Star Trek-TNG-Novel-Imzadi 1 Page 8

  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.

  CHAPTER 10

  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.

  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 ^w 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 ^w, 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! Lightsffwas

  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 Troiffwas 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. Crusherffwas

  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

  ^w 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 ^w 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! Quicklyffwas

  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 afws," Riker said. "It was so

  unnec ... 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 alt. "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 ^w and then

  exhaled it: "Died." He paused.