Star Trek-TNG-Novel-Imzadi 1

by Peter David [lit]

  they were part of a larger tapestry; that they were part of

  something greater than themselves. It is not easy,

  Deanna, to sublimate your interests and

  desires to those long gone and those to come. But the

  happenstance of your birth and lineage means that you owe

  it, not only to those who preceded you, but to those who will

  follow. Please, Deanna ... tell me that you

  won't let me down."

  In her face was more of a pleading expression than

  Deanna had ever seen. At that moment, as they had

  so often before, her own interests and willpower wilted

  before the needs and demands of the woman who had so

  shaped her life.

  "Of course, Mother. I won't let you down."

  "Are you certain?"

  "Yes."

  Lwaxana drew herself up, almost looking

  embarrassed about her heartfelt plea. "Well

  ... that's ... that's good to hear. Um ... it's

  early, but ... how would some hot chocolate sound

  to you about now?"

  Deanna had to smile at that. Chocolate was

  one of the few tangible reminders--aside from

  Deanna's presence, of course--of her father.

  He had absolutely adored chocolate, and it

  was a craving that he had imprinted on his wife and,

  apparently, passed on to his daughter. She

  licked her lips at the thought and said, "That would be

  wonderful ... but I wouldn't want you to go to any

  trouble."

  "Oh!" Lwaxana waved dismissively. "It

  won't be any trouble at all." She turned,

  cupped her mouth, and bellowed in a voice that

  shook the rafters, "Homn! Wake up!

  Deanna wants some hot chocolate!"

  "Mother! I thought you were--" And then

  she saw Lwaxana's stunned expression and

  amended, "I could have made it."

  "Oh, nonsense. A daughter of the Fifth

  House? What an absurd notion."

  "But why did you have to yell?"

  "Because Mr. Homn has an annoying habit

  of sleeping through my thought-castings. Amazing. The

  only other person I ever met who could do that was

  your father."

  Mr. Homn appeared moments later.

  To Deanna's surprise, the towering manservant

  was fully dressed. She wondered if he was

  simply a fast dresser, or whether he just

  slept that way in the event that Lwaxana needed

  him for something. Actually, for all she knew, he

  never slept. Certainly life with Lwaxana would

  seem to preclude the opportunities for such

  mundane activities.

  "Deanna wants some hot chocolate,"

  Lwaxana informed him.

  Mr. Homn looked at Deanna

  impassively, and Deanna gestured in a

  manner that silently said, I'm sorry about

  all this. Homn merely inclined his head

  slightly and headed off toward the kitchen.

  "Now you see, Little One?" said Lwaxana,

  looping her arm through Deanna's. "There are still some

  people who know how to give proper respect to those who

  are entitled to it. I suggest that you keep that in

  mind ... particularly in the way that it applies

  to Lieutenant Riker."

  Deanna looked at her nervously. "You're

  not going to contact Starfleet, are you? We're just

  friends, Mother."

  "Just friends because of your actions, my dear, not

  his. But no ... I doubt I'll really speak

  to Starfleet about him. After all, Little One"--

  Lwaxana patted Deanna's cheek--?y do

  want me to trust you, don't you?"

  CHAPTER 22

  Breakfasting at their customary caf@e, Riker

  and Roper looked up in surprise when Gart

  Xerx appeared next to them. "So here's where you're

  hiding, Roper," he said in mock annoyance to the

  Federation ambassador.

  Roper shrugged. "This is where I am every

  morning. Ask Mr. Riker here."

  "He is," said Riker solemnly.

  "I can vouch for him."

  "Although actually," said Roper, putting his

  napkin down, "I hate to say this, but I have

  to cut our usual morning ritual short. I have

  an early meeting this morning."

  He started to rise, and Riker automatically

  started to put his own food aside, even though he

  hadn't finished it. But Roper quickly stopped him.

  "Just because I have to abort breakfast, Captain,

  doesn't mean you do. Stay. Chat with our great

  friend Xerx."

  "Great friend," said Xerx with an exaggerated

  harrumph. "Didn't come to my daughter's

  wedding weeks ago."

  Roper shrugged. "My daughter and the captain

  here attended on my behalf. And I did send a

  lovely gift, didn't I?"

  "Quite true," said Xerx diplomatically.

  "So there you are then," said Roper with

  satisfaction. He gestured to the now empty

  chair. "Sit. Order something and charge it to me."

  "As you wish, Mark." Xerx sat and then

  waited patiently until Roper departed.

  "He'll regret that," Xerx told Riker.

  "Why?"

  A moment later, the waitress walked up with a

  steaming plate of food and placed it in front of

  Xerx. Riker stared at it and said, "That's the most

  expensive thing on the menu."

  "Yes, I know," said Xerx cheerily.

  "Want some?"

  "No thanks."

  Xerx looked at him quizzically. "By the way

  ... "captain"'? I thought you were a

  lieutenant?"

  "That's right. It's a ... well, a sort of

  running joke between myself and Mark."

  "Yes. He does have a peculiar sense of

  humor."

  "So," said Riker, taking a sip of coffee

  before continuing, "how is your daughter doing?"

  "You know how it is with young marrieds," said Xerx

  with a small laugh. "They live in a world of their

  own making. At the moment they're still doting on

  virtually everything that the other one does. The way

  each of them walks, talks, breathes. We had

  them over the other night, and it was amusing to see how

  Chandra simply sat and adored the way her new

  husband chewed his food."

  "Chewed his food?"

  "Newlyweds. What can I say?" Xerx

  shrugged, and then his eyes narrowed slightly. "And

  how goes it with you and young Miss Troi?"

  Riker raised an eyebrow. "Reading my

  mind, Gart?"

  "Merely enough to confirm what I already knew. I

  noticed the way you were staring at her at the wedding and

  reception. And I also know that you've been seeing

  her socially. I've overheard Deanna and her

  friends discussing it at the university."

  "What were you doing at the university, if you

  don't mind my asking?"

  Xerx took another forkful of food. "I'm a

  professor of psychology. Where else would I

  be?"

  "Oh. I didn't know that."

  "Somehow it never came up. I even have

  Deanna in one of my classes."

  "Is it the class where they teach about nude

  therapy?"

  Xerx stared at
him. Gart had been about to eat

  another forkful, but now it remained suspended

  several inches from his mouth. "I beg your pardon?"

  "I'd heard there was this ... technique ...

  where a patient and his or her therapist take off

  their clothes and lie next to each other ... even

  ..." He cleared his throat. "Even pressing

  up against each other."

  "I'd think that would probably lead to sex,"

  said Xerx, looking amused.

  "Well, no. It's done in order to move

  past physical considerations and deal with each other

  in a purely intellectual manner. But ...

  why am I explaining this to you? I mean, certainly

  you know about ...?"

  Xerx was trying not to laugh. "Lieutenant ...

  I've been teaching, and practicing, psychology

  for going on thirty years now. And I can assure

  you I've never heard of any "technique"' that

  has therapist and patient removing their clothes and

  lying against each other ... except in those cases

  specifically involving sexual dysfunctions and

  therapy for those dysfunctions. Was this a case

  involving dysfunctions?"

  "N-no," stammered Riker, looking utterly

  befuddled.

  "In that case," said Xerx, spreading his hands,

  "I would see little purpose for that sort of contact

  beyond the obvious gratification." Then he leaned

  forward. "Who told you about this

  "technique"'?"

  "No one," said Riker quickly. "I just ... just

  heard it around."

  "Well, it sounds to me as if such actions would

  be extremely pleasurable, but other than that, I

  wouldn't attach much psychological value

  to them."

  Riker sat back in his chair, and then a slow

  grin spread across his face.

  "Lieutenant, is there something you'd care

  to discuss with me?"

  "No," replied Riker, unable to wipe the

  smile off his face. "No, nothing at all. I

  just find the entire thing ... funny."

  "I see."

  At that moment, Riker's communicator

  beeped. He was mildly startled. Whereas the

  page was certainly common enough on board a ship,

  here in the more leisurely surroundings of Betazed,

  it was extremely unusual. So much so, in

  fact, that Riker had a dim sense of worry

  even as he reached up to tap it. "Riker here."

  "Lieutenant, this is Tang," came the

  sergeant's voice.

  "What is it, T--"

  Tang didn't even give Riker a chance

  to get out the entire question. "Planetary sensors

  detect incoming ship moving extremely quickly,

  ignoring all attempts at hailing it. General

  shape would indicate Sindareen origins."

  Immediately Riker was on his feet. "Planetary

  defense systems--"

  "Too late, Lieutenant. These

  Betazoids are so damn peaceful, they hardly have

  anything anyway. And what they do have is too little,

  too late."

  Xerx was looking up at Riker with tremendous

  worry reflected in his eyes, but Riker had no

  time to try to quell fears. "Scramble the

  squad."

  "Already done."

  "And track the vessel's likely destination,

  based on trajectory."

  "Already done, sir. Our calculations have them

  making planetfall right in the heart of this city."

  Riker was ecstatic. "Right where we'll be

  waiting for them. Their overconfidence is their first and

  last mistake. I'll be right there. Riker out."

  All in the caf@e were now looking at Riker with

  tremendous worry on their faces.

  Even though no one was saying anything, he could almost

  sense the anxiety level skyrocketing. He

  started to head for the door, but for a moment, Xerx

  stopped him.

  "An open area makes them easy targets,"

  said Xerx. "But densely populated as we are

  here, means that you have to worry about innocents.

  Don't let your determination to capture your

  targets be your first and last mistake."

  Riker regarded him for a moment, then nodded

  briefly.

  "Understood," he said, and then ran out of the

  caf@e.

  CHAPTER 23

  Deanna and Chandra stared at the painting. They

  had stared at this particular painting once a week,

  every week, for the last ten years. Every time they did,

  they saw something new ... although whether it was something

  new in the painting or in themselves, neither of them could have

  said for sure.

  Deanna crisscrossed her arms and ran her

  hands up and down as if to shake off a chill.

  Chandra noticed the gesture and said, "Are you

  okay?"

  "I'm fine. I just ..."

  Her voice trailed off, and gently Chandra

  said, "It's that Riker, isn't it? The one from the

  wedding."

  Deanna nodded hesitantly.

  Chandra turned away from the painting. "What is

  it about him, anyway?"

  "I don't know. He's not at all like any

  of the men I ... I mean, he's so

  un-intellectual."

  "You mean he's stupid?"

  "No! No, not at all. He's very bright. Very

  quick. Very intelligent, really. He's just so ..."

  She tried to think of the best way to put it. "So

  primal. His actions seem governed as much

  by instinct as any sort of rational thought."

  "What's wrong with that? There are few things in the

  world more natural than instinct. When I met

  Teb," Chandra continued, referring to her new

  husband, "there was a sort of instinctive

  attraction."

  "But at least you two were compatible. Riker and

  I, we're ..."

  "You're what?"

  Deanna shivered slightly again. "Every single

  bit of rational thought tells me that Will Riker is

  completely wrong for me."

  "And your irrational thought?"

  "My irrational thought," she admitted,

  "makes my skin tingle."

  "Well!" Chandra smirked. "And what does

  your mother say to that?"

  "Ohhhh, don't ask. You think I have

  trepidation about him? He's not at all the type

  of man my mother wants me with. No social

  standing. No ties to Betazed or Betazoid

  society. No ..."

  And suddenly her voice trailed off, and her

  dark eyes went wide. Her face took on the

  color of paste.

  "Deanna," said Chandra in alarm. "What's

  the matter with ...?"

  Then she sensed it, too. "Oh, Gods," she

  muttered.

  Deanna grabbed her arm and grated, "Come

  on! Let's get out of here! Before we--"

  Other Betazoids were reacting as well. They

  were already in motion in response to the strong and

  frightened thoughts that were affecting the crowd to various

  degrees.

  But their actions weren't fast enough.

  All over the gallery, doors burst inward.

  At one end, a powerful ray blast blew in a

  chunk of the wall. The hurtling fragment
s

  flattened a man, pinning him writhing on the

  ground.

  Sindareen warriors entered, dressed in

  glittering armor, cradling pulse blasters under

  their arms. One of them fired in the air, and the

  deafening noise froze a number of people in their

  tracks.

  Deanna and Chandra spun and dashed toward one

  exit that remained clear. They were several steps

  short of it when it slid open, and the open space

  seemed to be completely filled with a massive and

  extremely formidable-looking Sindareen.

  His lips pulled back, and his entire face was

  cast in a death's-head glow. He leveled his

  weapon at the two women and said, in a

  deceptively pleasant voice, "Step

  back."

  Chandra whimpered slightly as Deanna guided

  her back. In a low voice Deanna advised,

  "Don't show them you're afraid." She

  was no less frightened, but she found it easier

  to ignore her fear by focusing on calming her friend.

  She sensed the terror running rampant through the

  mind of her friend. Newly married, her main concern

  was that she was never going to see her husband again.

  Deanna, for her part, hadn't taken it quite that far;

  she hadn't really accepted the notion that she might

  die here, pointlessly and unexpectedly. Her

  main concern was survival.

  As the Sindareen prodded and herded the

  thirty-plus Betazoids together into a small

  circle in the middle of the room, Deanna's

  mind was racing with thoughts of rescue. She was

  certain that the Sindareen's presence here could not

  possibly have gone undetected. She knew that,

  even now, steps were certainly being taken to rescue

  them.

  And somehow, beyond any shadow of doubt, she knew

  that it would be Lt. William t. Riker who would

  be spearheading that rescue operation. For no rational

  reason, she derived great comfort from that, and a

  certainty that everything would work out.

  She felt that way up to the point where the barrel

  of one of the Sindareen blasters was shoved into her

  mouth.

  "What have we got?"

  Riker was standing next to Tang, about a hundred

  yards away from the art building. Betazoids were

  trying to get near, sensing as one the terror

  emanating from the building and instinctively wanting

  to help and soothe those who were trapped within. But

  Tang had ordered his people to keep everyone back, and

  they were busy shooing the concerned citizens away from

  the immediate area. Tang was stroking his perpetually

  grizzled chin.