Imzadi Forever

by Peter David

  She frowned politely. “Pardon?”

  “Youngest starship commander in Starfleet history. That’s my goal. I want my own command…and I guess my mind-set sometimes shapes all of that, and makes me…”

  “Want to command every situation? Every person you meet?”

  He saw the slightly mocking way she raised her eyebrow. “Not exactly…but maybe a little,” he admitted.

  “Well, who knows? Someday you might find yourself in a situation where you find that you enjoy following someone more than you would commanding.”

  “Never happen. Every person I serve under is just a means of learning more and more so I can have my own command.”

  “You can’t see yourself serving with someone simply for the sheer joy of serving with them? Or with the others on board the ship?”

  “Never happen. No matter how much I liked the ship or crew, if I was then offered my own command, I’d be out of there in a heartbeat. Trust me on this.” Then he paused. “You probably don’t understand.”

  “You’re wrong, Will. I do understand. I may not agree. But I understand. So,” she said after a moment’s thought, “tell me what other things about Betazoid philosophy puzzle you.”

  And they remained that way, naked, wrapped around each other, talking. Just talking, until the early-morning hours, when the first rays of the sun stole across the treetops. They dressed, Riker feeling extremely self-conscious, Troi feeling…he didn’t know how she felt.

  “Thank you for an…interesting evening,” he said.

  “I think we’ve made some progress.”

  “When can we get together again?”

  “Why do you want to get together again?”

  “I…well…” He smiled. “A lot of reasons.”

  “In that case, I think we’ve made even more progress than I thought,” said Deanna teasingly. “I’ll be in touch with you, Will.” And she turned and walked off.

  When she snuck into the mansion, Lwaxana was waiting for her.

  Her mother was standing there, hands on hips, lips thinned virtually to nonexistence. “Would you mind telling me where you were?”

  Deanna looked downward. “Yes, I would.”

  “Deanna, we’ve never kept things from each other.”

  “Not quite, Mother. I’ve never kept anything from you. I’ve never had much choice.”

  Lwaxana pointed to the stairs. “Go up to your room, Little One. We’ll speak of this later…maybe.”

  “Mother, I’d rather—”

  “I don’t care!” Lwaxana’s voice was filled with more fury than Deanna had ever heard, and it occurred to the young Betazoid that now would probably not be the best time to discuss matters in more detail…particularly considering the details.

  Nevertheless, though, she felt she had to say something.

  “Mother,” she said very quietly, “don’t you trust me?”

  The muscles under Lwaxana’s face worked for a moment, flexing and unflexing. And then, softly, she said, “Of course I trust you, Little One.”

  “Well, then…?”

  “It’s others that I don’t trust. Deanna”—she took her daughter’s face in her hands—“you have a purpose in life. A higher purpose. And I distrust anyone and anything that seems as if it will dissuade you from that purpose.”

  “But don’t I owe an obligation to myself to—”

  “Your obligations,” said Lwaxana sadly, “are far greater than those to yourself. You have history to protect. You have tradition to uphold. People who died years, even centuries ago did so with a sense of comfort. Even completion. Because they knew that they were part of a larger tapestry; that they were part of something greater than themselves. It is not easy, Deanna, to sublimate your interests and desires to those long gone and those to come. But the happenstance of your birth and lineage means that you owe it, not only to those who preceded you, but to those who will follow. Please, Deanna…tell me that you won’t let me down.”

  In her face was more of a pleading expression than Deanna had ever seen. At that moment, as they had so often before, her own interests and willpower wilted before the needs and demands of the woman who had so shaped her life.

  “Of course, Mother. I won’t let you down.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Yes.”

  Lwaxana drew herself up, almost looking embarrassed about her heartfelt plea. “Well…that’s…that’s good to hear. Um…it’s early, but…how would some hot chocolate sound to you about now?”

  Deanna had to smile at that. Chocolate was one of the few tangible reminders—aside from Deanna’s presence, of course—of her father. He had absolutely adored chocolate, and it was a craving that he had imprinted on his wife and, apparently, passed on to his daughter. She licked her lips at the thought and said, “That would be wonderful…but I wouldn’t want you to go to any trouble.”

  “Oh!” Lwaxana waved dismissively. “It won’t be any trouble at all.” She turned, cupped her mouth, and bellowed in a voice that shook the rafters, “Homn! Wake up! Deanna wants some hot chocolate!”

  “Mother! I thought you were—” And then she saw Lwaxana’s stunned expression and amended, “I could have made it.”

  “Oh, nonsense. A daughter of the Fifth House? What an absurd notion.”

  “But why did you have to yell?”

  “Because Mr. Homn has an annoying habit of sleeping through my thought-castings. Amazing. The only other person I ever met who could do that was your father.”

  Mr. Homn appeared moments later. To Deanna’s surprise, the towering manservant was fully dressed. She wondered if he was simply a fast dresser, or whether he just slept that way in the event that Lwaxana needed him for something. Actually, for all she knew, he never slept. Certainly life with Lwaxana would seem to preclude the opportunities for such mundane activities.

  “Deanna wants some hot chocolate,” Lwaxana informed him.

  Mr. Homn looked at Deanna impassively, and Deanna gestured in a manner that silently said, I’m sorry about all this. Homn merely inclined his head slightly and headed off toward the kitchen.

  “Now you see, Little One?” said Lwaxana, looping her arm through Deanna’s. “There are still some people who know how to give proper respect to those who are entitled to it. I suggest that you keep that in mind…particularly in the way that it applies to Lieutenant Riker.”

  Deanna looked at her nervously. “You’re not going to contact Starfleet, are you? We’re just friends, Mother.”

  “Just friends because of your actions, my dear, not his. But no…I doubt I’ll really speak to Starfleet about him. After all, Little One”—Lwaxana patted Deanna’s cheek—“you do want me to trust you, don’t you?”

  Twenty-two

  Breakfasting at their customary café, Riker and Roper looked up in surprise when Gart Xerx appeared next to them. “So here’s where you’re hiding, Roper,” he said in mock annoyance to the Federation ambassador.

  Roper shrugged. “This is where I am every morning. Ask Mr. Riker here.”

  “He is,” said Riker solemnly. “I can vouch for him.”

  “Although actually,” said Roper, putting his napkin down, “I hate to say this, but I have to cut our usual morning ritual short. I have an early meeting this morning.”

  He started to rise, and Riker automatically started to put his own food aside, even though he hadn’t finished it. But Roper quickly stopped him. “Just because I have to abort breakfast, Captain, doesn’t mean you do. Stay. Chat with our great friend Xerx.”

  “Great friend,” said Xerx with an exaggerated harrumph.“Didn’t come to my daughter’s wedding weeks ago.”

  Roper shrugged. “My daughter and the captain here attended on my behalf. And I did send a lovely gift, didn’t I?”

  “Quite true,” said Xerx diplomatically.

  “So there you are then,” said Roper with satisfaction. He gestured to the now empty chair. “Sit. Order something and charge it to me.”


  “As you wish, Mark.” Xerx sat and then waited patiently until Roper departed. “He’ll regret that,” Xerx told Riker.

  “Why?”

  A moment later, the waitress walked up with a steaming plate of food and placed it in front of Xerx. Riker stared at it and said, “That’s the most expensive thing on the menu.”

  “Yes, I know,” said Xerx cheerily. “Want some?”

  “No thanks.”

  Xerx looked at him quizzically. “By the way…‘captain’? I thought you were a lieutenant?”

  “That’s right. It’s a…well, a sort of running joke between myself and Mark.”

  “Yes. He does have a peculiar sense of humor.”

  “So,” said Riker, taking a sip of coffee before continuing, “how is your daughter doing?”

  “You know how it is with young marrieds,” said Xerx with a small laugh. “They live in a world of their own making. At the moment they’re still doting on virtually everything that the other one does. The way each of them walks, talks, breathes. We had them over the other night, and it was amusing to see how Chandra simply sat and adored the way her new husband chewed his food.”

  “Chewed his food?”

  “Newlyweds. What can I say?” Xerx shrugged, and then his eyes narrowed slightly. “And how goes it with you and young Miss Troi?”

  Riker raised an eyebrow. “Reading my mind, Gart?”

  “Merely enough to confirm what I already knew. I noticed the way you were staring at her at the wedding and reception. And I also know that you’ve been seeing her socially. I’ve overheard Deanna and her friends discussing it at the university.”

  “What were you doing at the university, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  Xerx took another forkful of food. “I’m a professor of psychology. Where else would I be?”

  “Oh. I didn’t know that.”

  “Somehow it never came up. I even have Deanna in one of my classes.”

  “Is it the class where they teach about nude therapy?”

  Xerx stared at him. Gart had been about to eat another forkful, but now it remained suspended several inches from his mouth. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I’d heard there was this…technique…where a patient and his or her therapist take off their clothes and lie next to each other…even…” He cleared his throat. “Even pressing up against each other.”

  “I’d think that would probably lead to sex,” said Xerx, looking amused.

  “Well, no. It’s done in order to move past physical considerations and deal with each other in a purely intellectual manner. But…why am I explaining this to you? I mean, certainly you know about…?”

  Xerx was trying not to laugh. “Lieutenant…I’ve been teaching, and practicing, psychology for going on thirty years now. And I can assure you I’ve never heard of any ‘technique’ that has therapist and patient removing their clothes and lying against each other…except in those cases specifically involving sexual dysfunctions and therapy for those dysfunctions. Was this a case involving dysfunctions?”

  “N-no,” stammered Riker, looking utterly befuddled.

  “In that case,” said Xerx, spreading his hands, “I would see little purpose for that sort of contact beyond the obvious gratification.” Then he leaned forward. “Who told you about this ‘technique’?”

  “No one,” said Riker quickly. “I just…just heard it around.”

  “Well, it sounds to me as if such actions would be extremely pleasurable, but other than that, I wouldn’t attach much psychological value to them.”

  Riker sat back in his chair, and then a slow grin spread across his face.

  “Lieutenant, is there something you’d care to discuss with me?”

  “No,” replied Riker, unable to wipe the smile off his face. “No, nothing at all. I just find the entire thing…funny.”

  “I see.”

  At that moment, Riker’s communicator beeped. He was mildly startled. Whereas the page was certainly common enough on board a ship, here in the more leisurely surroundings of Betazed, it was extremely unusual. So much so, in fact, that Riker had a dim sense of worry even as he reached up to tap it. “Riker here.”

  “Lieutenant, this is Tang,” came the sergeant’s voice.

  “What is it, T—”

  Tang didn’t even give Riker a chance to get out the entire question. “Planetary sensors detect incoming ship moving extremely quickly, ignoring all attempts at hailing it. General shape would indicate Sindareen origins.”

  Immediately Riker was on his feet. “Planetary defense systems—”

  “Too late, Lieutenant. These Betazoids are so damn peaceful, they hardly have anything anyway. And what they do have is too little, too late.”

  Xerx was looking up at Riker with tremendous worry reflected in his eyes, but Riker had no time to try to quell fears. “Scramble the squad.”

  “Already done.”

  “And track the vessel’s likely destination, based on trajectory.”

  “Already done, sir. Our calculations have them making planetfall right in the heart of this city.”

  Riker was ecstatic. “Right where we’ll be waiting for them. Their overconfidence is their first and last mistake. I’ll be right there. Riker out.”

  All in the café were now looking at Riker with tremendous worry on their faces. Even though no one was saying anything, he could almost sense the anxiety level skyrocketing. He started to head for the door, but for a moment, Xerx stopped him.

  “An open area makes them easy targets,” said Xerx. “But densely populated as we are here, means that you have to worry about innocents. Don’t let your determination to capture your targets be your first and last mistake.”

  Riker regarded him for a moment, then nodded briefly.

  “Understood,” he said, and then ran out of the café.

  Twenty-three

  Deanna and Chandra stared at the painting. They had stared at this particular painting once a week, every week, for the last ten years. Every time they did, they saw something new…although whether it was something new in the painting or in themselves, neither of them could have said for sure.

  Deanna crisscrossed her arms and ran her hands up and down as if to shake off a chill. Chandra noticed the gesture and said, “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. I just…”

  Her voice trailed off, and gently Chandra said, “It’s that Riker, isn’t it? The one from the wedding.”

  Deanna nodded hesitantly.

  Chandra turned away from the painting. “What is it about him, anyway?”

  “I don’t know. He’s not at all like any of the men I…I mean, he’s so un intellectual.”

  “You mean he’s stupid?”

  “No! No, not at all. He’s very bright. Very quick. Very intelligent, really. He’s just so…” She tried to think of the best way to put it. “So primal. His actions seem governed as much by instinct as any sort of rational thought.”

  “What’s wrong with that? There are few things in the world more natural than instinct. When I met Teb,” Chandra continued, referring to her new husband, “there was a sort of instinctive attraction.”

  “But at least you two were compatible. Riker and I, we’re…”

  “You’re what?”

  Deanna shivered slightly again. “Every single bit of rational thought tells me that Will Riker is completely wrong for me.”

  “And your irrational thought?”

  “My irrational thought,” she admitted, “makes my skin tingle.”

  “Well!” Chandra smirked. “And what does your mother say to that?”

  “Ohhhh, don’t ask. You think I have trepidation about him? He’s not at all the type of man my mother wants me with. No social standing. No ties to Betazed or Betazoid society. No…”

  And suddenly her voice trailed off, and her dark eyes went wide. Her face took on the color of paste.

  “Deanna,” said Chandra in alarm. “What’s the matter with…?”


  Then she sensed it, too. “Oh, Gods,” she muttered.

  Deanna grabbed her arm and grated, “Come on! Let’s get out of here! Before we—”

  Other Betazoids were reacting as well. They were already in motion in response to the strong and frightened thoughts that were affecting the crowd to various degrees.

  But their actions weren’t fast enough.

  All over the gallery, doors burst inward. At one end, a powerful ray blast blew in a chunk of the wall. The hurtling fragments flattened a man, pinning him writhing on the ground.

  Sindareen warriors entered, dressed in glittering armor, cradling pulse blasters under their arms. One of them fired in the air, and the deafening noise froze a number of people in their tracks.

  Deanna and Chandra spun and dashed toward one exit that remained clear. They were several steps short of it when it slid open, and the open space seemed to be completely filled with a massive and extremely formidable-looking Sindareen.

  His lips pulled back, and his entire face was cast in a death’s-head glow. He leveled his weapon at the two women and said, in a deceptively pleasant voice, “Step back.”

  Chandra whimpered slightly as Deanna guided her back. In a low voice Deanna advised, “Don’t show them you’re afraid.” She was no less frightened, but she found it easier to ignore her fear by focusing on calming her friend.

  She sensed the terror running rampant through the mind of her friend. Newly married, her main concern was that she was never going to see her husband again. Deanna, for her part, hadn’t taken it quite that far; she hadn’t really accepted the notion that she might die here, pointlessly and unexpectedly. Her main concern was survival.

  As the Sindareen prodded and herded the thirty-plus Betazoids together into a small circle in the middle of the room, Deanna’s mind was racing with thoughts of rescue. She was certain that the Sindareen’s presence here could not possibly have gone undetected. She knew that, even now, steps were certainly being taken to rescue them.

  And somehow, beyond any shadow of doubt, she knew that it would be Lt. William T. Riker who would be spearheading that rescue operation. For no rational reason, she derived great comfort from that, and a certainty that everything would work out.