by Peter David
go where I'm not wanted."
She couldn't resist. "You must not get around
much, then."
His eyes narrowed, then slowly he nodded.
"Fine." He put up his hands. "Fine. Have it
your way."
He started to turn away from her; then to his
surprise she placed a hand lightly on his arm.
He turned and looked back at her.
"Tomorrow's terrible for me," she said. "The day
after. Pick me up around midday, at my home.
We'll go on a picnic. I'll pack it."
"I don't want you to feel like you have to do me
any favors, Miss Troi. I mean, don't
go to any trouble, or--"
"Lieutenant, don't push your luck."
"Midday it is."
"Good." Then she paused. "Tell me,
Lieutenant. There are any number of women
around ... and quite a few might be much more inclined
to be impressed by your--peculiar--brand of charm
than I would. Why so interested in me?"
"Because, I like a challenge."
"Well, that's splendid. In that case, when you
come by to pick me up, the two of you will probably
hit it right off."
"The two of us?"
"You and my mother. You see, she likes
challenges, too." Deanna smirked
in a way that made Riker extremely
uncomfortable. "And I have a feeling she's just going
to adore you."
CHAPTER 17
Sergeant Roger Tang, grizzled veteran
and squad commander of the security unit assigned
to Betazed, caught a glimpse of Riker as he
headed for the door. "Lieutenant," he said, and
snapped to a salute.
Inwardly, Riker shook his head. Salutes
hadn't been in style for two centuries now, but
Tang was retro enough to harken back to those days of
extreme discipline. Riker waved his hand in
close approximation of a salute and said, "At
ease, Sergeant."
Tang stroked his round, stubbled chin. The large
phaser he always wore was clipped to his waist and
slapped against his thick leg. Riker was willing
to bet he wore it to sleep. "Lovely day today,
Lieutenant. Where you off to ... if you don't
mind my asking," he added quickly.
"Out."
"Yes, sir, I can see that. The general
direction of your path would seem to be leading you out
the door. I was just curious as to where, sir.
Security reasons. Can't be too careful, you
know."
Riker sauntered over to Tang and draped his
hands behind his back. "If you must know, Sergeant,
I have a date."
Tang appeared to consider that for a moment.
"Local girl, sir?"
"That's right. A local girl. I tried
to bring a girl with me from the Fortuna, but she
didn't fit in my suitcase."
"Damn shame," commiserated Tang. He
lowered his voice to confidential tones. "You
don't mind a piece of advice, sir?"
Riker shook his head.
"These people can ruin you."
At that, Riker blinked. "Pardon?"
"They're soft. They're pleasant." He
tapped the side of his head. "They're always
philosophizing about things, dwelling on things,
pondering things. They think too damned much, if you
ask me."
"Thinking about things is a good habit,
Sergeant."
"Oh, of course. But not to the point where it's
all you do. Not to the point of
overintellectualizing. They don't fight ...
they'd rather talk about the reasons for disputes. I
told one of them that the only thing the Sindareen
understand is force, and the guy looked at me like I'd
just dropped down from outer space."
"Well ... in all fairness ... you did."
Tang emitted a short laugh that sounded like a
bark. "Yeah, I suppose I did at that.
Look, Lieutenant ... all I'm saying
is, remember who you are. And who they are.
Getting to know different cultures is fine and
all that ... but just remember that the galaxy is
divided into two types."
"Those being?"
"Starfleet ... and everyone else." Tang
put a finger to his lips and then added, "Enough
said."
"Thank you, Sergeant."
Tang tossed off one more salute and said,
"All part of the service." Then he turned and
walked off, the phaser continuing to slap comfortingly
against his thigh.
Riker stood outside the mansion that was the home
of Deanna Troi. Impressed by the
structure, he hesitated a moment before rapping
on the door.
He heard no footsteps, but then slowly the
door opened.
Riker looked up.
And up.
A towering man loomed over him. He didn't
look precisely Betazoid. He didn't
look precisely anything. He stared down at
Riker impassively.
"I'm Lieutenant Riker. I'm here
to pick up Deanna Troi." Then Riker
hesitated. "This is the Troi residence,
isn't it?"
The man nodded slowly and stepped back,
providing space for Riker to enter. He did so,
looking around the opulent setting in curiosity.
"Where should I wait?"
The giant closed the front door, but did not
answer Riker's question. He studied the looming
figure, utterly perplexed, and then a voice
behind him said, "So I see you've met Mr.
Homn."
Riker turned and saw an attractive
woman with long dark brown hair, and a very
aristocratic bearing. She came sweeping toward
him in a pink and gray gown that set off her dark
eyes and rosy-complexioned face. "And you're
Mrs. Homn?" he asked.
She laughed lightly. "No, no. I'm
Deanna's mother."
He took her extended hand and bowed slightly
at the waist. "Lt. William Riker. But
please, feel free to call me w. Or
William, whichever you prefer. And I should call
you ...?"
"Mrs. Troi."
"Oh." He smiled gamely. "All right,
Mrs. Troi. Um ... Deanna and I have an
appointment."
"Yes, I know." She took him by the arm and
led him into the spacious living room. "She'll be
with you in a moment. She's just getting ready ... and
I thought it would be nice if we had a few
moments to chat."
"That sounds very nice."
He sat down on a couch, sinking
unexpectedly deeply into the cushions.
Lwaxana took a seat nearby that bore a
striking resemblance to a throne. "Now ... tell
me all about yourself."
He stroked his chin and said, "Why don't you
tell me about myself?"
She chuckled at that. "Oh, that's very good,
Lieutenant. Instead of voicing statements that you
know I can puncture, you instead ask me to take
the first step so that you know what you're in for. All
right." Suddenly the sound of her voice changed just
&nb
sp; a bit. "You're aggressive, hardworking,
dedicated, cautious. You're someone who's
guarded, and so finds himself ill at ease in an
environment where your only option is forthrightness.
Oh, and you are extremely attracted to my
daughter and have had a variety of sexual
fantasies about her. In fact, you are hoping that
this outing will be in a romantic enough setting that you can
employ your considerable charm to break through
Deanna's defenses and introduce her to the
full joys of your masculinity. Your preferred
position for intercourse is--"
"Mrs. Troiffwas said Riker, more sharply than
he would have liked.
"And what's this about lime-flavored
oil rubs?"
He got to his feet. "Mrs. Troi, I
must admit, I'm shocked."
"ally're shocked?" She looked up at him with
overwhelming innocence. "Lieutenant, they're
your thoughts."
"That may very well be, but it was my understanding that
Betazoids prided themselves on courtesy. By my
definition, your treatment of me here is not
particularly courteous."
Her expression was stricken. "You're right.
Where in the world are my manners? I haven't
offered you anything to drink. Mr. Homnffwas She
clapped her hands together briskly. "A drink for
our guest."
"That's not what I'm referring to. You're
speaking ... like I'm the enemy."
"That's your interpretation, Lieutenant. I
don't think of you as an enemy. No, not at
all. At most, I think of you as ..." She
paused, considering. "As an experience. A
transient, passing experience that Deanna will
encounter, learn from, and grow from. That's all.
Enemy is much too strong a ^w. As for the things
I'm saying, Lieutenant--my assessment of
your nature and thoughts--y invited me to comment. You
can hardly take me to task just because I took you
up on your offer."
Mr. Homn appeared at Riker's side with a
drink, balanced perfectly on a gleaming silver
tray. Riker took it without even really
noticing.
"You have to understand, Lieutenant. There are
certain responsibilities that come with being who I
am. I am a daughter of the Fifth House.
Holder of the Sacred Chalice of Riix.
Heir to the Holy Rings of Betazed. I am
accustomed to speaking my mind, and I am also
accustomed to watching out for the best interests of my
daughter. She is an attentive, intelligent
young lady. She will inherit from me the tremendous
responsibilities that are presently all on
my shoulders. Unlike you, whose life in
Starfleet means that endless vistas are open to you
... Deanna does not have that luxury. There are
certain dictates upon her that come with who she is.
She accepts that. She welcomes that. I want
you to be considerate of those dictates. And I
want you to do nothing that will interfere with her destiny
or sense of purpose."
"Nothing meaning ...?"
"Nothing," said Lwaxana firmly, "meaning
nothing."
"Mrs. Troi," Riker said slowly and
deliberately, "I understand what you're saying.
I appreciate your position. But with all due
respect ... you can't give me orders."
"Quite true," she replied with utter calm.
"But Starfleet can. And believe me,
Lieutenant ... if a daughter of the Fifth
House complains to Starfleet, there will certainly be
those who listen. Do we understand each other?"
She gestured that he should take a drink. He
stared at the contents of the glass andfor just a moment
tried to see any telltale residue that
indicated poison.
"It's perfectly safe, Lieutenant."
He looked up and once again realized that his
thoughts were completely open to her.
"I never seriously thought it wasn't."
She smiled sweetly.
Deanna chose that moment to make her entrance.
Riker felt a flash of disappointment--her long,
thick hair was tied up in a small, tight
knot. The lines of her shapely figure were
hidden under a loose-fitting, caftanlike
outfit. In front of her she held a small
basket. "Hello, W," she said genially.
He got to his feet. "Deanna, you look
lovely."
"Aside from the fact that he hates the dress
and the way you're wearing your hair," said
Lwaxana.
Riker fired her a poisonous glance, and
Deanna said, sounding a bit confused, "Mother ...
you suggested the hairstyle and dress."
"Did I?" She smiled disingenuously. "So
I did. Not too fond of my taste,
Lieutenant?"
Gamely, he replied, "It wouldn't matter
if she shaved her head and wore sackcloth and
ashes. Deanna would still look lovely."
Mother and daughter exchanged a glance, and
Lwaxana looked back to Riker. "Very smooth,
Lieutenant," she said.
"Thank you."
He went to Deanna and gestured toward the
front door. She continued to clutch the picnic
basket in both hands, but smiled at her mother as
they went out.
Lwaxana did not smile back.
"I hope she wasn't too hard on you."
Deanna and Riker were seated up on a
grassy knoll overlooking a particularly
lovely stretch of Betazed countryside. The
picnic basket sat open next to them, the
contents scattered about the ground around them.
Much of the time they had eaten in silence. Every so
often Deanna would look up at Riker and either
frown or smile. He had the distinct feeling that
they were having a conversation without a ^w being spoken,
or for that matter, without him even being fully aware
of what was being said.
The statement she had now uttered was just about the
longest of the afternoon.
"Nothing I couldn't handle," he said easily.
When he said that, she laughed in a manner that he
found very peculiar. "Why did you laugh that way?"
"Well, it's the way you responded. I
asked you a question about how something made you feel. And
your basic response was to make it clear that the
situation was something within your control."
He stared at her uncomprehendingly. "So?"
"So, not everything has to be defined in terms of
whether you can handle it or not. Sometimes it's enough
to acknowledge that a situation has occurred and that
you're aware of it."
"That doesn't seem like it would accomplish all
that much."
"Why not?"
He lowered himself onto the grass, propping up
his head with one hand. "Just acknowledging that a situation
exists is rarely enough in my line of work. You have
to deal with it."
"That's not true. What about your Prime
Directive? Doesn't that tell you that you're not
; to get involved?"
"What it tells us is the preferred way of
handling a particular type of situation ... namely
one involving interference with cultural
development. But it still boils down to the idea that
every situation must be dealt with in some way ... even
if occasionally the method of dealing with the situation is
to keep your hands off."
"I see." She lifted the napkin off her
lap and folded it carefully, replacing it in the
picnic basket. "Is control very important
for you, Lieutenant?"
"Not letting things get out of control
is very important. There's a difference."
"And what might that be?"
"The difference is that you can have a specific
situation with specific parameters ... and as long
as the elements within that situation don't go beyond those
parameters, then everything is fine. You don't have
to do much beyond sitting back and letting things run their
course. This is as opposed to having to be in
control, where you are handling every element personally every
step of the way. It's a bad way to command. Shows
a lack of ability to delegate."
She cocked her head slightly. "Do you think
of everything in terms of Starfleet?"
"Not everything."
They looked at each other for a long moment, and
Riker saw something in her eyes ... something that
beckoned to him.
He reached across, grabbed her by the arm, and
pulled her to him. She fell to the ground with a
startled cry of exclamation. For a moment he felt
her body go limp against him, and he brought her
face to his, pressed his mouth against hers. He
felt something electric pass between them ...
And then he felt her knee in the pit of his
stomach.
Riker gasped and rolled away, clutching his
belly and moaning softly. He came up,
gasping, and saw Deanna smoothing out her dress
and looking utterly composed.
He sucked in air gratefully and tried
to force the pain to go away. Deanna, for her part,
reached into the basket and pulled out a brown
pastry. "Dessert?" she asked innocently.
"Wh ... why did you do that?" he managed
to get out.
"Will, why are you asking obvious questions?" She
held out the pastry to him. "I mean, I'm not
asking you why you mauled me just now. I think it's
fairly self-evident. I think my reason for
stopping you is equally self-evident. So tell
me ... do you still feel in control?"
"Not ... particularly." The soreness was just
starting to recede.
