by Peter David
"Now you see ... that's just how I felt a
moment ago. Lovemaking, Will, is when two people
voluntarily decide to give control over to the
partner. I wasn't voluntarily relinquishing
anything. So I needed to reclaim it, quickly."
"You ... could simply have said no."
She frowned at him. "I did."
"No, you didn't."
"I distinctly remember--"
"You didn't. If you'd have said no, I'd have
stopped." Slowly he sat up, still rubbing his
sore middle. "That I can assure you."
Her eyebrows knitted together, a puzzled
expression on her face. "I was quite sure that
I--"
"You know what?" said Riker, pointing at her.
"You may have thought you said it ... but you didn't.
And maybe that's because you didn't really want to.
For a moment there, you weren't resisting. As a
matter of fact, you were pretty damned
encouraging. I'll tell you something--y're so
certain that you know my mind. Well, I don't
even think you know your own."
"Is that a fact?"
"Yes."
"Well, then, just answer me this. ..."
He waited for the question. "Yeah?"
"Do you want the dessert or not?"
He shook his head in confusion. "That's the question?"
Even she looked puzzled by it. "Yes."
"No. No dessert, thanks. Between the filling
meal and your knee, my stomach's pretty much
finished for the afternoon."
"Okay. Fine, then." Never taking her eyes
off Riker, and regarding him with a very suspicious
air ... probably because she wasn't sure herself
how he was making her feel ... Deanna Troi
ate Riker's dessert along with her own. Riker
said nothing as he watched her do it.
Finally he asked, "Have you met a lot of
humans?"
"A few. Mostly friends of my father."
"Formed an opinion?"
"Not especially. They're people, just like anyone
else. Sweeping generalizations are rarely much
use. I prefer a case-by-case
diagnosis."
"Spoken like a true student of psychology.
So ... what are you going to do with your degree
once you've gotten it?"
"Do with it?" She shrugged. "I don't know.
Probably nothing."
He stared at her. "ationothing?"
"Well ... knowing how the mind operates, and
being able to talk to people ... these skills will certainly
be helpful to me in my societal
responsibilities. Far more so than
geology would have been."
"But ... but don't you want to forge a career?"
"My life is my career. My
responsibilities that are part and parcel of
Betazed tradition. I'm not like you, w. Many
aspects of my life are already set."
"You know, I've had this conversation before," said
Riker grimly. "With your mother. It's a shame you
haven't got a mind of your own."
"I have a mind of my own," shot back
Deanna hotly. "It's hardly my fault if
my opinion concurs with that of my mother, now, is
it?"
"You're right, you're right. I'm the poor dumb
human who barely understands what's going through his own
head, and you're the all-wise Betazoid who knows
everything. Does that pretty much cover it?"
Making a sound of great frustration, Deanna
began shoving all the picnic materials back
into the basket. "This was stupid," she muttered
partly to herself. "I don't know why I let myself
be talked into this."
"Because you wanted to be talked into it."
"Oh, nonsense."
"You know what your problem is, Deanna?"
"Yes. My problem is you."
"No." He drew himself closer to her and
hunkered down in front of her. When she wouldn't
look at him, he took her pointed chin in his
hands and brought her around to face him. "Your problem
is that you overanalyze everything. You are so damned
used to studying feelings, and thinking about feelings, and
contemplating feelings, that you have no idea of how
to just go with feelings."
"And you," she shot back, pushing his hand away,
"can only go with feelings. You're going to make
some Starfleet officer, Lieutenant. Someone
who's incapable of studying a situation and deciding
what to do about it calmly and rationally. I bet
you'll never ask anyone for their opinions. I
bet you'll never look for suggestions. You'll just
do what you want, when you want, on impulse,
because your feelings tell you to do so, and you'll just
drag the rest of the crew along with you. And heaven
help them if you're wrong."
He sat back on his heels. And looking
somewhat stupid, he grinned. "You must really like
me if you get that worked up over me."
"Oh, you're intolerable."
She picked up the picnic basket
and started to walk, her large caftan swishing around
her. Riker got to his feet and walked along
next to her.
"And I bet you don't believe in love at
first sight," he said challengingly.
She didn't even glance at him. "Now you're
saying you love me?"
"No, I'm not saying that. I'm asking about the
idea in principle. Do you believe in love at
first sight?"
He fully expected that she would say no, just
as Wendy had. So he was surprised when she
slowly came to a halt and turned to look at him
full in the face, her eyes large and thoughtful.
Then she turned and walked off in another
direction. Puzzled, he followed her.
The terrain got more steep and hilly, and she
put down the picnic basket and used her hands
to help pull herself up. He followed her,
unsure of what was happening, but reluctant
to say or do anything that would possibly stop her.
He wanted to see what she was up to.
Eventually Deanna reached what appeared to be
a peak, and she sat down carefully,
meticulously arranging her caftan. Riker
climbed up next to her, and his breath caught in his
throat.
It was a stunning vista. The view earlier
paled in comparison. The sky was now pale
orange, and hundreds of feet below a river
ribboned between two high banks. Long, untamed
blades of grass sprouted here and there, on the one
hand appearing random, but on the other, adding to the
overall look and feel of the place as if it had
been carefully planned.
"I like to come here to think. It's one of my
favorite places."
"What do you think about?"
"Love at first sight." She paused.
"Yes. I do believe in it."
"Well, now, I must admit, I'm
surprised. That's hardly the sign of a rational,
nonimpulsive mind. Love at first sight is
the ultimate leap of faith."
"Nothing about it is particularly rational," she
admitted. "I'd suppose
you'd say my
rationale is more romantic than anything else."
"And what's your rationale, may I ask?"
At first she said nothing, as if trying to figure
out the best way to put her thoughts. "I
think that, to some degree, all of us are fractured
souls. Cut in half. And we wander through life
looking for the rest of ourselves. And sometimes we're
fortunate enough to meet someone who possesses, in
themselves, the part of ourselves that we've been missing.
We may not realize it on a conscious level,
but definitely on a subconscious level.
We see in someone else ... something of ourselves."
She held her hands up in front of her,
palms facing each other. "That's why sometimes you
meet someone and you just immediately feel comfortable with them.
You feel like you've known them all your life. The
reason is that they're a part of you, and you're a part
of them. You're soul mates. You ... fit."
She interlaced her fingers. "And once you've fit
together, nothing can pull you apart unless you let go."
She released her grip, drawing her hands apart.
"And how did you develop this ..." He coughed
politely. "This theory?"
She smiled gamely. "It seemed the most
reasonable explanation for why my parents came
together. I mean, no rational being would have seen them as
any sort of workable couple. Yet my mother
claimed that the moment they met they just ... just
knew." She shrugged. "So who knows?"
"But that's kind of sad, really."
"Why?" she asked, puzzled.
"Because, since you're such a rational type, if
you ever met your "soul mate,"' you'd probably
intellectualize it to death. How could any sort
of pure romantic notion stand up to being rationally
disemboweled? You'd never follow your impulse."
"Love at first sight is hardly the sort of
thing that happens all the time. My attitude is
different from yours. You always follow your impulse.
And you have good impulses, I'm sure, by and
large. You're very confident, and that's a
requirement in your career. But it's not the kind of
mind-set I'm used to. I doubt there's any
sort of future for us."
He slid closer to her and then said, "Change
me."
She stared at him. "What?"
"You're studying to be a psychologist. The
entire point of that is to help people. If you think
I have some sort of emotional shortcomings, then you
can try and do something about it."
"I'm hardly a fully trained therapist,
w. I'm not qualified. You'd be ... you'd be
little more than a guinea pig. It wouldn't
be ethical."
"Why not? It's only unethical if you pass
yourself off as something you're not. And I'm perfectly
willing to be a guinea pig. Believe me, I
doubt if anything you'd say or do could be any more
grueling than officer training at Starfleet."
He stuck out a hand. "What do you say?
Deal?"
She stared at him for a moment. "You're just hoping
that this will afford you an opportunity down the road
to make love to me."
"That's right," he said without hesitation. "And
you're hoping it will, too. Secretly, you're
grateful for the chance to bring me "up"' to your
level so that you can then feel better about allowing
yourself to come "down"' to the more basic altitude of
my level."
He spoke with such conviction and such certainty that
Deanna actually felt an unusual sensation
... her cheeks were burning.
Riker noticed the flush in an instant and then
said, using precisely the tone she had the other
day, "I didn't read your mind. I hazarded a
guess. All you did was confirm it."
And he looked at her with such challenge in his
eyes that she took his hand and squeezed it firmly
... so firmly that it left him numb for a few
minutes as she said, "It's a deal. Prepare
to be a guinea pig, Lieutenant Riker."
"Miss Troi, point me to the maze."
CHAPTER 18
In a caf@e just outside the Federation
embassy, Mark Roper sat down for breakfast.
He studied the menu, then thought about what he'd like
to have. Moments later, it arrived, courtesy of a
smiling waitress, who knew that he would want
nothing else, knew the name on his credit account,
and went off to deduct from it not only the cost of his
breakfast but how much he would want to tip her.
To Mark Roper, it eliminated a lot of the
fuss and bother of meals.
A rap on the window of the caf@e next
to Roper made him look up. Outside was
Lieutenant Riker, looking pleasant and
refreshed. Roper gestured for Riker to join him,
and the youthful officer entered the caf@e and sat down
across from him.
"So how did it go with young Deanna
yesterday?" asked Roper.
"Very nicely. Very nicely."
"Lwaxana was something else, I'll bet."
"Oh, yes."
"So tell me ... did you do it with
Deanna?"
Riker's whole body sagged in disbelief.
"Mark ... what is this obsession with my sex
life?"
"I have none of my own," replied Roper a
bit sadly. "I have to get my enjoyment
vicariously."
"May I suggest you find someone, and quickly.
This is becoming a bit obsessive. Besides,
aren't you concerned about how your daughter will react
if I take up with Deanna?" And then
Riker's eyes narrowed. "Wait a minute.
That's it, isn't it."
"That's what?"
"You'd prefer if I became involved with
Deanna because then you figure I'd stay away from
your daughter."
At that, Roper laughed loudly, so loudly that
he started to cough. Finally, upon composing himself, he
said, "Captain ... you're giving me motives
that are far too Machiavellian. Whatever my
daughter and you do is fine by me. Whatever you do with
Deanna is fine by me. To be honest, whatever
my daughter and Deanna did with each other would be
fine by me. Although, I must admit, it'd be
surprising as hell. I'm just curious, that's
all."
"Well, to satisfy your curiosity ..."
"Nothing happened."
"Right."
"As a matter of fact," said Roper, leaning
forward and pointing at Riker, "I'll bet that you
put some moves on her, and you were shot down
cold."
"Well ..." Riker coughed politely. "As
a matter of fact, yes."
"Thought so."
Riker looked puzzled at that. "Why did you
think so?"
"You're not Deanna's type. I know her,
I know the kind of background she comes from. Her
taste would run towards someone more intellectual--
no offense."
"None taken," said Riker, although he wasn't
entirely sure how to react. "But
I'm hardly a mental midget."
"Oh, I didn't say that you were. Far from
it. You're an extremely bright fellow. But you
just don't think along the same lines she does.
She's a gentle rainstorm, and you're lightning in
a bottle. I doubt either of you would have the patience
with the other to get anything going."
"Actually, we're going to be seeing each other
again. Tomorrow, in fact."
"No!"
"That's right."
"Up to you, Captain. I just hope that you're not
counting on Deanna to be the one who breaks your
streak of celibacy while on this fair
planet."
"I have no intention of being celibate, Mark,"
said Riker, leaning forward and dropping his voice.
"And if you absolutely must know ... she
definitely wants me."
"Nonsense."
"It's true. She just hasn't admitted it
yet. But she'll come around."
"When? On her deathbed?"
"A lot sooner than that."
"Never happen."
"It will, Mark. Bet on it."
Roper looked at him with mischief in his
eyes. "All right. One hundred credits says
you never "bbcome intimate"' with her."
Riker laughed in disbelief. "Mark! I'd
never bet on anything like that! It's ... it's
crass, it's tasteless, it's ..."
"Two hundred credits."
"It's a bet."
Roper raised a warning finger. "And no funny
stuff. No getting her drunk. Has to be
utterly mutual. You can't force her."
"Force her! Mark, I've never "forced"' a
woman in my life. Honestly, now. What do you
take me for?"
Roper patted the top of Riker's hand.
"Captain ... I believe I've taken you for
two hundred credits."
CHAPTER 19
The Betazed museum of art was a tall,
impressive building, and extremely ornate.
Deanna and Will stood outside as she explained
to him the history of the structure, the
design work and theory that had gone into it. She
spoke at length for some minutes.
Riker, for his part, was happy that she was once
again wearing her hair down, and that the outfit she was
wearing was more flattering to her figure. Much of what
she said barely registered until finally she
turned to him and said, "Why am I bothering?"
"What?"
"You don't seem at all interested in what
I'm saying, w. I'm trying to explain to you why
this building is, in andof itself, a work of art."
"And I'm trying to explain to y, Deanna,