As the Enterprise watched from its position just outside the Aldebaran cluster, the giant star erupted like a kitten in a microwave. Great spurts of matter and energy squirted out on all sides. Then a halo of pure force, glowing white-hot, pulsed out of the central point and expanded as it quickly spread, engulfing one by one the planets of its system.

As the halo neared Ryos-Caneb, homeland of the squid-like creatures who had declined Star Fleet's offer of rescue, the bridge crew stared in agony, desperate to spare themselves the sight but unable to tear themselves from the awful tragedy unfolding on the giant viewscreen.

It was over in a split-second as the deathly bubble swallowed the planet whole and moved on, only to dissipate seconds later as it reached the far limits of the system. The bridge was silent. Even the throb of the controls seemed to hush in respect to the gallant jellyballs.

Captain Picard's bald head was bowed like all the rest when a voice next to him cut through the quiet.

"I sensed... fear. And pain, and then agony, and then really, really sharp pain, and agony and fear all together. And then... nothing," Counselor Deanna Troi informed everyone. She squeezed her eyebrows together to emphasize the feeling. "It was... really bad. I mean, really bad."

Jean-Luc Picard's head snapped up and he glared at Troi. Everyone else on the bridge was looking at her, too, eyes bulging.

Delighted to have an audience, the shapely counselor went on. "And it stopped very suddenly," she said, looking around to catch everyone's eyes. "I think they all went very fast. Of course, I can only sense emotions, so I don't know exactly how what they were thinking, but --"

"That's quite enough, Counselor," Picard snapped. Troi stopped short, and the rest of the crew let out their collective breath. Soon the bleeps and bloops of the controls seemed to rise back to their usual level and everyone bustled about in the normal way. Troi had settled back into her chair when Picard handed over his chair to No. 1. As the captain passed by Deanna, he muttered out of the side of his mouth: "Counselor, see me in the ready room. Now." He was moving so fast Deanna had to jump up to follow him; even so the swoosh of the door almost nabbed the hem of her short skirt as she entered the room behind him.

"Yes, Captain?" the raven-haired counselor said, settling into a chair in front of Picard's desk and crossing her legs. "Do you need something?"

Picard's fingers drummed on the desktop. "What I need, Counselor --"

"Please, call me Deanna."

"What I need, Deanna," he went on, almost spitting out the name, "is to understand why you feel -- no pun intended -- why you believe it necessary to come out with the most ridiculous statements in moments of crisis."

Deanna's eyelashes fluttered as she leaned forward, her large breasts almost falling out of her low-cut top. "What do you mean? It is my job as ship's counselor --"

"It is your job to counsel the crew. IF they ask for it. It is not your job to state the obvious and act like you're coming up with some profound insights. It is not your job to disrupt the operations of this starship with your silly ideas. It is not --"

Deanna rose and walked to the far wall, then turned around to face him. Her face was flushed. "Silly ideas? Silly ideas! If you mean the music --"

"Yes, let's discuss the music," Picard said, pointing a finger at her. "Mood music on a starship? Muzak, is that what they used to call it? This is a Star Fleet vessel, not a cruise ship, for Earth's sake. Whatever made you think we needed background music?"

"Well, I still say the crew performed much more smoothly. And if they'd followed my instructions and changed the tempos with the time of day, it would have been even better."

"The time of day? The time of DAY! Deanna, we're in the middle of the universe! There is no night and day. The crew of the Enterprise has to be ready for anything at any time. I don't want my bridge crew nodding off to -- what was that singer? Perry Como? -- when they should be keeping an eye out for who knows what."

"Well, it could have worked if you'd only let me keep trying. And I still think it wasn't nice of you to order the entire last day's schedule. Honestly, I didn't even know there were that many different recordings of "Feelings." I almost think you intended that as a personal insult."

"Almost? Deanna, you ninny, of course it was an insult. Why is it your empathic powers can tell me some glob of protoplasm two light-years away is having a hissy fit, but you don't know that the people you live and work with think you're an insufferable nincompoop? What good is having a half-Betamax... Betazoid, whatever... on board if she's only a half-wit as well?"

"Captain, I sense that you're angry with me," Deanna began. Picard tried to cut her off, but she talked on over his objections. "No, let me finish. Please. I sense that you are working out some kind of aggression. Perhaps we should talk about this -- in my quarters? I could have the replicator make some coffee -- or would you prefer tea? Earl Grey, isn't it?"

"Yes, hot... But no, I don't want to talk it over. And not in your quarters. Deanna, I'm not the one with a problem here. You are. I have had enough of your nonsense. Do you know that the rest of Star Fleet calls the Enterprise 'the starship with a heart?' The last time I went to a captains' conference, they all kept asking me to 'tell me how you FEEL, Jean-Luc.' And Admiral Carlson wanted to know if I'd felt anything good lately... 'or felt UP, I should say,' he said. Do you have any idea what he was talking about?"

"Admiral Carlson?" Deanna paused thoughtfully. "Oh, you mean Bobby?"

"Bobby!" Picard half-rose from his chair. "You call a full admiral Bobby? Deanna, how did you ever manage not to be thrown out of Star Fleet?"

Troi smiled and raised her eyebrows. "I'd be glad to explain it to you, Captain, but I must suggest that I think it would be better in my quarters."

"Anything you have to say to me you can say right here," Picard insisted.

"Well, all right," the counselor said. "If you really want to know..."

Reaching behind her, Deanna undid the gold clasp and shook her head; her long black hair billowed out. "Actually, I had been wondering how long it would take you to ask. My last captain figured it out much faster."

Picard opened his mouth to reply, but his jaw just hung open when he saw what Deanna did next.

With a tug, Troi pulled her tight-fitting top up and over her head. Her breasts were barely contained by a thin black bra. The tops of her boobs bulged out above the shiny triangles as she bent down to undo the clasp of her skirt and let it fall to the floor.

Next she stepped out of the skirt and walked up to the desk, raising one slim leg and resting the heel of her boot on the top.

Picard's eyes were staring at the tiny patch of black material that molded itself tightly to her labia, not at all covering the lush thatch of dark hair above it.

"My boot, Captain," Deanna purred, breaking in on his reverie. "Please?"