The Battle Of Betazed Part 21

The doors to the corridor opened, and Captain Picard entered with Commander Vaughn.

"Jean-Luc," Lwaxana said with the brightest smile she could manage. "How lovely to see you again. I knew we could count on your help, and you've come through admirably, as usual. Perhaps when Dr. Crusher releases me, I can thank you over an intimate dinner."

Deanna watched the captain a.s.sume what Will had once described in old Earth terms as a deer-caught-in-the-headlights expression. She exchanged an amused look with Commander Vaughn, who apparently was well acquainted with her mother's flirtatious ways.

Picard, however, recovered quickly, and, while keeping his distance, acknowledged her mother's invitation with a gracious nod. "An intimate dinner would be delightful, Lwaxana." She seemed pleased at Picard's acceptance, until he spoke again. "I'll invite the entire council, so we can discuss the continued defense of Betazed and an exchange of your captives for Starfleet prisoners of war."

Vaughn, blue eyes curiously warm, stepped to Deanna's side.

"I came to thank you for your help-and to say good-bye."

The older man's imminent departure filled her with regret. She'd grown fond of Elias, and with their mission accomplished, she'd looked forward to his sharing more about his days with her father. Like so many other things, their talk would have to wait until the war ended. "Where are you headed?"

He shrugged. "I go where they send me."

Deanna wanted to tell him to stay in touch, but knew better than to believe that was an option. "Keep safe, Elias."

"You, too, Deanna."

Epilogue.

O N HOLODECK FOUR, Deanna lay on her stomach in the warm sand and let the simulated sun of Risa bake the weariness from her bones.

"Still brooding?" Will asked, basking in the sun's rays on the blanket beside her.

"Is it that obvious?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. You've been somber for days. Is it because of what happened on Betazed?"

"No, I've come to terms with the fact that it turned out as well as it could have, given the circ.u.mstances."

"It's too bad the invasive empathy had such a high mortality rate. Otherwise, the Federation could use Betazoid teams to knock out Jem'Hadar installations all over the quadrant."

"I doubt my people will ever use it again," Deanna said, "now that they know the cost."

Will propped himself on his elbow and studied her. "Then what's troubling you?"

She shrugged. "I guess I just feel guilty, lounging on a holodeck while there's still a war going on."

"Doctor's orders," Will reminded her. "But after all you've been through, I find it hard to believe you have reason to feel guilty about anything. Try again."

Deanna didn't answer at first, and they lay there in silence for long minutes, the sound of simulated waves against the holographic sh.o.r.e a dull roar. Then she sat up, facing Will cross-legged, staring into her open hands as she tried to find the words for what she needed to say. She wasn't sure how to begin, and she feared to give voice to it.

Finally she looked at him, feeling tears streaming down her cheeks.

"He's still in my head, Will," she whispered.

Riker looked into her eyes, and the anguish he saw there cut into him. He wanted to say something, but didn't know what.

"I still remember everything," Deanna went on. "Everything he knew, everything he did, everything he felt. He's still in my head, and I truly don't know if I'll ever get him out."

"Yes, you will," Will said quietly.

She almost laughed through the tears. "You know that for a fact, do you?"

"Yeah," he said, sitting up. "I do. I know it because in every way that counts, you're stronger than he was. I know it because no matter how bad things get, you always manage to hold it together, not just for yourself, but for everyone around you. And I know it because after all the difficult times in my life you've helped me through, there's no way I'm not gonna be there to help you through yours."

She smiled then, a ray of light through the dark cloud of her anguish, and slowly, with a few deep, cathartic breaths, the tears faded.

"Are you all right?" Will asked.

"No," she said honestly. "But I will be."

"Never doubted it." He grinned.

She embraced him tightly then. His arms reached around her in return, and Will suddenly felt tears welling up in his own eyes. In silence they continued to hold each other, long after the tears faded, and long after the holographic sun went down, each one knowing they'd never let go.

About the Authors

After teaching writing and communications at the college level, Charlotte Douglas now writes full-time. A graduate of the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, she is working on her nineteenth novel. She lives on Florida's West Coast with her husband and two cairn terriers.

Susan Kearney used to set herself on fire four times a day. While she no longer performs her signature fire dive (she's taken up figure skating), she never runs out of ideas for characters and plots. A business graduate of the University of Michigan, Susan has sold twenty-three novels and writes full-time. She resides in a small town outside Tampa, Florida, with her husband, children, and a spoiled Boston terrier. Visit her web site at www.SusanKearney.com.

Special Sneak Preview of STARGAZER: BOOK ONE.

Gauntlet by Michael Jan Friedman Coming in May from Pocket Books!

Captain's personal log, supplemental.

We have arrived at Starbase 32, where Commander Gilaad Ben Zoma and I are to attend a convocation of stars.h.i.+p captains and their executive officers. While such gatherings have rarely taken place before, our newly minted Admiral McAteer seems intent on closely coordinating the activities of all s.h.i.+ps in his sector.

Ben Zoma thinks the entire meeting will be a waste of time-particularly the c.o.c.ktail party the admiral is hosting this evening. I, on the other hand, am looking forward to the opportunity to rub elbows with my fellow captains.

No doubt there is a great deal I can learn from them ... considering I have officially been on the job less than a week now.

J EAN-L UC P ICARD, captain of the Federation stars.h.i.+p Stargazer, surveyed the imposing dome-shaped room that opened before him. It was filled with a sea of crimson uniforms and gold-barred sleeves, along with several matching crimson-draped tables bearing pale bowls of Andorian punch and piles of dark brown finger sandwiches.

Glancing at his first officer, Picard said, "I don't think I've ever seen so many command officers in one place."

Ben Zoma, a man with dark good looks and a mischievous glint in his eye, smiled at the remark. "One well-placed photon torpedo and you'd wipe out half the fleet."

"Perhaps not half, Number One."

"Close enough," Ben Zoma insisted.

"Think of it as a unique opportunity," Picard told him. He regarded a knot of a half-dozen men and women gathered around the nearest punch bowl. "A chance to pick the brains of those more experienced at this than you or I."

Ben Zoma, like Picard, had been promoted only recently. Before being named first officer of the Stargazer, he had served as the vessel's chief of security.

"Follow me," the captain said, meaning to take his own advice.

Joining the group by the punch bowl, he smiled at the glances that came his way. Then, as he helped himself to some punch, he listened in on the conversation.

"Of course," said a man with red hair that had begun graying at the temples, "I had never done anything like that before. But the circ.u.mstances seemed to call for it."

A large-boned woman with dark features nodded. "I've been in that situation myself."

A second woman grunted. She didn't look like the type who smiled much, despite the youthful scattering of freckles on her face. "I think we all have," she said soberly.

"I hate to interrupt," Picard chimed in, "but what are we talking about exactly? An encounter with a hostile force? A brush with some undiscovered phenomenon?"

He sounded more gung ho than he had intended. But then, he was feeling rather gung ho.

That is, until the others looked at him as if he had placed his hindquarters in the punch bowl. There was an awkward silence for what seemed a long time. Then one of the officers, the man with the red hair, offered a response.

"I was talking," he said, "about putting my dog to sleep."

Picard felt his cheeks grow hot. "Yes. Yes, of course you were. How silly of me to a.s.sume otherwise."

No one replied. They just stood there, looking at him. Finally, he took the hint.

"If you'll excuse me ..." he said rather lamely.

When no one objected to his doing so, Picard separated himself from the group and strolled to the other side of the room. Ben Zoma walked beside him, a look of bemus.e.m.e.nt on his face.

"Gilaad," Picard said to his first officer, "is it my imagination or was I just snubbed?"

Ben Zoma looked back at the group they had just left. "I'd like to tell you that it's your imagination, Jean-Luc, but I don't think I can do that."

"What I said was admittedly a bit inappropriate, given the tenor of the conversation. But it wasn't deserving of that kind of response. Someone else might even have laughed at it."

Ben Zoma nodded. "True enough."

"Then why did they react that way?" Picard asked. He looked down at his newly replicated dress uniform. "Did I put my trousers on backward this evening?"

"Your trousers are fine," his friend said. "I have a feeling it has more to do with the age of the person inside them. You are the greenest apple ever to take command of a Starfleet vessel."

Picard couldn't argue the point. "So I am."

At the tender age of twenty-eight, he was the youngest captain yet in the history of the fleet. Even younger than the legendary James T. Kirk, and that was saying something.

"And it's not just your age," Ben Zoma said, ticking off the strikes against the captain on his fingers. "You've never had the experience of serving as first officer. You would never have gotten your commission so quickly if Captain Ruhalter hadn't been killed in the course of a battle with hostile aliens. And-because an inexperienced whippersnapper like you couldn't possibly have gotten a captaincy on merit-it was probably a political appointment."

Picard grunted. "Thank you, Number One. I was beginning to actually feel capable of commanding a stars.h.i.+p for a moment there, but you have managed to completely disabuse me of that notion."

"My pleasure," his friend told him archly. "What's a first officer for if not to deflate his captain's ego from time to time?"

"Indeed," Picard said thinly, sharing in the joke at his own expense.

He looked around the domed room again and noticed a few sidelong glances being cast in his direction. They didn't exactly look like expressions of admiration.

Perhaps Ben Zoma was right, the captain reflected. Perhaps his colleagues were looking at him differently because of his age and relative inexperience.

But if the looks on their faces were any indication, he wasn't just an object of curiosity. He was an object of disdain.

It hurt Picard to think so-even more than he would have guessed. After all, they had no firsthand observations to go on. They could only know what they had heard.

Yet these were stars.h.i.+p captains and first officers-men and women who represented the finest the Federation had to offer. Picard would have expected them to be more welcoming of a fledgling colleague, more sensitive to his situation.

Apparently, he would have been wrong in that regard.

As was often the case, Ben Zoma seemed to read his thoughts. "All in all, not the friendliest-looking group I've ever seen."

"Nor I," Picard said. "I get the feeling I'm running a gauntlet."

"If you are, it's undeserved. You've earned your command, Jean-Luc." He jerked his head to include the other captains in the room. "Maybe more so than they have."

Picard didn't want to appear to feel sorry for himself, even if it was just in front of Ben Zoma. However, his colleagues' doubts weren't all that was bothering him. If they were, he could have taken the situation in stride.

Unfortunately, the glances they sent his way underlined a much more troublesome and insidious fact: the captain harbored some doubts himself.

Weeks earlier, when Admiral Mehdi called him into his office, he had expected the admiral to lay into him-to chew him out for the chances he had taken against the Nuyyad. Instead, Mehdi had ordained him Captain Ruhalter's successor.

Picard had been too stunned at the time to question the admiral's judgment. He had been too excited by the challenge to consider the wisdom of such a move.

But was he qualified to be a captain?

He had seized the reins in an emergency and brought his crew out of it alive, no question about it. But did he have the ability to command a stars.h.i.+p over the long haul? Was he a long-distance runner ... or just a sprinter?

"You're not saying anything," Ben Zoma pointed out. "Should I send for a doctor?"

The captain chuckled. "No, I don't think that will be necessary." He caught sight of a waiter with a tray of food. "Perhaps an hors d'oeuvre will brighten up the evening for me. I've always been partial to pigs in blankets."

His first officer looked skeptical. "Really?"

Picard smiled at him. "No. But they'll do in a pinch."