Imzadi Forever

by Peter David

  “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—you’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. “Nothing?”

  “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, Will. 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 not
ion 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, Will. 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.”

  Eighteen

  In a café 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 café 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 café 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 ‘become 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.”

  Nineteen

  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, Will. I’m trying to explain to you why this building is, in and of itself, a work of art.”

  “And I’m trying to explain to you, Deanna, that I can only appreciate one work of art at a time.”

  “And right now you’re still appreciating me.”

  “I guess so, yes.”

  She sighed, took him by the hand, and said, “Come on.” She pulled him toward the building and through the large columned doors.

  Inside there was music playing, loud and sonorous, and it sounded somewhat like organ music.

  It was coming from a large, multiple-piped instrument in the middle of a great rotunda. Seated in circles around the musician were various Betazoids, who were listening to the music, their eyes closed, their faces blissful. Riker looked around and tried to get a
feeling for what was going on. The music sounded okay to him, but nothing particularly special. He couldn’t understand why it seemed to be affecting the listeners so deeply.

  He looked at Deanna, and she, too, appeared to be totally taken by it. Her eyes were half-lidded, and she was swaying slightly to the tones. Riker whispered, “Are you all right?”

  She opened her eyes and looked at him. Her stare was almost incredulous, as if she couldn’t believe that he was still capable of speech. “This is soul music,” she whispered. “Listen to it. Let it pervade you. What does it say to you?”

  He listened. He let it pervade him.

  “What is it supposed to say?” he asked.

  With an irritated noise, she pulled at him and dragged him off down a large corridor.

  The air in the cavernous building was cool. Riker looked around, trying to take things in. His eyes adjusted to the dimness, and he kept trying to find something that would be startling and revolutionary to him. Something that would give his innermost thoughts a voice and fill him with understanding. Nothing in particular seemed to leap out at him, however.

  Deanna led him into a room and made a sweeping gesture.

  Paintings hung on the walls. All of them appeared to be what Riker would term “abstract”…that is, they didn’t seem to be pictures of anything in particular. In front of every single painting was a small bench, and in a number of instances, Betazoids were seated on the benches staring intently at the works.

  “I come here once a week,” whispered Deanna. Her voice, although it was as low as she could possibly make it, still attracted glances from the occupants of the room. Silent communion was the norm here. People looked from her to Riker and then back to her, and their expressions changed from mild irritation to understanding tolerance…and even, in a couple of cases, a degree of pity—much to Riker’s annoyance.

  “Once a week? Why?”

  She led him over to one work in particular, which was concentric splashes of red, blue, green, white, black, and a couple of colors that Riker didn’t recognize. Here, in one of the more far-off sections of the room, no one else was sitting nearby at the moment.