Star Trek-TNG-Novel-Imzadi 1

  you want to hug the road.

  Thoughts of what he would like to do with that body ran

  rampant through his imaginings, but he had to tell

  himself that, for crying out loud, she was taken. She was

  the bride. She was about to get married. She--

  She stepped aside and gestured to a young woman

  who was seated in the front row.

  "I summon you to the place of marriage," she

  said. Her voice was low and musical and had an

  exotic accent that Riker had never heard before. It

  sounded vaguely like a combination of three Middle

  European intonations, and yet a bit different.

  The young woman rose. She had blond hair,

  tied back in a white band. She took the hand of the

  woman who had "summoned" her and stepped up to the

  side of the groom. They took each other's hands

  and turned to face the clergyman ...

  And that was when, belatedly, it hit Riker. The

  brunette wasn't the bride. She was some sort

  of equivalent of the maid of honor.

  Unbidden, uncensored, thoughts about getting to know

  the maid of honor on a variety of levels

  stampeded back through his mind. His eyes drank her

  in hungrily as she stood with her back to him. The

  sumptuous lines of her hips, the elegant arch

  of her spine, and the way her shoulder blades

  played against the skin ... and the way the light shined

  off that skin ... the richness of her smile ...

  Her smile.

  Her back was to him but he could see her smile

  ...

  Because she'd turned her head.

  And she was looking at him.

  Right at him.

  At him. And smiling.

  Oh, my God, he thought, she knows

  what I'm thinking. She knows what I'd ...

  Wendy looked at him and saw that his face had

  gone several shades of red. "Will ... are you

  okay?"

  "I'm fine." His voice was thick and hoarse.

  It didn't even sound remotely like his. "Just

  fine."

  "You sure? You're sweating."

  "It's hot in here. That's all. Just hot."

  She was still smiling at him, for what seemed

  to Riker to be an eternity. Her bosom

  (God, her bosom) shook slightly in what

  he took to be (correctly) silent laughter.

  And then, mercifully, she turned away from him and

  put her attention back on the ceremony.

  Riker didn't hear a ^w of the rest of the

  proceedings. He had his own proceedings in mind.

  The only question was how best to proceed with the

  proceedings.

  A reception had been arranged out in a garden

  behind the chapel. Large lights had been set up

  that flooded the evening with illumination.

  Riker paid absolutely no attention to the

  types of food he was eating or how much ...

  indeed, he would pay for it later that night with a

  major bellyache. For now, though, he popped

  various hors do'oeuvres into his mouth, one after

  the other, but his mind was elsewhere.

  The guests were now all clothed, and the fact that

  Riker had his uniform back on was something of a

  blessing. It enabled him to--ffa degree--put his

  mind on autopilot, speaking pleasantly and

  adroitly to all those who approached him in his

  capacity as representative of the UFP. He

  wondered if they were aware that his thoughts were only

  partly on his surroundings.

  His eyes kept scanning the crowd for some sign

  of the maid of honor. The bride and groom

  hadn't materialized either--apparently there was

  ceremony and delay involved in this, too.

  He couldn't get her out of his mind. He had

  encountered so many women in his lifetime, and yet when

  he had seen her, there had been something ... something

  he couldn't put his finger on. It was almost as if

  he knew her somehow, from somewhere.

  But he had never seen her before. He was sure that

  he hadn't. Hell, she wasn't even the kind of

  female that he usually considered his "type." But

  there was something about her that--

  A burst of applause brought his attention

  back to focus, and there she was. She had emerged

  from the chapel with the bride and groom, and several

  other friends of the newlywed couple were crowding around

  them, congratulating them, laughing and smiling.

  He waited for the maid of honor to look his

  way, to catch his gaze. But she didn't. In

  fact, she seemed to look everywhere except in his

  direction. He wasn't sure if this was

  intentional or not. Whatever it was, it was damned

  frustrating.

  There was a tap on his shoulder. He turned and

  Wendy was looking up at him with those large doe

  eyes of hers. "Is there some problem, W? You

  seem to have time for everyone except me, and I'm

  supposed to be your date."

  "No problem. No problem at all." He

  draped an arm around her and kept her close to him

  the remainder of the time. Almost as if she were a

  shield; a reminder that there were plenty of other

  women in the galaxy.

  Almost as if he were a little afraid of the way that

  the young Betazoid maid of honor had gotten

  to him.

  It was crazy. He didn't know her ... not

  at all. Oh, sure, he knew she looked good

  naked--okay, great naked--okay, spectacular

  beyond belief naked--but even so, nothing about her could

  account for this feeling of urgency he had whenever he

  looked at her. This feeling that he had to get to know

  her better.

  "Do you believe in love at first sight?" he

  asked Wendy.

  "Nope. I think you can look at someone and be

  attracted on a physical level. That's

  easy. But true, genuine love? No. You can

  even be attracted to someone and fall in love with

  them subsequently. That doesn't make it love

  at first sight though. That just makes it ... I

  don't know ... fortuitous infatuation."

  "Absolutely right." He even felt a

  measure of relief. Here was someone to throw a

  bucket of cold reality into an unreal situation.

  "I feel the same way. You find something, you

  study it, you draw conclusions, and you proceed. You

  don't just leap into something on blind faith."

  "Will," Wendy said, smiling coyly, "is this

  your way of telling me that you find me

  attractive? I mean ... what are you saying?

  That you think you might be falling in love with me at

  first sight?"

  "Of course not. I thought we agreed ...

  there's no such thing. Don't you remember?"

  "Ooooh, yes. So we did."

  All the young women were clustering together now,

  including the maid of honor. Riker watched with

  curiosity and Wendy said, "You know the old Earth

  custom of the bride throwing the bouquet?"

  "Yes."

  "Well, there's something similar here. Except

  it's not a bouquet. The bride wears a

  white band in her hair, and she t
osses that."

  "Oh."

  Chandra, the bride, stood with her back to the young

  women and after a moment of hesitation tossed the

  headband over her right shoulder. It fluttered through the

  air toward the throng of grasping hands, and one

  pair of hands snatched it from its flight. There was

  a burst of applause as the maid of honor

  came up with it triumphantly.

  "Oh, how nice! Deanna caught it," said

  Wendy. "She and Chandra have been friends for years."

  "Deanna?"

  "Deanna Troi. She was the maid of

  honor."

  "Was she?" said Riker with very carefully

  cultivated neutrality in his voice.

  So carefully, in fact, that it drew a

  strange look from Wendy. "Yes, that's right.

  I'm surprised you don't remember."

  "Well, you know how it is ... all naked

  bodies tend to blend in with each other. So what

  does catching the white cloth signify? That

  she's the next to get married?"

  "No. What it means is that the great love of

  her life is at this gathering."

  "How romantic." Riker found himself turning

  the full force of his gaze, of his every thought,

  directly at the young woman who he now knew was

  called Deanna Troi.

  She did not so much as glance his way the rest of the

  evening.

  CHAPTER 14

  "You could have told me, you know."

  Mark Roper looked up at Lieutenant

  Riker and grinned. "Good morning, Captain."

  "Don't call me that." Riker's stomach

  felt achy, which matched the condition of his head.

  "Why didn't you tell me that no one wore

  clothes at the wedding?"

  Roper sat back in his chair and looked with

  mild scorn in Riker's direction. "Oh, come

  now, Captain. All throughout Starfleet they teach

  you how to adapt and deal with the unexpected. I'd have

  thought that you wouldn't be phased for a moment by the

  situation."

  "They didn't cover stripping in Starfleet

  Academy." Riker sagged into the chair

  opposite Roper.

  "Maybe you should suggest it be added to the

  curriculum," Roper said helpfully.

  "I'll do that," lied Riker.

  "Wendy was, I take it, an excellent

  companion?"

  "Very socially adept."

  "Did you take her to bed with you?"

  Riker's jaw dropped as he stared at

  Roper's mirthful expression. "What is it with

  this planet?" said Riker incredulously.

  "Casual nudity. Fathers inquiring about the

  sexual activities of their daughters first thing

  in the morning ..."

  "Would you prefer I wait until midafn?"

  "Mr. Roper," Riker said after a moment,

  "I really don't think it's any of your

  business."

  "Riker, Riker, Riker. You don't understand.

  I'll find out anyway. My daughter and I have

  a very open relationship. We've learned that

  technique from our stay here on Betazed. Honesty

  --t's the key whenever possible. And if you and my

  daughter enjoyed each other, then I'll take

  pleasure in that enjoyment."

  Riker stared at him. "You know ... I never

  thought of myself as a prude, by any stretch of the

  imagination. But in comparison to what goes on with you

  people here ... I feel positively archaic."

  "You'll get used to freedom. Everyone does

  after a while. Sometimes it just takes a bit of

  adjusting, is all."

  "All right, then. For the record ... no, I

  did not take your daughter to bed. Nor did she

  take me. It was late, we were tired ..."

  And I couldn't get Deanna Troi out of

  my mind. But he didn't say that part, though.

  "Whatever," said Roper casually. "My

  daughter is a perfectly capable young woman.

  I trust her decisions whenever she makes them, and

  whomever she makes them with." He paused. "That

  Chandra Xerx was quite a lovely bride, I'll

  wager."

  "Yes. Yes, she was." This was the perfect

  opportunity to bring up what he was really thinking

  about. "So was her maid of honor ... what was her

  name? Donna? Dena?"

  "Deanna? Deanna Troi?"

  "That's right," said Riker, hoping that his affected

  casual air was remotely convincing. "That was the

  name I heard mentioned. Deanna

  Troi."

  "Lovely girl. Just lovely. Now what is

  she up to these days?" Roper glanced outside for a

  long moment, as if the answers he sought were in the

  clouds. Perhaps they in fact were, because he turned

  back to Riker and said, "Psychology student.

  That's it. Over at the university. Near the top

  of her class ... I should remember that since

  Lwaxana's always boasting about her."

  "Lwaxana is her mother?"

  "Ohhhh, yes. Quite a character, that one. You know the

  old axiom about how, if you want to get a

  feeling for what the daughter will be like twenty,

  thirty years down the road ... all you have to do

  is look at the mother?"

  "Yes."

  "Case in point."

  Riker looked surprised. "What, is she that

  ugly?"

  "Lwaxana? Oh, not by any means. In

  fact, she's a very striking woman. Quite

  attractive, and she knows how to use her

  appearance to her advantage. But she can be very ...

  overpowering."

  "Overpowering in what sense?" But before Roper

  could respond, Riker added, "Wait ...

  Wendy was talking about a small percentage of

  Betazoids who are, telepathically, pretty

  formidable."

  "She may have been speaking specifically about

  Lwaxana," Roper affirmed. "I think

  "formidable"' is a perfectly apt

  description. For that matter, according to what Wendy's

  told me ... and believe me, that girl is up

  on all the latest scuttlebutt ... if you

  happen to be a suitor, then Lwaxana can be

  downright intimidating. Poor Deanna doesn't

  see much in the way of a social life."

  "What a waste."

  His tone of voice had slipped more than he'd

  have liked. Roper looked at him with a cunning

  expression. "You're interested in her, aren't you."

  "Mark, I don't even know her."

  "You're dodging the question."

  "No, I'm not. How can I possibly

  decide if I'm interested in someone if I

  haven't even exchanged ten ^ws with her."

  Roper looked wistful. "Other than my

  marriage, the most memorable relationship I had

  in my life involved a young woman and

  an exchange of less than five ^ws." He

  regarded Riker. "That, of course, was when I was

  a very young man. Vital, alive, and feeling my

  oats. Much as you are now."

  "My oats are reined in, thank you, Mark,"

  Riker told him firmly. He stood and said,

  "If you'll excuse me, I have a meeting with the

  commanding officer of the security team."

  "Sergeant Tang? Good
man. He knows his

  stuff." Roper swiveled the computer screen around

  to check his itinerary for the day. "Give him my

  regards."

  "I will."

  "And I hope I didn't offend you with my

  observations about young Troi."

  "Not at all," said Riker, heading for the door.

  "But to be perfectly honest, I have far more on my

  mind right now than Deanna Troi."

  "I'm sure you do. You know where the university

  is?"

  "No, but it shouldn't be hard to find ..." And

  then Riker's voice trailed off as he realized

  what he was saying. He turned back to Roper and

  said, "That is, of course, if I were interested in

  finding it."

  "Of course," said Roper calmly. "If you

  were interested. Which you're not."

  "Not at all."

  "Glad to hear it."

  CHAPTER 15

  Deanna Troi walked across the campus, her

  thoughts still on the topics they'd been discussing so

  forcefully in her psychological ethics class.

  So she paid no attention whatsoever to the young, dashing

  Starfleet officer who ever so casually, ever so

  coincidentally, strolled past her.

  But then a voice called out, "I remember

  you."

  She stopped in her tracks. She couldn't

  place the voice at all, but the sense of the

  person behind her was damned familiar. Then she

  smiled ... inwardly. I should have expected

  this, she thought, and turned slowly.

  He walked toward her, making a great show of

  trying to place precisely where he recollected

  her from. "The wedding yesterday. You were at the wedding,

  weren't you."

  Slowly she nodded, making sure

  to maintain a very carefully constructed air of

  disinterest.

  He stuck out a hand. "Lt. William t.

  Riker, at your service."

  She looked at his proffered hand for a moment.

  Then extremely carefully, as if handling a

  specimen, she took the tips of his fingers in hers

  and shook his hand very lightly. "What does the

  T stand for?"

  "Terrific." He waggled his eyebrows

  slightly to put across, just in case she didn't

  get it, that he was making a joke.

  She got it. But her expression made it quite

  clear that she didn't care for it.

  Or him.

  "I'm new here ... to the planet, I mean

  ... and I'm just trying to get to know as many of the

  residents here as I can."

  "I see." She had been holding a computer

  padd under her arm. Now she crossed her arms