he's a friend of my mother, he'll pay attention to it. He was here, he took the note. There shouldn't be any further visitations."

Picard's eyes remained focused on hers throughout their exchange. "Deanna, you're not a very convincing liar. You're speaking a little too brightly. What are you not telling us?"

"Oh, hell," Deanna blurted. "Have a seat. I'll be right back."

She took a few minutes to wash her face. When she returned from the bedroom with her excuse for leaving the room, the cartridge, her friends were sitting on the sofa, hands steepled over knees in mirrored positions. "I can't tell you in an official capacity. I made a promise a long time ago, before I joined Starfleet, and I can't break it again."

"I gather your 'friend' doesn't threaten the ship or its crew in any way?" Picard asked.

"No. I imagine, however, that you'll want to quote regulations about first contact situations."

"It doesn't sound like a first contact. You make it sound like a visit from a family friend," Beverly said. "Is that what it is?"

Deanna crossed to the desk in the corner of her living room and slipped the cartridge into the terminal. She let the recording keep playing on after the second verse of 'Down in the Valley,' hoping she would be able to control her emotions if it proved as heart-wrenching as the first part.

"You see, told you you could do harmony," her father exclaimed. "Now let's try something else -- "

"If I'd known you wanted a sing-along, I would have brought my brother to provide accompaniment."

"Just one more."

"If I may make a suggestion? The one you often sing while on long tours of duty."

"Deanna's never heard that one."

"All the more reason to share it. You haven't sung it for Lwaxana, either, have you?"

"And how, may I ask, do you happen to know about it?"

Silence. A deep sigh. "You thought of it just now. I haven't been assigned to observe your ship."

"Only the *Enterprise*, right?"

"Usually. You're wasting time. Or have you forgotten your daughter waits downstairs?"

"For you, Gwaheer. Daddy doesn't have wings to take her flying."

"Oh, Ian. Don't be so petulant. It doesn't suit you. Quite aside from which, I believe Daddy has given her far more important things than a pair of wings. You've given her the ability to dream up her own kind of wings and create them. And if you're going to be so reluctant, I'll sing the song myself. If I ruin it, it's your own damn fault."

Gwaheer's voice started, but Ian's joined in part way through the first verse and grew stronger in the chorus.

*Nights are growing very lonely,
Days are very long;
I'm a-growing weary only
List'ning for your song.
Old remembrances are thronging
Thro' my memory.
Till it seems the world is full of dreams
Just to call you back to me.

There's a long, long trail a-winding
Into the land of my dreams,
Where the nightingales are singing
And a white moon beams:
There's a long, long night of waiting
Until my dreams all come true;
Till the day when I'll be going down
That long, long trail with y -- *


A distant thud of a door and Lwaxana's unmistakable call interrupted them. "Turn it off," Ian said.

"Right. Are you going to want to add anything else to it?"

"Maybe some other time. Keep it until then, all right?"

"Of course." A chair creaked -- Deanna remembered those old wooden ones in her father's study -- and a mixture of boots on tile and the tip-tap of Gwaheer's claws ensued. Running footsteps approached, and a breathless little girl's voice came on.

"Are we going flying?"

"Certainly. What's your favorite song?"

"The one Daddy sings for me. About the valley and hanging your head. Do you know it?"

"I do. Would you like to learn one of my songs?"

"Do I have to learn the words in Ryxi or can you translate it?"

"I'll let you choose. I can teach you in Betazoid if you want."

"Won't that ruin the way the song goes? I tried translating some of Daddy's songs into Betazoid and he said it ruined the song."

Deanna closed her eyes. She remembered this conversation! At this point, Gwaheer had picked her up and was carrying her down the stairs; the recording must have been made on that wristband device he always wore.

"The songs the Ryxi sing are not that way. The melody sometimes changes, the words are reshaped, but the meaning, the emotion at the heart of it, that stays the same. There aren't very many songs that we remember word for word. This one is one of the few that we do. Why don't we start in Ryxi and I'll translate for you?"

In her mind's eye, Deanna pictured her younger self waving at her parents, who stood smiling in the foyer. She'd ducked through the door and waved again, to Mr. Homn, who was tending the flowers in the front yard. Gwaheer had put her down, sat on the ground next to her, and sung the song a line at a time.

*Li'alla coro sekhel ma sekha shezhi*, When the evening falls and the daylight is fading,

*Ze tehel zi'khl farhzhad sor'ki ti'pla*, from within me calls - could it be I am sleeping?

Gwaheer paused, and Deanna's younger self asked, "Why did you stop?"

"I think you're a little too young to appreciate that song, yet. Perhaps later when you are older. Are we ready to fly?"

The recording cut off abruptly. Deanna opened her eyes and looked across the room at her friends; Beverly and Jean-Luc sat transfixed, both lost in thought. Jean-Luc looked up at her and was about to speak when Gwaheer's voice filled the room. He sang in Standard, and mournfully.

*When the evening falls and the daylight is fading,

from within me calls - could it be I am sleeping?

For a moment I stray, then it holds me completely

close to home - I cannot say

close to home - feeling so far away.

As I walk in the room, there before me a shadow

from another world, where no other can follow.

Carry me to my own, to where I can cross over

close to home - I cannot say

close to home - feeling so far away.

Forever searching, never right,

I am lost in oceans of night.

Forever hoping I can find memories,

Those memories I left behind.

Even though I leave will I go on believing

that this time is real - am I lost in this feeling?

Like a child passing through, never knowing the reason.

I am home - I know the way.

I am home - feeling oh, so far away.*

"So sad," Beverly whispered into the silence that followed. Deanna pressed a button to stop playback, just in case there was more.

"Deanna, are you playing this for us to tell us who your mystery visitor is?" Jean-Luc asked.

"Yes. His name is Gwaheer. I didn't remember him, but I do now."

"How could you have forgotten him?" Beverly asked. "He sounds like such a wonderful person. He was your father's close friend, judging from the recording. Why hasn't he been in contact with you before now?"

"He left a clue in the recording itself. His people must be about to begin negotiations with the Federation. That was the other condition for his giving it to me. And he told me I couldn't say anything to you yet."

"But you have. And he hinted that he's been. . . observing us. At least, he was doing so in your father's time." Picard sniffed. "And he was observing the *Enterprise* then. Does he now?"

"He doesn't come to the *Enterprise* any more because it would be a conflict of interest. He would be too tempted to interfere, because of my presence. He only came this time because my mother was so worried and wanted to send me gifts. He returned to speak to me and apologize for causing me such worry, and to release me from the block he placed on my memory."

"Block?" Beverly echoed.

"You heard him tell my father he could tell what he was thinking. Gwaheer is a telepath, and even more talented than my mother. I remember hearing them argue about it telepathically. My mother would do her best to flog her way past his shields and he'd stand there and laugh. When I was seven, I inadvertently mentioned his name in school, and my mother had to explain to the teacher that I had an imaginary friend, which I denied. Gwaheer put the block up at Mother's request."

"So when he brought you things, you didn't know who could have done it. Are they telekinetic, too, then?"

Deanna replicated some hot chocolate and, at Beverly's request, a pot of tea for her guests. She pulled a chair around and sat, crossing her legs. "As far as I can recall, telekinesis is not the right word for it. They don't move items to them. They move themselves, to another place. It's a bit like what the Traveler does. And not all of the Ryxi are as gifted as Gwaheer. There are more telepaths than there are teleporters, but it's not uncommon to find the two talents overlapping."

Jean-Luc cradled his teacup in both hands in his lap. "Will he be returning to the ship, to visit you again?"

"Probably. Would you like to meet him, unofficially?"

Ten years ago, she wouldn't have dreamed of asking. Jean-Luc frowned; she thought that she could trace his thoughts -- the Ryxi were about to approach the Federation. Gwaheer could come and go as he pleased anyway. Keeping things on a peaceful and friendly basis seemed the best thing to do, even if he couldn't yet officially report Gwaheer's presence.

The door chimed. Deanna sighed; who could it be now? "Come."

Guinan strode into the room, hands tucked in her voluminous sleeves. She wore a smaller hat than usual, a shimmering metallic green one to match her loose robes. "I hope I'm not interrupting," she said, glancing at Picard and Crusher.

"No, it's quite all right. Is there something I can do for you?"

"You talked to him, didn't you?"

"Um, yes. Are you saying you know who he is?"

"I do now. You kept him talking long enough for me to figure it out." Guinan leaned, peering in Deanna's bedroom. "Did he leave anything for me?"

"No. Should he have?"

Guinan sniffed. "Bat-brain. He always forgets. I asked him to bring me some *kith'liwan* soup, and do you think he remembers?"

"How well do you know him?" Jean-Luc asked.

Guinan bowed her head, thinking. "He broke regulations to warn the El-Aurians about the Borg. It was how we managed to get a few ships away in time. I've seen him a few times since then."

"I'll let him know you were looking for him," Deanna said.

"How do you know him, Counselor?"

"He knew my parents. He gave me. . . flying lessons."

Guinan smiled. "He's always had a way with children."

"Bridge to Captain."

Picard tapped his comm badge. "Yes, Commander?"

"You wanted to be notified when we entered the next system, sir."

"Thank you, Commander Ramsey." The captain stood and straightened his shirt. "Keep me informed, Counselor."

Beverly and Guinan left with him, going their separate ways. Turning to the recording, Deanna touched the keypad and sat down at her desk.

Another song played after the one Gwaheer had sung, but it wasn't Gwaheer who sang it. So far as she could tell, the singer was human. And female. And the words of the song were disturbing.

*I thought I saw a man brought to life
He was warm, he came around like he was dignified
He showed me what it was to cry

Well you couldn't be that man I adored
You don't seem to know, don't seem to care what your heart is for
I don't know him anymore
There's nothing where he used to lie
My conversation has run dry
That's what's going on, nothing's fine I'm torn

I'm all out of faith, this is how I feel
I'm cold and I am shamed, lying naked on the floor
Illusion never changed into something real
I'm wide awake and I can see the perfect sky is torn
You're a little late, I'm already torn

So I guess the fortune teller's right
Should have seen just what was there and not some holy light
but you crawled beneath my veins and now
I don't care, I have no luck, I don't miss it all that much
There's just so many things that I can't touch, I'm torn

Torn. . .

I'm all out of faith, this is how I feel
I'm cold and I'm ashamed

bound and broken on the floor
You're a little late, I'm already torn.*


The music ended. Deanna ripped the cartridge from the slot and hurled it across the room.



12.

"Maybe you should take her flowers. Isn't that supposed to be -- what do they call it?"

"Romantic. No, I'm not taking her anything."

"How is she supposed to know how you feel -- "

"Zakhad!"

"I'm tired of it, Gwaheer. Tired of -- "

"I know how you feel. It gives me a headache, how you feel. It grieves me, too. But these things must not be rushed. She is not ready. She is hurting, deep, and she refuses to admit it. Those issues must be addressed before anything more than basic friendship can happen. You must be patient, please."

"I will be, then. Just a few flowers -- the *shefain* is in bloom -- "

"It will be in bloom a while longer. I am going, she is expecting me."

13.

Deanna was peering behind the sofa when he arrived. She jumped guiltily.

"Is something wrong?"

"Yes. Why did you put that song on the end of the recording?"

Gwaheer leaned and looked down where she'd been looking, and turned his back. With his tail he fished out the cartridge for her. "It angered you, I see."

"Why does everyone assume there's something wrong?"

"Isn't there?"

Deanna's eyes burned; resolutely, she clung to anger, channeled it into containing the tears. "Yes, it's the assumption that there's something wrong! I'm just a little blue."

"Your mother doesn't believe that, and neither do your friends." He gave her the cartridge and turned to the table. "You set a very nice table."

They sat down, and Deanna looked over the glasses, plates and covered dishes at him. "I had to tell the captain about you."

Gwaheer sighed, tilted his head, and looked at her reproachfully.

"But he isn't going to file a report. He understands. He'd like to meet you, I think."

"I'd like to meet him. It's hard to resist the temptation to uncloak and shake hands with someone like him."

"Would you like me to call him after dinner? He'll be off shift by the time we're through. Unless we finish in less than two hours, but I have lots of questions." She uncovered several of the dishes.

"Why don't we start with dessert?"

Deanna laughed. "My mother wouldn't approve."

"When has that stopped us?"

"If she knew you always let me have the uttaberry pudding first, she would never have allowed you to babysit."

"I won't tell if you won't." He watched her scoop the purple pudding in his bowl. "You remember what I told you about dessert?"

"Eat it before you get too full. Sometimes I take it a step further, and eat it for dinner."

"If it's chocolate, I could understand that."

"You like chocolate too? I don't remember that."

Gwaheer grinned and sampled the pudding. "You wouldn't necessarily remember it, but it's been one of my favorites for years."

"How many years?"

"About 150 Terran years, I believe. I first found chocolate early in my career as an agent abroad, while on Earth."

They ate and spoke casually of many things, especially her father. She cleared dishes to the recycler as they finished with them. As Deanna dropped the last one in, she asked, "Something to drink?"

"Hot chocolate, what else? With cinnamon."

"That's right! You like a lot of cinnamon."

"Obscene amounts of it. And a minuscule amount of whipped cream."

"Too bad we couldn't go to Ten Forward. Guinan would probably be happy to make it for you, after she berated you for not bringing her soup."

His ears flattened against his head. "Guinan. How could I have forgotten?"

"Don't ask me. I could never forget her." Deanna brought him his drink and returned to her chair with her own hot chocolate. "How did you meet her?"

"I met her after she fled from her homeworld. She was a very angry person."

"Really? I've hardly seen her upset. I can't imagine her angry."

"The other side of fear is often anger." Gwaheer raised his chin as if pointing at Deanna with it. "Have you ever been afraid?"

"Often. I don't think it's ever been as a manifestation of anger, though."

"Hasn't it?"

Deanna glared at him over the rim of her cup. "I'm not afraid. Or angry. Okay, I'm angry because you seem determined to prove that there's something wrong."

"A dark place," Gwaheer said.

"What are you talking about?"

Gwaheer contemplated the dollop of whipped cream floating in his chocolate. "Kestra."

"My sister? Did you know her? Of course, you must have."

"I told your mother that wiping all traces of Kestra's existence from her life was a mistake."

"The dark place -- that was how Mother dealt with it. That's what the Cairn called it. Did she tell you about that?" Deanna put her mug on the table. "Are you saying that I'm doing the same thing?"

Gwaheer, looking uncomfortable, sipped his chocolate and put it down. "You are not facing fear. You are running away from it, pushing it further away and creating walls around it in your metaconscious. You will create a dark place, unless you face whatever you are denying."

"What is it I'm denying?"

"First, you're denying denial. Refusing to accept the possibility."

Deanna took a deep breath. "All right. There may be something I'm overlooking. Dealing with all the traumatized crew members? The encounter with the Borg? The lapsing morale of Starfleet personnel in general?"

"Have you had any personal difficulties?"

"I have a mother who's paranoid. And a former babysitter who shows the same tendencies."

"You aren't being serious, Deanna. You know better. The death of a loved one, or the severing of a relationship -- a relationship. Was it Worf?"

"We broke up. It was a mutual decision. And my mother told you too much about my personal life. I'm fine."

"You want to believe you're fine."

"Believe what you want. It's over, and I'd rather not talk about it."

"Why?"

Deanna rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"I've noticed a trend with humans," Gwaheer continued, leaning an elbow on the table. "Often they don't hesitate to recount the woes of previous relationships. It's their way of coping, part of their healing process, or so I'm guessing. Some even come to a point where they can discuss their past loves with a wistful, sad sort of acceptance."

"I'm just tired of talking about it."

"You haven't even spoken to your closest friend about it, Deanna."

"How do you know that?" When he averted his eyes, she realized she'd almost shouted at him. "Sorry."

He sat very still, looking at the table between them. "Perhaps I should go."

"No, wait -- please. How did you know?"

"The *Enterprise* is on its way into our space. Accordingly, we have begun watching you more closely. There was an agent in your captain's ready room; Beverly's comment was recorded and appears in the transcripts. She worries that you have not resolved your feelings about your relationship with Worf. She assumes this because you will not talk to her about it." Gwaheer shifted in his chair restlessly. "And here I have broken another rule, because the contents of such recordings are not to be discussed. But Deanna, I am concerned about you for a variety of reasons. Your mother's worry is real. I came back against my better judgement, because of your father. Not coming back when I knew something was wrong would be a breach of promise."

"I don't need anyone to take care of me."

"But you need someone to remind you to take care of yourself. What was it that bothered you most about Worf?"

Stunned by the question, Deanna blurted, "His weapons."

"All Klingons have those."

"He had them everywhere! Hidden all over his quarters. It made me feel like we were living in an armory. All I asked was that he move the ones in the bedroom into the living room. He didn't care for that suggestion."

"He was angry."

"Well. . . ."

"Was he angry a lot?"

While she thought about how to answer, he sipped leisurely and watched her. She wondered what he was thinking.

"He could be angry without warning, sometimes. I tried to study Klingon culture and anticipate but it didn't always work."

"Why didn't he study Betazoid culture and try to meet you halfway?"

Deanna shook her head slowly. "Worf grew up doing his best to be the ultimate Klingon. He wouldn't do anything that would make him feel less a Klingon."

"You understood this from the beginning?"

"Oh, yes. Which is why all of this is so silly -- Beverly seems to think something went terribly wrong. The truth is, Worf and I grew apart. I knew what he was like, and he knew me well enough. It was good for a while, and then not so good. And he transferred to Deep Space Nine, and it was over."

"You miss him?"

"N -- a little. Not as much as I used to."

"You almost said no."

Deanna fidgeted and glanced down at the napkin in her lap. Gwaheer's quick movement brought her head up again; before she could protest he had picked up the cartridge she'd left on the table between them and risen. "What are you doing?"

He put it in the slot on the console at her desk, with more force than was necessary. Running his knuckle pads across the keys, he stared at the controls a moment longer, then turned to look at her seriously.

"You need to realize, Deanna, that you can do no greater harm to yourself than denying how you really feel. You know better. Owning your feelings, whether they're pleasant or not, is important to your mental health. Please think about your reactions to some of the questions I've asked and the songs I've included on this recording." He came to her as he spoke. Leaning down, he kissed her forehead unexpectedly. "I will return tomorrow evening, at about the same time, and you can tell me the results of your self-examination."

Shocked speechless by the kiss, Deanna blinked up at him. He disappeared abruptly. The anguished woman began to sing again about being torn.

She forced herself to listen to the words again. Biting her lip, she stilled her anger and tried to understand what it was Gwaheer meant by the song. All she knew was that it caused pain, rising unbearably in her chest until she felt like she would burst.

The door chimed during the last verse twice. Deanna couldn't speak. She hurried to the desk and silenced the music, then to the door.

Beverly stood holding a padd; upon seeing Deanna's face, the doctor gasped. "Dee?" She came in, touching Deanna's arm. "Why are you crying?"

Pressing her fingertips against the bridge of her nose, Deanna bowed her head and tried to stifle a sob. Beverly put her arm across Deanna's shoulders; at last, she broke down and cried while her friend tried to soothe her.

14.

Gwaheer strode down the gravel spit, further out into the lake. The water all around him was enough to occupy his senses. Like most Ryxi, he disliked the water and couldn't swim. He found his footing with great care; his long toes weren't suited to walking on small smooth rocks.

At the end of the spit, he stood with his feet in two inches of water. The chill would penetrate his thick, callused skin soon, no doubt, but he stared into his rippling reflection. The wind picked up, driving more ripples across the water.

There were even fewer answers in his shadow-self's troubled eyes. Over the reflection's shoulder, he spotted a Ryxian in flight, made tiny by altitude. He turned and watched his brother swooping down to join him. Sakhara landed a few wing-lengths away and picked his way along the spit.

<You choose odd places to stand.>

<Is something wrong?>

<Does there have to be? Although, given the career you have chosen, it must seem odd to you that anyone approaching wouldn't be bringing a new crisis for you.> Sakhara's eyes focused in the bright sun, and his nostrils flared. <There is something disturbing you. Now, that is unusual.>

Gwaheer raised his chin and held back his ears, letting the breeze play in his hair, as he shared his thoughts. One of the advantages of having a telepathic brother; long spoken anecdotes were not needed, and emotional states were simply given, not explained. Of all the friends and family he had, he'd chosen Sakhara as his confidant. They were the same age, and though they quarreled often, they were closer to each other than their other siblings.

Sakhara's brittle amusement prickled after his swift recounting of his meeting Deanna. <This is the same little girl? She's changed.>

"Your gift of understatement hasn't," Gwaheer said. But Sakhara refused to retreat, pushing more words into his mind and taking advantage of the contact to study Gwaheer's emotional state further.

<Zakhad is excited; this explains why.>

<Zakhad has no basis for her reaction. Not yet. Possibly not ever. I will not force this.>

<Wise of you. You would not want one like Tillen.>

Gwaheer pointed an ear in question.

<You would not want to choose as unwisely as I, and see her leave you,> Sakhara explained.

A smile, sardonic as Sakhara's, fleetingly visited Gwaheer's lips. <You've lost all faith in love, haven't you?>

"Chemistry." Sakhara held out his wings to gather the wind. "Hormones and nonsense about flowers and candy. That's what it's about, with humans."

"She's only half human."

"Betazoid, human -- they're enough alike to breed naturally. They expect the same things."

"You've never met a Betazoid, have you?"

"No. Spare the lecture on aliens and their quirks -- the real issue here is whether she's really what you want. The haunted look in your eye is enough to confirm an urge, but you know you're weak when it comes to women you find attractive."

"There have been *so* many of them."

At his sarcasm, Sakhara's mouth fell into disapproving lines. "Point taken. Are you fixating on an empath because of Rehia, or in spite of her?"

<Neither.>

<It will be difficult. You're risking much by making contact before negotiations have begun. It could mean your career.>

<I've taken chances before.>

<There are songs boiling inside of you. Perhaps you should let some of them be sung.>

Gwaheer turned away from his brother and stared again at the shadow-self in the water.

<Fly with me, Gwaheer. Sing your heart, so you may think again.>

They rose from the gravel spit, the gusts from their wings causing different patterns of ripples in the water, and Gwaheer chose their flight path. Sakhara linked with him and synchronized their movements in the familiar way of Ryxi who had spent a century flying together. They glided over the lake, racing their shadows to the headwaters, soared with a thermal over the hills for a while, then broke out of the spiral and flew south toward the canyons.

Somewhere over the gray-green cliffs and yawning chasms, Gwaheer's heart burst, and he sang.



15.

"I think the song really does capture the melancholy you've had," Beverly said. "That's probably why he picked it. Where did he come up with such an appropriate song?"

"He's been observing humanity for most of his career, as his father did before him. The Ryxi collect souvenirs, and they're particularly fond of music." Deanna smiled at happy memories of her father and Gwaheer singing. "That's why Gwaheer and my father had so much to talk about. My father loved old folk tunes, and Gwaheer loves old Earth music. Ryxi communicate in song about things of great importance. The recordings are Gwaheer's way of trying to coax me into thinking about how I feel. When something is very serious, it must be sung."

Beverly nodded. "So is it helping?"

"I don't know." She shrugged, uncomfortable. "It's making me think, anyway."

"When are you seeing him again?"

"Tomorrow."

"Ah."

"Don't give me that wicked grin, Bev. He's a friend, an old babysitter, and he's probably got girlfriends all over the galaxy."

"Well, he's trying to help you figure yourself out, so he must care more than as just an old babysitter."

"He promised my father he'd look after me."

Beverly nodded again and let it go. "So this song made you angry?"

"But I'm over Worf," Deanna exclaimed. "I'm happy he was able to move on and get married, and I'm really not angry that things didn't work out between us."

"Then why are you so depressed about it?"

"Why is everyone assuming that?"

"Has there been anything else that might have caused your depression?"

Deanna threw her head back against the sofa cushion. "No. Unless you count the nagging feeling that Starfleet is crumbling around me. I really like my career, Beverly. It's making me sad to think of how things are changing."

"I know where you're coming from," Beverly said, shaking her head. "Some of the recruits we've gotten make me wonder what's happened to the PR department back at the Academy. Most of them are far more military-minded, and couldn't care less about studying spatial anomalies and cataloging new species. Starfleet seems to be becoming a standing army."

"You know, I heard several cadets talking in Ten-Forward not long ago, and I couldn't believe how disrespectful they were. They're serving on the *Enterprise* under Captain Picard, and they complain?"

"What about?"

"Their quarters. The assignments they've been given. And anything else they could think of, until I got tired of it and stared at them until they quit. And I have to wonder if they think I'm reading their minds; they got very nervous when they noticed I was looking at them."

"The rumors still persist, Dee." Beverly stretched her legs under the coffee table. "You're the only Betazoid on the ship, and I don't think there are many who've met a Betazoid before. Some of the youngest of the human cadets have never been farther than Saturn. Not many telepaths back home for them to meet firsthand."

Deanna could understand why. Not very many species with telepathic talents were joining the Academy these days. Her mother had remarked on it in passing not so long ago. "This isn't the way it's supposed to be, Beverly. Steichen should never have gotten a promotion."

"Oh, and you haven't had a session with him since you've been on vacation, have you? He gave Blevins a tough time this morning. In fact -- " Beverly retrieved the padd from the coffee table and handed it to Deanna. "I was bringing you his report. Plus I'm just plain curious about your phantom man. Can't you tell me a little more about him?"

"Like what?"

"Is he humanoid, how many fingers, is he single?"

Deanna sniffed. "Is that all? He's got four fingers on each hand, but the outer two are opposable. He's either bipedal or quadrupedal, depending on his preference at any given moment. And I have no idea if he has one wife or twenty, or any at all."

"Bipedal *or*? How is that?"

"Actually, if you want to be technical, he has seven limbs. Three of them aren't used for walking. He's got blue skin, and claws, and floppy ears." Deanna smiled serenely.

"He sounds. . . interesting." Actually, Beverly's expression was turning from keen interest to sorry-I-asked.

"My mother finds him quite charming. Although, she's never tried to hit on him. I wonder why that is?" Deanna tilted her head thoughtfully.

"Well, it's getting later all the time. I should go, I haven't had dinner yet -- have you eaten?"

"Yes, I have. I'd like to read this report. Thanks for dropping it off -- and thanks for loaning me the shoulder."

Beverly smiled. "Any time."

After the doctor left, Deanna allowed herself a giggle and congratulated herself. At least Beverly would leave her alone about Gwaheer until she met him in person.

{ end of section 1, go to section 2 }