A Time to Love

by Robert Greenberger

  “If only there were more like you,” Troi said, and drank from her cup. They sat in silence for several long moments.

  “Counselor,” Anh began, shifting uncomfortably in her chair, “I appreciate your efforts, but if you’re trying to be my friend, well, I’m doing fine on my own.”

  Troi sat and waited, seeing if there’d be anything else.

  “I know I’ve had a rough time, but I’m not alone. The counselors on Earth saw to that. I know it looks like I’ve run away from my problems, but I’ve run away from nothing. That’s just it: there was nothing to leave behind. There was just me, and I’m starting over.”

  Another silence stretched out.

  “Look, I know you’re concerned, but I guess I’m just not fast to make friends.”

  Deanna considered the woman, sensing the conversation had established a few things, and she might have to let it go at that for now.

  “That may well be,” Troi said, standing to let Anh know their time was over. “But you’ve been here long enough that some relationships should be established. And that has me concerned. We’ll talk again.”

  “I do appreciate your effort, Counselor,” Anh said, rising. All Troi sensed was relief that the conversation was over. No doubt the woman would need more time and attention.

  Vale wore white, Riker red. Their entire bodies were covered in flexible, lightweight body armor with Japanese characters on the chest—ataru, ram, urusai, yatsura. In their gloved hands, they each held a staff with a red light at one end and a fatter, padded base at the other. They faced each other, comfortable in their surroundings, although Riker saw familiar intensity in Vale’s eyes. She didn’t do this often, he realized, and she knew he had been doing it since he was eight. Well, he hadn’t practiced much in the last few years, and that would even things out a bit.

  But just a bit.

  They exchanged the standard greeting and then flipped down their visors. Now blind, they began to move atop the circular platform. Riker went to his left, Vale went to her left. They moved with small steps, straining their ears to pick up the other’s movements. The soft buzz of the red tip helped mask sounds, complicating matters.

  The first officer thought back to his boyhood, when he often performed anbo-jytsu, a modern form of an ancient martial art. He stood opposite his father countless times during their years in Alaska. He could still conjure up the emotions he felt when he learned that in all the years they sparred, the elder Riker had cheated. Kyle insisted that it was to keep his son coming back for more, that it was one of the few ways they connected. Instead, the deception fueled Will’s anger and resentment.

  Riker stopped practicing anbo-jytsu after that incident. Today, it was thoughts of his father that had led him to challenge Vale to spar during their off hours. He didn’t need Deanna to analyze him to understand why he was suddenly wearing the armor once more. It was anger with his father that he channeled as he moved around the platform.

  Riker dodged a thrust from Vale’s stick and then changed direction and moved away. Once again Vale thrust, but this time she swept the stick to Riker’s right and clipped him on the hip. He ducked low, swung his stick toward where he assumed her legs were, and missed. Riker controlled his momentum and quickly regained his balance, listening for Vale. She came directly at him, but he blocked her path with his stick, going across her shorter body and knocking her backward. Quickly, he moved the stick to entangle her legs, forcing her to the mat. He then placed the red tip on her abdomen. A beep signaled a completed strike.

  Both flipped up their visors, and she grinned at the commander. “Nice move,” she said, reaching out for a hand getting up.

  “This feels good,” he said. “Been years.”

  “Did you ever compete?”

  “No, I always played strictly for myself,” he replied. Had he entered competition while he and his father were both in San Francisco, it might have brought the two together, and at the time, Riker had no interest in seeing his father.

  “Another round?”

  “Sure,” he replied.

  They exchanged the ritual greeting, closed their visors, and bowed. Better prepared this time, Vale went directly at Riker, her stick held low. She swung it so the blunt end caught him in the back, forcing him forward. She then raised the stick, clipping him on the helmet. Before he could react, she upended him by sweeping the red-tipped end between his legs and throwing him off balance.

  Another beep. This round went to the security chief.

  “Well, that was fast,” Riker said with a grin.

  “Didn’t even work up a sweat,” she replied. “Moving around in circles and parrying could get boring.”

  Riker scrambled to his feet.

  “Spoken like a true security officer. You’d have liked serving with Worf, although he was more disciplined.”

  “I can be disciplined when I want to be, but it just felt like the right time to do this.”

  “Well, you certainly caught me off guard. I think we need one more round to see who buys drinks later.”

  “Done.”

  Once more they began their competition and as the two went around and around the platform, this time Vale was showing patience. Riker approved, since it made her unpredictable. In the time they had served together, he had found her a competent chief. She ran her section well and came through again and again, earning his and Picard’s trust. Ever since Worf had left for Deep Space 9, the Enterprise had gone through a few chiefs before Vale came on board after the end of the war.

  A soft sound alerted Riker, and he ducked just before Vale’s stick came swinging at him. He moved toward the center of the platform and then spun around, straining his hearing to detect her location. Instead, he banged into her back as she herself was moving into the center. He chuckled at that and used his butt to shove her toward the edge as he swung to his left and used his weapon’s padded end to get her in the rib cage. He turned to face her, he thought, and listened for her heightened breathing.

  Vale tumbled forward and kept her stick low, clipping him across the ankles. This staggered Riker just enough for her to regain her footing, and they turned to face one another. Their sticks made contact again and again until Riker thought he would fool her, using his height to strike high. As if she sensed his intention, she ducked low and avoided being hit. They separated and moved around the platform again.

  Riker this time lunged toward her and with three rapid strikes knocked her to the ground. He lifted his visor and smiled at her prone form. “See? I can learn to strike fast, too. Drinks are on you.”

  Riker bowed to his adversary, who bowed back, signaling the game’s completion.

  It was only then that Riker noticed Deanna standing off in a corner, arms folded across her chest. She was off duty, and her pale green dress was one he did not recognize. He did, though, approve, given the way it hugged her curves. Will grinned at her and she returned the smile, approaching the combatants.

  “He used to ask me to try this, and not once did I have the nerve,” Deanna admitted, handing Vale a towel.

  “I can still teach you,” he said. “Any time.”

  “If not with him, then come spar with me. I could use the practice,” Vale added.

  “Thank you, no,” Troi replied. “I prefer my exercise to be a little less strenuous. My yoga with Dr. Crusher suits me just fine.”

  “Well, I for one can’t complain about the results,” Riker said.

  Rather than reply, Troi just tossed his towel in his face. Vale laughed and moved away, heading for the locker room and a shower.

  “You haven’t done this in a long time,” Troi said when they were alone.

  “No,” was all he would say.

  They stood in silence for a few moments, and Riker suddenly felt uncomfortable around Troi. He wasn’t used to the feeling and didn’t like it. Something else to hold against his father.

  “Will—”

  “Don’t say it, Deanna,” he interrupted. “I know this
is all about me and my unresolved feelings toward Dad. I thought we began a thaw when I last saw him, and then…nothing. I told him I was glad he came to the ship, but then he vanished.”

  “And how often did you try and reach him?”

  Riker paused, considering. He honestly couldn’t put a number on it. Certainly fewer than a dozen, so maybe it was once a year on average. Not a great effort, he realized.

  “There are two ends to a communication signal,” he said.

  “Yes, but, Will, these feelings will cloud your judgment if you can’t come to terms with them by the time we reach orbit. You need to channel the feelings or tuck them away. Right now an entire planet has been destabilized, and you have to help repair the damage. Then we can find out exactly what your father’s involvement was. And if you can’t do that, then perhaps you’d better stay aboard the ship.”

  He narrowed his eyes as he looked directly at her. “Did the captain send you?”

  “No, he knows us well enough, so he knew I would come talk to you with or without orders.”

  He finished toweling himself off and unsnapped the helmet. As brilliant as she was gorgeous, Deanna was right. But then, when wasn’t she? He, on the other hand, had a ways to go before he would get things right, personally and professionally. So much of his life was in limbo, and it was his own damned fault.

  “I hate unfinished business,” Riker said.

  “Is that why you’re back here, in that armor?”

  “At least Vale doesn’t cheat.”

  “No, she doesn’t,” Troi agreed. “But you’ve left more than a few things unfinished.”

  “Have I?”

  “You haven’t accepted command, you haven’t resolved things with your father, and…”

  He reached out and took her somewhat awkwardly in his arms, trying not to crush her against the unyielding polymer armor. “And I haven’t finished with you, have I? You’re also unfinished business.”

  He leaned down and kissed her with passion. This felt real, it felt good, and he savored it. She returned the kiss, adjusting her arms around him and pressing him close.

  When they broke the embrace, she looked deep into his eyes and said, “I hate unfinished business, too.”

  And with that, she left the gym, with Riker holding just the towel and the weapon.

  Chapter Four

  THE ENTERPRISE SMOOTHLY slid into orbit only a minute off its projected schedule. Picard nodded approvingly toward conn officer Kell Perim, the Trill who had served on the alpha shift for the last few years. He turned his attention to Data, who worked at the operations console next to Perim.

  “Mr. Data, planetary specifics, please.”

  “Delta Sigma IV is a class-M world with four large continents and several strings of islands. It is unusually stable, with little tectonic activity recorded since the Vulcans first charted it some four hundred years ago. When the Bader first surveyed the world, only animal and fish life were found. No avian life developed here, which is anomalous. The continents are fairly even in size, as are the polar ice caps. Mean temperature in the capital is currently eighteen degrees Celsius.”

  As Data spoke, Riker and Troi entered the bridge and took their accustomed seats, flanking the captain. Troi crossed her legs and wrapped her hands around her left knee, while Riker checked a screen at his station and then looked at the android. Picard tried to get a sense of what, if anything was going on in his first officer’s mind. Having Kyle Riker, a man of great accomplishment, in the mix normally would bode well for a mission. However, he recognized there had been little softening in the hard line the son took toward the father. It was a complication Picard hoped would not become an impediment.

  “Counselor, current status on the planet?”

  “The Bader, who inhabit the two northern continents, have filled the airwaves with a lot of political commentary, all of it critical of the Federation.”

  “Number One, any word on your father?”

  “None, sir,” came the clipped reply.

  “How goes the search for the murderer?”

  “From what I can gather, they have a police force that’s on a manhunt,” Vale added.

  “Counselor, is the Federation ambassador still on the planet?”

  “Yes, sir, a Colton Morrow was here heading up the delegation Kyle Riker was a part of,” she replied.

  “Let me speak with him first,” he ordered.

  Moments later, Morrow, a fairly young man, appeared on the viewscreen. He seemed haggard, as if he had not slept much. The man was standing in a darkened office, the details of which Picard could not discern. The captain rose and addressed the screen.

  “Ambassador, I’m Jean-Luc Picard of the Enterprise.”

  “Colton Morrow.”

  “What’s happening down there?”

  “Chaos and confusion sums it up best,” he replied. The man seemed young for the diplomatic corps. Delta Sigma IV could well have been one of his first assignments. While the planet was a cultural curiosity, it was not strategically vital, so a newly minted ambassador was about all that the Federation could spare for a centennial party, the captain surmised. At least he hadn’t had time to develop the know-it-all crust Picard found so grating in many senior diplomats.

  “And the cause?”

  “Well, the people down here believe the Federation did something, somehow, to their people, and given the timing I can’t say I blame them, even if they are jumping to conclusions. Kyle Riker’s disappearance hasn’t helped matters, either. That said, no one has hard evidence that the Federation bears any responsibility for this mess.”

  “Have they found the murderer?”

  “A ground vehicle was stolen nearby, and it has been traced to an airfield. It’s suspected he stowed away aboard one of dozens of flights leaving the city. He could be anywhere.”

  “Is it safe for us to beam down?”

  “I would be happy to have you. The leaders are also anxious for some guidance.”

  Picard recalled from Troi’s earlier briefing that each of the two races elected four councillors to their High Council. From the eight councillors, one was chosen to act as Speaker, a system patterned after many democracies. Based on her description, the planet remained tranquil for so long, the government seemed more like a town council than anything else. He could only imagine how they were faring under these circumstances.

  “So be it,” he said. “We’ll be down shortly. Should we use these coordinates?”

  “These will be fine,” Morrow said, a hand brushing back the slightly unkempt sandy hair.

  “Picard out. Lieutenant Vale, I want an escort, and alert transporter room two we’ll be on our way. Counselor, notify Dr. Crusher, and have everyone assemble in fifteen minutes. Local time, Mr. Data?”

  “At the ambassador’s location, it is 1624, sir,” he said.

  “You’ll have the bridge, Mr. Data. Maintain yellow alert. We’ll stay in touch at thirty-minute intervals.”

  “Understood.” Data rose and stepped toward the command chair, while another bridge officer replaced him at operations. The captain watched the routine with satisfaction as the turbolift doors silently closed before him.

  Below, in engineering, La Forge sat at a terminal, looking at a viewscreen that showed the image of an Andorian. The Andorian’s face had aged a bit since Geordi had last seen him, when they were attending a symposium on Tellar.

  “Whis, how have you been?”

  “Well, Geordi. And you? I’ve been hearing things.”

  La Forge answered with a frown. “Yeah, well, you know not to believe all the scuttlebutt you hear.”

  “A shapechanging ship sounds pretty amazing.”

  “Not after everything else we’ve experienced. Now that you have your own ship, you must know what I mean.” Whis had been recently named chief engineer aboard the Nautilus after serving with distinction on several other vessels. He was younger than La Forge and deemed an engineering wunderkind.

  �
�So, why the call? Looking to commiserate?”

  “Not quite, Whis. How many RCS quads do you have?”

  “Four in our cargo bay.”

  “That’s amazing. We just replaced one on the port nacelle and we’re fresh out. If we wait until the quartermaster finds another one this far out, we might have a problem.”

  “We’re due for a refit in six months,” the Andorian said. “I sincerely doubt we’ll need all four between now and then.”

  La Forge laughed. “I doubt you’ll need even one. These things are built to last.”

  “What happened to your supply?”

  “We needed to replace one in a burned-out system after an encounter with a comet that caught us by surprise. And it turns out the backup was damaged. Can you lend us one?”

  “Geordi, we’re five parsecs apart and our courses don’t overlap,” his colleague replied.

  “Tell you what,” La Forge replied, “if I can figure out the logistics, will you lend me a quad?”

  “Absolutely,” Whis said.

  As they cut the signal, La Forge sat back, happy to have found one of the items on his list, but now he had to get it to Delta Sigma IV. He gave it some thought and then contacted the bridge.

  “Data, can you spare me a minute to help with a logistics issue?”

  “I am in temporary command, Geordi, so if you can come to the bridge I will be happy to oblige,” the android said. Happy? La Forge thought. Not by a long shot.

  As the transporter effect ended, Picard was already on the move, eyes surveying the office. It remained dark, as it had appeared on the viewscreen, and also eerily quiet. Morrow waited near a desk, reading something on a padd. In person, the ambassador seemed even younger, with a clear, unlined, somewhat handsome face. The diplomat strode over and shook Picard’s hand, his grip firm.

  “Ambassador, how bad is it down here?”

  “Not as bad as it will be, Captain,” Morrow replied. “Without a real understanding of what’s happening, people are letting fear and suspicion get the best of them.”