Star Trek-TNG-Novel-Imzadi 1

by Peter David [lit]

  "May I introduce our new first officer,

  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.
<
br />   And nothing had happened.

  Not 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 t
o be preoccupied, Admiral,"

  observed Data.

  "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