Imzadi Forever

  “On occasion.” At first put off by Roper’s style—if such a term could be applied to it—Riker was slowly finding himself amused by, and even liking, this somewhat harried diplomat.

  “Okay. The general poop is that you’re on a fast track, my young friend. Some even believe you might beat out Jim Kirk’s record for youngest captain…and that’s stood firm for close to a century.”

  “That’s the poop, is it?”

  “And nothing but the poop. So I figure I’ll start calling you captain now and beat the rush.” Roper leaned forward. “Unless you’d like me to just skip straight to ‘admiral’?”

  “That’s quite all right, sir, you run the embassy. You can address me however you want…although I would appreciate it if, in the presence of other Starfleet personnel, you addressed me by my proper rank. Genuine captains might not consider it amusing.”

  “Whatever,” said Roper with a casual air.

  Grace came back in with a cup of black coffee, which Riker took carefully from her. She stood over him and said, “Anything else I can get for you?”

  “This will be fine.”

  “Grace, see that we’re not disturbed.”

  “All right, Mark,” she said, but her smile and gaze were directed to Riker. Then she turned and walked out.

  Roper shook his head. “Oh, yes. Very impressive. So…” His tone changed to a more businesslike timbre. “What have they told you?”

  “About this assignment? Well…Betazed is supposed to be environmentally quite lovely.” Riker turned his attention to a large window that opened out onto a dazzling vista. The sky was dazzling blue with pink clouds hanging against it as if they’d been painted there. They were on the twentieth floor of the building, and Riker had an overview of the city. Rather than being a combination of a variety of styles, as in so many cities, the buildings seemed to flow seamlessly one into the other. Either the city had been meticulously planned from the beginning or else the growth of it had been consistently smooth and organic. Far, far in the distance, Riker could see the barest hints of a mountain range. “In that,” he continued, “I would have to say the word understatement comes to mind.”

  “It is a lovely world. A lovely people,” confirmed Roper. “Sensitive to a great degree. Thoughtful and caring, and utterly cooperative. A people steeped in tradition, and a world filled with great thinkers. I am not—it pains me to admit—a great thinker, Captain. How about you?”

  “For the moment, I’m happy to be a quick thinker. I presume the rest will take care of itself.”

  “A very mature attitude. What else do you know?”

  “Betazed is a long-standing Federation ally, and quite valued.” Then Riker’s face darkened. “I also understand there have been some recent difficulties with the Sindareen.”

  “Quite correct,” said Roper gravely. “The Sindareen have a history of belligerence. They also seem to operate in shifts.”

  “Shifts?” Riker didn’t quite understand.

  “They have a number of planets and peoples with whom they have disputes, or just perceive as being ripe pickings. But they don’t attack them steadily. They go after them for periods of time until they’ve reached the point where they’re almost crossing the line from nuisance and threat to genuine menace…and then they pull back. They won’t be heard from for months, even years at a time…until they’ve been pretty much forgotten about. At which point they start their assaults and raids all over again.”

  “And right now they’re picking on Betazed.”

  “That’s right. There have been three attacks in as many months at various points throughout the city.”

  “What about the outlying cities?”

  “Small. Primarily agricultural. A lot of farmland on Betazed, or cities that are devoted primarily to philosophical studies. Here is where the real economic action of Betazed occurs—almost all of the trading, the commerce, funnels through here.”

  “Not the smartest way to arrange things,” said Riker grimly. “Apparently they’ve never heard about putting all the eggs in one basket.”

  Roper shrugged. “It’s their planet, Captain. We can’t tell them how to run things. We can, however, take steps. A squad of Starfleet security has been stationed here. As the ranking Starfleet officer, you’ll be in charge of them.”

  Riker nodded. He was familiar with ground-based Starfleet security men—essentially, they were security guards without a ship. They would be dispatched by the UFP to situations where a Federation presence was going to be required for an extended period of time. You couldn’t leave a starship in orbit around a planet for weeks, even months—but you could send in a squad of Starfleet security men and leave them there for however long it took to solve the problem.

  Riker had encountered ground security teams on a couple of occasions. They were generally tough, strong headed, sometimes contemptuous and even distrust-ful of officers who spent their careers in “fancified starships,” as one ground security man had put it. They were also, Riker knew, extremely formidable.

  “Anything else I should know, Mr. Roper?”

  Roper nodded and leaned forward. “Don’t try to con these people, Riker. Their sensitivity to thought processes is second to none.”

  “I wouldn’t try to ‘con’ anyone, sir,” said Riker, feeling a bit indignant.

  “Oh, come on, Captain, we all do it. For example—you run into a woman at a party and she’s wearing a dress so ugly it looks like a Klingon Targ vomited on it. Do you say to her, ‘Hello, how are you—why are you wearing such a god-awful dress?’ Or do you say, ‘Hello, my dear, you look lovely tonight.’”

  “Well…the second, I suppose. I mean, just to be sociable.”

  “Save it. On Betazed they know precisely what you’re thinking. The fortunate thing is that, because of that, these people are hard to offend just on the basis of pure unspoken opinions. They’ve had to develop a high tolerance for unexpurgated thought…it was either that or kill each other. The only thing they have little tolerance for is prevarication. They’d consider that to be insulting. Be straightforward and honest with the Betazoids and they’ll appreciate and respect you for it.”

  The door to the office hissed open and Roper looked up in irritation. “Grace, I thought I said I didn’t want to be disturbed.”

  A young, cheery-eyed woman with straight black hair and a bit of the devil in her eye flounced into the office. “Hello, Daddy.”

  “Oh! Wendy!” He gestured to Riker, who got to his feet. “Lieutenant Riker, this is my daughter, Wendy. Wendy, this is William Riker.”

  “Nice to meet you,” said Riker, taking mental note of the fact that Roper had introduced him using his correct rank. For that he was most appreciative.

  Wendy pumped his hand in much the same manner that Roper had. “We have the same initials,” she observed. “W.R.” She was looking at him with a frank, appraising attitude.

  “So we have,” agreed Riker.

  “Good.” She grinned impishly. “When we get married, we can have identical monograms on our towels.”

  Riker blinked in surprise and looked at Roper, who shrugged. “Wendy’s been here with me the past three years. She’s gotten into the habit of stating her mind…even with those people who can’t read it.”

  “Saves time,” she said. She released Riker’s hand but continued to smile. “If you could read my mind, though, Lieutenant, you’d know I was just joking.”

  “Oh.” Riker felt a little foolish. “Of course you were.”

  “You’re cute, though. I like your eyes. They look like they’ve seen a lot…a lot of amazing things, and a lot of nasty stuff.”

  Riker was beginning to find her forthrightness somewhat refreshing. The idea of an entire planet where people said what was on their minds began to seem a little less daunting. Since when was the notion of honesty something to be concerned over?

  “You’re right,” he said. “I’ll be happy to fill you in on some of it.”

  “I’ll
be happy to listen.”

  “And I’m happy everyone’s happy. Oh, happy happiness,” Roper put in, sounding a bit curmudgeonly. “Wendy, was there something in particular you wanted to discuss?”

  “Yes.” She turned to her father. “I just wanted to know, which do you think would be better to wear to the Xerx wedding tonight? The blue dress with the ruffles, or the green dress that’s cut low?”

  “What difference does it make?” asked Roper. He looked at Riker. “Yet another one of the social engagements that this office is expected to participate in. Chandra Xerx, a daughter of the third house of Betazed, is getting married tonight. The Federation is to send a representative. Guess who.”

  “Well, I’m looking forward to it,” said Wendy.

  “What third house?” asked Riker.

  “Oh, that. Well, Betazed society has a number of families that are considered founding families, tracing ancestry back all the way to the earliest writings of Betazed history and culture. There are twenty of these senior ‘houses,’ as they’re called. The house of Xerx is the third oldest, hence the designation ‘third house.’ Chandra is the eldest daughter of Gart Xerx, and as Wendy mentioned, the wedding is tonight. I hate Betazoid weddings,” he added darkly. “And the timing of this one in particular…when in hell am I going to meet with Harras to discuss this sudden reception I have to pull together?”

  “Look, sir, if it’s too much of an inconvenience for you, I have a simple solution,” said Riker. “I’ll go.”

  Roper looked up. “You?”

  “If,” said Riker, and he turned smilingly to Wendy, “it wouldn’t bother you to have me as your escort instead of your father.”

  She looked him up and down in an even more appraising manner than before, and Riker couldn’t understand why she was grinning so widely. “That sounds great.”

  “You really wouldn’t mind, Lieutenant Riker?” said Roper. “You’d be doing me a tremendous service—clearing up some free time for me to attend to other matters, and sparing me yet another one of those ceremonies.”

  “I don’t see what the problem would be,” said Riker. “I’m glad to pitch in and help wherever I can.”

  “That’s settled, then,” said Wendy cheerfully.

  “Good,” said Roper, slapping his ample belly. “I must admit, I think that you’ll present a much more dignified presence for the Federation than I usually do.”

  Riker smiled politely, not completely understanding what Roper meant.

  But later, he would.

  Thirteen

  The wedding chapel was small and sedate, a one-story building shaped like a trapezoid.

  It was a crisp, cool evening, and Riker in full dress uniform had called on Wendy at her home to pick her up. He saw that she had indeed decided on the low-cut green dress, and he felt somewhat appreciative of that. The cleavage it revealed was most attractive, and she had a long and slender neck that was nicely accentuated as well.

  She smiled at him and said, “Very chic, Lieutenant.”

  “I wanted to make a good first impression on all concerned. And please, call me Will.”

  “Try and stop me.” She inclined her head slightly. “The chapel’s less than a kilometer away, and it’s a lovely night. Feel like walking?”

  “That sounds charming.” He proffered his elbow and she took it.

  They headed down the street, keeping up a pleasant and enjoyable string of chitchat between them. Riker found out that Wendy was a sociologist; that her mother had passed away some years previously; and that she preferred new age music.

  Riker feigned being wounded. “I must introduce you to the joys of real music. This new age stuff is just noise.”

  “So what’s real music, then?”

  He grinned. “Dixieland. Swing. The big-band era.”

  “Big band?” she said, sounding puzzled. “You mean they’re excessively tall?”

  “I’ll explain it later,” he said, for he had spotted the chapel just up ahead.

  He saw a number of Betazoids filing in through the doors, smiling and greeting one another. It was his first opportunity to see a large number of them together, and he was struck by the feeling that something seemed a bit wrong. Then he immediately realized what it was.

  There was hardly any talking.

  People would nod, smile to each other, tilt their heads as if they were listening intently to one another. But except for the occasional stray word of exclamation, or some random laughter here and there, not a word was spoken.

  “They’re communicating telepathically, aren’t they?” said Riker in realization as they approached.

  “Of course.”

  “Then this is liable to be a fairly dull ceremony. Everyone standing around thinking things at each other and we can’t hear them.”

  “Oh”—Wendy waved off the concern and laughed—“that won’t happen. Weddings are always done out loud, in consideration of any offworlders who might be in the audience.”

  “That’s a relief.” He thought about it a moment. “Will I be able to communicate with any of them? Mentally, I mean? I’ve never met a Betazoid…I’m not sure what’s involved.”

  “You won’t be able to, no. Oh, they’ll be able to pick up on what’s going through your mind easily enough. But for you to send and receive projections, well…it’s a technique. It’s something that you have to learn, involving mental discipline and learning how to clear your mind. Unless, of course, you’re dealing with a really strong telepath.”

  He looked surprised. “You mean they’re not all equally adept?”

  “Of course not. Are all humans equally intelligent? Equally athletic? Equally eloquent? No. All Betazoids are telepathic to some degree. Most can read minds without too much difficulty. But only a small percentage are really so powerful, so…formidable,” she said, for want of a better word, “and they’re the ones you have to watch out for. They’re the toughest.”

  “Toughest?”

  “To know how to act around. They’re so casual about their abilities, it’s hard to feel like anyplace inside you is…I don’t know…safe.”

  “I’ll watch out for that.”

  They entered the chapel. The air inside was cool and fresh. They entered a large room where everyone seemed to be milling about, just conversing…or whatever one would call it…with each other.

  Riker looked slowly around the room. It was fairly plain, although inscriptions written in Betazed lined parts of the wall. What was also odd were the recesses all along the side, and dangling from the recesses were what appeared to be clothes hangers of some sort. On the floor was a series of small boxes. Riker idly tapped one with his toe and the hollow sound confirmed that it was empty.

  Hangers and empty boxes. Probably for days when the weather was inclement and people brought coats and such.

  At the far end of the room was a set of ornate doors, closed. Riker presumed that the actual ceremony would be through there, but they probably weren’t ready yet.

  Several of the Betazoids seemed to pick up on Riker’s presence. They looked in his direction, smiled and nodded. It was as if to say, We know you’re here. Welcome. And then they went back to their own communications.

  Riker had once been to a world where none of the occupants had standard auditory or verbal equipment. They communicated entirely through hand movements. Riker had been to a party there, and the silence was positively eerie. The only sound that had broken the quiet was the slap of skin on skin as their hands would come together to form certain words.

  This wasn’t quite as bad as that…but still, it was rather disconcerting.

  “A little difficult to deal with, isn’t it,” said a voice from behind him.

  Riker turned and saw a thin but pleasant-looking Betazoid smiling at him. “Pardon?” asked Riker.

  The Betazoid gestured. “All this. The quiet communion. You are from Earth, are you not?”

  Riker realized the man knew the answer to the question already, but was do
ing Riker the courtesy of allowing him to answer it. “That’s right. Lt. William Riker.”

  “Gart Xerx, your host.”

  “Ah. Congratulations, Mr. Xerx.”

  “‘Gart’ will do.” Xerx nodded at Riker’s companion. “Good to see you again, Wendy.”

  “You too, Gart. I’m very happy for you and Chandra.”

  “Thank you, Wendy.” Xerx indicated the closed doors with a nod of his head and said, “They should be ready to start in just a moment or two. Chandra’s quite nervous, of course. She wants everything about her appearance to be perfect.”

  “I know how it is,” said Riker. “The bride wants to make sure the dress looks just right.”

  Gart Xerx smiled politely. “Well…that might be true in your culture, Lieutenant. We don’t have that problem, actually.”

  “Then you’re very fortunate,” said Riker.

  The edges of Xerx’s mouth turned upward slightly. “You don’t know, do you.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Know what?”

  At that moment, the doors at the far end opened. They moved very slowly and ponderously, and Riker watched them, interested to catch a glimpse of the wedding sanctuary within.

  It was dazzling, filled from ceiling to floor with flowers, all exotic and tropical. It seemed as if a small jungle had been grown inside the sanctuary specifically for the purpose of the marriage. Riker caught a whiff of moist air—obviously the climate was carefully maintained in order to preserve the flowers to their maximum advantage.

  He turned back to Gart Xerx to compliment him on the arrangement and was astounded to see that Xerx had removed his shirt, revealing a bare chest that was amazingly smooth.

  “Excuse me…what are you doing?” asked Riker, trying to keep the astonishment out of his voice. He turned to Wendy to see her reaction.

  What he saw was Wendy’s low-cut green dress even lower than it was before…namely on the floor. She was stepping out of it, and Riker was seeing a lot more of her cleavage than had been displayed previously…to be specific, all of it that there was to see.