Star Trek-TNG-Novel-Imzadi 2-Triangle

by Peter David [lit]

  "I was pinned down by some falling rubble," Riker said. "Sorry I didn't get here sooner. . .."

  "Soon enough ... to help me die ... where I wish ... die free . . ."

  "You're not going to die," Riker told him flatly, and he started hauling him toward the nearby shuttle.

  "Die . .. free," Saket said as if Riker hadn't spoken. "That's the .. . important thing .. . didn't want to die here ... no place to die ..."

  Riker was about to tell him once more that he wasn't going to die, but he knew that Saket was too intelligent to be lied to. Besides, Riker needed to save his breath to haul the two of them to the shuttle. The ground rumbled once more, and Riker caught flashes of phaser fire from overhead. Something big was in orbit around them. Indicating "up" with a quick tilt of his head, Riker said, "Friends of yours?"

  But Saket wasn't listening. It was as if he was slipping off into his own world. He just kept saying, "Free .. . free ..." over and over again. Riker saw the blood spreading faster across Saket's chest. He thought about stopping and applying some sort of first aid, but he quickly realized that it would be like trying to bail out a sinking ocean liner using a straw. No matter what he did, it wasn't going to even begin to be enough.

  They made it to the shuttle and Riker practically stumbled in with Saket. It was not an especially large vehicle, but they didn't need all that much to get off the unpleasant rock called Lazon II. Riker quickly scanned the instrumentation; it was all Cardassian, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. His fingers

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  flew over the controls and the shuttle rambled to life around them. Ideally the propping for a shuttlecraft was a two-man operation, but Saket didn't appear to be in shape to help with anything at that moment. Instead he was murmuring something, and Riker couldn't quite make out what he was saying. He dropped into the pilot's seat next to Saket as he made the final preparations for liftoff.

  "I knew .. . her mother," he was saying softly, almost as if in a dream. "She was remarkable. No one quite like her. She had pride that they could never break in her... gods know they tried. We actually became . .. friends ... I never would have expected that... on her deathbed ... promised I'd watch for her daughter . .."

  The shuttle jostled under them as Riker fired up the engines. It was far from his smoothest liftoff, but then again the circumstances were hardly ideal. The shuttle lurched to the right and then Riker managed to even it off. The tossing about seemed to get Saket's attention. He began talking directly to Riker, but in that same distracted manner. "You know what she said to me, Riker .. . ?"

  "What?" Riker wasn't paying all that much attention. Instead he was focused on the guards who, even at that moment, were charging into the landing field. They were pointing in his general direction and Riker knew that they'd run out of time. He opened up the thrusters to full faster than he should have, which ran the risk of shutting down the entire engine. He did not see himself as having much choice in the matter, though. The shuttle angled upward, blasts from ground fire below exploding around it.

  "She said . . . she had no regrets. That once upon a time . . . she had died . . . but this time, she had gotten a second chance. That she was grateful for it all. That at least her death . . . meant something . . . instead of dying uselessly as she had before. I never quite understood what she was talking about."

  Riker didn't know what Saket was going on about, nor did he care. The shuttle jumped upward, gaining speed with every

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  moment. They hurtled upward, faster and faster, the ground fire ceasing as they drew out of range of the hand weapons.

  "Although she did say ... she missed the Enterprise .. ."

  This comment was enough to immediately catch Riker's attention. He looked around at Saket and said, "The Enterprise? The Starship Enterprise?"

  But Saket had stopped speaking. The only indication that he was still alive was the faint glitter in his eyes. He seemed amused, as if something tremendously funny had occurred to him in what was likely to be his last moments.

  With a final thrust of its engines, the shuttle broke free of the planet's gravity. As unwelcoming, as cruel as the cold vacuum of space could be, for one moment Riker couldn't help but feel as if he had returned home.

  The rear scanners gave him a picture of the world on which he'd been imprisoned. From space, it looked so unassuming, so similar to hundreds of other worlds. There was nothing to distinguish it for Riker except the knowledge of what had gone on there and the resolution that he would never allow himself to return to a hellhole like that again.

  "Riker . .." Saket said quietly, as if he were speaking from very far away. "... you have been ... a good friend. I have . . . appreciated your company . . ."

  "Stop talking in the damned past tense" was Riker's sharp reply. "Stop acting as if you're going anywhere. Not on my watch, you're .. ."

  Suddenly the ship was jolted. "Are we .. . hit. .. ?" Saket asked. Although he asked the question, he only seemed mildly interested in the response.

  "That would have been more localized. This shook the entire vessel. I think that we've just been grabbed by a tractor beam."

  His ability to scan the area was greatly hampered by the different look of the Cardassian technology. He'd been able to discern such systems as the thrusters and impulse drive, but more than that was a matter of trial and error. He was about to try and figure out how to initiate a full sensor sweep when the

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  question was answered for him as space began to shimmer in front of him. It was a phenomenon he knew all too well.

  "A Romulan warbird decloaking directly ahead," Riker told him.

  "Oh no ... Romulans ..." Saket replied with dry sarcasm. "Whatever will we do ..."

  "It's easy for you to be sarcastic. You're not the human in the shuttle, Saket..."

  There was no response.

  "Saket," he said again and twisted around in his seat. For a moment he was absolutely positive that Saket was dead, and then he saw the Romulan's chest rise ever so slightly. When it fell without the accompaniment of a death rattle, Riker said urgently, "Just hold on ... hold on . . ."

  "Free ..." whispered Saket.

  And then they dematerialized.

  The Romulan transporter room faded into existence around Riker and he looked around with an almost detached curiosity. The lighting was far more harsh than in a Federation starship transporter room. The walls were gunmetal gray, and the floor was made of an unyielding grating that gave off a loud clacking as the booted feet of the Romulans entered the room in short order. There were about half a dozen of them, all with weapons drawn, as if they expected Riker to try and make some sort of break for it.

  But Riker was too busy to think about any of that, because at that moment Saket-who was so weakened that he was incapable of standing up-sagged toward Riker. Instinctively Tom Riker caught him, supporting his full weight. Saket looked up at him with what seemed, to Riker, to be apology in his eyes.

  Then another Romulan entered, a blond female with a gaze of piercing intensity. She was dressed in a flight suit, which would have indicated that she was of lower rank, a mere pilot. But the other Romulans parted to make way for her.

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  She took one look at Riker and made no effort to keep the astonishment from her face. "Riker?" she said.

  He didn't nod or reply, but simply stared at her. He had absolutely no idea who she was, but clearly she knew him.

  She looked from Riker to Saket and then back to Riker. "Help Saket. Get him to medical," she snapped out. Immediately several of the Romulans stepped forward and took the injured Romulan in their care. One of them, clearly a higher-ranking one, turned to face the woman and, indicating Riker, said, "What about this one?"

  She smiled in a manner that could only be described as wolfen.

  "Kill him," she said.

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  CHAPTER


  Iflrorf was somewhat amazed at just how much muscle power his mother packed.

  When Helena Rozhenko opened the door of her modest farmhouse in Minsk, she let out a girlish squeal of delight that did not remotely seem to match her exterior as she saw Worf standing in the doorway. She threw her arms around him before he was able to get a word out, and as courageous as the Klingon was, he had to admit he felt safer in the elderly woman's embrace. "Sergey!" she cried out, summoning her husband. "Worf, why didn't you tell us you were coming ... ?"

  "I preferred to maintain the element of surprise."

  She laughed. "Trust you, Worf, to turn even a simple visit into a military strategy. Sergey! Where is that man? Oh, and you brought company!" She glanced at Deanna and extended a hand. "Hello. Helena Rozhenko. I'm Worf s mother... adopted," she added with a laugh, "in case you didn't remember we met once before, but so fleetingly ..."

  "Even if we hadn't met, I'd know you. He's spoken of you many a time." Deanna shook Helena's firm hand. "In case you don't recall... Deanna Troi. Ship's counselor .. . well... when I have a ship."

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  "A Betazoid, correct? I could tell. Every Betazoid I've ever met has that same air of serenity about them as you do. And who's this?" Helena turned and looked at the young Klingon standing just behind Deanna and Worf. "Is this a friend of Alex . . . and . . . er's . . . ?" Her voice trailed as she spoke the rest of the name, her eyes widening in amazement. "Alexander?" she whispered.

  "Hello, Grandmother."

  "My God," she murmured. "Let me look at you." As opposed to the embrace she had given Worf, she held Alexander by either shoulder and stared at him in open astonishment. "You look a foot, a foot and a half taller. I'd forgotten. Good lord, I'd forgotten how it is with young Klingons. Your father did the same thing. We almost went bankrupt keeping him in shoes and clothing."

  "It was not that bad," Worf rumbled humorlessly.

  "Worf!" came a roar from a big bear of a man, with thick gray beard and boisterous attitude. Sergey Rozhenko strode toward them and much of the same round of introductions reoccurred. Helena, in the meantime, had already hustled into the kitchen and prepared tea and assorted small sandwiches for everyone. She did it so quickly that Worf would have sworn that she had everything prepared just on the off chance that guests should happen to stop by.

  They went into the comfortable living room, furnished in rich brown textures and solid old-style furniture. Sergey walked with one great arm around Worf s shoulder and the other around Deanna's.

  "So how long are you planning to be with us? You're staying. Tell us you're going to be staying." He raised his voice as if Worf had been contradicting him rather than simply walking and listening. "After all, whatever else you may have to do, what's more important than seeing your parents?" demanded Sergey with mock outrage, although he tossed a wink in Deanna's direction to underscore the tongue-in-cheek nature of his comment.

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  They sat on the couches, Helena bustling in moments later with the food and drink. There was a dark bottle on the tray and she said proudly, "Cognac, to celebrate." She glanced at Alexander and said to Worf, "Is he old enough, do you think . . . ?"

  "He has Klingon biology," Worf said. "He could very likely outdrink most adult human males. Still, I was wondering ... would you have any prune juice around?"

  Sergey and Helena smiled at each other. "Of course, prune juice," Sergey said. "I remember."

  "Prune juice is a true warrior's drink. Ideal to consume when you go to fight."

  "No, we don't have any, Worf. Next time, you give us some notice, I'll make sure we have it," Helena apologized. "So what are you doing back here? We were worried, your father and I."

  "We heard there was some sort of trouble with the Enterprise. "

  "That is something of an understatement. In point of fact, the secondary hull was destroyed from a warp-core breach, and we crashed the saucer section on a planet's surface."

  "Deanna was at helm," Alexander put in.

  Sergey looked at Deanna appraisingly. "Nice landing," he said.

  Deanna put her face in her hands.

  In broad strokes, Worf proceeded to lay out for his parents everything that had happened. Since Sergey was formerly a Starfleet man himself, specializing in warp fields-and Helena, by association, had learned rather a great deal about such matters-they were able to fully understand and appreciate everything that the crew of the Enterprise had gone through. "There is a court of inquiry being held in San Francisco, at Starfleet Headquarters, later this week, investigating the conduct of both Captain Picard and Commander Riker."

  "I think it's most unfair," Deanna put in. "The captain wasn't even there, and there was nothing that Will Riker could have done . . ."

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  Sergey shook his head and waved dismissively. "Do not concern yourself with it, young lady," he advised. "It is standard procedure for Starfleet when a ship is destroyed."

  "I know."

  "I wouldn't worry about it if I were you."

  "Yes, the captain has said much the same thing. Deanna and I have already been debriefed by Starfleet, so our presence is no longer required."

  "We offered to stay around for moral support, but both the commander and captain insisted that it wouldn't be necessary," Deanna said. Helena wasn't sure, but it seemed to her as if Deanna was less than comfortable over that decision. Worf, for his part, simply nodded, apparently unperturbed.

  "So you're going to be staving with us for a while, then?" asked Helena. She had poured cognac into glasses for each of the guests and gently set them in front of each of them, including half a glass for Alexander.

  "Just for the night," Deanna said. "We're scheduled on a transport to Betazed tomorrow, to visit my mother."

  "That's nice," Sergey said. "Taking the time to go visit the families. Nowadays, people are so spread out, it's so easy to lose touch with one another-----"

  But Helena was regarding the two of them with new suspicion, her eyes narrowing. "Worf, Deanna ... it sounds to me like you're taking each other home to meet your respective parents. Like you're a couple."

  "What?" Sergey looked at his wife, then back at Deanna and Worf and laughed. "Helena, where do you get these notions? They're friends, shipmates. Worf would have told us ages ago if he'd..."

  He looked back to his adopted son and saw the stony expression on Worf s face, and the genuine amusement in Deanna's. As if to settle the matter, Deanna reached over, took Worf s hand, and interlaced her fingers with his.

  "I am ... an idiot," said Sergey.

  "No, Father, you are right... I should have told you earlier...."

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  "You shouldn't have had to. I would have realized if I'd had the brains of a turtle, or even your mother."

  "I choose to take that as a compliment," Helena said archly. She spoke with a teasing tone, but she was watching Deanna keenly, as if sizing her up.

  Deanna was all too aware of the scrutiny, but told herself that it was a natural attitude for Helena to have. After all, their relationship had been dropped squarely into the laps of Worf s parents, and it was natural that they would be concerned about it.

  "So how did all this come about, Worf?" asked Sergey.

  "Well," Worf said, taking a deep breath, "I was on my way back from a bat'leth competition on Forcas Three, aboard the shuttlecraft Curie. During my return, I passed near a quantum fissure in space, causing a breakdown in the barrier between quantum realities. As a result, I was thrown into a state of flux, passing from one reality to another. In one of those realities, I was married to Deanna. My state of quantum flux resulted in at least two hundred and eighty-five thousand alternate realities merging. Fortunately enough, I was able to use the Curie to create a broad-spectrum warp field to seal the quantum fissure and return me to my original reality. As a result of that sequence of events, I began to consider the not unpleasant prospect of Deanna as a mate."

  There was a long moment of silence
as Sergey and Helena digested that nugget of information.

  "Amazing," said Sergey slowly. "Because the exact same thing happened to me and that's how I started dating your mother."

  "Sergey ..."

  "What are the odds, I ask you?"

  "Sergey!"

  "Well, what do you expect me to say?!" Sergey demanded. "Why can't I ever get a nice, normal answer out of him! Other men, they notice the woman's eyes, or they're set up on a blind date, or they meet in some cute way. No, not our son!

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  He has to be in a state of quantum flux! Deanna"-he turned to her pleadingly-"you tell me ... how did all this come about?"

  "I'd say the catalyst was very likely Alexander," said Deanna affectionately, pausing a moment to pat Alexander's smooth hair. "I helped ease the difficulties of Alexander settling into shipboard life, and Worf and I just formed a sort of bond that drew us closer together."

  "Now, that's an answer!" Sergey said in relief. "No quantum fluxes, no two hundred thousand realities . .."

  "That is two hundred and eighty-five thousand," Worf reminded him.

  "I stand corrected."

  "Actually, Deanna is being somewhat tactful," Worf admitted. "I was, in fact, not an especially good father. I have never excelled in .. ." He almost choked on the word and forced it out as if it were a stuck chicken bone. ". .. feelings. But it quickly became apparent that, in order to be a proper father, one should have some reasonable touch for one's feelings."

  "No one ever told my father that," muttered Sergey.

  His wife gave him an extremely scolding look. "Sergey! You should know better! Speaking ill of the dead . .."

  "Dead is dead. What am I going to do? Hurt his feelings?"

  "The point is, as Deanna worked to bring Alexander and myself closer together as father and son, I discovered her continued presence was not displeasing."

  "High praise indeed," deadpanned Helena.

  "One thing led to another and now . . ." Again, he hesitated.