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.

"h.e.l.lo?" 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 pa.s.sed 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. Definitcly, 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 pa.s.sers by 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 h.e.l.l 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 h.e.l.l'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... pa.s.sing. It was just as if her body simply... stopped. Ma.s.sive cardiovascular collapse, but there seemed no physiological reason for it. Beberly 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. Deatina 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 c.o.c.ked his head slightly in that gesture that Riker had come to know so well. "Crusher here."

Riker didn't bother to stand by and watch Captain Crusher have a conversation with thin air. Instead he walked back into the other room where Deanna's body lay in a perfectly preserved state and rested a hand on the covering.

"I'm sorry, Imzadi," he said softly. "I tried."

He heard Wesley's soft footfall, and then the captain said, "I have to go. Sudden groundquake on Cygnia III. Code One disaster situation." He paused. "You're welcome to come along, Admiral. There's... well, I'm sorry, sir, but there's nothing here for you except fairly unpleasant memories."

"That may very well be, Captain, but as I mentioned to you, Lwaxana Troi's wishes in the disposition of her things were quite specific. And Lwaxana was always a tough woman to say no to."

"All right, Admiral. Whatever you say." Crusher paused. "It stopped raining. If you'd like, I'll walk you back to the house before I go."

Riker nodded.

They walked out of the mausoleum together, their feet squishing softly into the now spongelike ground. The clouds were pa.s.sing and hints of sunlight were already streaming through. As they approached the house, the admiral turned to Crusher and took him by the shoulders.

"It's been a pleasure seeing you again, Wes."

Crusher grimaced. "I just wish it could have been under more pleasant circ.u.mstances."

"So do I. Maybe next time it will be."

Then, in a rather nonregulation but perfectly understandable move, Riker embraced Crusher firmly, patting him on the back. Then he took a few steps back, and both of them, without any intention of doing so, simultaneously tugged on their respective uniform jackets, straightening them. Each saw the other making the gesture, and they both laughed.

"Good sailing, Captain Crusher. The Hood is a good ship. I served on one of her predecessors. Fortunately she has a fine captain at the helm."

"Good luck in your future endeavors, Admiral Riker. I hope you find happiness... and some peace." Then Crusher tilted his head and said, "Crusher to Hood. One to beam up."

Wesley Crusher's body shimmered out, and Riker was alone.

He found the Holy Rings of Betazed. They were, for no reason Riker could determine, in Lwaxana's closet. He shrugged and put them with the pile of other materials, trinkets, and mementos that he was organizing in the living room.

Mr. Homn had vanished. There had been no word of explanation. No good-byes. When Riker had returned to the mansion, Homn simply wasn't there. It was as if he'd done his job to its conclusion and, once having reached that conclusion, had no reason to remain. And so he had left. Left Riker with a huge pile of material to go through.

Betazed had an excellent museum of antiquities, and Lwaxana Troi's collection was going to be a considerable and valuable addition. Riker had made the arrangements for it to he taken away, and they had only asked that he go through everything first to remove any possessions that might simply he considered personal and of no interest to the general Betazed public.

Lwaxana had left no family behind. The furniture had already been cleared out, donated to a local charity. All that were left were the keepsakes that Riker was now sorting through.

Having gone through all the other rooms in the house, he now approached the one he least looked forward to: Deanna's.

He opened the door, and sure enough, it was what he had antic.i.p.ated. Lwaxana had left evervthing exactly as it was, like a shrine to her daughter. The room was decorated in large splashes of purple, with various small statues-the type that Deanna had liked to stare at for hours on end.

And in Deanna's closet, he found a box.

It had a lock on it, but the lock wasn't closed. Riker opened the lid, curious as to what he would find.

He recognized everything that was in the box.

Everything had been perfectly preserved, no matter how arcane or trivial. There was a piece of vine from the Jalara Jungle. There was the headband that she had been wearing at Chandra's wedding. There was her study disk on "Human Dysfunctions." There was...

"Good lord." He reached down and picked up it small but sharp rock. It had a discoloration on it that was quite clearly blood. "She even kept this."

He looked further and found the poem.

He read it over, separated by decades from the youthful exuberance with which he'd penned it. Phrases that he could remember sounding so clever to himself when he'd come up with them now sounded trite, facile. A kid who knew nothing, trying to sum up in a few lines of poetry feelings that even now, as an old man, he couldn't completely frame for himself.

"This is terrible. I can't believe I wrote this." And then he picked up the headband, fingering it. "And I can't believe you liked it. I can't believe you-"

He was surprised to find that his face was wet. He wiped the tears with the headband and felt the softness of it against his face and started to cry harder.

He had thought he'd finished with the grief. He'd thought he'd been able to move on. But there, sitting on the floor of a room once belonging to a young, vital woman, he realized that he had never moved on. Never put it behind him. His entire life reeked of unfinished business. And he would never be able to finish it. There had been so much he had wanted to say-and would never be able to because time had outsped him before he'd even fully grasped the notion that he was in a race.

It was never going to get better. Despite all his accomplishments, his great failure-the failure that everyone had told him he'd had no reason for shouldering-would always be with him. Always.

He clutched the headband even tighter and tried to remember a time when he felt no pain.