Vaughn didn't turn, but stopped long enough to say in a quiet voice, "I believe in the same thing you do, Jean-Luc. I believe in hope."

Without another word, he strode from the observation lounge, leaving Picard alone with his misgivings.

Chapter Three.

R IKER WAS SEETHING. No small part of his anger was directed at Vaughn for the man's presumption and insensitivity, but he'd also reserved a good portion of his rage for himself. During the silent turbolift ride back to Troi's quarters, he'd had ample time to give more consideration to Vaughn's proposal. And to his chagrin, Riker had realized that in the larger strategic context of the Dominion War, arming Betazoids with the ability to fight telepathically wasn't such a bad idea. The plan had a potentially horrific downside, to be certain, but even Riker could see it had definite benefits, if they could pull it off.

The problem, he knew, was whether a culture as idyllic and peaceful as Betazed's could survive the transformation that might take place if the population's most cherished ability-to share their very thoughts-was turned into a means of waging war. Such abuse of their psionic talent was anathema to Betazoids, a corruption of their moral center.

It was these very issues, he knew, that Deanna was struggling with now. Even if he hadn't known her so well, Riker's heart would have gone out to her. Contemplating this decision might rip her apart. She had to make a desperate choice: go against the basic tenets of Betazoid society and her conscience-or resign herself to her world's loss of freedom.

Once again in the privacy of her quarters, he placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. "What are you going to do?"

She tilted her head with a defiant thrust of her chin and glared up at him. "What do you think I should do?"

He released her and shook his head. "You know I can't make this choice for you. The risks are astronomical at every level. But in the short term, you'll be behind enemy lines on a planet under Jem'Hadar control, trying to get off it with a dangerous prisoner who may not even want to cooperate."

"I've been in danger plenty of times before." She studied him with an intensity that made him struggle to keep from squirming. "The danger's not really what's bothering you, is it?"

"d.a.m.n it, Deanna, don't you dare turn counselor on me. This isn't a therapy session. I do worry about you-"

The smile he'd come to love played across her face, and she placed her hand on his sleeve. "I'm sorry, Will. I appreciate your concern. But we both know what the real issue is here."

Given the opening, Riker took the plunge. "What'll happen to Betazed if Vaughn's plan is successful?"

She folded her arms across her chest. "My homeworld will be free."

"Free, yes," Riker agreed. "But adopting a serial murderer's abilities-"

Her temper flared and she held up her hands. "Stop it, Will. Please," she nearly shouted. "I understand that you want to make sure I've looked at it from every angle, but this isn't helping. I know the risks, and I know the stakes. I also know that ultimately, this is about more than just Betazed. The fate of the Federation could hang on whether or not we can force the Dominion out. And we both know that Betazed- my Betazed, the world I know and love-may need to pay the price for a Federation victory. I hate that, Will! I hate the fact that Starfleet can't do its job for Betazed! I hate that my own people are willing to risk the very things that define them! And most of all, I hate feeling like I have to make a deal with the devil to have any kind of hope at all! Because I'm just not sure which is worse-what the Dominion's done to Betazed, or what Tevren might do to it."

They stared into each other's eyes for a long moment, and Riker knew with certainty that her decision was made. "You're going," he whispered, and he found his throat constricting around the words as he said them.

"I don't really have a choice, do I?" Troi said bitterly. She gazed up at him, dark eyes flashing. "If it's this or nothing, I can't afford the luxury of worrying about what could go wrong. All I really know is that for the first time since the invasion, I have a chance to make a difference. That has to be better than doing nothing."

"I hope to G.o.d you're right, Deanna," Riker said quietly, "because no matter how this mission turns out for Betazed, or even the Federation, I'm most worried about how it'll turn out for you."

"Come."

It was later that day at Picard's invitation that Deanna stepped into the captain's ready room. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

Picard rose from behind his desk and waved her toward a sofa on the far wall. "Have a seat, Counselor."

She settled onto the sofa. The captain had had little to say during Vaughn's briefing, but she'd sensed his reservations about the commander's mission to Darona and the request of the Betazed resistance.

Picard moved to the replicator. "Cocoa, hot." He removed the fragrant cup and handed it to her. "Comfort food," he explained with a sympathetic expression that helped put her at ease.

She wrapped her fingers around the mug, grateful for its warmth. She'd felt chilled ever since Vaughn's first mention of Tevren and wondered if the resistance had any idea of the monster they planned to unleash.

The captain ordered tea for himself and joined her on the sofa. "You know why I've called you here."

"To discuss Commander Vaughn's mission."

Picard had never been a man to flaunt his emotions, but the tight smile he gave her now was filled with compa.s.sion. "Actually, I called you for another reason altogether."

Deanna sipped her cocoa and waited. The captain wasn't a man to be rushed. His actions were always planned, deliberate, and precise.

"There isn't a person on this ship you haven't helped in your capacity as ship's counselor," he finally began.

"That is my job, sir." His sudden change of subject left her puzzled.

"Myself included," Picard added. "Your steady presence has helped me through some of the most difficult moments of my life."

Deanna remembered well the many emotional traumas the captain had suffered, from a.s.similation by the Borg to Carda.s.sian torture to the intense mind-meld he'd experienced with Amba.s.sador Sarek. Any one of those experiences would have destroyed a lesser man.

"After our meeting this morning, I asked myself," Picard continued, "to whom does the ship's counselor talk when she has a problem? I decided to offer my services as a listener."

At the captain's sudden and unexpected kindness, tears misted Deanna's eyes. "It's different with the shoe on the other foot. I don't know where to begin."

"Tell me about this Tevren. His name isn't mentioned in our Starfleet database on Betazed. No one knew he existed until we received the resistance message."

"I'm not surprised. Most Betazoids have never heard of him-and for good reason."

Picard frowned. "If the information's cla.s.sified-"

"It is, but since my own people have opted to divulge their best-kept secret, I see no harm in sharing it with you, sir. Especially since you'll be leading the attack on Sentok Nor." Deanna nodded, took a reinforcing sip of hot chocolate, and thought back to the day she first learned of Hent Tevren. "Seventeen years ago, during his first year of incarceration, I had just begun my advanced behavioral psychology internship at Darona's prison for the criminally insane... ."

When her shuttle landed at Jarkana s.p.a.ceport on a bright summer morning, twenty-two-year-old Deanna was both excited and somewhat awed at the prospect of her new responsibilities on Darona. A uniformed attendant met her.

"Deanna Troi?" he asked.

She nodded, recognizing the prison insignia on his uniform sleeve.

"I'm Director Lanolan's personal aide. He's sent his private air car for you." Without another word, the stocky attendant had gathered her luggage beneath both arms and steered her toward the waiting vehicle.

He'd remained silent as they soared low over the landscape for her to see the view, but she hadn't minded the lack of conversation on the short trip to Jarkana, Darona's capital city. She'd been too busy taking in the fields of young grain and cavat, and many exotic plants she didn't recognize. In the distance, nestled among trees near meandering rivers, stood experimental farms and their outbuildings. Also lining the highway below were neatly fenced pastures where unusual specimens of farm animals from all over the sector grazed, and beyond them, to the west, the dark crags of the Jarkana Mountains rose in a ragged skyline against a rose-colored sky.

Deanna recalled holos she'd seen of prison locales of other cultures, harsh and unforgiving sites with climates of frigid cold or searing heat that did nothing to heal a sick or wounded soul. She was proud that her own people cared enough to rehabilitate even their worst offenders in an atmosphere of serenity and natural beauty.

Betazed itself was similarly parklike, lush and green over most of the habitable surface of the planet, but somehow she found the air on Darona different. With a start, she recognized the elusive feeling: freedom. For the first time in her life, she was completely on her own. She loved her mother dearly, but until today, all Deanna's trips and adventures had included Amba.s.sador Lwaxana Troi, and her mother, like a force of nature, had a way of sweeping her daughter along in her plans with scant regard for Deanna's preferences. For the next four months, however, Deanna would be responsible to no one but Director Lanolan. Her weekends and holidays would be hers to spend as she wished. The prospect made her giddy with antic.i.p.ation.

The air car hovered over the city, which by Betazoid standards wasn't a city at all but more a large village. Less than a hundred squat, square houses, built of adobe made from the indigenous red clay, lined the broad avenues. Extensive gardens surrounded each residence, and the scent of exotic flowers filled the air.

A few larger buildings made of st.u.r.dier industrial materials rose above the others in the center of the capital, and as she pa.s.sed, Deanna read signs that identified them as government offices and research facilities. On the side of the city opposite the s.p.a.ceport, the driver drifted to a halt in front of an imposing home whose red adobe walls had been whitewashed until they sparkled in the brightness of the sun.

The director, a tall, slender man with thick brown hair graying at the temples and a gentle expression, met her at the gate. "Welcome to your new home."

Deanna blinked at him in surprise. "New home? But the interns' dormitory-"

He waved aside her objection and ushered her into the foyer. "You'll use our guest house at the back of the garden for the length of your stay. You'll also be provided with someone to attend to your domestic needs."

"With all due respect, Director, I don't expect any special treatment."

He tucked her hand beneath his elbow and led her into the dining room where a simple but appetizing lunch had been spread. "As the daughter of Lwaxana Troi, daughter of the Fifth House, Holder of the Sacred Chalice of Rixx, and Heir to the Holy Rings of Betazed, you must be housed according to your station."

For a moment Deanna thought he was mocking her, but then sensed he was being sincere. When she started to protest, he stopped her with a wagging finger.

"Any special treatment, however, ends with your accommodations. Deanna Troi, who has excelled in her studies of psychology at both the University of Betazed and the Carven Inst.i.tute, will find me a very hard taskmaster who shows no favoritism. You've exhibited great promise, and I expect you to live up to it. I'll schedule your a.s.signments accordingly."

Deanna sensed a steel core beneath the man's amiable facade, a toughness she was certain his job as overseer of violent criminals often required. "Thank you, Director. I came to work and to learn."

"If you do as well as I'm expecting, I'm hopeful you might find a permanent place on our staff when your internship is completed."

Deanna smiled, but made no commitment. She was keeping her options open, including the possibility of joining Starfleet, like her father.

Lanolan had no more to say on the subject of Deanna's internship, however, until after lunch, when Mistress Lanolan, his plump and pretty wife, served them nectar beneath the spreading branches of a teskali tree in the rear garden, then left them alone.

Lanolan took a quiet sip of his nectar, then set his goblet aside. "If you don't mind, I'd like to discuss your a.s.signment."

Excitement coursed through her. She had studied and trained for this opportunity to put what she'd learned into practice. "You'll find me more than ready, sir."

"You'll work very hard here, Deanna, and you'll experience a great deal of frustration."

"Frustration?"

Lanolan spread his hands wide. "We're a prison facility, but not the average rehabilitation center. We have ample numbers of those on Betazed. As you know, we treat primarily the criminally insane."

"That challenge is one of the reasons I requested this a.s.signment."

Lanolan steepled his long fingers and gazed at her over their tips. "We're able to cure many through psychopharmacology, a few through counseling, others through behavioral conditioning, many with a combination of all three approaches." He dropped his hands and shook his head, and his overpowering sadness flooded her senses. "But too many we are unable to help at all."

"The psychopaths, sir?"

Lanolan nodded. "Over four centuries of Betazoid research, combined with the best scholarship Earth and Vulcan have provided us on the subject, and we are still at a loss to correct this disorder." He paused, watching a small yellow bird land in a nearby bush. When he turned to Deanna again, he had a.s.sumed a teaching mode. "Give me your best definition of the psychopathic personality."

"There are several types, but the one you are most likely to encounter here is the aggressive type."

"And its characteristics?"

She felt she was back in school again, being grilled by the head of the psychology department at the university. "A complete disregard for right and wrong."

"You mean an incapacity to tell the difference?"

"No, sir. The psychopath knows the difference. It is simply of no consequence to him. He is centered on self-gratification, no matter how many laws or rules he must break to achieve it."

"But he suffers remorse?"

"None, sir. That is another of the psychopath's major characteristics. A lack of remorse as well as a refusal to a.s.sume responsibility. Whatever wrong he commits, someone or something else is always to blame. And this att.i.tude is not a mere rationalization in the subject's mind. He truly believes himself blame free."

Satisfaction at her responses emanated from the director. "Tell me, Deanna, what causes psychopathic behavior?"

She suppressed a smile. He had thrown her a trick question, but she was ready for it. "No one knows for certain. Despite, as you said, the long years of study of this particular personality disorder, scholars still disagree. Some believe the cause lies in the brain, either in a genetic predisposition or some kind of damage, or the failure of the central nervous system to develop adequately and at the proper rate."

Lanolan nodded. "And the opposing viewpoint?"

"Others believe the psychopath is created, molded by the experiences of early childhood."

"Negative experiences, such as abuse?"

"Yes, sir. But, oddly enough, spoiling a child, giving him too much attention or too many possessions, causing him to think too highly of himself in relationship to others, is also considered a possible cause."

"And you, Deanna, which side of these causal arguments do you come down on?"

This question was much more difficult, and she sensed much was riding on her answer. She thought for a moment.

"I believe it's possible that all are correct, Director. It depends on the individual and what forces of both nature and nurture have shaped him."

Lanolan nodded with satisfaction. "It's good to see you have a grasp of the fundamentals. You'll need to keep them at the forefront in order to handle your first a.s.signment."

Eagerness bubbled inside her. "When do I start?"

"Tomorrow morning. We've received a new prisoner, a serial killer. I want you to do the background workup and initial evaluation on him. You will have several sessions with him and offer your diagnosis and recommendations for treatment."

Deanna frowned. "Is he Betazoid?"

The director nodded.

"Why haven't I heard of him? A serial killer is a rarity on Betazed. Why wasn't he in the news?"

"His name is Hent Tevren, and his name will never be known on our planet. After you've read his file, you'll understand why."

Before she had been allowed to read Tevren's file that first night in Lanolan's guest house in Jarkana, the director personally had unsealed and decrypted the information. What she had read had both sickened and terrified her.

The morning she arrived on Darona, Deanna had felt as if she could meet any challenge, that with her superior training and perseverance, no case was too daunting. The next day, trudging up the path behind the director's house toward the maximum security facility, she wasn't so sure.

Resembling a group of vacation villas more than a penitentiary, the prison sat on a low hill. To the east, it overlooked Jarkana. To the west, the mountains. A shield wall, invisible to the naked eye except as an occasional shimmer in the air, surrounded the compound, whose only access was through a barred entrance manned by guards. Director Lanolan was waiting at the gate, where Deanna presented her credentials. He escorted her through the arched portal into the gardens that lined the front walkway. In the heat of the summer morning sun, the fragrance of frangipani and crystilia lay heavy on the air.

"Those feathery red plants lining the walk are Diomedian scarlet moss," the director explained with enthusiasm as they made their way toward the administration building. "The delicate ground cover over there in the shade of the poinciana tree is Draebidium calimus, similar to Terran violets, and those unusual flowers to your right are Zan periculi, native to Lappa Four."

"A Ferengi world?" Deanna didn't have to be an empath to sense the director's fascination with what was obviously his pet project.

Lanolan nodded. "We've gathered specimens from all over the quadrant. Not only does our garden furnish a tranquil atmosphere for our inmates, but tending it provides them with fresh air and exercise. It's recreational therapy."