"Well, that's splendid. In that case, when you come by to pick me up, the two of you will probably hit it right off."

"The two of us?"

"You and my mother. You see, she likes challenges, too." Deanna smirked in a way that made Riker extremely uncomfortable. "And I have a feeling she's just going to adore you."

CHAPTER 17.

Sergeant Roger Tang, grizzled veteran and squad commander of the security unit a.s.signed to Betazed, caught a glimpse of Riker as he headed for the door. "Lieutenant," he said. and snapped to a salute.

Inwardly, Riker shook his head. Salutes hadn't been in style for two centuries now, but Tang was retro enough to harken back to those days of extreme discipline. Riker waved his hand in close approximation of a salute and said, "At ease, Sergeant."

Tang stroked his round, stubbled chin. The large phaser he always wore was clipped to his waist and slapped against his thick leg. Riker was willing to bet he wore it to sleep. "Lovely day today, Lieutenant. Where you off to... if you don't mind my asking," he added quickly.

"Out."

"Yes, sir, I can see that. The general direction of your path would seem to be leading you out the door. I was just curious as to where, sir. Security reasons. Can't be too careful, you know."

Riker sauntered over to Tang and draped his hands behind his back. "If you must know, Sergeant, I have a date."

Tang appeared to consider that for a moment. "Local girl, sir?"

"That's right. A local girl. I tried to bring a girl with me from the Fortuna, but she didn't fit in my suitcase."

"d.a.m.n shame," commiserated Tang. He lowered his voice to confidential tones. "You don't mind a piece of advice, sir?"

Riker shook his head.

"These people can ruin you."

At that, Riker blinked. "Pardon?"

"They're soft. They're pleasant." He tapped the side of his head. "They're always philosophizing about things, dwelling on things, pondering things. They think too d.a.m.ned much, if you ask me."

"Thinking about things is a good habit, Sergeant."

"Oh, of course. But not to the point where it's all you do. Not to the point of overintellectualizing. They don't fight... they'd rather talk about the reasons for disputes. I told one of them that the only thing the Sindarecn understand is force, and the guy looked at me like I'd just dropped down from outer s.p.a.ce."

"Well... in all fairness... you did."

Tang emitted a short laugh that sounded like a bark. "Yeah, I suppose I did at that. Look, Lieutenant... all I'm saying is, remember who you are. And who they are. Getting to know different cultures is fine and all that... but just remember that the galaxy is divided into two types."

"Those being?"

"Starfleet... and everyone else." Tang put a finger to his lips and then added, "Enough said."

"Thank you, Sergeant."

Tang tossed off one more salute and said, "All part of the service." Then he turned and walked off, the phaser continuing to slap comfortingly against his thigh.

Riker stood outside the mansion that was the home of Deanna Troi. Impressed by the structure, he hesitated a moment before rapping on the door.

He heard no footsteps, but then slowly the door opened.

Riker looked up.

And up.

A towering man loomed over him. He didn't look precisely Betazoid. He didn't look precisely anything. He stared down at Riker impa.s.sively.

"I'm Lieutenant Riker. I'm here to pick up Deanna Troi." Then Riker hesitated. "This is the Troi residence, isn't it?"

The man nodded slowly and stepped back, providing s.p.a.ce for Riker to enter. He did so, looking around the opulent setting in curiosity.

"Where should I wait?"

The giant closed the front door, but did not answer Riker's question. He studied the looming figure, utterly perplexed, and then a voice behind him said, "So I see you've met Mr. Homn."

Riker turned and saw an attractive woman with long dark brown hair, and a very aristocratic bearing. She came sweeping toward him in a pink and gray gown that set off her dark eyes and rosy-complexioned face. "And you're Mrs. Homn?" he asked.

She laughed lightly. "No, no. I'm Deanna's mother."

He took her extended hand and bowed slightly at the waist. "Lt. William Riker. But please, feel free to call me Will. Or William, whichever you prefer. And I should call you...?"

"Mrs. Troi."

"Oh." He smiled gamely. "All right, Mrs. Troi. Um... Deanna and I have an appointment."

"Yes, I know." She took him by the arm and led him into the s.p.a.cious living room. "She'll be with you in a moment. She's just getting ready... and I thought it would be nice if we had a rew moments to chat."

"That sounds very nice."

He sat down on a couch, sinking unexpectedly deeply into the cushions. Lwaxana took a seat nearby that bore a striking resemblance to a throne. "Now... tell me all about yourself."

He stroked his chin and said, "Why don't you tell me about myself?"

She chuckled at that. "Oh, that's very good, Lieutenant. Instead of voicing statements that you know I can puncture, you instead ask me to take the first step so that you know what you're in for. All right." Suddenly the sound of her voice changed just a bit. "You're aggressive, hardworking, dedicated, cautious. You're someone who's guarded, and so finds himself ill at ease in an environment where your only option is forthrightness. Oh, and you are extremely attracted to my daughter and have had a variety of s.e.xual fantasies about her. In fact, you are hoping that this outing will be in a romantic enough setting that you can employ your considerable charm to break through Deanna's defenses and introduce her to the full joys of your masculinity. Your preferred position for intercourse is-"

"Mrs. Troi!" said Riker, more sharply than he would have liked.

"And what's this about lime-flavored oil rubs?"

He got to his feet. "Mrs. Troi, I must admit, I'm shocked."

"You're shocked?" She looked up at him with overwhelming innocence. "Lieutenant, they're your thoughts."

"That may very well be, but it was my understanding that Betazoids prided themselves on courtesy. By my definition, your treatment of me here is not particularly courteous."

Her expression was stricken. "You're right. Where in the world are my manners? I haven't offered you anything to drink. Mr. Homn!" She clapped her hands together briskly. "A drink for our guest."

"That's not what I'm referring to. You're speaking... like I'm the enemy."

"That's your interpretation, Lieutenant. I don't think of you as an enemy. No, not at all. At most, I think of you as..." She paused, considering. "As an experience. A transient, pa.s.sing experience that Deanna will encounter, learn from, and grow from. That's all. Enemy is much too strong a word. As for the things I'm saying, Lieutenant-my a.s.sessment of your nature and thoughts-you invited me to comment. You can hardly take me to task just because I took you up on your offer."

Mr. Homn appeared at Riker's side with a drink, balanced perfectly on a gleaming silver tray. Riker took it without even really noticing.

"You have to understand, Lieutenant. There are certain responsibilities that come with being who I am. I am a daughter of the Fifth House. Holder of the Sacred Chalice of Riix. Heir to the Holy Rings of Betazed. I am accustomed to speaking my mind, and I am also accustomed to watching out for the best interests of my daughter. She is an attentive, intelligent young lady. She will inherit from me the tremendous responsibilities that are presently all on my shoulders. Unlike you, whose life in Starfleet means that endless vistas are open to you... Deanna does not have that luxury. There are certain dictates upon her that come with who she is. She accepts that. She welcomes that. I want you to he considerate of those dictates. And I want you to do nothing that will interfere with her destiny or sense of purpose."

"Nothing meaning...?"

"Nothing," said Lwaxana firmly, "meaning nothing."

"Mrs. Troi," Riker said slowly and deliberately, "I understand what you're saying. I appreciate your position. But with all due respect... you can't give me orders."

"Quite true," she replied with utter calm. "But Starfleet can. And believe me, Lieutenant... if a daughter of the Fifth House coinplains to Starfleet, there will certainly be those who listen. Do we understand each other?"

She gestured that he should take a drink. He stared at the contents of the gla.s.s and for just a moment tried to see any telltale residue that indicated poison.

"It's perfectly safe, Lieutenant."

He looked up and once again realized that his thoughts were completely open to her.

"I never seriously thought it wasn't."

She smiled sweetly.

Deanna chose that moment to make her entrance. Riker felt a flash of disappointment-her long, thick hair was tied up in a small, tight knot. The lines of her shapely figure were hidden tinder a loose-fitting, caftanlike outfit. In front of her she held a small basket. "h.e.l.lo, Will," she said genially.

He got to his feet. "Deanna, you look lovely."

"Aside from the fact that he hates the dress and the way you're wearing your hair," said Lwaxana.

Riker fired her a poisonous glance, and Deanna said. sounding a bit confused, "Mother... you suggested the hairstyle and dress."

"Did I? She smiled disingenuously. "So I did. Not too fond of my taste, Lieutenant?"

Gamely, he replied, "It wouldn't matter if she shaved her head and wore sackcloth and ashes. Deanna would still look lovely."

Mother and daughter exchanged a glance, and Lwaxana looked back to Riker. "Very smooth, Lieutenant," she said.

"Thank you."

He went to Deanna and gestured toward the front door. She continued to clutch the picnic basket in both hands, but smiled at her mother as they went out.

Lwaxana did not smile back.

"I hope she wasn't too hard on you."

Deanna and Riker were seated up on a gra.s.sy knoll overlooking a particularly lovely stretch of Betazed countryside. The picnic basket sat open next to them, the contents scattered about the ground around them.

Much of the time they had eaten in silence. Every so often Deanna would look up at Riker and either frown or smile. He had the distinct feeling that they were having a conversation without a word being spoken, or for that matter, without him even being fully aware of what was being said.

The statement she had now uttered was just about the longest of the afternoon.

"Nothing I couldn't handle," he said easily. When he said that, she laughed in a manner that he found very peculiar. "Why did you laugh that way?"

"Well, it's the way you responded. I asked you a question about how something made you feel. And your basic response was to make it clear that the situation was something within your control."

He stared at her uncomprehendingly. "So?"

"So, not everything has to be defined in terms of whether you can handle it or not. Sometimes it's enough to acknowledge that a situation has occurred and that you're aware of it."

"That doesn't seem like it would accomplish all that much."

"Why not?"

He lowered himself onto the gra.s.s, propping up his head with one hand. "Just acknowledging that a situation exists is rarely enough in my line of work. You have to deal with it."

"That's not true. What about your Prime Directive? Doesn't that tell you that you're not to get involved?"

"What it tells us is the preferred way of handling a particular type of situation... namely one involving interference with cultural development. But it still boils down to the idea that every situation must be dealt with in some way... even if occasionally the method of dealing with the situation is to keep your hands off."

"I see." She lifted the napkin off her lap and folded it carefully, replacing it in the picnic basket. "Is control very important for you, Lieutenant?"

"Not letting things get out of control is very important. There's a difference."

"And what might that be?"

"The difference is that you can have a specific situation with specific parameters... and as long as the elements within that situation don't go beyond those parameters, then everything is fine. You don't have to do much beyond sitting back and letting things run their course. This is as opposed to having to be in control, where you are handling every element personally every step of the way. It's a bad way to command. Shows a lack of ability to delegate."

She c.o.c.ked her head slightly. "Do you think of everything in terms of Starfleet?"

"Not everything."

They looked at each other for a long moment, and Riker saw something in her eyes... something that beckoned to him.

He reached across, grabbed her by the arm. and pulled her to him. She fell to the ground with a startled cry of exclamation. For a moment he felt her body go limp against him, and he brought her face to his, pressed his mouth against hers. He felt something electric pa.s.s between them....

And then he felt her knee in the pit of his stomach.

Riker gasped and rolled away, clutching his belly and moaning softly. He came up, gasping, and saw Deanna smoothing out her dress and looking utterly composed.

He sucked in air gratefully and tried to force the pain to go away. Deanna, for her part, reached into the basket and pulled out a brown pastry. "Dessert?" she asked innocently.