CHAPTER 11.

Lieutenant William T. Riker punched the bulkhead and managed to bruise his hand rather badly. The bulkhead, for its part, didn't seem to care all that much.

He stared once more, with utter hatred, at the packed suitcase that sat in the middle of his bed, as if angry the thing even existed. "This really stinks," he informed the case, and went on to add, "I can't believe you're doing this." The suitcase showed as much interest in Riker's anger as had the bulkhead.

"Lieutenant Riker to the bridge," came his captain's voice through his communicator.

He tapped it with his hand, which made it feel sore all over again: "On my way." He cast one last angry glance at the suitcase and the bulkhead, which had obviously conspired to make his life just that much more miserable, before heading out the door and up to the bridge.

He drummed impatiently on the railing grip of the turbolift. Everything about the ship seemed slow and frustrating. For that matter, everything about his life seemed slow and frustrating. He had places to go, a career to forge... and the fates had conspired to slow that career to an agonizing, frustrating crawl.

The 'lift door opened out onto the cramped bridge of the Fortuna, and Riker stepped out. He nodded a brisk acknowledgment to Captain Lansing and took his place at the survey station.

Lansing, middle-aged and content with the relatively low point in the pecking order that he had reached in his career, swiveled in his chair to face Riker. "I thought you might want to know, Lieutenant, that we'll be arriving at Betazed in Lansing paused and glanced at the helmsman.

"Twenty-seven minutes," said the helmsman.

Riker noticed that everyone on the bridge seemed to be staring at him.

"And we thought that you might want to spend your last half hour aboard our vessel with our small but st.u.r.dy bridge crew," continued Lansing.

Riker frowned. "That's very kind of you, sir."

Lansing rose, drawing his portly frame out of the command chair. "You did make it quite clear that you did not want any sort of going-away function."

"Yes, sir. And I appreciate your honoring my request."

"You know the wonderful thing about being in command, Mr. Riker?" Without waiting for Riker to respond. Lansing continued, "You get to ignore the wishes of your junior officers whenever it suits you. Mr. Li, if you don't mind."

Navigator Kathy Li rose from her chair and brought her hands around. Riker saw that she was holding something, and he fought down a grin when he saw what it was: a large cupcake with a sparking candle lodged serenely in the top. And the words So Long, Cupcake-Li's nickname for him-were scrawled across the top of it in pink icing.

Captain Lansing said, "Computer. Run 'Riker Farewell Program One-A.'"

The bridge was promptly filled with the sound of Dixieland music, and now Riker laughed out loud in spite of himself.

Over the music, Lansing called out, "We decided to compromise, Mr. Riker-a send-off, but with a very proscribed time limit, namely twenty-seven-excuse me, twentv-six now-minutes."

Riker made the round of the bridge crew, shaking hands and laughing and nodding, accepting with good grace their best wishes for his new a.s.signment. Kathy Li kissed him rather pa.s.sionately-they had made some minor effort to be discreet over their relationship while serving together. They had, of course, fooled absolutely no one, and with his imminent departure she saw no need to p.u.s.s.yfoot around. They broke for air and she patted him on the face. "It's been a lot of laughs, cupcake."

"No more than that?" he said mischievously.

She looked at him, feigning total astonishment. "More than that? With Will-the-Thrill, I-Never-Met-a-Woman-I-Didn't-Like Riker? Oh, come on, Lieutenant. You wouldn't want more than that. Doesn't fit in with your game plan."

"Are you saying the good lieutenant isn't the type to commit to one woman?" said Lansing in mock horror.

"I'm really enjoying discussing my psychological profile in a public forum," Riker said.

As if Riker hadn't even spoken, Li said cheerfully, "Remember the old days of s.p.a.ce travel, Captain? Where every single article had to be carefully measured and accounted for because of fuel consumption? If you had weight that you didn't allow for, it could cost the early astronauts their lives. Well"-she squeezed Riker's shoulder-"the lieutenant operates on the same principle. A real, solid romance-true love and everything-would amount to additional weight in his travels through s.p.a.ce. Our Mr. Riker doesn't like to deal with excess baggage."

Riker looked at her. "Kathy, are you mad at me?"

She blinked in surprise. "No. Not at all. I just know how you are. Or am I wrong?"

He thought about it and said. "No, you're probably right."

"See there?" said Lansing. "Mr. Li is probably right. And that is good enough for me. Mr. Riker, do you have any final things you'd like to say before you embark on your new and exciting a.s.signment?"

Science Officer Sara Paul was going around from person to person, holding a bottle of champagne. Gla.s.ses had been produced and she was filling each of them up about halfway.

"Anything I'd like to say? Truthfully?"

"The truth is preferred aboard the science exploration vessel Fortuna," said Lansing.

Riker stared at his cupcake. "Well to he honest... I wish I weren't leaving."

This caused a fairly surprised reaction from the others. "But Lieutenant," said Lansing, "being promoted to first officer on the Hood... it's a sizable step up. And-"

"If I were going to the Hood. sir, I'd he ecstatic. But I'm not. I'm going to be cooling my heels planetside for the next few months. I could be far more use remaining on the Fortuna."

"Lieutenant," said Lansing understandingly, "it's an unfortunate piece of luck, I'll admit. But let's try being unselfish, shall we? We can just thank the stars that the Hood is still in one piece. From what I've heard, those Sindareen raiders gave her quite a sh.e.l.lacking. It's a testament to the Hood, her capabilities and her crew, that she not only survived the sneak attack but destroyed the raiders. Still, she's going to be in dry dock for the next two to three months, undergoing repairs and overhauls which were past due anyway. Look at it this way-you'll be getting a ship that's better than new."

"But to be planetside..." Riker shook his head mefully. "I feel like I'll lose my s.p.a.ce legs. The timing is so lousy."

"True enough," admitted Lansing. "But what are we supposed to do? Your transfer to the Hood was arranged a month ago. Who expected a Sindareen attack on her? And the same time your transfer was arranged, so was the transfer of your replacement. We rendezvous with him in eighteen hours. We don't need the both of you here, and when the vacancy in the Betazed emba.s.sy opened up-"

"So why not let him stew on Betazed for a few months?" said Riker, hoping he wasn't sounding too whiny.

"Because Starfleet wanted the more experienced otficer there, Lieutenant, and that's you. Face it, Mr. Riker... you're just too popular. Everyone wants you."

Riker shook his head. "It's been years since I've been planetside for more than seventy-two hours."

"You'll get the hang of it," said Lansing consolingly. Then he raised his gla.s.s. "Lt. William T. Riker: Here's wishing you all the success in the galaxy, and hoping for a great and glorious future. To your future."

"To your future," chorused the crew of the Fortuna.

Riker nodded and smiled. "To the future," he said, and drank the champagne.

CHAPTER 12.

Riker's first view of Mark Roper, the man who headed the Federation emba.s.sy of Belazed, was what would become a fairly typical view of him-behind his desk, looking utterly besieged. Roper, for his part, didn't seem to notice Riker at all.

Roper was heavyset, with graying hair and a thick, fed nose that G.o.d seemed to have slapped on one day while He was in one of His more puckish moods. Roper had two computer screens on his desk and was going from one to the other, tapping notes into a small padd in front of him and muttering to himself much of the time.

Riker cleared his throat. Roper glanced up at him, nodded briskly in acknowledgment, and then promptly, and rather obviously, forgot Riker was standing there. Instead Roper continued with his work, saying things like, "Unbelievable. Can't expect me to he everywhere. They want me to...? That's two conflicting appointments. Now the Rigelian amba.s.sador wants to come through? And he expects me to set up a reception. Lord... Grace!"

The last word was shouted, and for a moment Riker thought that Roper was loudly calling for divine intervention. But then the harried but determined young woman who had greeted Riker when he first arrived outside Roper's otfice barreled in in response. She sidled past Riker, who had the distinct feeling that he had been thrown into the middle of carefully, but barely, controlled chaos.

"Grace," Roper said, "get me Harras at the catering facility. I have to meet with him as soon as possible. Also with Counsel Head Timbor-"

"You just met with him yesterday," Grace reminded him, sounding slightly confused.

"Yes, but I didn't know about the Rigelian amba.s.sador yesterday," replied Roper in exasperation. "Utterly paranoid people. Never like to give anyone more than forty-eight hours notice. And he probably won't even show up! Cancel at the last minute. Typical. Typical."

Riker wasn't sure precisely whom Roper was talking to-Grace, Riker, or himself... or some combination of the three.

"When's the earliest I can see Harras? Tonight," he said, answering his own question. "It has to be tonight."

"You have the Xerx wedding tonight."

Roper held his face in his hands. "Perfect. Just perfect."

He was silent for a long moment, and Riker seized the break in the steady flow of conversation. "Mr. Roper? I'm Lieutenant Riker. I presume you were told about me?"

Roper stared at him through his fingers. "When was our appointment?"

"Appoint-?" Riker looked from Roper to the woman who'd been addressed as Grace. "Is anyone here expecting me?"

Grace said to her boss with a gentle, prodding tone, "Starfleet? Remember, Mark?"

Roper still looked blank for a moment, and then understanding flooded through his face. "Riker! William Riker!"

"Yes, sir," said Riker with a sigh of relief.

"The new Starfleet liaison! My boy, please accept my apologies." Roper circled around his desk and took Riker's hand, pumping it furiously.

"I'm sorry if I came at a bad time."

"Daytime is generally a bad time," said Roper. "The second worst time is nighttime. Nevertheless, it's good to have you aboard. As you can see by my perpetually dis...o...b..bulated state, the more help we have here, the better."

"Whatever I can do to help, sir."

"Yes, well, the first thing you can do is take a load off." Roper gestured to the chair opposite him. "And have patience with my natterings and ramblings. Would you like some coffe?"

"That would be great, thanks."

Roper started to head for the door, but Grace stopped him. "It's okay, Mark. I'll get it." She looked to Riker and said, "Cream?"

"Black."

"Coming up." She smiled and flashed two rows of clean white teeth at him before walking out.

Roper looked at Riker with what appeared to be newfound respect. "I admit, I'm impressed, Captain."

Riker looked at him with mild confusion. "It's 'lieutenant.' And why are you impressed, sir?"

"Because Grace has been my a.s.sistant for three years and she rarely sees fit to bring me coffee... and she never volunteers. But you-" Roper paused. "Have a way with the females, do you, Captain?"

A slow smile spread across Riker's face. "Women seem to... appreciate me. Why do you keep calling me captain?"

"Starfleet forwarded me your file. Very impressive body of work. The word on you is that you're an aggressive, hotshot, up-and-coming young officer, with a flair and apt.i.tude for some of the finer points of diplomacy. The general p.o.o.p-do you Startleet types still use nautical terms like p.o.o.p?"

"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 p.o.o.p 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 p.o.o.p, is it?"

"And nothing but the p.o.o.p. 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 emba.s.sy. 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 a.s.signment? 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 att.i.tude. 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 whorn 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 a.s.saults and raids all over again."