by Peter David
“I did.”
“And I thought that you and the counselor weren’t…” He wagged two fingers and then crossed them as if bringing them together.
“We aren’t.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“I don’t know what the problem is.”
Geordi took another deep swig of the synthehol. Its “intoxicating” powers were entirely voluntary. That was part of the beauty of it. It enabled the imbiber to “relax” himself sufficiently so that he could surrender to the giddy effects of the synthetic alcohol, but if an emergency presented itself, the drinker could instantly toss aside any feeling of inebriation and rise to whatever emergency presented itself. In this instance, Geordi allowed the most relaxing aspects of the liquor to sway him, emboldening his approach to Riker. “Or maybe you do,” Geordi said challengingly, “and you just don’t want to admit it.”
“And that problem would be?” Riker didn’t seem drunk at all. Clearly he preferred it that way.
“That maybe you still have strong feelings for her. You see the two of them together and it suddenly makes you say, ‘Wait a minute…I’m letting her get away. What am I, crazy?’ ”
Very slowly, Riker nodded. “There is something to be said for that,” he admitted.
Geordi was almost surprised at his own perspicacity. “There is?”
“It’s just…” He rapped his knuckles on the tabletop thoughtfully. “I’ve had some tough scrapes before, Geordi. Some nasty bang-ups. But I’ve never had a ship go bust out from under me as the Enterprise did. Never had a landing quite like that one. I kept waiting for Captain Picard to say, ‘I give you the ship for five minutes and look what happens!’ Fortunately he didn’t.”
“Or at least he was polite enough not to say it,” Geordi said helpfully.
“Not a problem. I would have blamed it on Deanna’s steering.” The offhand, wry comment provided some tension-relieving laughter, but only for a moment, and Riker wound up not looking any less apprehensive than he had before. “The Enterprise was more than my home, Geordi, and certainly more than simply where I went to work every day. It was a symbol not only of past adventures that we’ve all had together, but a symbol of times to come. Of stability. Earlier today I told Captain Picard that I’d always hoped to have a shot at the command chair. That ship was my living promise of the future. Not alive as an object, of course, but I’d imbued it with all my hopes and dreams and aspirations, something I didn’t even quite realize until after she was gone. And now”—and he snapped his fingers so sharply that it sounded like a ricochet—“no promise. No future. No ship. The loss of the ship drove home for me just how transitory everything is.” He swirled the liquid in his glass and stared idly at it. “And here I’ve been acting as if a future for Deanna and myself was something I could always get back to whenever I felt like it. I thought that the Enterprise would be forever, but obviously she wasn’t. On Betazed I thought Deanna and I would be forever, but it didn’t work out for a number of reasons. I’ve just begun reassessing my priorities, that’s all.”
“And are you going to do anything about it?”
He glanced in the direction of Deanna and Worf. “I don’t think it’s my place to,” he said quietly.
“If not yours, then whose?”
“Perhaps no one’s, Geordi,” he said levelly. “I had my chance. More chances than any reasonable supreme being would willingly allow. People have met, married, and had children in the time that I’ve been playing Hamlet in regards to my feelings for Deanna.”
“To be or not to be.”
“That is the question.” He laughed low in his throat. “Funny. All of my training in Starfleet had been to make decisions, and I can do it. Do it in a heartbeat. When the captain had been taken over by the Borg, transformed into Locutus, and he threatened the well-being of the Enterprise, I ordered that he be fired upon without a second thought. Snap judgment, the kind I’d been trained for, for years. No hesitation, no doubt. But when it comes to my personal life—and one woman, in particular…” He shrugged.
“Believe me, Commander, I know exactly how you feel. My track record with the opposite sex isn’t exactly something to write home about. So I’m not the best person to be giving advice to anyone when it comes to that. Still, if you’re comparing your respective decision-making abilities, there’s one thing that occurs to me.”
“And that would be…?”
“Well…” Geordi shifted in his chair. “We were discussing earlier the measures we took to try and save the Enterprise from crashing and burning. Me, I’m satisfied that I did everything I could. I’ll face any Starfleet board of inquiry with confidence, because that’s what I truly believe. I’m fairly certain that you don’t believe that you did everything you could, and knowing you—no offense—but you’ll probably get up there and willingly take responsibility for the entire thing. I have no doubt, though, that eventually you’ll be cleared, even over your own protests. Would you call that a fair assessment of the situation?”
“A tad cynical, but fair,” Riker admitted.
“Okay. But let’s say there was another board of inquiry. A board that investigated ‘affairs of the heart,’ for lack of a better phrase. If they put you in the hot seat and said, ‘Riker, have you done everything you could about your relationship with Deanna Troi—truly explored every option, even completely admitted to yourself the depths of your feelings for her’—what would you say to them? Would your conscience be clear? And if it wasn’t, do you think that they’d clear you in this instance, or would it be a much closer call?”
Riker began to tap a finger, just one, on the tabletop. He was doing it rapidly and then it began to slow as his thoughts appeared to coalesce.
“I see your point,” he said after what seemed an eternity.
“Good.”
“But the question becomes, am I just going to see it? Or am I actually going to do something about it?”
“That, Commander, I couldn’t begin to tell you,” La Forge replied. “I’m not running around inside your head, and frankly, I can see a whole lot of things…but even my VISOR doesn’t let me see the future.”
Riker took his glass of synthehol and tossed back half of it, as if steeling himself. “I am very likely,” he said slowly, “about to make a bigger idiot of myself than I have in my entire career.”
“You’re going to talk to her.”
“I’m going to talk to her, yes. And if this doesn’t work out, or if I look like a complete fool, then at least I know who to blame it on.”
“Me?”
“Precisely.” But Riker was grinning widely, and it seemed to La Forge as if, suddenly, Riker had had a weight lifted from him. He was about to take action after ages of vacillation. He would no longer be Hamlet when it came to his personal life. Instead he would be a man of action, seizing the moment. “Because you know what, Geordi? Maybe the Enterprise did wind up going down in flames. But, dammit, she fought the good fight and she’s got nothing to be ashamed of. If I never get to command her, the least I can do is live up to her example.”
“That’s the attitude to have, sir,” Geordi said encouragingly.
“I’m going to go over there…I’m going to ask Mr. Worf to excuse us…and then Deanna and I are going to have a little talk. Actually, probably a big talk.”
“Be kind to Worf, Commander. He’s the innocent bystander in all this.”
“Yes, he is,” Riker said regretfully. “He had the courage to speak his mind and make his move while I just stood on the sidelines and let it happen. Still…he’ll understand. At least I hope he will. Wish me luck, Geordi.”
“Luck, Commander.”
Riker began to rise from his seat, and that was when he heard a bang on the table from the direction of Deanna and Worf.
“Yes!” Worf crowed. “She said yes! We are engaged!”
Riker froze in midelevation. It was as if his entire universe had suddenly telescoped down to those few seconds. He h
ad his drink still firmly in his hand. He felt Geordi’s level gaze upon him, glanced from the corner of his eye, and saw the stricken expression on Geordi’s face.
But his attention was truly on Worf and Troi, and then Worf caught his eye. Judging by the surprised look on Worf’s face, the Klingon hadn’t known he was there all this time.
Worf was perpetually one of the most confident of beings, but at that moment, Worf’s eternal self-certainty suddenly appeared in jeopardy. Had he seen something in Riker’s demeanor that betrayed his feelings? Had he known why it was that Riker was getting up from the table?
Sensing Worf’s discomfiture, Deanna turned in her seat to see where he was looking, and her gaze locked with Riker’s. It was as if they were looking at each other over a vast expanse of years. All of it…all of the potential emotion and confrontation…hung there for no more than a second or two. And then, as if it were all intended as one smooth motion, Riker fully rose to standing and raised his glass. His face split into a grin even as his heart split in half. “Let me be the first,” he called out in a rock-steady voice, “to raise a toast to the happy couple and wish you congratulations!”
“Congratulations!” echoed the rest of the populace of the Farragut lounge. Shouts of “Hear, hear” and “To the happy couple” rebounded throughout the lounge.
Geordi felt that Riker’s mental discipline was amazing. At that moment his mind might have been in a complete turmoil, and had that been the case, Deanna Troi would have known immediately. Geordi was positive of that, which meant that Riker was covering everything that was going through his mind, forcing instead only positive emotions to rise to the surface like cream. He smiled again, raised his glass once more, and then slowly lowered himself back down to his seat while Worf and Troi accepted the congratulations of everyone else sitting nearby.
Riker saw Geordi’s stricken expression but simply shrugged as if it was all meaningless in the final analysis. “My fault,” he said lightly. “I told you to wish me luck. I forgot to specify what kind.”
“Commander…” Geordi didn’t know what to say. He felt awful, even culpable, as if he’d helped to set Riker up for a fall.
As if sensing what Geordi was thinking, Riker waved it off dismissively. “Don’t you worry about it, Geordi. When you play Hamlet long enough, sooner or later someone who is willing to make the decision is going to get the girl.”
“Didn’t the girl die in Hamlet?”
“It was Shakespearean tragedy. Naturally everyone died. People only lived if it was a comedy. He wasn’t much for blending comedy with drama. He was more of an all-or-nothing kind of guy. I can sympathize, I suppose. Be willing to give your all…or wind up with nothing.”
Suddenly he looked as if the sounds of congratulations in the background were a bit much for him. He rose from the table once more, keeping his back carefully to Worf and Troi. “If you’ll excuse me, Geordi…”
Still feeling guilty, Geordi asked, “You want company, Commander?”
“No, thank you, Geordi. I think I’ll be turning in for the night.”
“For the night? Commander, it’s not even twenty hundred hours. Look…maybe we can swing by the holodeck…”
“Geordi,” he said as he smiled sadly and shook his head. “It’ll be all right. I’ll be all right. Granted, I lost a ship and a woman all in one day, but if we’re going to be philosophical about it, then she and I were just…two ships, passing in the night. I just need to hit the sack right now, that’s all. To sleep…” He looked over his shoulder one final time, to see Deanna laughing and smiling and shaking the hands of those around her. “…perchance to dream.”
Four
Tom Riker was dreaming of freedom when everything went insane.
It had been a very pleasant dream. A dream of a woman, with dark eyes and hair that cascaded around her shoulders. A woman who had taught him of feelings and then slipped away as fate had sent them spiraling in different directions. And for just a brief moment, ever so brief, he had had her once more…and then lost her…but now she was back in the recesses of his dreaming mind…and he would never lose her again…he was holding her, covering her mouth with kisses, and they were free…free to plan a life together…free to…
The blast startled him awake, as it did the other prisoners. The others were still looking around in befuddlement, but Riker had already come to full wakefulness. He was on the floor in a crouch, looking around, squinting, trying to adjust to the light or lack thereof.
There was another explosion from nearby, and the ground of Lazon II rumbled. It was some sort of heavy-duty weapons pounding from overhead. Riker didn’t immediately recognize it, but Saket—on the floor nearby—immediately did. “That’s Romulan weaponry.”
“Are you sure?” Tom Riker asked.
“Positive. I’d know that blast echo in my sleep.”
Riker didn’t bother to point out that he had, in fact, practically done so. Once more the ground trembled. “Friends of yours?” Riker asked.
“I would say so, yes. Can’t say that it’s unexpected, either.”
The pounding continued from overhead as the unseen, but not unknown, attacker continued to assail the force shield. But then Riker realized that the rumbling beneath them was not coordinated with the assault from overhead. It was nearly impossible to hear over the ruckus of the other prisoners shouting and the weapons fire from overhead. Riker drew his face near Saket’s and shouted, and fortunately the Romulan’s ears were designed to hear under even the most grueling of circumstances.
“Something’s wrong!” Riker bellowed over the din. “The shooting from overhead…it’s separate from the ground shaking!”
“What?!” Saket listened a moment to the assault, felt the trembling of the ground, and his eyes widened as he realized the truth of what Riker was saying.
The door to the hut flew open, and Mudak was standing in it. He had a blaster in one hand and he was leaning against the doorframe with the other as he shouted, “Everyone stay in here! No one is to move! Don’t consider for one moment trying to escape! Anyone who does make such an attempt will be severely punished for his troubles, I promise you that!” If there was any trace of panic in Mudak, it was not on display. He acted with the certainty of someone who was confident that his forces would prevail. For all the concern he showed, the attack might just as well have been a routine drill.
For whatever reason, Mudak looked directly at Riker and Saket. It was as if he was particularly concerned about them. Perhaps he was endeavoring to freeze them in place with an ominous stare. Then he turned and bolted.
The prisoners were all on the floor, looking worriedly overhead at the source of the assault. And then one of the prisoners, a Tellarite named Redonyem, snorted out in a gravelly voice, “I say we take our chances outside! This place isn’t a blast shelter! If they get through and this hut collapses, we’re all dead!”
“You think we’re any better off out there?” shot back Z’yk, an Orion.
“Yes!” The Tellarite had pulled himself up from his crouched position and stalked the interior of the hut, looking more and more like a wild animal, his hair skewed, his arms gesticulating widely. “This could be our chance to get off this rock! I have five mates, nineteen children, and a career as an arms dealer I want to get back to! And if you think I’m going to spend my last moments quaking in here, waiting for death from above, when there’s a landing field with an opportunity for freedom not far from here, then you are sadly mistaken!”
“He’s right,” Saket said abruptly. “Redonyem is right. I say we get out of here, now!”
There was something about the firmness and certainty in Saket’s voice that seemed to make up the minds of the half-dozen prisoners who were huddling for safety. They took a collective deep breath and then bolted for the door, Redonyem leading the way.
The instant they emerged from the door, a Cardassian blaster whined and struck Redonyem. It hit him with such force that it literally somersaulted him, s
ending him smashing back into Saket, who was directly behind him.
A Cardassian guard was standing not far away. He had clearly been on his way to someplace else—a battle station, perhaps—when he had noticed the prisoners making a break for it. He waved his hand weapon threateningly and shouted, “Back inside! Back inside!” From high overhead, they could glimpse the blasts from the Romulan intruder—numbers unknown—coruscating against the shield. For the moment it seemed to be holding, and the pulse-blaster cannons were ready to pick up the slack in the unlikely event that the force shield fell.
Redonyem sagged against Saket, and a bestial snarl erupted from deep in his throat. There was a large blackened area in his upper chest from the effects of the blaster, but he didn’t seem willing to acknowledge it. Instead Redonyem steeled himself for a moment and then charged. The guard brought his weapon up to fire again, and at that moment Saket grabbed up a small piece of debris that had tumbled loose from the roof of the hut. Riker watched as Saket hurled it with remarkable accuracy, and it struck the guard full in the face. The Cardassian staggered, his shot going wide, and then Redonyem crashed into him and disarmed the guard through the simple expedient of yanking off his entire arm. The Cardassian went down with a howl, more in shock than anything since the immensity of the pain wouldn’t kick in for some minutes yet, and Redonyem howled in triumph, holding the arm over his head and shaking it defiantly like a bloody trophy. Another Cardassian guard, coming around the corner at high speed, came upon the grisly scene and froze. It was only a momentary hesitation, but it was more than enough time for Redonyem to step forward, swing the arm around, and cave in the side of the unfortunate guard’s head. Then he grabbed up the weapons from the two fallen guards. The maimed one was screaming so loudly that it got on Redonyem’s nerves, and he kicked the guard fiercely in the head, silencing him.
Z’yk, the Orion, approached the fallen guards and looked up at Redonyem with a wolfish smile. “Find me a knife,” he said. “I have an idea.”