Imzadi Forever

  Those delegates were now seated at the head of the table and were paying polite attention to Picard as he rapped for silence.

  When all was silent, Picard spoke. “The Federation is, at its heart, an organization dedicated to peace. So a mission such as this one is always particularly gratifying, since we are fulfilling the most fundamental function of the United Federation of Planets. I extend welcome once more to the delegates of the Cordians, the Luss, and the Byfrexians.” As he mentioned each one, he raised his glass and moved it slightly in the direction of each in acknowledgment. “And now, it is my honor to welcome the delegates from the Sindareen…Ambassador Nici, and her retainer, Eza.”

  Nici slowly rose. She was tall, with her coal-black hair swept up and back, exposing her long, narrow throat. Her mouth barely moved when she spoke—instead, the sound issued predominantly from the nictating membranes that fluttered at the base of her neck.

  “It is …our honor,” she said carefully, “to meet with our…associates…in a place other than the battlefield. I have advocated the putting aside of hostilities for many years now. Our leaders have finally accepted the inevitability of…”

  She paused, and immediately Picard knew why. She was waiting for one of the delegates to be classless enough to finish the sentence with the word defeat.

  No one said anything, but simply waited expectantly and courteously.

  “…compromise,” Nici concluded after a respectable pause.

  Picard was pleased that the initial thrust from the Sindareen had worked out so smoothly, as they all raised their glasses and drank. He, along with the other delegates, knew perfectly well that the Sindareen used language as yet another weapon—to probe, prod, and generally to try to trip up potential opponents and reveal their true mind-sets. So no one at the table had any desire or intention of falling into one of the renowned Sindareen verbal traps.

  Seated next to Nici, and just to Deanna’s right, was Eza, Nici’s aide. Eza was darker complexioned than Nici—perhaps a resident of another province, Riker figured. Eza had a dark scowl on his face and seemed even less enthused with the proceedings than Nici. But at least he properly kept his own counsel, and Riker hoped that Eza would not serve as any sort of impediment to the proceedings.

  Also, Eza did seem capable of being swayed—the only times he smiled during the meal were when Deanna would engage him in conversation. He seemed grate-ful for the attention, and several times throughout the course of the meal he actually laughed rather boisterously, his nictating membranes flapping with furious speed. It seemed quite a positive sign. Clearly, Riker thought, the counselor’s ability to charm people was not limited solely to Riker himself.

  By the end of the dinner, everyone seemed in high spirits. It was as upbeat a beginning as anyone could have hoped.

  Still, Riker and Picard managed to sidle up to Deanna during a leisurely time afterward, when the delegates had broken up into smaller groups and were chatting informally with each other. The full meetings were scheduled to begin the next day.

  “Any feeling on the Sindareen?” Picard asked in a low voice. He kept his smile firmly fixed in place, though, and even nodded in the direction of Nici when she glanced at him from a corner of the room.

  “On a surface level, Captain, their motives seem to be precisely what they say they are: they want peace.”

  “Any agenda beyond that?” Riker said.

  Deanna paused, giving the question full weight. “I cannot say for sure. As I told you, Captain—and as Commander Riker knows—the Sindareen can be a challenge to read. Through continued exposure, however, as I gain a feeling for the individual’s psyche, I might be able to tell you more.”

  “You’ll do your best, I’m certain, Counselor,” said Picard. “At least we’re off on the right foot.”

  A hand rested on Deanna’s shoulder and she turned to look into Dann’s smiling face. “Are you about finished here, Deanna?” he asked, and then looked to Picard and Riker. “Sorry, gentlemen…I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “That’s all right, Dann,” said Deanna. “We were finished.” Then she looked to Picard for confirmation. “Weren’t we, Captain?”

  “By all means.” But Picard’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he watched as Dann led Deanna out of the room, an arm around her waist in a most familiar fashion. Deanna was laughing lightly at some comment he had just whispered to her.

  Picard turned to Riker and noted that the muscles of his jaw were working under his cheeks. “Problem, Number One?”

  “No problem, Captain,” said Riker neutrally.

  Picard took a step closer to his second-in-command and observed, “She seems rather friendly with him. That’s not going to present a difficulty for you, is it, Number One?”

  Riker regarded Picard with an arched eyebrow. “I already said there’s no problem, Captain. I hope you don’t think I’m lying to you.”

  “Number One, never in a million years would I believe that you would lie to me.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Picard paused only a moment before he added, “However…lying to yourself would be another matter entirely.”

  Riker had been turning away, but now he looked back at Picard with some surprise. “Deanna’s happiness is my happiness,” Riker said firmly, and then deciding that his tone sounded just a bit too aggressive for a statement directed to his commanding officer, quickly added a respectful, “Sir.”

  Picard nodded slightly. “A very commendable and adult attitude, Number One. If you are satisfied with the situation, then I certainly am—especially seeing as it isn’t any of my business.”

  “As you say, sir.”

  One of the Byfrexians came up at that moment and engaged Picard in a discussion of Prime Directive ethics that had been a bone of contention in a seminar the ambassador had taught. Riker listened for a few moments before drifting over to Nici and striking up a polite and, he hoped, informative conversation with her.

  But his gaze kept shifting over to the doors of the banquet room—the doors through which Counselor Troi had exited moments earlier with Dann. And Riker had taken note not only of the arm around her waist but also that Deanna had placed a hand over his as if she wanted to make sure he didn’t remove that arm.

  “I’m happy for you,” he said to no one in particular.

  Ten

  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, and for a 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 words 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.

  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 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, “Lights!”

  Obediently his quarters filled with light. And there he saw—

  Nothing.

  The doors had not opened. No one had entered. Except for himself, no one was there.

  He had no way of describing the feeling that was cutting through him. What was the old saying? Someone just stepped on my grave.

  “Hello?” said Riker tentatively, not having the faintest idea why he was saying it.

  The ship’s computer, aware that the room was unoccupied except for Riker, interpreted the salutation as an oddly variant, but no less legitimate, means of address to itself. “Working,” replied the computer. It then waited patiently for further instructions.

  He didn’t know why he was asking, but he said, “Computer—who’s in this room?”

  “William Thelonius Riker.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “No.”

  Slowly he nodded. “Lights off,” he said after a moment.

  He lay back down as the lights faded, wondering whether he wasn’t making himself a little crazy over the situation.

  At first he felt wide-awake, but then gradually the fatigue settled in, and slowly, gradually, he drifted off to sleep.

  She filled his dreams. She was smiling at him, walking toward him, her arms outstretched, and somehow everything seemed to make so much more sense when she was there. Without her, there was no—

  “IMZADI!”

  The word screamed in his mind, throughout every part of his body, and he snapped to full wakefulness in a split instant. He didn’t know how much time had passed since he had fallen back to sleep, and it didn’t matter.

  All that mattered was the voice, was the word, and it had been unmistakably no dream. Definitely, it was Deanna, and whatever was happening, it was utterly terrifying to her.

  “Deanna!” shouted Riker.

  The computer said helpfully, “William Thelonius Riker is the only occupant of—”

  “Shut up! Lights!”

  The lights immediately snapped on. He winced against it momentarily, but it didn’t slow him as he ran to his closet and grabbed his robe. “Riker to Counselor Troi!” he called out in the more recognizable comm command that would, ordinarily, patch him through the ship’s intercom to Deanna.

  There was no response. She wasn’t acknowledging—but he could still feel that cold, dark terror invading him. Whatever was happening, she was replying in a far more primal manner than via a ship’s communication system.

  Immediately switching gears as he yanked on his robe, he said, “Riker to Dr. Crusher!”

  This time there was a response. Beverly sounded groggy—obviously he’d woken her up. But there was no hesitation to her voice because late-night interruptions were hardly unusual in her line of work. “Crusher here.”

  “Something’s wrong with Deanna! Get a medunit to her quarters now!”

  To her credit, Beverly Crusher wasted no time with confused questions such as “How do you know?” or “Why didn’t you call sickbay directly?” To the latter question, she obviously, and correctly, reasoned that Riker had instinctively contacted the person he most trusted in a medical emergency. To the former question, when it came to matters of Riker and Troi, she was more than willing to accept a great deal on faith.

  All she said was a stark “Acknowledged.”

  Riker didn’t even hear her reply. He was already out the door.

  He barreled down the corridor, attracting curious glances from passersby due to his state of extremely casual dress that contrasted with his air of barely controlled panic. Ensign Chafin had the poor luck to turn a corner without watching where he was going, which was directly into Riker’s path, and Riker plowed into him like a linebacker. Chafin went flying and smacked into the far wall. Riker barely lost a step and kept on going, not even registering until sometime later that he had decked a crewman without so much as a word of apology.

  Deanna’s quarters were just ahead and he raced into them, heedless of his safety. After all, he had no idea what threat Deanna might be subjected to—for all he knew, berserk Sindareen were skinning her alive and were ready to turn on him next. Nothing mattered except helping her.

  He entered her quarters and was horrified by the sight that greeted his eyes.

  Deanna was lying on the floor, convulsions shaking her. She was nude except for a sheet that had been tossed over her, like a shroud. Dann was standing over her, having pulled on trousers, but otherwise looking confused and helpless.

  “Deanna!” shouted Riker.

  Dann looked at him, and his skin had gone a shade or two lighter. “I…I don’t know what happened! She just—”

  “Why the hell didn’t you summon help!” shouted Riker.

  “I don’t know how!” said Dann. “I’ve never been on a starship before! Is there something I press or—”

  Riker shoved him aside, unnecessarily hard, and called out desperately, “Riker to sickbay! Where the hell’s that medunit!” He didn’t even wait for a reply as he dropped down next to the trembling counselor.

  Her skin was dead white. He took her hand in his and it was clammy. His hands moved helplessly over her, and he fought down his terror as he said, “Shh…everything’s going to be okay. It’s okay, Deanna.”

  Her eyes were clouding over. He didn’t even think she could see him. He had no idea what was happening to her, and even more terrifying…neither did she.

  “Imzadi,” she whispered, voicing the word that had lanced through his mind and soul. “Please…help me…help.”

  He scooped her up into his arms urgently and was out the door, heading toward the sickbay. He was by nature a strong man, and now, driven by adrenaline and fear, he was so worked up that he hardly even felt her weight. He kept whispering to her, talking frantically, as if afraid that the only thing keeping her attached to the world was the sound of his voice.

  He encountered the medunit partway. Beverly Crusher had not even bothered to toss on a robe—in her nightgown, she was guiding the techs with the antigrav crash cart. “Quickly! Quickly!”

  Deanna’s hand still gripped Riker’s robe as he laid her down on the cart and ran alongside it. And again, she said, “Help me…please…so cold…” Her body was shaking faster.

  “Stabilize her!” shouted Crusher, and Dr. Selar, who had been on duty when the call came in, jammed a hypo into her arm.

  “I’ll help you,” Riker told Deanna, and the fear that ran through her leaped into him and clamped around his heart. He felt as if his world were disintegrating. “I promise, Imzadi. I’ll do anything…everything. I…”

  But she didn’t hear him.

  Her breath rattled once more in her chest…and by the time she was rolled into sickbay mere moments later…

  …she was gone.

  Thousands of light-years away, Lwaxana Troi woke up. And she began screaming.

  She did not stop for two solid hours.

  She was never the same after that.

  Epilogue

  Admiral Riker stared at Captain Crusher, who was stony faced. “Your mother blamed herself for quite some time afterwards,” Riker said. “It was so unnecessary…she did everything she could. She worked on Deanna for…I don’t know…it seemed forever, trying to bring her back. But nothing helped. Nothing…helped.” And he added silently, Not even me
.

  “She blamed herself but she didn’t have to, that’s what you’re saying?” asked Captain Crusher.

  “That’s right.”

  Wesley stared out at the rain, which had tapered off to a mere trickle. Within a minute or two, it would stop altogether. “And I guess another reason it wasn’t necessary…was that you pretty much had a lock on the self-blame category.”

  Riker nodded slowly. “I guess the difference is that your mother did everything she could…and didn’t succeed. And I kept feeling as if…as if I should have done something. Somehow, someway…I should have done more. And it was always a great frustration to me that I never figured out what that more should have been. All I knew is that I promised to help her…and I didn’t do much except be by her side when she died.”

  “Maybe that was all she wanted.”

  Riker said nothing.

  Crusher considered a moment and then said, “And Mom never found the cause?”

  “Never,” said Riker, shaking his head. “That’s the most agonizing thing about a situation like that. You find yourself wanting answers, some sort of answers. And there were none to be had. Beverly couldn’t find any cause for Deanna’s…passing. It was just as if her body simply…stopped. Massive cardiovascular collapse, but there seemed no physiological reason for it. Beverly ran a full trace of all known foreign substances, for the purpose of ruling out foul play—which was pretty farfetched, but your mom covered all the bases—and there was nothing. Deanna just…” He struggled with the word and then exhaled it: “Died.” He paused.

  “And what happened then?”

  Riker shrugged. “It all went downhill. The ship; my life…just…” And again he shrugged, this time a bit more fatalistically. “Sometimes you just don’t really appreciate how key someone is to your world until they’re gone. And then, of course, it’s too late.”

  They sat there for a few moments longer, and then Wesley suddenly cocked his head slightly in that gesture that Riker had come to know so well. “Crusher here.”