Star Trek-TNG-Novel-Imzadi 1

by Peter David

  looked back to his teacher.

  Deanna hung there.

  And hung there.

  He had no idea how long it was ... ten,

  maybe fifteen minutes. Maybe longer. Her

  slim body continued to display no ill effects

  whatsoever.

  After what seemed an interminable length of time,

  Deanna began to rock back and forth, slowly and

  gently. Her eyes remained closed. She gained

  enough momentum to swing upward like a gymnast, wrapping

  her legs up and around the branch and bringing herself

  back to sitting.

  "What are you doing down there?"

  "What are you doing up there?" he countered.

  "Finally get tired?"

  "No. I could have continued that way for quite some time.

  A shame that you couldn't. Maybe the weight of

  all those muscles dragged you down. What an

  inconvenience, being so much stronger than little me."

  He stood, brushing himself off, and walked toward

  the base of the trunk. As he did so, Deanna

  clambered upward, standing on the branch as if she

  were a tightrope walker. She looked completely

  at ease.

  "All right, you've proven your point," he

  said, trying to keep the disgust out of his voice. "You

  can climb down now."

  Deanna took a step toward the trunk so that

  she could get a grip and descend ...

  And her foot slipped.

  Her arms pinwheeling, andwitha startled shriek,

  Deanna lost her balance and tumbled off.

  Riker, still a short distance away, moved like

  lightning. His arms outstretched, he skidded in and

  caught Deanna before she hit. But he hadn't

  had time to brace himself, and the weight of her carried

  him down. He dropped to his knees, the shock

  rattling his teeth, but he still held on

  to her.

  Reflexively her arms had gone around his

  neck. She tried to compose herself, automatically

  doing the breathing exercise to regain her

  equilibrium. Riker, meantime, shook his head

  briskly. Then he looked at her ... and

  grinned ear to ear.

  He got to his feet, still holding her in his

  arms. "You okay?"

  "I'm fine. You can put me down--"

  Their faces had been mere inches from each other,

  and Riker now seized the initiative. He

  kissed her full on the lips.

  They held like that for a long time, and he felt her

  body go limp. And then she just seemed to melt

  against him, and reflexively her hands squeezed his

  shoulder blades, as if afraid he might

  vanish, or the moment might end.

  But ultimately it was she who ended it, breaking

  off with an audible popping sound. "Put me

  down," she whispered.

  He grinned and said, "But we were just getting--"

  Put me down NOW!

  He dropped her.

  He hadn't intended to do it. But the imperative

  was so startling and so overwhelming that it caught him

  completely unawares. She fell at his feet

  and, quickly scrambling to hers, backed away from

  him.

  "I heard you," he said, "in my head. That

  must mean I'm getting better at this. Right?"

  "You couldn't have heard me in your head."

  "I know I--"

  "You couldn't have!" she said with an infuriated

  stomp of her foot.

  She turned away from him in an obvious

  attempt to compose herself. He made no move

  toward her, stayed as far from her as he could.

  She was in pain. My God, she was in pain

  over him.

  At that moment, he cleared his mind because

  instinctively, he didn't want to think or even

  feel anything that she might pick up on and

  cause her more distress. Just like that, he was suddenly

  thinking about nothing at all. And he felt totally

  relaxed.

  "Deanna--"

  She said nothing. Her hands were pressed against

  each other, palm to palm, and she had slowed her

  breathing down. When she did turn back

  to face him, all the confusion was gone. Instead she

  was lit with inner calm.

  "Your problem earlier," she said, sounding very

  clinical, "was that you were once again entertaining

  erotic thoughts about me. All that did was focus you

  on the needs of your body. You can't put yourself beyond

  those needs if you use that as your focal point. You

  should watch out for that, Lieutenant."

  "Really." He took a step toward her.

  "Well, you know what I think, Miss Troi.

  I think your body and mind aren't quite as

  synchronized as you like to think. I think your body

  wanted to fall into my arms, contrary to what your

  mind might think of me. And so your ever-s-sure

  feet deliberately betrayed you."

  "I subconsciously threw myself at you, is

  what you're saying?" She laughed lightly.

  "It's possible, yes."

  Again she laughed. "No, Lieutenant. It's

  not possible. For your information, a piece of bark

  broke off, and that's what caused me to slip.

  That's all. If you look around on the ground,

  I'm sure you'll find where it fell. Now, if

  you'll excuse me ..."

  She turned and walked off. He called after

  her, "When is our next lesson?" But she

  didn't respond.

  He spent the next twenty minutes searching every

  inch of the ground, trying to find the stray piece of

  bark.

  But he never did.

  CHAPTER 20

  Dinner that night in the Troi household was

  subdued. The only sound was a persistent and

  gentle chiming as Mr. Homn stood at the

  middle of the table repeatedly striking the small

  instrument that gave thanks to the gods of Betazed

  for the food being eaten.

  Lwaxana kept glancing up at Deanna.

  Her daughter seemed preoccupied this evening, her

  gaze and thoughts focused entirely toward herself.

  When, out of habit, Lwaxana sent a gentle and

  subtle probe into her daughter's mind to find out

  what was troubling her, she was astounded to find that her

  mental inquiry was turned aside. She could have,

  of course, immediately pushed more deeply andwith more force,

  but that would have been utterly out of line. Casual

  mind brushing was one thing; shoving one's

  way in after meeting initial resistance was quite

  another thing entirely.

  Deanna ...?

  There was no response, andwith an annoyed air,

  Lwaxana resorted to the far more inconvenient,

  since it meant she had to disrupt her eating,

  verbal "Deanna."

  Deanna looked up. "Yes, Mother?"

  "What is troubling you, Little One?"

  Her daughter smiled gamely. "Nothing,

  Mother."

  "Casual lies?" Lwaxana looked

  disapproving. "First you thwart a mind brush, and then

  you resort to telling me that nothing is bothering you

  when something clearly is. I thought we were more open with

  each other than that, Deanna. Frankly ...<
br />
  I'm a little hurt."

  "There's no reason to be hurt, Mother, just because

  I don't want to share every intimate detail of

  my life every moment."

  Lwaxana raised an eyebrow.

  "Intimate?"

  "Mother, I don't want to get into it."

  Lwaxana let a rather crude response

  float from her mind into Deanna's, and it got the

  expected reaction. Deanna flushed slightly

  and said, "Mother, that was uncalled for."

  "Perhaps. But how accurate was it?"

  "Mo-ther ..."

  "It's him, isn't it. That Starfleet

  officer, Striker."

  "Riker."

  "Him." Lwaxana carefully arranged her

  napkin in front of her and turned to her

  manservant. "Mr. Homn, I'll want

  to send a communiqu@e to Starfleet."

  Deanna slapped the table impatiently and

  said, "Don't you dare!"

  She might just as easily have spit

  into Lwaxana's food and gotten the same

  response as she received. Slowly, with an air of

  complete and utter shock, Lwaxana turned and

  openly gaped at her child. ""Don't you

  dare"'?" she repeated incredulously. Deanna

  looked down, her mouth moving but no sound coming.

  "You're telling me," continued Lwaxana,

  "what I, the keeper of the Sacred Chalice of

  Riix, should and should not dare? May I ask you,

  young lady, who in the Great Fire you think you're

  talking to?"

  "Mother, please, I'm sorry--"

  "I will not be addressed in that ... that

  cavalier, offhand manner. I am not one of your

  "palsea"' Deanna. I am not one of your

  casual acquaintances. I am certainly not one

  of your Starfleet friends."

  "He's not a friend! He's not even ... Mother,

  I don't even like him!"

  "Then what is he?" demanded Lwaxana.

  "What is he to you?"

  "A frustration. A big frustration, that's

  all. He's a ... a case study in surface

  arrogance. He's ... he's nothing. Nothing.

  Not on a personal level."

  "Need I remind you," said Lwaxana

  stiffly, "of your commitment to Wyatt?"

  "I know about that, Mother. But frankly, I can't

  believe that you're really going to hold me to that ...

  that agreement."

  "Little One, I'm not holding you to anything! This

  is tradition and custom we're talking about. I

  don't just fabricate things to inconvenience you and

  make your life more difficult. I simply teach

  you what they are and expect you to abide by them. And

  you, knowing your place in society and the

  responsibilities that place entails, are

  going to abide by them. Aren't you." The last was not a

  question.

  Deanna looked down.

  "Aren't you." This time there was even a bit more of

  an edge than before.

  "Yes, Mother," said Deanna automatically,

  a phrase she had repeated any number of times

  before on a variety of occasions.

  "Good, because frankly ... and I'm only

  giving you my surface interpretation here, since you

  seem uncomfortable with allowing me to probe more

  deeply on this ... you're making it quite clear that you

  can't exactly control yourself when it comes to this

  lieutenant."

  Now Deanna looked up, her jaw set.

  "I can control myself just fine, Mother. I'm not some

  ... some animal in heat."

  "I never said you were."

  "No, but you implied it."

  "I didn't--"

  "You did."

  "All right, maybe I did," said

  Lwaxana, putting her hands up. "But it's

  understandable. You don't seem yourself when it

  comes to thoughts of him. Perhaps I should have a talk with the

  people at the university. If this lieutenant is

  merely a case study for you, then I think that the

  university is doing a pretty shabby job of

  teaching you something as simple as clinical

  detachment."

  "They're doing a fine job, Mother. Please

  ... stay out of it. I can handle Lieutenant

  Riker just fine."

  Lwaxana stared at her piercingly. "And how do

  you define "j fine"'?"

  "I define it as being capable of rising to a

  situation without your help."

  Lwaxana appeared to consider this a moment, then

  speared another piece of fish with her prong. And

  then she said simply, "See that you do."

  Mr. Homn hit his chime and Deanna winced

  slightly. Funny how, after all these years,

  she'd never realized just how damned annoying that

  persistent chiming was.

  Riker lay in his quarters at the embassy,

  reading a primer on Betazed philosophy that

  Deanna had recommended.

  It was puzzling to him. In example after

  example, situations were presented and the reader was

  asked, basically, "What would you do or say in

  such a situation?" And Riker was consistently

  getting it wrong.

  He went on to the next example and read it out

  loud to see if it would make more sense: "A friend

  tells you that she is very upset. Her immediate

  supervisor has said several overly critical

  things in regards to her work, and she feels

  frustrated and hurt over the situation. How do you

  respond?"

  Riker thought about it and then said out loud, "All

  right. I tell her one of two things: either she can

  analyze her work habits, see where she's being

  remiss, and improve her performance, or, if she

  firmly believes that the criticism by her

  supervisor is unwarranted, she can tell her

  supervisor that and demonstrate why. If he

  continues to be overly critical, she can inform him

  that if he does not cease and desist in his

  unreasonable demands, then she will go to the next

  level in the chain of command and file a grievance."

  He pondered that for a moment, decided that it was a

  good, solid, reasonable response, and moved on

  to what the text claimed was the proper

  way to handle it.

  He read it out loud without understanding it.

  ""Tell your friend"'"--and there was incredulity in

  Riker's voice--?"t you understand her frustration.

  That you know she's in a difficult situation, but have

  confidence she'll work it through. Cite an instance in

  your own life where you experienced similar feelings

  of anxiety. Let her know that she's not alone and

  that she can count on you as a source of emotional

  support."'"

  He stared at the ^ws floating there on the

  screen and shook his head. "But what's that going

  to solve?" he asked in frustration. "Sitting there

  and commiserating about how difficult life is?

  That's not going to do anything to address the problem!

  It's not going to make things better. I mean, why

  would she come to me with this problem if she didn't

  want me to try and come up with ways to solve it?"

  He pushed the screen away in annoyance,

&nb
sp; shutting it off. This was ridiculous. Tang had

  been absolutely right about these people. They seemed

  to dwell endlessly on how everyone felt.

  He resolved to ask Deanna about it the next

  time he saw her.

  Which was not the next day.

  Or the day after that.

  Or the day after that.

  By the end of the week, the silence on the part of his

  "tutor" had become somewhat puzzling, if not

  downright irritating. He made several calls

  over to the mansion and was repeatedly told that

  Deanna wasn't there or wasn't available.

  He asked that she return his calls, but she never

  did.

  He was starting to become irritated, and his

  irritability showed through when Sergeant Tang

  happened to stop by to chat about a new piece of

  ordnance. Riker was short-tempered with him and then

  immediately regretted his tone.

  "Sorry, Sergeant. That was uncalled for."

  Tang stared at him and rubbed his beard stubble

  thoughtfully. Riker wondered for a moment how in

  hell Tang perpetually managed to look as if

  he needed a shave. Did he just scrape along

  the edges of the stubble, cutting it to a particular

  disheveled length?

  In a manner that was a bit too overfamiliar

  for a sergeant to deal with a lieutenant--but nevertheless

  seemed utterly in keeping with Tang's

  personality--the veteran spacer

  slapped Riker on the forearm and said, "Can'mon with

  me, Lieutenant. I got something set up

  downstairs that you look like you could use."

  Riker followed Tang to the lower sections of the

  embassy, to rarely used storage facilities.

  At the moment, the facilities were relatively

  empty, particularly because the reception for the

  Rigelian ambassador had depleted much of the

  stock. Riker knew there would not be a ship along

  to restock for several weeks.

  Riker was surprised--but not too surprised

  --ffsee that Tang and his men had converted the large

  facilities into a makeshift armory. "We're

  good at making do with what we have," said Tang.

  "Every so often, though, we fall into a bit of

  luck."

  "Good lord." Riker was looking at one of the most

  massive pieces of armament he'd ever seen. It

  hung on the wall and was almost as large as Riker

  himself. He looked around to Tang and said, "May

  I?"

  Tang waved toward it. "You're the CO. Be

  my guest."

  Riker lifted the long, cylindrical weapon

  down and staggered under the weight of it. He had

  trouble placing his hands correctly and felt it