Star Trek-TNG-Novel-Imzadi 1

by Peter David

  he expects me to set up a reception. Lord

  ... Graceffwas

  The last ^w was shouted, andfora moment Riker thought

  that Roper was loudly calling for divine intervention.

  But then the harried but determined young woman who had

  greeted Riker when he first arrived outside

  Roper's office barreled in in response. She

  sidled past Riker, who had the distinct feeling that

  he had been thrown into the middle of carefully, but

  barely, controlled chaos.

  "Grace," Roper said, "get me Harras

  at the catering facility. I have to meet with him as

  soon as possible. Also with Counsel Head

  Timbor--"

  "You just met with him yesterday,"

  Grace reminded him, sounding slightly confused.

  "Yes, but I didn't know about the Rigelian

  ambassador yesterday," replied Roper in

  exasperation. "Utterly paranoid people. Never like

  to give anyone more than forty-eight hours

  notice. And he probably won't even show

  up! Cancel at the last minute. Typical.

  Typical."

  Riker wasn't sure precisely whom

  Roper was talking to--Grace, Riker, or

  himself ... or some combination of the three.

  "When's the earliest I can see Harras?

  Tn," he said, answering his own question. "It has

  to be tonight."

  "You have the Xerx wedding tonight."

  Roper held his face in his hands. "Perfect.

  Just perfect."

  He was silent for a long moment, and Riker

  seized the break in the steady flow of conversation.

  "Mr. Roper? I'm Lieutenant Riker. I

  presume you were told about me?"

  Roper stared at him through his fingers. "When was our

  appointment?"

  "Appoint--?" Riker looked from Roper to the

  woman who'd been addressed as Grace. "Is

  anyone here expecting me?"

  Grace said to her boss with a gentle, prodding

  tone, "Starfleet? Remember, Mark?"

  Roper still looked blank for a moment, and then

  understanding flooded through his face. "Riker!

  William Rikerffwas

  "Yes, sir," said Riker with a sigh of

  relief.

  "The new Starfleet liaison! My boy,

  please accept my apologies." Roper

  circled around his desk and took Riker's hand,

  pumping it furiously.

  "I'm sorry if I came at a bad time."

  "Daytime is generally a bad time," said Roper.

  "The second worst time is nighttime. Nevertheless,

  it's good to have you aboard. As you can see by my

  perpetually discombobulated state, the more help

  we have here, the better."

  "Whatever I can do to help, sir."

  "Yes, well, the first thing you can do is take a

  load off." Roper gestured to the chair

  opposite him. "And have patience with my natterings

  and ramblings. Would you like some coffee?"

  "That would be great, thanks."

  Roper started to head for the door, but

  Grace stopped him. "It's okay, Mark.

  I'll get it." She looked to Riker and said,

  "Cream?"

  "Black."

  "Coming up." She smiled and flashed two rows

  of clean white teeth at him before walking out.

  Roper looked at Riker with what appeared

  to be newfound respect. "I admit, I'm

  impressed, Captain."

  Riker looked at him with mild confusion.

  "It's "lieutenant."' And why are you

  impressed, sir?"

  "Because Grace has been my assistant for

  three years and she rarely sees fit to bring me

  coffee ... and she never volunteers. But you--"

  Roper paused. "Have a way with the females, do

  you, Captain?"

  A slow smile spread across Riker's face.

  "Women seem to ... appreciate me. Why

  do you keep calling me captain?"

  "Starfleet forwarded me your file. Very

  impressive body of work. The ^w on you is that

  you're an aggressive, hotshot, up-and-coming

  young officer, with a flair and aptitude for some of the

  finer points of diplomacy. The general poop--

  do you Starfleet types still use nautical terms

  like poop?"

  "On occasion." At first put off by Roper's

  style--if such a term could be applied to it--

  Riker was slowly finding himself amused by, and even

  liking, this somewhat harried diplomat.

  "Okay. The general poop is that you're on a

  fast track, my young friend. Some even believe you

  might beat out Jim Kirk's record for youngest

  captain ... and that's stood firm for close to a

  century."

  "That's the poop, is it?"

  "And nothing but the poop. So I figure

  I'll start calling you captain now and beat the

  rush." Roper leaned forward. "Unless you'd like me

  to just skip straight to "admiral"'?"

  "That's quite all right, sir, you run the

  embassy. You can address me however you want

  ... although I would appreciate it if, in the

  presence of other Starfleet personnel, you

  addressed me by my proper rank. Genuine

  captains might not consider it amusing."

  "Whatever," said Roper with a casual air.

  Grace came back in with a cup of black

  coffee, which Riker took carefully from

  her. She stood over him and said, "Anything else

  I can get for you?"

  "This will be fine."

  "Grace, see that we're not disturbed."

  "All right, Mark," she said, but her smile and

  gaze were directed to Riker. Then she turned and

  walked out.

  Roper shook his head. "Oh, yes. Very

  impressive. So ..." His tone changed to a more

  businesslike timbre. "What have they told you?"

  "About this assignment? Well ... Betazed is

  supposed to be environmentally quite lovely."

  Riker turned his attention to a large window that

  opened out onto a dazzling vista. The sky was

  dazzling blue with pink clouds hanging against it as

  if they'd been painted there. They were on the

  twentieth floor of the building, and Riker had an

  overview of the city. Rather than being a combination of a

  variety of styles, as in so many cities, the

  buildings seemed to flow seamlessly one into the other.

  Either the city had been meticulously planned from

  the beginning or else the growth of it had been

  consistently smooth and organic. Far, far in the

  distance, Riker could see the barest hints of a

  mountain range. "In that," he continued, "I would

  have to say the ^w understatement comes to mind."

  "It is a lovely world. A lovely people,"

  confirmed Roper. "Sensitive to a great

  degree. Thoughtful and caring, and utterly

  cooperative. A people steeped in tradition, and a

  world filled with great thinkers. I am not--it pains

  me to admit--a great thinker, Captain. How about

  you?"

  "For the moment, I'm happy to be a quick thinker.

  I presume the rest will take care of itself."

  "A very mature attitude. What else do you

  know?"

  "Betazed is a long
-standing Federation ally, and

  quite valued." Then Riker's face darkened. "I

  also understand there have been some recent difficulties

  with the Sindareen."

  "Quite correct," said Roper gravely. "The

  Sindareen have a history of belligerence. They also

  seem to operate in shifts."

  "Shifts?" Riker didn't quite understand.

  "They have a number of planets and peoples with

  whom they have disputes, or just perceive as being ripe

  pickings. But they don't attack them steadily.

  They go after them for periods of time until they've

  reached the point where they're almost crossing

  the line from nuisance and threat to genuine menace ...

  and then they pull back. They won't be heard from

  for months, even years at a time ... until

  they've been pretty much forgotten about. At which

  point they start their assaults and raids all

  over again."

  "And right now they're picking on Betazed."

  "That's right. There have been three attacks in as

  many months at various points throughout the city."

  "What about the outlying cities?"

  "Small. Primarily agricultural. A

  lot of farmland on Betazed, or cities that are

  devoted primarily to philosophical studies.

  Here is where the real economic action of Betazed

  occurs--alm all of the trading, the commerce,

  funnels through here."

  "Not the smartest way to arrange things," said

  Riker grimly. "Apparently they've never

  heard about putting all the eggs in one basket."

  Roper shrugged. "It's their planet,

  Captain. We can't tell them how to run things.

  We can, however, take steps. A squad of

  Starfleet security has been stationed here. As the

  ranking Starfleet officer, you'll be in charge of

  them."

  Riker nodded. He was familiar with

  ground-based Starfleet security men--

  essentially, they were security guards without a

  ship. They would be dispatched by the UFP to situations

  where a Federation presence was going to be required for

  an extended period of time. You couldn't leave a

  starship in orbit around a planet for weeks,

  even months--but you could send in a squad of

  Starfleet security men and leave them there for

  however long it took to solve the problem.

  Riker had encountered ground security teams on

  a couple of occasions. They were generally tough,

  strong headed, sometimes contemptuous and even

  distrustful of officers who spent their careers in

  "fancified starships," as one ground security

  man had put it. They were also, Riker knew,

  extremely formidable.

  "Anything else I should know, Mr. Roper?"

  Roper nodded and leaned forward. "Don't try

  to con these people, Riker. Their sensitivity to thought

  processes is second to none."

  "I wouldn't try to "con"' anyone,

  sir," said Riker, feeling a bit indignant.

  "Oh, come on, Captain, we all do it. For

  example--y run into a woman at a

  party and she's wearing a dress so ugly it looks

  like a Klingon Targ vomited on it. Do you say

  to her, "Hello, how are you--why are you wearing

  such a god-awful dress?"' Or do you say,

  "Hello, my dear, you look lovely tonight."'"

  "Well ... the second, I suppose. I

  mean, just to be sociable."

  "Save it. On Betazed they know precisely

  what you're thinking. The fortunate thing is that, because

  of that, these people are hard to offend just on the basis of

  pure unspoken opinions. They've had

  to develop a high tolerance for unexpurgated

  thought ... it was either that or kill each other. The

  only thing they have little tolerance for is prevarication.

  They'd consider that to be insulting. Be

  straightforward and honest with the Betazoids and they'll

  appreciate and respect you for it."

  The door to the office hissed open and Roper

  looked up in irritation. "Grace, I thought I

  said I didn't want to be disturbed."

  A young, cheery-eyed woman with straight black

  hair and a bit of the devil in her eye flounced

  into the office. "Hello, Daddy."

  "Oh! Wendyffwas He gestured to Riker, who

  got to his feet. "Lieutenant Riker, this is

  my daughter, Wendy. Wendy, this is William

  Riker."

  "Nice to meet you," said Riker, taking

  mental note of the fact that Roper had introduced

  him using his correct rank. For that he was most

  appreciative.

  Wendy pumped his hand in much the same manner that

  Roper had. "We have the same initials," she

  observed. "W.Rather." She was looking at him with a

  frank, appraising attitude.

  "So we have," agreed Riker.

  "Good." She grinned impishly. "When we

  get married, we can have identical monograms

  on our towels."

  Riker blinked in surprise and looked at

  Roper, who shrugged. "Wendy's been here with me

  the past three years. She's gotten into the habit

  of stating her mind ... even with those people who can't

  read it."

  "Saves time," she said. She released

  Riker's hand but continued to smile. "If you could

  read my mind, though, Lieutenant, you'd know I

  was just joking."

  "Oh." Riker felt a little foolish. "Of

  course you were."

  "You're cute, though. I like your eyes. They

  look like they've seen a lot ... a lot of

  amazing things, and a lot of nasty stuff."

  Riker was beginning to find her forthrightness somewhat

  refreshing. The idea of an entire planet where

  people said what was on their minds began to seem a little

  less daunting. Since when was the notion of honesty

  something to be concerned over?

  "You're right," he said. "I'll be happy

  to fill you in on some of it."

  "I'll be happy to listen."

  "And I'm happy everyone's happy. Oh,

  happy happiness," Roper put in, sounding a

  bit curmudgeonly. "Wendy, was there something in

  particular you wanted to discuss?"

  "Yes." She turned to her father. "I just

  wanted to know, which do you think would be better to wear

  to the Xerx wedding tonight? The blue dress with the

  ruffles, or the green dress that's cut low?"

  "What difference does it make?" asked

  Roper. He looked at Riker. "Yet another

  one of the social engagements that this office is

  expected to participate in. Chandra Xerx, a

  daughter of the third house of Betazed, is getting

  married tonight. The Federation is to send a

  representative. Guess who."

  "Well, I'm looking forward to it," said

  Wendy.

  "What third house?" asked Riker.

  "Oh, that. Well, Betazed society has a

  number of families that are considered founding

  families, tracing ancestry back all the way

  to the earliest writings of Betazed history and

  culture. There are twenty of these senior

  "housese
a"' as they're called. The house of

  Xerx is the third oldest, hence the designation

  "third house."' Chandra is the eldest daughter

  of Gart Xerx, and as Wendy mentioned, the wedding

  is tonight. I hate Betazoid weddings," he added

  darkly. "And the timing of this one in particular ...

  when in hell am I going to meet with Harras

  to discuss this sudden reception I have to pull together?"

  "Look, sir, if it's too much of an

  inconvenience for you, I have a simple solution,"

  said Riker. "I'll go."

  Roper looked up. "You?"

  "If," said Riker, and he turned smilingly

  to Wendy, "it wouldn't bother you to have me as your

  escort instead of your father."

  She looked him up and down in an

  even more appraising manner than before, and Riker

  couldn't understand why she was grinning so widely. "That

  sounds great."

  "You really wouldn't mind, Lieutenant

  Riker?" said Roper. "You'd be doing me a

  tremendous service--clearing up some free time for

  me to attend to other matters, and sparing me yet

  another one of those ceremonies."

  "I don't see what the problem would be," said

  Riker. "I'm glad to pitch in and help wherever

  I can."

  "That's settled, then," said Wendy cheerfully.

  "Good," said Roper, slapping his ample

  belly. "I must admit, I think that you'll

  present a much more dignified presence for the

  Federation than I usually do."

  Riker smiled politely, not completely

  understanding what Roper meant.

  But later, he would.

  CHAPTER 13

  The wedding chapel was small and sedate, a

  one-story building shaped like a trapezoid.

  It was a crisp, cool evening, and Riker in

  full dress uniform had called on Wendy at

  her home to pick her up. He saw that she had

  indeed decided on the low-cut green dress, and

  he felt somewhat appreciative of that. The

  cleavage it revealed was most attractive, and

  she had a long and slender neck that was nicely

  accentuated as well.

  She smiled at him and said, "Very chic,

  Lieutenant."

  "I wanted to make a good first impression on

  all concerned. And please, call me W."

  "Try and stop me." She inclined her head

  slightly. "The chapel's less than a

  kilometer away, and it's a lovely night.

  Feel like walking?"

  "That sounds charming." He proffered his elbow and

  she took it.

  They headed down the street, keeping up a

  pleasant and enjoyable string of chitchat between them.

  Riker found out that Wendy was a sociologist; that