Star Trek-TNG-Novel-Imzadi 1

by Peter David [lit]

  didn't feel as if stars were supposed to move.

  "Do you miss it, Admiral?"

  He hadn't even heard the door hiss open.

  He turned to face Capt. Wesley Crusher.

  Crusher was standing in the doorway, his arms

  folded. He was half a head taller than

  Riker, which was disconcerting enough for the admiral. He

  sported a Vandyke beard, and his hair--

  graying ever so slightly at the temples--hung

  just over his ears. He stepped fully into the

  quarters upon Riker's silent gesture for him

  to enter, and Riker noticed with amusement that as he

  did so, he tugged slightly at the waistline of

  his black and green uniform jacket. Riker had

  not seen the gesture for quite a few years--the

  clothes straightening that had picked up the joking

  nickname of the Picard Maneuver, wryly named

  after the famous battle tactic that one

  Jean-Luc Picard had invented.

  He saw Crusher standing and realized that it was in

  deference to himself. "Please, take a seat,

  Captain."

  And Riker was even more amused when Crusher

  crossed to a chair and, without even thinking about it,

  reversed it and straddled it. "Pick up any other

  of my mannerisms, Captain?"

  Crusher looked at him askance. "What do you

  mean, sir?" He looked down at the chair as

  if seeing it for the first time. "Did you used to sit like

  this?"

  "Used to," said Riker. "Before some sore

  back muscles decided that they would say

  otherwise in the matter. In answer to your question of do

  I miss it, Captain ... no."

  "No?"

  "You sound surprised, Captain Crusher."

  Once upon a time, Wesley Crusher would have

  looked down nervously or stammered slightly or

  cleared his throat as he tried to compose himself. Just

  yesterday, it seemed to Riker. Now, though, the

  Starfleet captain merely shrugged slightly.

  "A little, I admit."

  "You can take the man out of space, but you can't

  take the spacer out of the man, eh?" asked

  Riker.

  "Something like that."

  Riker slowly circled the quarters, never

  taking his gaze off Crusher. "You've carved quite a

  career for yourself, Mr. Crusher. Your father would have

  been proud."

  "Thank you, sir."

  "And what about you ... Wes." It sounded odd

  to speak the name out loud. It was as if he were

  addressing someone who wasn't in the room. "Are

  you proud?"

  "I've done my job. I've done it to the

  best of my abilities. And"--he paused only

  a moment--?I had the best teachers."

  "The Academy has top people on their

  faculty."

  "That's very true, but I wasn't talking about the

  Academy, sir ... and I think you know that."

  "We don't have to stand on formality, Wes. You

  can call me W."

  Crusher considered it for a moment, then

  said, "Actually ... no. I'm not sure I can,

  sir. It would seem ... presumptuous,

  somehow."

  "Whatever you're comfortable with, then," said Riker

  easily. He caught a glance of himself in the

  mirror. Old. So damned old, and he felt

  older in the presence of the robust captain who sat

  before him. Robust, even in his fifties.

  "What's your opinion of me, Wes?"

  Crusher blinked in surprise. "Of you?" For a

  moment he seemed confused. "I ... admire you

  tremendously. You're one of the greatest ...

  probably, with all due respect, the

  second-greatest ... Starfleet officer it was ever

  my honor to serve under."

  Riker stared at him with a look that bordered on

  incredulity. "You can't still think that, can you?"

  "Of course."

  With a slow shake of his head, Riker sat down

  opposite Crusher. He did not, however,

  straddle the chair. "Wesley ... everyone has

  people that they admire in their lives. People who they put

  on a ... a heroic pedestal, as it were. But you

  can't possibly tell me I'm still up there on

  yours?"

  Crusher shifted uncomfortably. "I wouldn't

  say "pedestalea"' Admiral. But I still

  admire you a great deal. In many ways ... I

  still see you very much the way that I did when I first

  met you. Strong, decisive, heroic ...

  everything a Starfleet officer was supposed to be.

  It's not unusual for first impressions to be lasting

  ones, Admiral ... I mean, admit it"--now

  he smiled--?y find it just slightly difficult

  to seriously believe I'm an adult. Captain

  of a starship. Married twice, father of three. But

  you look at me and still think of the little kid on

  Farpoint who, once upon a time, only had two

  goals: to visit the bridge, and to have to shave more

  than once a week."

  Riker laughed, the boisterousness of his amusement

  surprising even himself. "You're right, Wes.

  You're bang-on right. It's just that ..."

  "Just that what, sir?"

  "Just that," Riker said soberly, "there comes a

  time in everyone's life where they start to see their

  heroes for what they really are: namely, people.

  Flawed ... ordinary ... people."

  Crusher didn't say anything at first. Something

  very unpleasant seemed to be hanging in the

  cabin ... an air of self-pity, maybe even

  a whiff of mortality. "Are you feeling

  particularly flawed and ordinary today,

  Admiral?"

  "Wes, I haven't felt anything but that for

  years now. Look at me, Wes. Look at

  me and tell me that you don't see a

  broken-down, second-rate starbase commander.

  Someone who had potential he never fulfilled.

  Someone who was never everything he should have been.

  Tell me that you don't look at me and see

  someone in whom you're bitterly disappointed."

  Someone else would have said such things in tones

  bordering on histrionic. Riker, however, did

  not. He spoke slowly, succinctly, and in a

  voice that indicated he had, quite simply, already

  decided these things about himself and come to terms with them.

  Crusher's eyes narrowed, and when he spoke,

  quiet fire was in his voice. "If that is your

  opinion of yourself ... Will ... then you're

  certainly entitled to it. But if you're looking for

  someone to confirm it for you, I'm afraid you're just

  going to have to keep on looking."

  Riker let out a slow sigh, tinged with faint

  amusement. "Is that your final ^w, Captain?"

  "Yes, it is. And since we're on my

  ship, and it is my opinion ... then we'll just have

  to make it so."

  Crusher was about to say something else when suddenly

  he half-looked away, in that manner that had

  become so customary with the creation of the

  minicommunicators. "Excuse me,

  Admiral. ... Crusher here." He listened to the

  voice that only he could hear and then nodded once. />
  "Excellent. We'll be right there. Crusher out."

  He turned to Riker. "We're five minutes

  out of Betazed."

  "Smooth and uneventful trip, Captain.

  You're to be commended."

  "Thank you, sir."

  Crusher rose from his chair and headed for the door.

  But there he stopped and turned back to Riker.

  "Do you want me there, Admiral?"

  "Oh, I don't think that will be necessary,

  Captain."

  "It's easily justifiable." Crusher took

  a step back into the cabin. "As a Starfleet

  captain, it would be eminently politic for me

  to be present. And as a ... friend ... I wouldn't

  mind being there to lend whatever support I

  could."

  Riker was ready to dismiss the notion out of hand.

  But then he stopped and considered it--really considered

  it--and almost to his surprise, he found himself

  no.ing. Feeling some ^ws should accompany the

  nods, he said, "Very well, Captain. Perhaps it

  wouldn't be such a bad idea at that."

  Crusher nodded. "Five minutes, then.

  Don't be late. Tardiness is mental

  slovenliness and is inappropriate for a

  Starfleet officer."

  "Where'd you pick that up? The Academy?"

  "No, sir. You told me that--the first time I

  was late for an astrophysics lesson with

  Geordi."

  "Well, that being the case, I could hardly

  ignore such sound advice, could I."

  "If it's good enough for the captain of the Hood,"

  Wesley Crusher said firmly, "it's good enough for

  you." He turned and walked out the door.

  Through the viewport of his quarters, Riker could

  now see Betazed, coming up fast.

  Help me, he said. Help me get through

  this, Imzadi.

  There was, of course, no answer. Nor had

  there been for quite, quite some time.

  CHAPTER 5

  Betazed was nothing like he remembered it.

  Then again, it had been many years since Riker

  had set foot on the planet. Not since the days

  when he had been first officer of the Enterprise

  1701-D, under the command of Capt. Jean-Luc

  Picard.

  Not since--

  He wavered slightly, putting a hand to his

  head, and he felt Crusher's firm grip on his

  shoulder. "Are you all right, Admiral?"

  All the anger, all the resentment and fury that

  he had thought he was long past, flashed through him

  once more with unexpected heat.

  "I'm fine!" he practically snarled. "You

  don't have to sound so damned patronizing!"

  Young Wesley Crusher would have taken a couple

  of steps back. He would have become dead pale,

  tried to stammer out some sort of a reply--and

  probably failed.

  Capt. Wesley Crusher merely removed his

  hand from Riker's shoulder, then lanced him

  with a grim stare. "I was always raised to believe,

  Admiral, that being concerned over someone's welfare

  was considered, at the very least, good manners.

  Hardly patronizing."

  Riker met Crusher's stare and said slowly,

  "Yes. Quite right, Captain. My ...

  apologies."

  Crusher nodded in a way that indicated that, as

  far as he was concerned, the minor incident was

  closed. Instead, he glanced toward the heavens.

  "Looks like the weather's turning nasty on us,

  sir."

  At that, Riker nodded. It was something that he'd

  become accustomed to on Betazed. The majority

  of the time, the weather was calm, pleasant, bordering

  on the tropical. But when the atmospheric

  conditions shifted, they did so with startling and almost

  violent speed. One minute, cloudless and blue

  skies, and the next minute--bam.

  Riker remembered that Lwaxana perpetually

  carried an umbrella with her when strolling about,

  particularly in the countryside. She had always

  prided herself on being ready for anything.

  Anything.

  "It's this way," said Riker.

  They'd materialized on one of the more

  well-to-d avenues of the city. The homes were far

  apart and set back ... but not too far.

  Betazoids walked a fine line between a desire

  for privacy and acceptance of its impossibility

  --for amidst an empathic society, privacy

  was at best a pretense and it was rude to pretend

  otherwise.

  Crusher could have had them beamed right to their

  destination, but before he had specified anything,

  Riker had given specific coordinates that

  deposited them half a mile from where they wanted

  to be. It was as if Riker weren't all that

  anxious to arrive at his goal.

  Riker set the pace, which was not especially

  fast, and Crusher fell into step next to him. The

  admiral did not seem particularly interested in

  talking, and they might indeed have gone the entire

  way in complete silence if an unexpected

  voice hadn't chimed in behind them.

  "It is you."

  Riker and Crusher stopped and turned, and

  Riker chuckled low in his throat.

  "Wendy Roper. I don't believe it."

  The woman who stood behind them seemed a

  few years younger than Riker. She was small and

  slim, and her white hair, with a few remaining

  streaks of black in it, was twisted around in an

  elaborate braid. A sparkle in her eyes

  made it seem that a very amused young woman was

  hiding somewhere in the aged body.

  "Will Riker, you old sleaze."

  He walked to her and put his arms around her--

  tentatively, as if afraid that he might break

  her in half. They separated and he looked at

  her.

  "Don't you dare," she said. "Don't you dare

  say I haven't aged at all."

  "Why shouldn't I?"

  "Because the thought that I looked like this half a

  century ago would be too much to cope with."

  His smile widened. "Can I say you look

  great for a woman your age?"

  "With my blessing." She ran fingers across his

  bearded cheeks. "When did you get so scruffyou?"

  "About forty years ago."

  "Makes you look ancient."

  "I feel ancient." He paused, then shook

  his head. "I can't believe you're still here. I

  mean, you can't still be assigned here with your father

  ..."

  Her expression saddened slightly. "Daddy

  died about ten years ago, W."

  "Oh." His face clouded. "I'm sorry.

  Oh ... my manners." He stepped back and

  waved Crusher closer. "Capt. Wesley

  Crusher, this is Wendy Roper."

  She shook Crusher's hand firmly but said,

  "Wendy Berq, actually."

  Riker looked at her in surprise.

  "Married?"

  "That's usually the way."

  "When?"

  "Actually, about two years after you left. My

  husband is Betazoid ... a teacher. That's why

  I stayed."

  "My God ..."

  She patted him on the arm. "Don't worry

  about
it, w. I know news travels slowly out in

  space."

  He let out a slow breath. "I really am a

  sleaze. I've been back planetside a few

  times ... but I never saw you. Never tried

  to contact you. Not even ..."

  "I was at the funeral."

  Riker blinked in surprise. "You were? I

  didn't see you."

  "As I recall, you weren't seeing much of

  anything that day."

  To that, Riker said nothing. Then, slowly, he

  nodded. "That's about right." He paused. "I should

  have looked you up. I'm sorry."

  "It's understandable. If there's one thing that living

  among Betazoids has taught me, it's to be

  respectful of people's feelings. If you ask me,

  the entire Betazoid credo boils down to one

  ^w: RaBeem."

  Crusher looked momentarily puzzled.

  ""RaBeem"'?"

  Riker glanced at him and said, "It means

  "I understand."'"

  "Very good, W," said Wendy.

  "I had a good teacher."

  They stood there for a bit in uneasy silence,

  then Wendy cleared her throat. "I won't

  play games or pretend this was coincidence, w.

  I knew you'd be coming. I knew she'd asked for

  you. And I thought--"

  "You thought that I could use the moral

  support," he said, tossing a look at

  Crusher. "I've heard that quite a bit. Well

  ... fine, Wendy. I suppose the more the ..."

  Then he stopped. "I guess that's hardly

  appropriate to the situation, is it?"

  "Hardly," agreed Wendy.

  Riker stood there, feeling as if he'd been

  cut adrift. He felt that way a great deal

  these days--alone, floating. Unattached to anyone

  or anything in the galaxy around him. Clumsy with

  his speech, clumsy with his orders, just ...

  clumsy. Unable to focus on anything or

  decide anything.

  Make a decision, you idiot.

  "Come on, then," he said. "Let's go."

  The three of them walked up the small incline

  that led to the mansion that Riker knew so well. It

  had been years since he'd been there--a lifetime

  ago, it seemed--and yet every angle of the house, every

  aspect of it, had been forever etched into his

  memory. Tall and graceful, it was constructed

  on a reduced scale so that, although the upper

  stories were not abnormally high, they seemed to go

  on and on, almost touching the sky--the sky that was now

  darkening with the customary Betazed speed. And

  yet, somehow, it seemed as if it were holding

  back. Seemed as if it were waiting for something.

  The door was opened before Riker even had the