by Peter David
"Yucch." She studied her reflection in the water and shook her head, discouraged. She picked up a few palmsful of water and splashed them on her face, but all she managed to do was take the dirt smears on her face and transform them into larger dirt smears. Meantime she became aware that there were no sounds nearby. Everyone was quiet, tended to. She wasn't particularly needed at that moment, and she was reasonably sure the area was secluded. Then again, it wasn't as if Deanna Troi were the most modest individual in the galaxy in any event. Even if she was discovered paddling around, well... she had certainly attended her share of Betazoid marriages, during which the bride, the groom, and all the guests traditionally go naked. In fact, she had met William T. Riker, second-in-command of the Enterprise, at one of those exact functions.
And the water, to her surprise, was actually fairly warm.
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There was probably an underground spring somewhere helping to heat it up.
"Oh, why not?" she said to no one in particular. Within a minute, her uniform lay in a crumpled heap on the shore and Deanna was paddling through the water with quick, sure strokes. The moment that she submerged, she felt revitalized. She burst from the water, throwing her head back, droplets spraying the air, and she laughed joyously, just happy to be alive.
She sensed that she was not alone before she saw him. But the moment she sensed it, she knew who it was.
"Counselor," came the amused voice of William Riker, "I believe that you're ever-so-slightly out of uniform."
She dove beneath the surface again, turning around under water and coming back up facing the direction from which the voice had originated. She rubbed the water from her eyes and saw Riker seated on a large rock overlooking the lake. He was grinning widely and had her uniform neatly folded in his lap.
"You should try it yourself, Will," she suggested with merriment twinkling in her eye. "The water truly is wonderful."
"Oh ... I don't think so. Thanks all the same."
At the far end of the lake, water cascaded down via a rather impressive-looking waterfall. As Troi backstroked in a most relaxed manner, she called out, "Does any of this remind you of anything?"
He looked around a moment, trying to think what she might be getting at, and then he laughed as he realized. "The Janaran Falls, in the Jalara jungle back on Betazed. How could I forget? It was after I'd rescued you from the Sindareen raiders, and we were heading back to the rendezvous point. Trip should have taken us three days, even though we were on foot. Took us five."
"Well, we kept getting .. . distracted," Troi said teasingly. "And we spent most of our last day at the falls."
"I don't know about you, but in my case, it was because I wasn't particularly anxious to leave."
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"I felt the same way. Gods, we were so young, Will. We knew nothing about anything." She floated in place, treading water. "It seemed like we had all the time in the world. Who knew it would be the last time we'd see each other for so many years."
"Well. . . technically, it wasn't," Riker reminded her. "Unfortunately, everything that happened after that was . . . well..."
She winced, remembering. After they'd been picked up from the jungle, the young Deanna-under pressure from her mother-had broken off her involvement with Riker. The sudden turnaround in the relationship had hit Riker hard, and unfortunately for the both of them, he had done something typically male: knocked back a few drinks and fallen into bed with a rather nubile and willing young woman. And Troi, who had only hours before defiantly declared her independence from her mother's suffocating demands, had found the two of them together, and stormed off, hurt and angry. Had Riker remained on Betazed, they might have had the time to try and straighten things out. But such was not to be the case, as Riker had received his new shipboard assignment. There had been a fleeting reunion at a Betazed art museum before Riker had left, but it had been all too brief and unsatisfying. Once aboard his new ship, Riker had sent her a message, asking her to meet him on Risa some weeks later so they could take one last shot at salvaging their relationship. But the rendezvous was never kept.. . and they had lost touch until their unexpected reunion on the Enterprise years later.
"Funny that you remember that so clearly," she said. "Tom didn't."
"Tom? Oh." He got that frown then that usually crossed his face whenever the name of Tom Riker was brought up. Even though he was another person ... he was also the same person. It was something that Riker didn't particularly like to dwell upon. "Did you have to bring him up?" asked Riker. "I mean, things were going so ..." He paused and forced a smile. "... swimmingly."
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"I'm sorry, Will," Deanna said, aware that she'd made him feel uncomfortable. "I didn't mean to . .."
"It's all right," he told her, waving it off. "So Tom didn't remember anything that happened after the Janaran Falls?"
"Oh, I assume he did. When he said nothing of it, though, I chose not to point it out. It seemed ... inappropriate, somehow. Perhaps even a little sad. It was likely a deliberate effort on his part not to dwell on it as well. He had a good deal of time on his own down on Nervala Four, and he claimed to have spent much of it thinking about me."
"I have no doubt," Riker said with raised eyebrow.
"So he probably idealized our relationship; chose to focus on the positive and pleasant memories rather than the . . ."
"Tragic conclusion?"
He said it with a good deal of humor, but there was something more to his tone that Deanna sensed very clearly. Plus, if there was any individual for whom she had an instant intuition for what he was thinking, it was . . .
". .. Worf?"
She blinked herself back to attention, realizing that the warm water and her own ponderings had prompted her to mentally drift. Riker had been saying something, and the last word was the name of the ship's resident Klingon officer. "I'm sorry . . . ?" she asked, admitting tacitly her distracted state.
"I was endeavoring," he sighed, "to make a ham-handed change in the conversation. So I was asking how things are going between you and Worf."
"Oh. Fine. Very well."
"I understand," and suddenly he was grinning in a devilish manner, "that Klingons read and write poetry during ..."
"Will!" Her face flushed slightly although she was, at the same time, slightly amused. "I don't see that as any of your business. Unless, of course," she added after a moment's hesitation, "you feel your own abilities as a poet are being threatened. We were just talking about the falls. You wrote the poem there, remember? The poem."
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He put his face in his hands. "Good lord, I'm never going to live that down. It was so awful...."
"You keep saying that! It was not awful. It was beautiful." Her gaze softened at the recollection. " 'I hold you close to me...'"
"You still remember the first line?"
"The first line?" And without hesitation, she recited:
"I hold you close to me.
Feel the breath of you, and the wonder of you
And remember a time
Without you
But only as one would remember
A bleak and distant nightmare
And you shudder against me in your sleep
Do you share the memory with me of dark times past?
And you smile
Do you share the memory of times to come?
The future holds such promise
And just as I cannot imagine how I survived the past
Without you
I cannot imagine a future
Without you."
Riker stared at her in wonderment, shaking his head slowly. "I can't believe it. I can't believe you remember every line. I feel as if I wrote it a lifetime ago."
"In many ways . . . you did. I, uhm ... I think I'd best be getting out now."
"Shall I turn around?"
"That would be the considerate course of action."
"All right." Riker got to his feet and turned completely around in a circ
le, so that he was facing her again just as she was about to emerge from the water. He grinned lop-sidedly.
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I M Z A D
II
"You're a riot, Commander," Deanna said with just a touch of scold in her voice. And then, boldly, she emerged from the water.
Immediately Riker turned away, placing her uniform on the ground behind him. "My, my, Commander . . . becoming shy in your old age?" Deanna's voice floated to him. "It's not as if I have anything you haven't seen before."
"True. But it's just a matter of... of decorum," he said after a moment of searching for the right word. "After all, you and Worf are a couple now, and I... well, it's just... it wouldn't be appropriate for me to be ogling you."
"'Ogling'? Are you saying the sight of me naked would contain some prurient interest to you? Would be stimulating in some manner?"
"No, I'm not saying that at all," he briskly and rather ineffectively lied. And he had the sick feeling that she saw through the lie since, of course, attempting to dissemble with an empath was generally an exercise in futility. "I can ..." He cleared this throat, which was problematic considering that at the moment he felt as if there was too much blood in it. "I can admire your.. . figure ... in the same way that I would admire any naturally crafted work of art."
"Why Commander, you flatterer!"
"I have my moments. The point is. .." He heard the rustling of her clothing as she dressed, and endeavored to block it out. Searching for the right angle to come at it, he said, "I would just feel intrusive, that's all."
"I notice that you didn't feel so intrusive that you refused to sit by while I bathed."
"Old times' sake," he said quickly. "I admit, this place reminded me a bit of the Jalara jungle. I succumbed to nostalgia; hardly a capital offense. Besides, the bottom line is ... how do you think Worf would feel if I started rhapsodizing about your body?" ;
"That's a good point," she admitted. "You can turn around now, Commander. And this time, one hundred and eighty degrees should suffice."
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He did as she said. She was busy shaking out her hair, which was already beginning to dry in the warmth of the air and sun. Her uniform was still a bit ragged, but at least she was looking refreshed. "Your concern over Worf s sensibilities is very commendable, Will. But I am a bit concerned about yours."
"Mine? Deanna, we've been through this .. ."
"I know, Will. We've been through ... a good deal. And I..." She hesitated, looking down. Very softly, she said, "Sometimes I think that we spend so much time telling each other that our relationship won't. . . shouldn't... be rekindled . .. that it's . . ."
"What?" he gently prompted her after a moment. He went to her, took her hands firmly in his. "What are you saying?"
She looked up at him with eyes that were deep pools in which he could have paddled forever. "Do we keep saying these things . . . because we believe it... or because we want to believe it? Because if we face the alternative, then we face the fact that we've wasted years that we could have been together."
It was a simple, casual, and calm observation, but it struck deeply into Riker's heart. Suddenly his lips felt very dry.
"Ow," said Deanna, and Riker realized that he was, all unawares, squeezing her hands far too tightly.
Quickly he released his hold on her and turned away from her. He straightened his jacket in unconscious imitation of a gesture he'd seen Picard make so many times. "Deanna ... at this point, there's really nothing to discuss beyond simple friendship, because there are other considerations. Worf, in particular, who is as decent and honest a man as I've ever known . . . who will love you and protect you . . . anything that I might say which would lead us down a different path would have an effect on him, and on Alexander, who I know absolutely adores you. I can't operate without taking others into consideration."
" 'No man is an island,'" Deanna quoted ruefully.
"Donne."
"For the moment," she said.
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He frowned, not understanding, and then the puzzlement cleared. "I mean John Donne. He wrote that poem."
"So he did." Deanna laughed. "I'm sorry, I was .. . never mind." Then her expression drew serious. "Will... I'm just... feeling a bit confused at the moment. Conflicted. You're saying one thing, you're saying another, and I sense that there's more, that. .."
"Deanna ... in many ways ... I will always love you. Just... I'm not..."
His combadge beeped. Never before had he felt so relieved at that sound. He tapped the badge and said briskly, "Riker here."
"The rescue vessels are approaching, Number One," came the crisp voice of the captain of the Enterprise... or, more precisely, of what was left of the Enterprise. "If you desire to have a final look around, now would be the time."
"I appreciate the suggestion, Captain .. . more than you know. Riker out." He turned to Deanna and said, "We should really go."
"Will..."
"Deanna ..." His instinct was to reach for her shoulders, to look her squarely in the eyes, but he realized that-for whatever reason-he couldn't do it. So he said simply, "There's nothing that we're going to say to each other now that we haven't said before. The bottom line is, you're happy with Worf now. You love him, don't you?"
"I... yes. Yes, I... I do ..."
"That's it, then." With that, he turned and headed back toward the wreckage of the fallen Enterprise.
But that's not it! Deanna wanted to shout after him. What- < ever her feelings for Worf, whatever she and Riker said their feelings were for each other, she still felt as if there was much that was being left unsaid. It was a singularly frustrating state of mind for her. Here she was, the ship's counselor, ostensibly trained in helping others sort out their feelings. And yet for
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herself, for her own feelings, there was nothing but confusion and frustration. How was it that she could and should know everyone else's minds, but she couldn't know where her own mind was? Finally, she fell back on the word that summarized the bafflement of women throughout the ages. "Men," she sighed, and then added for good measure, "They're all alike."
CHAPTER
I
Iflforf was helping to oversee the orderly beaming up of the Enterprise crewmen to their respective ships. Everything was proceeding in a straightforward fashion, exactly as he would have expected it to. Some were heading to the saucer section in a final attempt to salvage belongings and, in a few cases, simply to try to find something to bring along as a reminder.
He was also rather pleased-although naturally he would never have admitted it-that Alexander had refused to go on ahead of him. The young Klingon was remaining determinedly by his father's side as others of the crew made their way to the beam-up sites.
"Why are people going in groups, Father?" Alexander asked as he watched people assemble at the sites. "The rescue ships could just bring people up from wherever they're standing."
"True. But this way close friends and families, of course, were able to stay together rather than be split up between ships and have to wait for a subsequent reunion," Worf explained.
"Oh."
Alexander sounded very distracted when he said it. It was surprising how much hidden meaning a one-syllable word- "Oh"-could carry with it.
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"Is there something on your mind, Alexander?"
"No," Alexander quickly replied.
Worf made the impatient grunting noise that Alexander recognized only too well. "Alexander . . . you know that I have little patience with trying to extract information. With a hot light and an agonizer stick, I could easily rip your concerns from your screaming throat. That is not, however, good parenting ... so I am told." As always, he spoke with such a grim mien that it was difficult for Alexander to tell just how serious he was. He certainly sounded serious. "In any event," continued Worf, "obfuscation is not the Klingon way."
"And do we only do things if they are the Klingon way?"
"What do you mean?"
<
br /> Alexander looked off in the direction of the fallen saucer section. Worf had seen Deanna Troi head in there a few minutes earlier. Her hair had looked slightly damp, which he'd considered a bit odd, but beyond that she seemed rather peaceful, even happy. That was how she always seemed, in fact. That alone made her almost the polar opposite of him.
"Deanna is not very .. . Klingon," Alexander said. Apparently he'd seen her, too.
"That is true. She is as 'un-Klingon' as one could be and still be sentient."
"Why do you love her, Father?"
Worf bristled. "It is ... not appropriate that we discuss these things."
"Not appropriate? Father . . . we've discussed war from every possible angle. We've discussed honor, tradition, combat tactics. I know how to kill someone fourteen different ways with my bare hands ... at least, in theory. But how to love someone .. . especially someone so different. .." He gestured helplessly.
Worf looked at the urgency in his son's eyes. "These are ... these are not matters that come easily to me in terms of discussion, Alexander."
"I know that. Believe me, I know."
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M Z A D
II
Alexander turned away from his father then and went back to watching the families gathering for rescue. Worf watched them, too, and he found himself studying them closely, as if he were an anthropologist observing the activities of another species. In a way, that was rather appropriate. He was another species, after all, and humanity was a race that he was still striving mightily to understand.
He watched the families. He watched the parents helping the children along, watched the mothers singing songs with the sons, the fathers carrying their little girls riding on their shoulders. He saw a set of parents dangling their giggling three-year-old between them, swinging the child like a pendulum, and the child let out a squeal of glee.