16

The House leaders were far more inconsolable than Picard could have imagined. He was going to need a lot more than Sh’yan and a dusty old replicator to help him now.

He was backstage, standing side by side with Ambassador Sulel, and feeling profoundly absurd in the white pantaloons of his guest costume. Replicating a Starfleet uniform for him was an extremely low priority for Betazed Security.

Spread out before Picard and Sulel were a dozen furious Betazoids, most in elaborate formal wear. The women seemed particularly fond of towering headdresses made out of materials Picard would never have imagined going into clothing items: flowers, greenery, bits of glass, some kind of shimmery floating light fixtures. Their outrage and worry was understandable, but to see it festooned in finery gave everything a sharp, surrealist edge.

“Have you found the treasures?” demanded one of the leaders, the others immediately chiming in with their own similar demands.

“Where’s Lwaxana?” someone called out.

“Ambassador Troi is aiding the search for the treasures,” Sulel said, unfazed by the emotion welling up in front of her. “She will be joining us shortly.”

Mumbles of discontent followed. Lwaxana was at the command station, on standby as Worf led the search for the missing Aviana Virox. Sulel had requested that Picard accompany her as she updated the leaders on the status of the investigation.

Why am I still here? Picard thought. I could be on the Enterprise, tracking down Virox and whoever else might be behind this crime.

“We are in pursuit of a potential culprit,” Sulel said, and the leaders immediately devolved into shouted questions, drowning one another out.

Sulel raised her hands. “Please,” she said. “Remain calm.”

“Who is this culprit?” someone asked. “Everyone involved has been keeping their thoughts shut tight.”

“I’m not at liberty to share that information,” Sulel said.

“Then why did you round us up?” demanded a man wearing a long, silver tunic. Picard tried very hard not to stare at him. “We don’t keep secrets. It is highly unusual how little information has been transmitted so far.” He narrowed his eyes. “We ask that our High Guests—any guests on the planet, for that matter—adhere to our custom out of politeness.”

“Sir, we are not here to keep secrets from you,” Picard said. He knew it ran counter to Betazoid mores, but the decision to lock out the identity of their top subject had been Commander Rusina’s. The last thing we want is panic from the House Leaders, he’d said, frowning.

“We’re here to prepare you,” Picard finished. He glanced sideways at Sulel. She gave him a small nod of encouragement. “We understand the importance of retrieving the treasures as quickly as possible.”

The House leaders went silent. If they were communicating telepathically, Picard couldn’t tell. He didn’t think they were. Dozens of dark eyes stared at him fervently, waiting for him to speak.

“We want to prepare you,” Picard said, “for the possibility that you may need to serve in a diplomatic capacity.”

A gasp rippled through the leaders, and they turned to each other, their voices in hushed whispers. That had their attention.

“Why?” one of them asked. “Where are the treasures?”

“We don’t have those answers,” Sulel said. “We are working to procure them.”

“We promise to bring you everything we can as soon as it’s possible,” Picard added. “But in the meantime—”

Picard cut himself off as Sulel peered at him.

“I want to personally assure you both Starfleet and Betazed Security are working together on this matter,” he said. “The Enterprise is currently tracking down the potential culprit.”

At first, the reaction was only a stunned silence. Picard let out a low breath.

Then the yelling started.

Questions lobbed out like phaser fire. Picard resisted the urge to turn heel and leave, holding himself still.

“There is no need for panic at this juncture,” Sulel said, raising her voice slightly to counteract the din. “We are simply looking to honor Betazed custom and asking you to be prepared in the event that you will need to sit in on a diplomatic session.”

“With whom?” someone asked.

Sulel said smoothly, “Ambassador Troi and myself will be doing all of the communication. But I know custom dictates the House leaders have the right to be present for any negotiations.”

The protestations quieted down into soft murmurs.

“It’s our hope that we will have this matter settled quickly.” Sulel turned toward Picard. “Captain, if you could share with the House leaders what your starship is capable of.”

Picard felt his shoulders loosen. He immediately launched into a perhaps too-technical description of the Enterprise’s scanners as well as the skills of Lieutenant Worf, who was leading the chase. As he spoke, he was aware of the Betazoids listening intently, nodding their approval.

“I assure you, we have everything under control,” Picard finished.

Sulel said, “Now, we ask that you remain on standby in the event that we do need to open diplomatic negotiations. But remember”—she held up one finger when the Betazoids began to bubble up with questions again—“we are still in the early stages of our investigations.”

She and Picard stepped out into the hallway, leaving the Betazoids to their own devices. The captain was anxious to get back to the command center; he was as ready for answers as the House leaders were.

“Thank you again,” Sulel said as they strode down the hallway. “Your presence was reassuring.”

“I suppose,” Picard said softly.

“It was.” Sulel paused. “You do not feel comfortable among Betazoids, do you?”

Picard set his mouth into a straight line. “They are marvelous people.”

“Of course. But many find their love of pomp and circumstance… overwhelming.”

Picard didn’t answer.

“I felt the same, during my first year on Betazed.” A faint grin curved at the edge of Sulel’s lips. “Vulcans have our share of ceremony, but nothing can compare with the ceremonies of Betazed. They are so imbued with emotion. I believe it is where they get their power from.”

Picard looked over at her. “Forgive me, but it’s surprising to hear a Vulcan say so.”

“My people could learn from the Betazoids,” she said. “Their telepathy makes their emotions a strength, not a weakness. The art and music of this world—it’s unlike any else. Don’t you agree?”

Picard thought back to the pageant, before the treasures had been revealed to be gone. He’d had a limited view from his place backstage, but he had heard the music and narration, the drama of the story of Xiomara. As much as he hated his ridiculous costume and the endless parading around he’d been forced to do, he had to admit that there had been something stirring about it all.

“Betazed is my preferred posting,” Sulel continued. “It’s important to me that this matter is handled swiftly.”

A Vulcan enamored with Betazed. It wasn’t something Picard expected to ever encounter. But then, nothing about this had gone the way he had expected.