Shadows Have Offended Read online

  “It’s our honor to help,” Riker said.

  “C’mon,” Solanko said. “Let me show you to your quarters. Then I’ll get you up to speed.”

  3

  “What do you think of Betazed, Ms. Trigg?” Commander Deanna Troi plastered on the brightest smile she could manage. “It’s my understanding you’ve never been here before.”

  Adora Trigg gazed out across the lawn of Isszon Temple, anxiety rolling off of her, all of her other emotions tight and shut off. “It’s lovely,” she said in a stiff voice, pulling on the strap of her overnight bag. “Is this where the ceremony is to be held?”

  The word ceremony sent a new quake of fear radiating out of her, and Troi felt a surge of empathy. Adora Trigg rarely did public appearances. It really was special that she had agreed to the Betazed government’s request to attend as a Poetry Guest.

  “Partially,” Troi said, guiding her forward onto the gently curving pathways that cut elegant, geometric shapes into the brilliant green of the lawn. “The opening ceremonies will take place on the lawn, as will the Iren Cotillion. But most of the ceremony will be inside the temple.” She gestured toward the gleaming building, its stone walls shining in the warm sunlight.

  “Aarno Roque wrote a holonovel set there, didn’t he?” Trigg’s anxiety seemed to disperse with the change of subject. “I experienced it years ago. I’ll never forget the rendering of that temple.”

  Troi smiled—more genuinely this time. Adora Trigg was the fifth and final of the High Guests she had “volunteered” to bring down from the Enterprise, as a favor to Captain Picard. But the effort of easing their worries, appeasing their egos, and introducing them to their liaisons had been draining. The reminder of having loved Aarno Roque’s holonovels since she was a teenager brought some unexpected joy.

  “Yes,” she said. “The Hidden Bones. One of my favorites.”

  “That’s the one.” Trigg nodded. The path led them into the sun garden, the blossoms bright and redolent this time of year. “I always liked his historical pieces the best. Such brilliant attention to detail.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Troi said. “Although I have to admit the heist plot was what drew me into Hidden Bones.”

  Trigg laughed. “Yes, when Narendra has to fight off the Taschan pirates—I always had so much fun with that. What was your weapon of choice? The sword or the axe?”

  “The sword,” Troi responded promptly, pleased that Adora’s uneasiness had almost entirely melted away. They wove through the sun garden, moving closer to the temple entrance. It was festooned with fluttering silk banners and a holographic display of the centerpiece of the weekend’s ceremony: the three treasures of Xiomara. In seven hours, the real treasures would be brought out by their respective Houses, displayed side by side for the first time in nearly five hundred years. The First House had, rather notoriously, misplaced their treasure, the Hallowed Urn, for two hundred years, only to uncover it in the midst of a war. The Fourth House had picked that absurd feud with the Second House and refused to allow anyone to access the Sacred Silver. And by the time that was resolved, the Third House had taken up its vow of isolation, blocking any outsiders from accessing the Enshrined Disk. If it wasn’t one thing, it was another. The three treasures of Xiomara had therefore been kept apart for centuries.

  “A woman after my own heart,” Trigg said. She slowed her pace and squinted up at the temple entrance. Her trepidation rose.

  “It’s all so grand, isn’t it?”

  The commander looked up at the temple and tried to view it from Trigg’s perspective. Not just the banners and holograms, but all the sweeping gestures of beauty that Betazoids were so fond of. Two-meter statues were carved into the walls in between sconces flickering with flames that burned blue, thanks to a sprinkling of ground-up kalite stone. Once Isszon had been a religious shrine, but now it was a cultural center. The grand stone steps led up to the bronze doors, elaborately carved with scenes from mythology.

  “Can I be honest?” Trigg said in a hushed voice, “I don’t understand why I was invited.”

  Troi immediately felt Trigg turn sour with fear and doubt.

  “I wasn’t on the selection committee,” Troi said, “but I’m sure it is because of Before the Mirage. It’s immensely popular on Betazed.”

  Trigg seemed to blush at that. “Rather nice to hear.”

  They had made it to the base of the entrance stairs. Voices filtered down from the entryway, the excited chatter of the other High Guests and their Betazoid contacts.

  “How much do you know about this weekend’s ceremony?” Troi asked.

  Trigg shook her head. “Only what was in the invitation. I spoke briefly to a gentleman—Sildar Syn—”

  “The ceremony director.”

  “Yes, that sounds right. He told me something about needing representatives of the Five High Arts. It sounded so exciting at the time.” Trigg frowned. “Now that I’m here, at the foot of the temple…”

  The commander pressed one hand to her shoulder and immediately felt Trigg soften. “The ceremony is to honor a great Betazoid hero,” she said soothingly. “Xiomara.”

  “Oh, I know that much,” Adora replied. “I’m familiar with the story of Xiomara.”

  “That’s wonderful.” Troi laughed. “Honestly, if I had to tell it again—”

  “I can understand that. It’s so involved.” She was calming down again, and Troi led her up the stairs.

  “But there’s an obscure version of the story,” Troi continued. “In which losing her psychic abilities leads Xiomara to found the Five High Arts.” She counted them off on her fingers. “Music, Movement, Poetry, Creation, and Dreams.”

  “And I’m Poetry. Even though I’ve never written a verse in my life.”

  “Your own holonovels are pure poetry. Verse or not.”

  Trigg gave a nervous laugh. “You’re too much—thank you.”

  They had arrived at the top of the stairs. Troi found herself breathing a little heavier; the day was warm and it was a surprisingly good workout climbing up to the temple entrance. “Here we are,” she announced, gesturing toward the open doors. Inside, the temple foyer was flooded with sunlight and the chatter of the High Guests. “Let me introduce you to your liaison. She’ll make sure you get settled in the sleeping quarters.”

  Trigg’s restlessness appeared to be back, although this time Troi felt excitement pulsing through it. Good. She didn’t want to leave Trigg alone with her invasive thoughts.

  The temple was a cavernous space, the ceiling soaring up more than eight meters, with huge skylights that let the sun come streaming in. The crowd inside seemed swallowed up by all that vastness, as if they could keep adding guests and still not come close to filling the space. The guests’ emotions swirled around them: excitement, awe, flickers of boredom. Troi pushed them all aside in her head before they became overwhelming.

  Trigg’s liaison was a Betazoid artist, Andra Sai. Troi already felt her from across the way, her greetings brightening up Troi’s thoughts: Over here! To your left! Is that Trigg? I’m so excited to meet her.

  Troi turned just in time to see Andra sweeping toward them, the hem of her dress fluttering out behind her.

  “Adora Trigg! I’m Andra, your liaison. I’m so thrilled you’re here!”

  Trigg’s eyes were huge as she took everything in: the inside of Isszon, the other guests, and of course Andra Sai, who was decked out in traditional Betazoid finery, a floor-length ball gown with an elegant drape of sheer fabric flowing from her shoulders.

  “I’m thrilled to be here,” Trigg said through her nerves.

  “Deanna.” Andra pressed her hand to her chest. “I was so delighted to hear that you were escorting the Enterprise’s High Guests. I’ve heard so much about you from your mother.”

  “Is she here?” Troi hadn’t seen her mother during her previous trips with the other guests, but she was almost certainly flitting around the premises.

  “Oh, no,” Andra s
aid. “Lwaxana is meeting with the other ambassadors. But I know she’s excited to have you home again!” She turned to Trigg. “How was your trip? Is the Enterprise grand? I’ve heard such wonderful things—” She was already leading Trigg over to the refreshment table. Trigg, poor thing, was rather like a bottle cast out at sea. She gave Troi a hopeless wave and a mouthed thank you before giving in to the requirements of being a High Guest.

  Troi darted out of the reception and back down onto the lawn. She knew that the transporter blockers around the temple building had been activated, because the three treasures were already on the premises.

  Troi had learned about the three treasures as a girl: the Sacred Silver of Xiomara, the Hallowed Urn of Rus’xi, and the Enshrined Disk of the Third House. Three ordinary objects that had granted a young Betazoid woman immense strength when her psychic powers failed her. Or so the story went.

  She was eager to actually see them in person.

  Walking far enough away from the temple to avoid the transporter blockers, she tapped her combadge. “One to beam up.”

  When she shimmered back onto the Enterprise’s transporter platform, she was pleased to note that Lieutenant Worf was waiting for her beside Lieutenant Kociemba, who was running the transporter controls. Troi and Worf had made plans to have dinner together after she delivered Adora Trigg.

  “You’re early,” she announced, stepping off the platform.

  “I am on time,” Worf gravely replied.

  She laughed and they walked out into the corridor together. Worf carried himself stiffly, his spine ramrod straight, and she sensed the faint brush of nervousness radiating off him—it had been like that recently with the Klingon. An imperceptible shift in his emotions toward her. She didn’t quite know what to make of it, but Troi found she enjoyed his company more and more. And she always looked forward to their dinners together.

  “So what will it be tonight?” she asked. “Vulcan cuisine? Or will you finally try Betazed flower stew, since we’re in orbit?”

  “I would not be averse to flower stew.”

  Troi’s combadge trilled, and Captain Picard’s voice filtered through. “Picard to Troi. Are you free?”

  Troi frowned and glanced up at Worf, his brow knitted in concern. “Is there a problem, Captain? I saw Adora Trigg to her liaison.”

  “No problem,” Picard said. “I need your assistance with—a request.” He was quiet for a moment. “From Betazed’s ambassador to the Federation.”

  Oh, no. “I was about to have dinner with Lieutenant Worf—”

  “Bring him along. This won’t take too long. I’m in my quarters. Picard out.”

  “Mother,” she sighed.

  Troi could tell that Worf was trying to keep his expression neutral. “I can delay our meal,” he said. “If you would like me to accompany you—”

  He wasn’t sure, she could tell—he was giving her a graceful out. But she sensed that he didn’t want her to say no.

  “That would be wonderful.” She turned around in the corridor and began walking in the opposite direction, toward the captain’s quarters, with Worf at her side. “I suspect the captain will need all the… assistance he can get.”

  4

  Jean-Luc Picard paced back and forth in front of the viewports, Betazed looming ominously against the backdrop of open space. He was already exhausted from playing cruise director to his honored guests, while navigating the endless labyrinth of social niceties that seemed to accompany every diplomatic event. When he finally dropped off opera singer Tangela Vallejo at the temple, he’d wanted nothing more than to take an hour or two for himself before preparing to beam down for the start of the festival tomorrow morning.

  But a message had been waiting for him.

  His door chimed. “Come,” he called out, distracted. Clouds moved in pale streaks across the curve of Betazed.

  He turned just as Commander Troi and Lieutenant Worf stepped into his quarters. The counselor was frowning in that very particular way she did whenever her mother was involved.

  “Thank you for coming.” He nodded at Worf. “Lieutenant, I’m glad you decided to join Counselor Troi. This may actually end up being of interest to you as well.”

  “Sir?” Worf looked over at Troi. She shrugged slightly, then turned back to Picard.

  “Captain,” she said. “This message—has something happened?”

  “It was—” Picard cleared his throat. “An invitation.”

  Troi pressed her lips together. “I see.”

  “I’ll let you listen. I hope you’ll find a way to”—he waved his hand—“extricate me from the situation.” He straightened up. “Computer, play the recent message from the Betazoid ambassador.”

  Instantly, Lwaxana Troi’s bright grin materialized on the screen. “Jean-Luc!” she cried, and Picard resisted the urge to slink backward. It’s a recording, he told himself. “Thank you so much for bringing so many High Guests to Betazoid for the ceremony this weekend! When the Federation offered Starfleet to transport the guests, I ensured the Enterprise was included in the list.”

  Picard glanced over at his officers, their faces lit up by the screen. Troi was keeping her composure, but he thought he saw a faint gleam of panic displayed in her expression.

  “And now that you’re here—” Her smiled broadened, her teeth shining like the jewels set in her long dangling earrings. “Well, let me say this first. One of the High Guests had to cancel. Something about a fire on Cuziti.” Lwaxana shook her head. “A terrible tragedy, yes, but it leaves us one guest short.”

  “Oh, no,” Troi said. “She didn’t—”

  “She did,” Picard responded grimly.

  “It was E’kan Closa, the great Gartian philosopher? He was one of our Dreams Guests. There has to be precisely forty-seven of each type, and so of course the planning committee is all in a rush, trying to find a last-minute replacement.”

  Troi made a sympathetic noise in the back of her throat. Picard rubbed at his temple, bracing himself, as he knew the rest of Lwaxana’s message.

  “And I said to Casimir, the coordinator in charge of securing all the High Guests, do you know who would be absolutely marvelous as a Dreams Guest?”

  “Jean-Luc Picard,” murmured Troi, a few beats before her mother trilled, “Captain Jean-Luc Picard!”

  “Computer, stop replay.” Picard threw his hands up and turned to Troi. “I take it I don’t need to explain my conundrum to you.”

  “Ambassador Troi wishes you to be one of the High Guests?” Worf frowned. “It is a great honor, sir.”

  “Of course it is,” Picard said quickly. “But an honor that belongs to an artist. A philosopher like E’kan Closa. I’m just—”

  “A starship captain does fit the parameters of a Dreams Guest,” Troi said.

  Picard slumped down in the chair positioned behind his desk. Lwaxana Troi was frozen on the screen, her expression brimming with delight. “I know.” He looked up at her. “Tell me, is there any way I can refuse? Politely, of course—”

  Hesitation flickered across the commander’s face, and Picard already knew the answer.

  “Damn,” he said softly.

  “It would be considered an insult for you to turn down the invitation,” Troi said gently.

  Picard let out a long sigh.

  “Is this an official invitation? Or did my mother simply—”

  “Yes,” Picard said with another heavy sigh. “Resume replay.”

  Lwaxana’s voice again filled the room. “And Casimir absolutely agreed, how wonderful is that? So she pushed through a request to the Ceremony Director Council and insisted on a last-minute approval, which of course they did.” Lwaxana clapped her hands together. “As soon as you’re able, all you’ll need to do is beam down and I will personally present the Seal of Invitation to you.”

  “Oh,” Troi said, “a last-minute approval.”

  Picard did not like the finality of those words.

  “If they rushed the invita
tion through—” Troi offered him a thin smile. “You will be a last-minute guest. I’m sure they won’t expect you to do all of the ceremonies. Just the unveiling.” She paused. “And the Welcome Celebrations. The Cotillion. Oh, I imagine the House Performances, that’s terribly important—”

  Picard felt himself grow heavier with each additional task. “It would be inappropriate for me to turn the invitation down.”

  Troi glanced at Worf, who had been watching this entire exchange with an unreadable expression. “Yes, sir.”

  * * *

  Worf shrugged almost imperceptibly.

  “I understand.” Picard leaned forward, pressing his elbows onto the table. Three days. That was the length of the entire celebration. The Enterprise would be in orbit, waiting to return their assigned guests back to their homeworlds. Picard had intended to spend those three days on board the ship, catching up on reports.

  So much for that plan.

  “Very well.” He straightened in his seat. “Mister Worf, with Commander Riker and Lieutenant Commander Data on Kota, you’ll be in command of the Enterprise while I’m managing my”—he closed his eyes—“duties. Counselor?”

  “Yes, Captain?”

  “Will you accompany me down to the operations building? I would appreciate your insight.”

  “Of course.” She nodded, and Worf turned to Picard.

  “Captain, thank you for this opportunity,” he said. “I will not disappoint you.”

  “I’m certain of that.” Picard thought that he should be focusing on the positives—there were worse tasks than serving a role in a three-day Betazed ceremony. He did, however, see a glimmer of excitement behind Worf’s cool facade.

  * * *

  “Here we are again,” he muttered. Just looking at the transporter platform made Picard feel exhausted.

  “Captain,” Troi said, “I know this wasn’t how you hoped to spend the next few days, but it really is a tremendous honor. And I think you’ll do wonderfully as a Dreams Guest.”