Star Trek-TNG-Novel-Imzadi 1

by Peter David [lit]

  Riker stood behind her, waiting patiently.

  "Lovely area," he said tentatively. "You

  come here often?"

  "Yes." She sounded distracted. "From time

  to time."

  "It's pretty remote."

  "That's deliberate."

  They were at the edge of a forest. Riker glanced

  up at the trees with their outstretched branches, like

  fingers that wanted to drag him into the darkness of the

  woods. "So now what? We hang from branches

  some more?"

  She turned to face him. "Take your clothes

  off."

  He stared at her. "I beg your pardon?"

  "It's a therapy technique I learned in

  class a couple of days ago. Take your

  clothes off. All of them."

  He grinned lopsidedly. "Okay. What's

  the joke? One of your girlfriends hiding in the

  woods here? I get naked, you guys grab my

  clothes and run off. I have to make my way back

  to town, show up at the door of the embassy, and

  explain why I'm seriously out of uniform. Big

  laugh on the human. Right?"

  Deanna gave a loud sigh and reached back

  around to the back of her tunic, undoing some

  fastenings. Within seconds she stood naked in

  front of Riker and tossed her outfit to him. It

  landed in a small bundle at his feet.

  "Take your clothes off."

  Riker did so.

  They stood nude in the moonlight, facing each

  other, and then Deanna walked toward him.

  Riker's body was trembling inwardly, but he

  tried not to show it.

  "Lie down." Her voice was firm, but

  Riker wondered if she was just as nervous inside as

  he was.

  Now why in hell was he nervous? It certainly

  wasn't as if she were his first.

  Deanna saw him standing there, unmoving. "If

  you want, and if you still think this is some sort of

  prank, you can keep your hands on your uniform so

  no "accomplice"' can grab it."

  Slowly Riker lay down on the ground.

  "On your side. Your back towards me."

  Completely puzzled, Riker did as she

  asked. He tucked his legs up slightly,

  looking slightly fetal and feeling slightly

  foolish.

  He heard motion behind him and then Deanna was

  lying next to him. She curled up against

  him in the manner that humans still called spoons,

  for the way that spoons fit together when stacked. She

  slid one arm under him and brought the other over,

  wrapping herself around him.

  He felt her chin against his shoulder, and that

  particular connection was easily the least incendiary

  that occurred to him. The rest of her front was

  pressed against his back, and his pulse and mind were

  racing. She felt incredibly warm against him. Every

  muscle was aching; he felt as if his entire

  body had too much blood in it ... that it

  didn't know where to go, and any moment he was going

  to explode out every pore.

  "Now," she said softly, "we're going

  to talk."

  His voice was strangled. "T-talk?"

  "Yes. You see ... you still have to develop

  mental discipline. You still have to learn control. You

  have to be able to deal with me without thinking about me on a

  physical level."

  "And this is supposed to make me stop thinking

  about you physically!" He wanted to flip over and

  face her, to grab her, to turn her over and--

  "That's right." She sounded inhumanly calm.

  "We are going to chat about whatever you want and just

  stay like this. You are going to become comfortable with the

  notion of my sexuality and yours, and that way you'll

  be able to move beyond it to more spiritual matters."

  "I can--" But his voice had gone up an

  octave. He cleared his throat, trying

  to ignore the horses galloping through his brain, and

  started over. "I can think of a far better way

  to get comfortable with sexuality--and it'll be a lot

  more fun than the way I'm feeling right now."

  "How are you feeling right now?"

  "My body hurts, and I want to bay at the

  moons."

  To his surprise, this actually prompted a

  soft laugh. But then she said, "To give in to those

  impulses, Will, only undercuts everything I've

  said. The desires of the body must be secondary

  to the desires of the mind."

  Riker was ready to kill her. "Why in hell

  are you doing this?" he grated. "Why are you making

  me feel like I want to jump out of my skin? I

  mean, obviously it has no effect on you, but

  it's making me crazy!"

  She said something so softly that he didn't hear

  it at all. "What?"

  "I said," she repeated, not without

  effort, "that it is definitely having an effect

  on me."

  "It is? What ... um ... what sort?"

  One of her hands moved across his chest, and she

  said, sounding somewhat frustrated, "Well, now,

  what do you think?"

  Doing the best he could to control his voice and

  keep the tremble out of it, he said, "Deanna

  ... if both of us are feeling this way ... then

  maybe it would make sense if we ...?"

  "w." For the first time she actually sounded

  pleading. "Will, I can't. Don't you see? First

  and foremost, two people have to connect on an

  intellectual and spiritual level. If they make

  love purely because of the physical attraction,

  then it's just ... just a sex act. It would be a

  mistake."

  "Deanna ... how could giving in to what we

  both want be a mistake?"

  "I don't want to, W."

  "But you said ...?"

  "I don't want to give in to the impulses that

  I'm feeling. How can you not understand? It would

  undercut everything that I believe in. I don't

  feel a connection to you on a spiritual level. I

  don't feel comfortable with you. I can't just give

  myself over, I ..."

  "You're afraid of me." This time when he said

  it, there was no challenge in his voice, no

  mockery. This time he said it and there was ...

  sympathy? Understanding? He wasn't sure what it

  was, but all he knew was that he wanted to comfort

  her. He wanted her to feel better.

  He held her arms tightly against himself, and there

  was nothing sexual about it. It was as if he were

  trying to send some of his strength into her.

  "A little," she said in a voice so small he

  had to strain to hear it. "I feel a little afraid.

  When you live by a certain philosophy, and then you

  meet someone who disrupts that philosophy ..."

  She paused a moment. "It goes back to what

  we were talking about ... about love at first sight.

  I can accept love at first sight. I can accept

  lust at first sight. But the latter is something I

  don't feel I want to be a part of."

  "There's something to be said for just giving yourself over

  to the pleasure of the moment."

  "I'm su
re you'd be the expert on that, W."

  They were silent for a long time after that. He still

  felt the heat from her, and the slow in and out of

  her breathing. But it wasn't affecting him quite the

  same way.

  "So ... so what do we do now?" he asked.

  "We talk."

  "About what?"

  "About anything you want ... anything except

  sex. The whole point of this is--"

  "To rise above the impulses of our bodies.

  Yeah, I know." He thought about it a moment.

  "Okay. Okay, I've got something to talk

  about."

  "What?" She sounded almost eager.

  He tried to ignore the musical way her

  voice seemed to float, and the soft feel of her

  breath against the back of his ear. "This stuff I was

  reading about Betazed philosophy ... the one you

  recommended to me."

  "Yes?"

  "I don't get it."

  "What don't you get?"

  "Well, for instance ... there was this example about

  a woman being criticized unduly by her

  supervisor. And she comes and tells me about it."

  "Yes, I know the scenario. And let me

  guess: you came up with ways to solve her

  problem."

  "Right."

  "And the text informed you this was the wrong

  approach."

  "Right."

  "And you don't know why."

  "Right. So what can possibly be wrong about

  wanting to solve her problem, instead of just moaning

  and wailing about it."

  "There's nothing wrong with it, if that's what she

  wanted. But that's not what she wanted. The problem

  is that you're insensitive to her desires."

  "Insensitive?" Riker propped himself up on

  his elbow. "How was I being insensitive? I

  listened to her difficulties and tried to make her

  life better for her."

  "She wasn't asking you to do that."

  "But if she--look, let's make up a name

  for her ... "Jane"' ..."

  "Catchy name," said Deanna dryly.

  "If Jane came to me with her problem,

  obviously she was coming for help in solving it.

  That's a given."

  "No, it's not."

  "Yes it is," he insisted. "Look

  ... if a technician goes to the chief engineer

  and says there's trouble with the warp core, the chief

  engineer isn't going to say, "Oh, what a

  shame, that's too bad, I know how difficult this

  must be for you."' He's going to say, "We've

  got to get that fixed!"' A busted engine, an

  abusive boss ... it all boils down to the

  same thing. Namely, a bad situation that needs

  to be repaired."

  "You're missing the point, W."

  "No, I'm not missing the point." He

  turned over to face her. Their bodies were now

  pressed up against each other, flesh to flesh. And

  incredibly, Riker wasn't paying attention.

  "You're just being obstinate."

  "And you're in command mode, w. The universe

  isn't Starfleet. Emotions aren't regulated.

  And Jane, as you call her, wasn't looking for

  you to solve the problem."

  "Then why in hell did she come to me!" demanded

  Riker.

  "She came to you because she was looking for emotional

  support," said Deanna patiently. "She

  knew she had a problem. She knew it had to be

  solved; or perhaps she wasn't going to solve it but

  simply live with it. Either way, though, she had

  to deal with it in her own way because it was her

  problem. What Jane was looking for from you was an

  augmentation of her emotional strength. She needed you

  to say that you were sympathetic to her difficulties and

  were supportive of her. This is the philosophy

  of RaBeem, which, simply translated, means

  "I understand."' An even better way to handle it

  is to tell her of a time when you faced a similar

  situation--"

  "And describe how I solved it?"

  "And describe how it made you feel. So

  she knows that whatever frustration and embarrassment she

  might be encountering is not unique to her. When

  you're unhappy or discouraged, it's very easy

  to believe that you're the only person in the world who

  has ever felt this way. Teenagers experience that

  feeling most sharply, but adults do also. And what

  Jane was simply looking for was a sense that she was

  not alone."

  "But ... but then how does the problem get

  solved?"

  "It gets solved by her, in whatever manner she

  chooses. And she's also looking to you to say that

  whatever she does, you will support her

  because it's the action that she has decided to take."

  "I'm still not sure I get it."

  "Oh, you're starting to." Deanna smiled.

  "You just haven't admitted it."

  "What you're saying is that I'm faced with a

  problem and I shouldn't make the slightest effort

  to solve it."

  "That's not such a bizarre notion for you to have to deal

  with, w. Isn't that what the Prime

  Directive is all about?"

  "Not at all. We talked about that, it's

  completely different."

  "Only in scope, not in practice. Just because

  the problem involves a close friend rather than a

  civilization of strangers, it doesn't make the

  theory any less valid."

  He was about to reply but realized that he couldn't

  think of anything to say. Smiling sympathetically,

  she ran the back of her fingers across his face.

  "I know it's difficult for you, w. Your

  impulse is to take command. It's what you were

  trained for. It's what you long to do. But command

  isn't the be-all and end-all of life."

  "It is to me. I hope that doesn't sound

  egotistical, but ... it's all I want to do.

  It's what I'm aiming for. I want to beat

  Kirk's record."

  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, w. I do understand. I may not

  agree. Bu
t I understand. S," 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, W." 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