by Peter David
All Deanna could say was, “Oh.”
“The hell of it was,” admitted Lwaxana, “they made a cuter couple than we did.”
Deanna tried not to smile. “It must have been very difficult for you.”
“Well, fortunately it was shortly after that that I met your father. But my mother was stung by the lack of success for her match, and so she rejected out of hand whomever I brought home. We had an explosive argument about it. She disliked everything about your father.”
“As much as you dislike Will Riker?”
“Oh, no…my dear, you thought I was difficult?” Lwaxana laughed mirthlessly. “She was much worse. Much much worse. Because to her, it was a matter of wounded pride. The notion that I could find a mate for myself where she had failed. And when I stormed out, through that very door, in fact”—she pointed to the front door—“she told me that I shouldn’t bother coming back. Oh, she didn’t mean it, of course. Well…maybe at the time, she did.”
“And did you mean it when you said it to me?”
Lwaxana regarded her thoughtfully. “At the time.” Then she spread her arms. “Oh, Deanna…I’m so sorry.”
Deanna leaned forward and her mother embraced her. “Sorry for what, Mother?”
“Sorry because I know what happened when you went to see Lieutenant Riker. I mean…a mother knows these things.”
“Especially when a mother can read minds.”
“That’s true. And also…I’m sorry because you were right about something. About how…things between us have changed. And we can’t go back to the way they were.”
“Why are you sorry about that, Mother?”
“Because I liked the way things were,” said Lwaxana plaintively. “It was nice, simple, uncomplicated.” But then she sighed and patted Deanna’s hand. “But it wasn’t what you wanted. I understand that. And I really am not an ogress, Deanna.”
“I know, Mother.”
“I just ask one thing. Please…please don’t become a naked blue dancer on Zetli. It’s so chilly there, I can guarantee you, you’ll catch your death.”
“All right, Mother.” Deanna smiled. “Tell you what. Not only do I promise not to become a naked dancer of any color, but I’ll stay with my psychology studies. Although…I don’t rule out Starfleet as an eventual outlet for my career.”
Lwaxana appeared about to object, but instead she simply nodded her head. “Whatever will make you happy, dear.”
“Thank you, Mother.”
“You know, it’s so late at night, and you ran out without having dinner. You must be starving.”
“I…am a little hungry,” admitted Deanna.
“Would you like something to eat?”
“That’d be nice.”
As soon as Deanna said it, she realized she’d misspoken, and she thrust her hand forward and put it gently over Lwaxana’s mouth before her mother could bellow for Mr. Homn.
“Mother,” she said softly, “I’ll make my own dinner. In fact, if you’d like, I’ll even make something for you.”
Lwaxana looked thunderstruck. “Yourself?”
“Yes, Mother.”
Lwaxana let out an amazed breath. “You are full of radical ideas today, aren’t you. All right…let’s go.” She stood and looked around, momentarily confused. “Now…which way is the kitchen?”
Deanna took her by the elbow. “I’ll show you, Mother,” she said with a smile.
Lwaxana shook her head as Deanna led her off. “Children nowadays and their crazy notions. Starfleet. Cooking. I don’t know what the world is coming to….”
Thirty-one
Roper looked up as Riker walked slowly into the café. “You’re late, Captain,” he admonished him.
Riker just nodded…very slowly. He sat down and the waitress brought some black coffee over to him unasked. He was silently grateful.
“I hear,” said Roper casually, “that there was something of a brouhaha last night.”
“Something like that.” Riker didn’t even want to ask him where he’d heard it. Either it was from one of the security men describing the idiot behavior of a senior officer, or else it was from Roper’s own daughter describing the aftermath of an assignation. Either way it wasn’t something he wanted to dwell on.
“Planetside relationships can get somewhat tangled, eh?” said Roper. “That’s the advantage of being in a ship. Hit and run, as it were.”
Riker just nodded and let the coffee flow into his veins, reestablishing some measure of coherency.
“You must be happy about getting out of here.”
Something about the phrasing caught Riker’s attention, burrowing through the alcoholic haze. “I’ve…I’ve got at least another month here.”
But Roper shook his head. “I thought you’d heard. Hood repairs finished faster than anticipated. You’re out of here in twenty-four hours, Captain.”
Riker felt a charge in his head as if a life-support system had come on line. “You mean…you mean I’m shipping out?”
“That’s right. So you’d better get yourself shaped up. There’s paperwork for you to finish up. Forms to be filled out, reports on the Sindareen business. Got to have everything tied off nice and neat before we kick you loose.”
Riker stood quickly, tossing the coffee down his throat and trying to ignore the fact that, in so doing, he’d just burned himself. “Mark—Mark, thank you. This is great news. This is…”
Mark pumped his hand and said, smiling, “When you’re out carving yourself a career, just think about us poor planet-crawlers every now and then, okay?”
“I will, Mark. You can bet on that.”
“Then get a move on, Captain.”
Riker released Roper’s hand and bolted out of the café. Mark watched him go and then sighed. “Kids.”
Everything had been attended to.
Almost.
Riker told himself that he was making a final stop at the art museum to verify for himself that everything was back in place and restored to order. After all, Starfleet would want nothing to be overlooked.
But he found himself standing for an overlong time in front of one particular painting: the one Deanna had showed him, the one with all the large concentric “goopy” swirls.
He stared at it.
Then he heard the music floating from nearby. And somehow, in a way that he couldn’t quite explain, the music seemed to enhance what he was looking at.
As if dancing to the notes, the colors began slowly to swirl. It bore a striking resemblance, Riker realized, to stars swimming about in a sort of galactic whirlpool. No, not just stars…stars and planets, and perhaps…perhaps that was something like what the universe had looked like in the throes of creation. Void and miasmic and filled with promise and possibilities…
He sensed her standing next to him. But he couldn’t turn to face her.
“You’re leaving,” said Deanna.
“Yes.”
“I wish you safe voyage.”
“I wish you…” He stopped and found the strength to look at her. He had turned quickly, and for a moment his mind’s eye superimposed the flow of the painting over her. For one insane second, she was, literally, the center of his universe. “I wish you could come with me,” he said at last.
She shook her head. “You know, Imzadi…for a time there, I was ready to change my universe for you. But now…now I don’t think either of us is ready for that.”
He tried to say that she was wrong, but he couldn’t. So instead he tried to find some way to say good-bye. But he couldn’t do that either.
He turned and looked back at the painting. Such vastness that encompassed everything there was…and yet somehow, now, it seemed completely empty.
“Deanna.” He turned back to her. “Maybe…”
But she was gone.
He hadn’t even said good-bye. Dammit, he’d said nothing to her…because he hadn’t been able to find the words. And so he’d blanked his mind, and now she probably thought that he
didn’t care all that much. If he were able to part from her with such apparent ease, without even a word…
He took a step in the direction he was sure she had gone…but then stopped. Because he knew, beyond any question, that this was the way she wanted it. And somehow, somewhere along the way, what she wanted had become more important to him than what he wanted.
Thirty-two
Captain’s Log, Stardate 42372.5:
Of the twenty-four hours Q allotted us to prove ourselves, eleven have now passed without incident. And yet I cannot forget Q’s prediction that we will face here some critical test of human worth.
As the Enterprise continued to orbit around Cygnus IV, Commander Riker sat across from his new captain in the ready room. Both of them were equally concerned about what they perceived as oddities on Farpoint Station, but neither was certain precisely how to proceed.
The thing that Riker was pleased about, however, was that Picard had so clearly accepted him without reservation. Once Picard had welcomed him aboard and set out the ground rules, it was as if the captain had left any sort of doubt behind him. Unlike other commanders under whom he’d served, Riker felt no pressure that he had to impress Picard. Instead Picard was clearly going to deal with him in a straightforward, no-nonsense manner. It was an attitude that Riker welcomed.
Studying his notes on Cygnus IV, Riker said, “This planet’s interior heat results in abundant geothermal energy, sir. But it’s about all this world does offer.”
Picard looked thoughtful. “And it’s your belief that this is what made it possible for them to construct this base to Starfleet standards?”
“Yes, sir.” Riker leaned forward. “We have to assume that they’ve been trading their surplus energy for the construction materials used here. According to our ship’s scans, many of the materials used are not found on this world.”
Picard smiled slightly. “Perhaps it’s like those incidents you describe in your report as ‘almost magical’ attempts to please us.”
From any other captain, that might have sounded patronizing. But Picard was merely stating the facts. Accordingly, Riker nodded. “Those events did happen, sir.”
“And in time we’ll discover the explanation. Meanwhile, none of it suggests anything threatening. If only every life-form had as much desire to please Starfleet.”
Riker knew what Picard meant. With the Ferengii to contend with, not to mention the Orions, the Sindareen…plus the ever-present notion that the Romulans might be heard from again…there were certainly enough hazards for the Federation to deal with. And then this Q had shown up, whose actions Riker had reviewed earlier, just to make things even more difficult.
Picard rose. “Ready to beam down? I’m looking forward to meeting this Groppler Zorn.”
Riker waited for Picard to come around the desk. After Riker’s big speech earlier about being protective of the captain, he wasn’t thrilled that Picard was immediately going to beam down and meet with the head of Farpoint Station. If there was some unknown danger, it would be extremely bad if that danger suddenly became known in the course of Picard’s visit planetside. Still, there appeared to be no jeopardy at the moment, and so Riker kept his counsel. As Picard preceded him to the door, Riker said, “I’m convinced there’s more to it than just ‘pleasing us,’ sir.”
Picard looked thoughtful. “Like something Q is doing to trick us?”
As they stepped out toward the turbolift, Riker noticed the turbolift door opening. His view of the occupant was momentarily blocked by Picard’s raised arm as the captain gestured and said, “Over here, Counselor!” He turned to Riker and said, “I’ve asked her to join us in this meeting.”
A ship’s counselor. Riker had never served on a ship large enough, or on a long enough mission, that a counselor was required. Besides, the position was a relatively new one to Starfleet, only having been developed over the last few years. Since Riker had unbounded confidence in his own mental balance, he doubted that he’d have much need for a counselor’s services, but thought a lot of people on the Enterprise could probably make good use of one. He just hoped that he or she wasn’t going to be one of these excessively cerebral types who tried to read something into everything that was said, no matter how casual.
Now Riker had a clear view of her…and he felt all the blood drain from his face. Picard had turned to the woman and was saying, “May I introduce our new first officer, Comdr. William Riker. Mr. Riker, our ship’s counselor, Deanna Troi.”
Picard was now looking back at Riker, and his tone changed slightly as he saw the expression on his first officer’s face.
Ten years it had been, but the old feelings flooded over him with the same sting as if the wound were still fresh.
She had her hair back up in that tight knot—the one that was so unflattering—that she’d worn when she wanted to discourage any advances from him. She’d known…she’d known…he was going to be here. Of course she would have. As a counselor, she would have reviewed the files of all the senior officers.
His mind was running riot. He was out of practice, years out of practice. He’d been caught completely flat-footed.
Deanna, for her part, looked utterly serene. And then there was that sensation, the one that he’d thought he’d never experience again. Her voice in his head, in his soul, as she asked, Do you remember what I taught you, Imzadi? Can you still sense my thoughts?
She was so smooth, so collected, that even as she thought-cast to him, she extended her hand formally. “A pleasure, Commander,” she said, placing a slight emphasis on the rank.
Riker took her hand and said, “I, uh…likewise, Counselor.”
From Riker’s flustered expression, Picard now knew that something was definitely up. “Have the two of you met before?” he asked Riker.
Met? Oh, nooo…just had one of the most involving, intense, frustrating, and torrid relationships I’ve ever had with anyone. That’s all. Out loud, he simply said, “We…we have, sir.”
Riker wasn’t sure whether Picard had picked up on the subtext of the statement and tumbled onto just how well Riker and Troi knew each other, or if he was simply assuming that they’d become acquainted on some previous occasion. All he said was, “Excellent. I consider it important that my key officers know each other’s abilities.”
Riker wasn’t sure, but he thought he could hear Troi’s silent laughter echoing in his brain.
“We do, sir,” Troi assured him. “We do.”
Picard stepped into the turbolift, and Riker and Troi followed him silently.
There was so much he wanted to say…so much he wanted to tell her. But his mind awhirl, and out of practice as he was, he couldn’t find any way to project the thoughts to her. And now they would not have the time to speak privately before being thrust into a new and hazardous situation. A situation in which they would have to interact smoothly and professionally. But would that be possible, considering all that they had been through together? And considering the way they had parted, with so much left unsaid? Did she know he cared? Did she know the things he had wanted to say? Or had she been nursing a grudge all these years, not understanding how…?
And then, there was her voice again, in his mind, carrying her thoughts to him like a dove finding its home. I, too, would never say good-bye, Imzadi.
Relief washed over him. He should have known better. He should have known that she would understand, and that there was indeed going to be a basis on which to build a relationship.
He wasn’t sure where that relationship would go, or what its ultimate fate would be…but at least whatever happened in the future, they would be facing it together.
It had taken them some time to work it out. At first the impulse was to pick up where they had left off…but they found quickly that they couldn’t. Too much time had passed, and neither of them could find some way to bridge that gap and reconcile the young people they had been with the Starfleet officers they were now.
Nor were they sure what woul
d happen should they rekindle the passion that had burned so brightly. If things didn’t work out, then it would be extremely difficult for them to work with one another without a great deal of tension. And there was a very distinct possibility it might not work out, for their predictions about each other had been remarkably on target. Riker still tended to have a roving eye. And Troi had indeed come to appreciate the pleasure of experimentation…so it wasn’t as if she had lived like a monk in the intervening years.
With all the complications that came with becoming lovers again, they had decided simply not to rush things. Neither of them was willing to risk everything to stoke the embers of their relationship.
“Time has a way of working things out,” Deanna had said to him. So they gave the relationship that time.
They did not, however, give the relationship much of anything else. And the laws of inertia tended to govern human interaction along with most other things. As their years together on the Enterprise rolled past, their relationship, since it was at rest, tended to stay at rest.
The only force that could have acted upon them to change it would have been the idea that they might not be able to alter the course of things any time they felt like it. Then again…why should they have considered that possibility?
After all…they thought they had all the time in the universe.
And then came the peace conference with the Sindareen…
Thirty-three
Riker lay on his back, staring up into the darkness of his quarters.
His hands were interlaced behind his head, the pillow soft under him. He had been that way for over an hour, as sleep refused to come.
Sorting out his feelings was rapidly becoming something of a royal pain. He still remembered that time a couple of years ago, in Deanna’s quarters…Both he and Deanna had been in an extremely mellow mood, and he had also been allowing the more relaxing qualities of the Synthehol he’d consumed to have sway over his actions. A friendly good-night kiss had turned into something far more passionate, and for a moment they had been kissing each other eagerly, hungrily, and it had been just like the old days.