by Peter David
Comdr. William Riker. Mr. Riker, our
ship's counselor, Deanna Troi."
Picard was now looking back at Riker, and his
tone changed slightly as he saw the expression
on his first officer's face.
Ten years it had been, but the old feelings
flooded over him with the same sting as if the wound were
still fresh.
She had her hair back up in that
tight knot--the one that was so unflattering--t
she'd worn when she wanted to discourage any
advances from him. She'd known ... she'd known
... he was going to be here. Of course she would have.
As a counselor, she would have reviewed the files
of all the senior officers.
His mind was running riot. He was out of
practice, years out of practice. He'd
been caught completely flat-footed.
Deanna, for her part, looked utterly serene.
And then there was that sensation, the one that he'd thought
he'd never experience again. Her voice in his
head, in his soul, as she asked, Do you
remember what I taught you, Imzadi? Can you
still sense my thoughts?
She was so smooth, so collected, that even as
she thought-cast to him, she extended her hand formally.
"A pleasure, Commander," she said, placing a
slight emphasis on the rank.
Riker took her hand and said, "I, uh ...
likewise, Counselor."
From Riker's flustered expression, Picard
now knew that something was definitely up. "Have the
two of you met before?" he asked Riker.
Met? Oh, nooo ... just had one of the most
involving, intense frustrating, and torrid
relationships I've ever had with anyone. That's
all. Out loud, he simply said, "We ...
we have, sir."
Riker wasn't sure whether Picard had
picked up on the subtext of the statement and
tumbled onto just how well Riker and Troi
knew each other, or if he was simply assuming
that they'd become acquainted on some previous
occasion. All he said was, "Excellent. I
consider it important that my key officers know
each other's abilities."
Riker wasn't sure, but he thought he could
hear Troi's silent laughter echoing in his
brain.
"We do, sir," Troi assured him. "We
do."
Picard stepped into the turbolift, and Riker
and Troi followed him silently.
There was so much he wanted to say ... so much he
wanted to tell her. But his mind awhirl, and out of
practice as he was, he couldn't find any
way to project the thoughts to her. And now they would not
have the time to speak privately before being thrust into a
new and hazardous situation. A situation
in which they would have to interact smoothly and
professionally. But would that be possible, considering
all that they had been through together? And considering the
way they had parted, with so much left unsd? Did
she know he cared? Did she know the things he had
wanted to say? Or had she been nursing a
grudge all these years, not understanding how ...?
And then, there was her voice again, in his mind,
carrying her thoughts to him like a dove finding its
home. I, too, would never say good-bye,
Imzadi.
Relief washed over him. He should have known
better. He should have known that she would understand, and that
there was indeed going to be a basis on which to build
a relationship.
He wasn't sure where that relationship would go,
or what its ultimate fate would be ... but at
least whatever happened in the future, they would be
facing it together.
It had taken them some time to work it out. At
first the impulse was to pick up where they had left
off ... but they found quickly that they couldn't. Too
much time had passed, and neither of them could find some
way to bridge that gap and reconcile the young people
they had been with the Starfleet officers they were now.
Nor were they sure what would happen should they
rekindle the passion that had burned so brightly.
If things didn't work out, then it would be
extremely difficult for them to work with one another
without a great deal of tension. And there was a very
distinct possibility it might not work out, for their
predictions about each other had been remarkably
on target. Riker still tended to have a roving eye.
And Troi had indeed come to appreciate the
pleasure of experimentation ... so it wasn't as
if she had lived like a monk in the intervening
years.
With all the complications that came with becoming
lovers again, they had decided simply not to rush
things. Neither of them was willing to risk everything
to stoke the embers of their relationship.
"Time has a way of working things out,"
Deanna had said to him. So they gave the
relationship that time.
They did not, however, give the relationship
much of anything else. And the laws of inertia tended
to govern human interaction along with most other
things. As their years together on the Enterprise
rolled past, their relationship, since
it was at rest, tended to stay at rest.
The only force that could have acted upon them
to change it would have been the idea that they might not be
able to alter the course of things anytime they felt like
it. Then again ... why should they have considered that
possibility?
After all ... they thought they had all the time
in the universe.
And then came the peace conference with the
Sindareen ...
CHAPTER 33
Riker lay on his back, staring up into the
darkness of his quarters.
His hands were interlaced behind his head, the pillow
soft under him. He had been that way for over an
hour, as sleep refused to come.
Sorting out his feelings was rapidly becoming
something of a royal pain. He still remembered that time
a couple of years ago, in Deanna's quarters
... Both he and Deanna had been in an
extremely mellow mood, and he had also been
allowing the more relaxing qualities of the Synthehol
he'd consumed to have sway over his actions. A
friendly good-night kiss had turned into something far more
passionate, andfora moment they had been kissing each
other eagerly, hungrily, and it had been just like the
old days.
And then Deanna had whispered, pleaded,
telling him that they shouldn't, reminding him of the
difficulties of involvement while both served
on the same ship. Yet even as she spoke, she
would have let him ...
But he pulled back. Her ^ws had
penetrated the Syntheholic haze on his brain and
washed it away, bringing with it instant sobriety
and a reminder of the line that they had drawn for themselves.
And nothing had happened.
N
ot that he hadn't wanted it ... they had both
wanted it ...
But what had they wanted? Momentary
gratification? Or something more ... a rekindling of
something that they had thought they'd left behind them?
Perhaps they'd been kidding themselves. Here he was
someone accustomed to command situations, and here she was
someone who was always in touch with feelings. So it was
only natural that they would decide that they could
control their feelings, dictate their relationship.
Turn their emotions on and off like an
old-style light switch.
How realistic was that, though? Lying there in the
darkness, imagining Deanna at that moment,
wrapped in the arms of Dann, laughing or saying
things softly ...
Did she say the same things to Dann that she
had to Riker?
For a moment there he had actually been drifting
off, his feelings about Deanna lulling his brain and
convincing him that everything would seem more clear in the
morning. And then something, some impulse, made him
sit bolt upright in bed, moving so swiftly that
he had a momentary sense of disorientation.
Someone was there. He didn't know how, he
didn't know why ... but someone was there, hiding in a
corner, lurking in the darkness.
He called out, "Li--"
But he didn't get the ^w out.
A hand clamped over his mouth and shoved him
back down onto the bed.
Riker struggled fiercely, shoving at the arm that
held him down. He reached upward, grabbing at
his assailant's face, feeling skin that was like
parchment and a bristling beard.
And then a voice said, "Lights!"
Riker froze. Because the voice sounded
insanely familiar.
The lights came up on command. He blinked
against the sudden brightness and the voice amended,
"Half lights." They dimmed 50 percent, and
now Riker could make out the features of the
intruder.
The hair and beard were thick and gray. The skin
was wrinkled and timeworn. But the eyes burned
fiercely with determination, and the face ... the face
was unmistakable. He was looking up at himself
... except he was decades older.
"Shut up!" hissed the elder Riker. "We
haven't much time."
Riker's eyes were wide with stupefaction. For
one moment he thought he might still be sleeping, and
he started to struggle again, tried to shout over the hand
that was clamped on his mouth.
"Didn't you hear what I said?" snarled the
old man. "Shut up, you idiot! They may be
here to try and stop me at any moment! So lie
still! Listen to me, and be prepared to do exactly
what I tell you. Deanna's life hangs on
what you do next."
THE MIDDLE
CHAPTER 34
The curator of the Betazed national archives
shook hands with Admiral Riker and bowed
slightly in acknowledgment. "Your donation of
Lwaxana Troi's effects will be quite a boon
to our collection, Admiral."
Riker smiled indifferently. "I'm glad I
could be of service, sir. And now ... if you'll
excuse me, I believe that my transport
back home is here."
"Ah, yes," said the curator. "I understand the
Enterprise herself has come to get you."
"Just happenstance." Riker smiled evenly.
"It was the closest ship. It's not as if I'm
anyone particularly important."
"Oh, now, Admiral, let's not sell
ourselves short. Some of us still remember your handling
of the Sindareen raiders all those years ago. They
stayed well clear of Betazed after that." The
curator frowned. "Although it's a pity ...
they've become much more aggressive in the last
decade or so. My understanding is that they've
resumed many of their warlike ways. Truly a
shame."
"Yes," agreed Riker, at this point
anxious to just get out of there. He felt as if he
would say just about anything to escape.
At that moment the air hummed a few feet
away with a familiar sound, and Riker grinned
openly. It was rare that he smiled these days, but
when he did, it was genuine.
"Commodore Data," he said evenly. "It's
a pleasure to see you again. You haven't aged a
day."
Data cocked his head slightly. "Why would
I, Admiral?"
Riker chuckled silently. "You may have
gotten the hang of a lot of things since I first
met you, Data, but humor still eludes you.
Comforting to know some things don't change."
"I'm sure it is." Data turned and
indicated his second officer. "You remember my
science officer, Lieutenant Blair."
"Yes, of course," said Riker, and shook
Blair's large, furred hand. "Well,
gentlemen ... shall we get going?"
"Whatever you say, Admiral ... if you're
done here, that is."
Riker looked at the curator questioningly.
"As far as I'm concerned, Admiral, we're
finished. Oh," the curator added as an afterthought,
"a woman stopped by ... Wendy, I believe
she said her name was ... and said that you should stop by and
say good-bye before you leave."
"We can wait if you wish, Admiral,"
offered Data.
But Riker just shook his head. "No," he said
softly, and the general melancholy that routinely
hovered over him these days enveloped him once more.
"No, I've never been particularly good at
saying good-bye on this planet."
Data didn't pretend to understand. He merely
tilted his head and said, "Enterprise. Three
to beam up." And a moment later, with a crackle of
blue energy, they were gone.
When Riker first set foot on the ship that
bore the name of that vessel he'd once served
aboard, he felt a rush of pleasure. But it was
quickly borne away by the realization that this wasn't
really that Enterprise ... that there would never be
another one like it. It had been a unique,
special time in his life, and ... he realized
bleakly ... probably the high point.
Certainly nothing since then had come close
to approaching the pure joy and wonder that that
particular assignment had given him.
He was more than happy to inspect the ship,
examine all the various new and exciting
wrinkles that had been added. Ultimately,
though, once all that had been done, he was more than
content to sit in his cabin, alone and comfortable with the
loneliness to which he'd grown so accustomed.
It was in this state that Data found him when he
came to inform Riker that they would be arriving shortly
at Starbase 86.
"Thank you, Data," Riker said simply upon
being given the news. He went back to staring out the
viewport.
"You seem to be preoccupied, Admiral,"
observed Dat
a.
"I'm watching the stars." Riker smiled
thinly. "Did you know, some people believe that whatever
happens to us is decided by the stars. That we have no
control over our fates. I think Shakespeare
even wrote that "the fault is in the stars."'"
"Actually, Admiral, that is incorrect."
"You're going to tell me that it's
ridiculous to believe that interstellar phenomenon
could possibly have any sort of effect on the
affairs of men?"
"No, sir. That's so self-evident it's not
even worth pointing out. No, I was simply going
to tell you that your endeavor to quote Shakespeare
was not only imprecise, but in fact wildly
wrong."
"How wildly?"
"If you're quoting the passage I believe
--namely Julius Caesar, act one, scene
two--then you have reversed it. The proper line is,
"Men at some time are masters of their fates: The
fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in
ourselves, that we are underlings."'"
"Really? Huh." Riker thought about that a
moment. "Hell of a thing to screw up. Who said
it?"
"Shakespeare, sir. You were correct about
that."
"No, I mean, who in the play?"
"Cassius, in conversation with Brutus. Two
of the conspirators who assassinate Julius
Caesar."
"Hmm. Ironic, isn't it, Data? Men
who try to decide they're going to take their fate
into their own hands ... and the only way to do that is
to try and kill a man whom they admire."
"It has always been a great puzzle to me how
people can do utterly immoral things in the name of
morality. Certainly the philosophy of guiding
your own fate is a laudable one. But how can
anyone applaud the notion of murder?"
"Sometimes, Data ... you do what you have to do.
You just make a decision that something has to be done
and damn the consequences."
Riker said nothing further, and even though Data
simply stood there, watching him, Riker didn't
feel any need to comment. "My standing immobile in
this manner once bothered Captain Picard
greatly," Data said after a time.
"Did it?" Riker shrugged. "Data, you'll
find that nowadays, there's very little that bothers me."
"Is it because of Deanna Troi?"
Riker turned and looked up at him.
"Ancient history, Data," he said in a
hollow voice. "Very ancient."
Data seemed pensive, which was most unusual
