She was tempted to ask Akaar who might have any reason to question his wisdom, now that he and her husband finally seemed to have worked out the differences that had brought them into conflict during the recent diplomatic mission to Romulus. Then she considered the tension she had been sensing lately in both the admiral and his old Excelsiorcrewmate Tuvok whenever circumstances forced the two men into close proximity; she realized that she had answered her own question.
Putting those ruminations aside, she said, “I’m trying to get a sense of just how much these people and their culture may have changed over the past eight decades.”
“Because of the influence of Ambassador Burgess.”
Troi nodded. “Exactly.”
“I have noted that Mr. Frane speaks with a definite Federation Standard accent that the Neyel did not possess eighty years ago,” Akaar said. “Doubtless a result of the time Burgess spent among his people.”
“She was definitely influential. I’ve learned that Burgess died about two decades after beginning her work on the Neyel homeworld.”
Akaar looked intrigued. “I was not aware of this. How did the ambassador die?”
“By violence. It was a political assassination.”
Akaar nodded sadly, and his gaze took on a faraway aspect. “It is the fate of all too many peacemakers and great shapers of history, I am afraid.” Troi couldn’t be sure, but she imagined he was thinking of his own father, who had been assassinated by political rivals shortly before Akaar’s birth.
“That’s unfortunately true,” she said. “Burgess clearly represented the prospect of hope to many, but also stirred up the fears of others in Neyel society. She became a martyr to those who wanted to look forward, and a dangerous, justly slain villain to those who couldn’t or wouldn’t let go of the past.”
“A war of ideas. So your next question must be: which idea seems to be prevailing now?”
Troi nodded. “And it’s a difficult question to answer accurately under our current circumstances.”
“I suppose a Neyel military detachment, a pair of Neyel cultists, and a handful of aliens from species we have never encountered before does not qualify as a representative sampling of Neyel society.”
“Exactly, Admiral. But what I can’t learn from the present I might learn by studying the past. Can you remember anything else that might be significant about the Neyel of 2298 that isn’t in Excelsior’s mission logs?”
“I do not believe so. But I will certainly contact you if I recall any other pertinent details not reflected in the reports.”
Troi nodded. “Thank you, Admiral. Perhaps Commander Tuvok might be able to give me some additional insight,” she said, thinking out loud.
Akaar squinted, leaning forward before answering. Troi suddenly became keenly aware of how much larger than her he was.
“The commander had less direct contact with the Neyel than I did. Although in his uniquely Vulcan way, I imagine that he feels that he has a deeper insight into them than the rest of us do. But I sincerely doubt it. Commander Tuvok is not the expert on humanoid behavior that he often pretends to be.”
Troi stopped herself from raising an eyebrow at Akaar’s remark, and at the now-familiar emotional tension she sensed in him. “Is there some conflict between you and Commander Tuvok that you wish to disc—”
“No.” Interrupting her, Akaar stood, tugging at his uniform tunic as he rose. “Whatever passed between Tuvok and myself in the past belongs precisely where it is—in the past. Now, if you will excuse me, other duties require my attention.”
Troi stood and extended her hand, trying to radiate all the calm she could muster. “I’m sorry if I brought up a sensitive subject, Admiral. Thank you for your time.”
He turned to leave without taking her hand, and the door slid open in front of him. Before he crossed its threshold he turned back toward her.
“I regret that I could not be of more help with your questions about the Neyel, Commander. And I sincerelyhope I never discover that this interview was actually an attempt by Riker’s senior counselor to dig into my past relationship with Titan’s current tactical officer. If that were to be the case, I would consider that a gross violation of trust. Please see to it that I neverdiscover any such thing, Commander.”
The azure-colored door whisked closed after Akaar stepped out into the corridor, and Troi quietly considered the admiral’s stern warning.
Well,that certainly didn’t end well, did it?she thought, chastising herself.
Suddenly, she wasn’t quite so keen on calling in Tuvok to chat about the past.
Chapter Ten
STARDATE 57028.4
“All right. So poker’s not your game,” Riker said, pushing his deck of cards and two piles of chips to the left side of the table.
He watched as the young Neyel eyed the gaming accouterments with undisguised suspicion. “We are a conservative people. Games of chance have never held much appeal for us. Chess, however, was one of the games that our Oh-Neyel ancestors deemed worthy of preserving.”
“I suppose survival is as much a game of skill as it is a game of chance,” Riker said.
Frane nodded. “Exactly.”
When Frane had asked to be taken aboard Titan,Riker had exulted, as though the Neyel had just formally applied for repatriation to mainline humanity. But now he was beginning to wonder whether Frane’s request had been motivated more by a desire to get away from his Romulan hosts’ “hospitality” than by a need to rejoin his terrestrial cousins.
I guess this is where I learn how much diplomatic expertise I picked up on Romulus,he thought wryly, feeling entirely inadequate as a stand-in for Deanna.
“Let’s try chess, then,” Riker said, rising. He crossed the mess hall, stepping past the Blue Table, where Cadet Torvig Bu-kar-nguv sat in quiet conversation with Melora Pazlar and Zurin Dakal. The one-meter-tall Torvig’s multijointed bionic arms were swiftly arranging piles of colorful foodstuffs into something that resembled a sandwich; this skillful multitasking apparently distracted none of the fur-covered, ostrich-like engineering trainee’s attention from whatever doubtless highly technical topic was presently being mooted about the table.
From the corner table just beyond, Riker retrieved a flat, two-dee chessboard. Moments later he had set it on the table between himself and Frane, opened it, and laid out the pieces randomly next to the board.
Riker smiled, he hoped ingratiatingly, toward his prospective opponent. “Choose a color, Mr. Frane.”
Frane eyed him speculatively for a long moment. “Red,” he said finally.
“That puts you in charge of the Red King, then.”
The Neyel appeared somewhat startled by this, then quickly settled into a task with which he was obviously familiar. He sat silently as his large but surprisingly dexterous hands moved rapidly, arranging the red pieces on his side of the board into two neat ranks. He began with the king and queen, then moved outward toward the board’s edges with his bishops, knights, and rooks, all of which soon stood behind a protective stockade of pawns. All the while, Riker studied the intricate braid of colored beads, shells, and fine chains he noticed adorning the Neyel’s right wrist.
Riker took his time setting up his white pieces, allowing his languid movements to stretch out the silence that ruled the table. “You and your friends have been aboard Titanfor almost a whole day. I’m surprised you’re still being so quiet.”