She turned on her heel without another word.

Imzadi, he hurled at her bleakly.

She didn't even slow down as she walked... no, ran from him... up the stairs and out of sight.

Lwaxana regarded him steadily. There seemed no triumph in her eyes, he thought, which was odd.

"No, it's not odd, Lieutenant," she replied to his unspoken thoughts. "I'm not some ogress. Believe it or not... all I want is what's best for Deanna. Perhaps if you have children someday, you will realize that watching out for what's best is not something that brings a great deal of pleasure. Sometimes-at times such as this one-it's a responsibility filled with much pain. As a Starfleet officer... William... this should not be a particularly alien concept to you. You've promised to a.s.sume responsibilities that are not always going to be gratifying: obeying the orders of a superior, even when you disagree. Or staying your hand in the name of the Prime Directive, even when your sense of morals would have you do otherwise. Well, you don't have to be in Starfleet to face such difficult moments. Deanna's facing one such now... and so am I. And believe it or not, I take no joy in it. Because it's causing my daughter sorrow, and I hate having to do that. But we all face our responsibilities, Lieutenant. We do what we have to do. I know and accept that, as does Deanna. And now I think it's time that you faced up to that as well. Good day, Lieutenant."

The door closed in his face.

CHAPTER 29.

The Scotch burned as it went down Riker's throat.

He had gotten it from Tang. The sergeant had seen Riker's bleak mood when the young Starfleet officer had returned from the Troi homestead and without a word had extracted the bottle from his private stock, offering it to Riker with the contention that it could make everything go down more smoothly... frustration, pain, hurt, whatever.

Riker stared at the bottle, then gripped it firmly by the neck. He had looked at Tang and asked, "Are you interested in joining me?"

Tang had placed his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels thoughtfully. "Frankly, sir," he had said after a moment's thought, "I don't think you'd want me there. There are times when a man just wants to get stinking drunk on his own."

Riker had nodded. "Sergeant, you're wise beyond your rank."

"Thank you, sir. All part-"

"-of the service," Riker had finished along with him.

Now Riker, alone in his quarters, poured himself another gla.s.s. He resisted the impulse to just swig it directly from the bottle. Somehow such action didn't seem remotely in keeping with Starfleet decorum. He was sure that somewhere, in some regulations book, he had read that rule one of being an officer was that an officer always drank from a gla.s.s.

He tossed back another shot and tried to remember what in h.e.l.l had gotten him so upset in the first place.

"Deanna," he said out loud, and consequently reminded himself.

What in h.e.l.l had he been thinking of, anyway? Getting involved with a local that way. That kind of thing never led to anything but trouble. And not just involved, no. He'd actually had to go and get... feelings for her.

"Not feelings," he muttered to himself, and tried to take consolation in that. Yes, that had to be it. He hadn't really felt anything for her. Not really. It had all been... been self-delusion. An attempt to convince himself that there was some sort of genuine love for her rattling around in that brain of his, because that was the only emotion that her type would accept before they would get to the really worthwhile part of a relationship. Yes, the worthwhile part, which was... which was...

He frowned. "What was the worthwhile part again?" he said.

The door chimed.

Riker tapped his communicator. "Riker here." He waited for a response.

The door chimed again.

Again Riker tapped his comm unit. "Riker here," he said with growing irritation.

"Will?" came the voice of Wendy Roper through the door.

"Speak up, Wendy," he told the communicator. "We have a lousy connection."

"Will, I want to see you."

He shrugged. "Sure. Come on over."

The door slid open and Wendy entered. Riker blinked in surprise. "That was fast."

Wendy didn't quite understand what he was talking about, but didn't pretend to. "I heard you were upset about something, Will."

"Nonsense!" he declared, rising slowly to his feet. "Do I sound upset?"

"No. Actually, you sound drunk."

"Drunk!" said Riker indignantly. "That, young woman. is an ugly rumor, spread by people I've tripped over."

She giggled slightly at that. "Well, if you are drunk, at least you're funny about it. Daddy sticks mostly to Synthehol when he drinks."

"Synthehol!" sniffed Riker. "That stuff's for infants! You'll never catch me drinking that Ferengi garbage."

He circled his room, taking slow and steady steps that were a bit exaggerated. Without any preamble, he turned to Wendy and said. "She wasn't even that good-looking!"

"Who?"

"Her! Her... her nose was too long. And her mouth was too wide. And... and her cheekbones were too high. Frankly... she was ugly."

"Her who?"

"Someone I knew. Or thought I knew." He dropped down onto the edge of the bed and stared off into s.p.a.ce for a moment. Wendy sat next to him, waiting for him to say something else.

"You know," he said after a time, "you got in your head this... this picture of the way you think things are going to go. And they never match up. Nothing ever turns out the way you think it's going to."

"I know how that is."

He looked at her. "You do?"

"Of course I do. Fate's always kicking you in the teeth."

"But why me?"

"Not just you." She almost laughed at the persecuted look on his face. "Everyone. I've had my share of busted romances. And my dad-well, how do you think he took it when my mom died?"

"Not well?"

"Not well at all. He was wrecked up about it. But just because fate kicks you in the teeth doesn't mean you have to grin and give him more targets. You fight back, that's all. You just let him know that you're not going to take it. You're just not."

"She didn't understand," said Riker bleakly. "I thought she did, but she didn't. She can't see anything beyond this... this lousy little planet. A whole galaxy of opportunity, and she's got her head buried in the sands of Betazed..."

"Not me," said Wendy firmly. "I'm not living out my life here, you can bet on that. Not on this overphilosophized ball of rock. Uh-uh."

"No?"

"No. No attachments for me. No strings. I want my freedom," Wendy said with fire in her voice. "Another year or two here, tops. Then I'm gone. Diplomatic corps, maybe. An attach? or something. Or who knows? Maybe I'll just hitch. See the galaxy. Grab rides on star freighters, doing odd jobs for pa.s.sage."

"No attachments."

"No strings."

He stared at her. "Has anyone told you," he said, feeling an extremely pleasant buzz in his head, "how terrific you look?"

She grinned. "Not for a long time."

"And"-he paused-"has anyone done anything about how terrific you look?"

"Not for an even longer time."

He kissed her, feeling giddy. She was warm and supple against him. Undemanding. Yielding. Wanting nothing more from him than he was capable of giving.

He broke from her for a moment. "What do you think of art?"

"Boring."

"Thank G.o.d," he said, and they sank down onto the bed.

Lwaxana sat in her favorite chair in the study, reading and feeling totally relaxed. Deanna sat at a desk nearby, surrounded by texts for various psychology courses.

"What are you studying, Little One?" Lwaxana called to her.

Deanna did not respond.

Lwaxana turned to look at her and saw that Deanna was staring off into s.p.a.ce. Deanna, she tossed into her daughter's head. Deanna looked up, and Lwaxana continued, What are you studying?

"Oh." Deanna looked blankly at the texts in front of her. She held one up. "Human dysfunctions."

"Well," Lwaxana said with a faint smile, "we've certainly had our up-close-and-personal study of that for today, haven't we."

"Mother, that's not nice," said Deanna tightly.

"You know," Lwaxana said with a thought, "you might be able to get some genuine use out of your extended contact with him-purely on a clinical basis. He's a fascinating study in obsessive behavior, don't you th-"

Deanna rose from her chair and started across the study. "I'm going out."

Immediately Lwaxana frowned, getting up from her chair, She didn't precisely block Deanna's way, but Deanna was definitely going to have to go around her. "It's late," Lwaxana said.

"I think I'm a little old for a curfew, Mother."

"Maybe. But not too old to exercise common sense. You're going to see him, and don't bother trying to lie to me."

"It was too abrupt, Mother. It-"

Lwaxana raised a stern finger. "It was exactly as abrupt as it needed to be. It's what you both needed. Simply dragging things out would have done neither of you any good. It's over. It's finished. That's it. Now go back and study."

"Mother, I don't want to. I can't. I-"

I don't care what you want, Lwaxana's voice echoed sharply in Deanna's head for emphasis. Do as I tell you!

Deanna took a step back, a physical reaction to the mental rebuffing. Then her eyes narrowed, her fingers rolled up into tightly clenched fists.

"You don't, do you," said Deanna carefully. "You don't care what I want."

"I care about what's best for you-"

And with such force that it seemed as if the air molecules crackled, Deanna hurtled a blistering, NO YOU DON'T M0THER! right at Lwaxana.

Lwaxana staggered, paling under her makeup. "How dare you think at me that way! To imply that I-"

"I'm not implying it, Mother! I'm saying it outright!" For a moment Deanna felt as if her courage were going to falter, and then she realized that if she'd been able to face up to the fear that had pervaded her in the jungle, then this should be easy in comparison.

It all burst from her at once. "For years, Mother-for years-while you've done whatever you wanted, wherever and whenever you wanted, you've told me what I'm supposed to do, what I have to do. And you keep telling me it's for me, all me. But it's not for me, Mother! It's for you! It's to satisfy your needs and your desires and your decisions. You've never asked me whether I care about any of these so-called responsibilities! You've never cared! You just... just a.s.sumed that I would embrace them because they were important to you. Well, they're not important to me, Mother! I'm sorry! I don't want to hold the sacred chalice! It's all yours! Make wind chimes of the Holy Rings for all I care!"

"Deanna-!" Words could not begin to express the shock flooding through Lwaxana. "I'd have sooner died than talk to my mother this way!"

Deanna didn't stop. She was afraid that if she did stop, she'd never have the nerve to start again. "I want my own priorities, Mother!" She thudded her fists against her own bosom for emphasis. "I want to make my decisions! My choices! Not yours. Not hundreds of years worth of tradition. Mine! I'm ent.i.tled to that! Every single thing I've done, I've done because you've made that decision for me! So when do I get a chance, Mother? When do I get to make decisions about careers and opportunities and marriages? When?"

"When you have a daughter! Just the same way that I did!"

Deanna gaped at her mother, appalled. "I can't believe you said that."

Lwaxana was silent.

"I cannot believe that you said that," repeated Deanna. "Generation after generation, women not being allowed to think for themselves... perpetuating that pattern, child after child..." Deanna drew herself up. "It stops here, Mother."

"It's that Riker," Lwaxana said angrily. "He put these thoughts in your mind."

"No, Mother. The thoughts were always there. I just never had the nerve to say them. And what's worst of all is, you knew they were there. You must have known. You knew that I was unhappy, and that didn't stop you from doing whatever you pleased with my life, counting on my obedience and 'dutiful daughter' mindset."

"I knew that when you were older, you'd understand-"

"Well, you were wrong, Mother."

Deanna walked around Lwaxana and headed for the door. Her mother turned and called out, "You'd take him over me!"

Deanna spun and shouted back defiantly, "Yes!"