Imzadi_ Triangle Part 15

Lwaxana opened her mouth for a moment and then closed it again. "So I was," she said in a neutral tone.

"If I do this," he continued, "will it... please you?"

"Only if it will please you," replied Deanna.

"It will please me ... but only if-"

The door to Alexander's room flew open, Alexander stuck his head out, and he fairly shouted, "Will you just do it, Father, so you can get married and I can get some sleep?!" And he slammed the door shut again.

The adults looked at each other.

"When do we start?" asked Worf.

CHAPTER.

I om Riker was going out of his mind with boredom.

He had completely lost track of how long he had been cooped up in the brig of the Romulan warbird. Day pa.s.sed into night with no clear delineation, which might have been as much by design as anything else. It was as if they were trying to destroy his internal rhythm, throw him off and thus make him more susceptible to ...

... to what?

What were they planning to do to him? What the h.e.l.l did they have in store? Had they seen through his charade somehow? Were they just trying to make him crazy out of pure Romulan sadism? What was their plan? They have to have a plan, he kept telling himself, there must be a plan. They wouldn't have mounted a raid to rescue Saket just out of nowhere. There had to be a reason for it, had to be something they wanted.

Except, since Saket was dead, there was the possibility that it was all moot. He might have been the key to whatever it was they wanted to do, and with him gone, the door was locked tight and the key was gone. In which case, they might just be busy trying to decide what would be the most painful way to dispose of Riker.

Then one day (night?) Riker heard the sound of marching feet. Since it was the first time that he'd detected such p.r.o.nounced stomping, he could only surmise that it was being done for his benefit. They wanted him to know they were coming, probably to scare the h.e.l.l out of him. But Tom Riker, at that point, was too tired and aggravated and just plain bored to feel anything more than impatience. He figured, Let's just get it over with.

The perpetual guard at his door stepped to one side as two more guards stepped into view. One of them reached up and shut off the field guarding the exit. Without a word, he gestured for Riker to emerge. For a moment, Tom considered the option of just folding his arms, crossing his legs, and refusing to budge. Try to provoke some sort of reaction from them. The thought gave him some small amount of satisfaction; on the other hand, the thought that it might prompt them to simply blow a hole in him the size of a sunspot prompted him to err on the side of discretion. As a result, Tom Riker stood and walked into the corridor.

They had not even bothered to draw their weapons. This was a bit of arrogant overconfidence that Riker couldn't help but feel the desire to test. One guard was in front of him, the other behind him. He stood there for a moment, poised on the b.a.l.l.s of his feet, looking for all the world as if he were completely relaxed.

Then he made his move, darting toward the guard in front of him.

He actually managed to get three whole inches before the guard had his disrupter in his hand.

Riker had never seen a draw quite that fast. And he had the sneaking suspicion that, were he to turn around, he would see that the guard behind him likewise had a weapon trained on him. He risked a glance over his shoulder and, sure enough, he was looking down the barrel of a weapon. Without moving an inch, Riker casually took his outstretched hand and tried to move it, in a graceful manner, to the back of his neck, which he idly scratched. "You boys are jumpy," he observed, as if he had made no effort at all to attack them.

They didn't buy it. He knew they wouldn't. But they didn't seem to care particularly, either. Without further holdups on Riker's part, they walked down the corridors of the vessel. Very quickly Riker lost track of which hallway led into what. He had a feeling that that, likewise, was by intent. The last thing they wanted him to do was learn his way around the s.h.i.+p. But they wouldn't want simply to blindfold him, since that would make it too obvious that they were concerned that he could do them harm.

After what seemed the hundredth angle around yet another corner, they stopped in front of a door. It slid open and Riker, at their urging, entered. He looked around in confusion. It appeared to be a bathroom and dressing room, with a sonic shower in the corner, and a set of clean, pressed Romulan-style clothes draped over a chair. Fancy it most definitely was not, but it was definitely serviceable.

"What's this for?" he asked.

"You. Shower and then change clothes."

"Why?"

"Because you stink," the shorter of the two guards said reasonably. "Humans give off an odor that Romulans find distasteful. You are fairly reeking of it."

"Sorry. What with my being a prisoner and all, I probably sweated a bit more than I usually do."

Admittedly the attempt at humor was lame, but Riker felt that at the very least the guard could have tried to crack a smile. Such was not to be as he simply regarded Riker with an unsmiling face. When he was certain he had Riker's attention, he continued, "After you have cleaned yourself, you will put on those clothes and follow us."

"Where to?"

He should have known he wasn't going to get an answer, but rather just another cold stare. Knowing there was no point to fighting about or arguing over the matter, he stepped into the room and showered as quickly as he could ... even though his impulse was to revel in it since it was the best he had felt in weeks. He dressed just as quickly and then stepped back out into the corridor. As near as he could tell, the guards had not moved so much as a centimeter from where they had been when he left them.

They went the rest of the way in silence, and then the guards halted in front of a set of doors. Clearly this was where they had been a.s.signed to bring Tom. Riker wasn't sure what to expect when he walked in, although he was mentally prepared for anything, up to and including an abrupt barrage of phaser fire. For all he knew, this was the famed Romulan sense of humor about to display itself for his amus.e.m.e.nt.

Curiously, he was not expecting what he found.

There was a small table elegantly adorned, with a tall, thin candle flickering in the middle. It was the only source of light in the room. Food was laid out, not in abundance, but in sufficient quant.i.ty nonetheless and actually prepared to appear palatable. Seated on the far side of the table was Sela. She was still in uniform, but she had removed some of the armor pieces so that she appeared softer, if not exactly warm and cuddly. And she was actually smiling. For a moment, just a moment, Riker mistook her for someone else, so gentle were the lines in her face. Then he remembered that she was supposed to be a half-breed, born of an Earthwoman named Tasha Yar and a Romulan n.o.ble. Riker found himself wis.h.i.+ng that he had known Tasha Yar ... and then had to remind himself that William Riker had known Tasha, and he would be well advised to remember that.

"Sit," she said, gesturing to the seat opposite her. Tom did so, his gaze never leaving her. She laughed, and it was a surprisingly musical noise. He had a feeling that she rarely did it. "You never take your eyes off me. Either you are utterly enamored of me, or else you are concerned that I'm going to slide a blade between your ribs."

"Let's just say a little bit of both."

"Fair enough. Eat." When she saw his hesitation, she reached over with a utensil, speared a piece of meat off his plate, and ate it. "See? No poison."

He pointed to another section of the plate and said, "That one."

She sighed. "You think I would eat off the 'safe' part and leave the rest to you. I may be part human, but I'm beginning to wonder if you may be part Romulan." She ate from the indicated section as well without hesitation. "Satisfied?"

"Of course, it could be a poison that works on humans and not Romulans."

"Perhaps. But as I just noted, I'm half human, so I would be at risk." She leaned forward, interlaced her fingers and rested her chin on them. She actually looked almost playful. "Riker, this is ridiculous. We have matters to discuss in which trust will be involved. If we can't even get past an entree, what is the point? Now eat the d.a.m.ned food or I'll blow you out an airlock, all right?"

Riker ate. In point of fact, the food wasn't too bad. A bit bland to his taste, but certainly palatable.

"Tell me about my mother."

The question caught him momentarily off guard. "You mean Tasha?"

She nodded. "I have hated her for many years, for betraying my father and leaving me. But..."

He might have been imagining it, but she actually seemed slightly to have let her guard down at the moment.

"I have ... so few memories of her. She died when I was quite young. She... used to tell me stories. Fantasy stories. She spoke of giants, and magicians ... and genies. Genies in a bottle where you would open the bottle and all your wishes would come true." She paused and then said, "I know, I know, it's very confusing ... your records show that Tasha Yar died on some misbegotten planet somewhere, and yet she wound up on the bridge of the Enterprise-C as a lieutenant in Starfleet even though she'd really only been born a couple of years previously ... I know all that, I understand that. Well... I think I understand it. That the Tasha you served with wasn't necessarily the same woman. But even so, there must have been some similarities. So ... tell me what you know of her ... knew of her..."

The problem was that Riker didn't know all that much about her. Will Riker did, of course, but not Tom. Then again, it didn't really matter if he kept it vague.

"She was ... a superb officer. Brave. Dedicated. She was beautiful... and funny ..."

"Funny?" Sela frowned. "I don't remember her ever being particularly ... funny ..."

"Well... considering what she'd been through ... perhaps she wasn't feeling very humorous by the time she had you."

"No. No, I don't suppose she would have." She appeared thoughtful. "Tell me ... something she did. Something you remember."

"She saved my life, on more than one occasion. There was this one time I remember ..."

And he spun an entire story for her. He based it loosely on an actual event that had occurred earlier in his career, and he made a few subst.i.tutions ... most notably, it had actually been Tom himself who had saved his commanding officer. But he inserted Tasha into the role of savior, himself into the role of the CO, and unspooled an exciting story of daring and sacrifice. Sela, like a woman suffering from drought, took it all in and seemed to absorb it into her soul.

He was making her happy.

It was a rather odd sensation.

"Tell me more," she said when he had finished his fabricated anecdote about her mother.

But Riker had finished the food in front of him, and he sensed that now was the time to try and push matters ... now, when Sela seemed thoughtful and vulnerable.

"No."

She c.o.c.ked an eyebrow, looking rather surprised at his abrupt change in tone. When she replied, her voice was silky, with an edge of danger to it. "No?"

"Why am I here? What is all this about? Are you planning to return me to the Carda.s.sians ... hold me for ransom ... what? I could sit here all night rehas.h.i.+ng old times and making you feel nice and nostalgic for your mother ... but if it's all the same to you, I'd like to pretend we're two professionals who are capable of discussing whatever is on our mutual minds."

Very slowly, Sela brought her hands together and applauded in a steady and somewhat sarcastic manner. "Very nice display, Riker. Very nice. I'm trembling." Then she folded her hands on the table and leaned forward on her elbows, and Riker could see that he had gotten some sort of a reaction from her. Unfortunately, he wasn't entirely sure what it was, because it was as if she had draped a mask over her face and become completely unreadable. For a Romulan, she had the knack for Vulcan poker face.

"I could try to put this delicately, Riker, in order to spare myself some minor embarra.s.sment. But I believe it best if we are straightforward with each other."

"That is generally preferable."

"I have fallen on what you would call 'hard times.' I have been an operative of the Romulan government for some years now, and I have had my share of successes. My failures, however, have been rather significant." As she cited each example, she tapped a finger on the table as if counting them out. "My attempt to reprogram your Mr. La Forge so that he would a.s.sa.s.sinate Klingon governor Vagh did not work out Nor did my attempts to destabilize the Gowron regime by supporting the Duras family. However, my most significant failure was my thwarted attempt to invade Vulcan with Romulan forces. And the reason for these failures can always be traced back to the Enterprise. To your people, Riker, and to you. You have continually interfered with my endeavors, you have undercut my attempts to raise the Romulan Empire to its rightful place of power in the galaxy, and you have blocked me, time and again, from reaching my full potential and level within the Romulan power structure." She spread her hands wide and leaned back in her chair. "But am I bitter? Am I angry? Do I harbor resentment so sharp that it sticks within me like a perpetual dagger to my heart? Well? Do I?"

"Uhm ... just guessing here, but... yes?"

"You bet your life I do," Sela confirmed. "The Romulan failure to conquer Vulcan was the worst. That was entirely my plan, from start to finish. Its bungling, and the subsequent loss of Romulan life, led my superiors to inform me that my services would no longer be required. In point of fact, I was likely scheduled for termination, since I had apparently-as the charming saying goes-outlived my usefulness. But I have my supporters. People who work under me and with me, or were loyal to my father and, by extension, to me. Through them and with them, I obtained the materials I needed to survive. I fled Romulus with the vessel you find yourself in now, plus several smaller s.h.i.+ps that were stored in the hangar bay. You saw the single-person flier during the breakout, yes?"

"Yes, I did. Very impressive flying."

"Thank you," she said, and nodded in what appeared to be genuine appreciation ... although with her it was hard to tell.

She rose from the other side of the table and slowly, very slowly, came around it. Riker noticed that she seemed to be swinging her hips a bit more than before. Was it his imagination, or was she moving in a deliberately provocative fas.h.i.+on?

And was it getting hotter in the room?

"The thing I remember most about my mother is that she would tell me stories of old Earth ... especially about the warrior cla.s.ses. She found the j.a.panese system of honor to be particularly intriguing, and pa.s.sed that fascination on to me. At this point in my life, I am what might be referred to as a ronin ... a masterless samurai. I have a great deal of anger burning within me, Riker ... anger toward the Enterprise for failing my mother and abandoning her to the vagaries of the time stream ... anger for the setbacks in my life that have prevented me from attaining the goals I've always felt I should have attained. What I have tried to do in my life is channel that anger toward purposes that would serve my career and the Romulan Star Empire. Having failed in that, I now seek redemption."

"And I'm to help you with that redemption, is that it?"

Slowly she nodded. She leaned forward and her voice was low and throaty, and he hadn't noticed it before but there was something almost intoxicating about her presence. "I sense in you a kindred spirit, Riker. You have been abandoned by the Enterprise, just as my mother was. You have given everything that you had to give to your government... only to have the government turn around and say, 'Not enough. We are sorry, but you simply have not done enough.' To know that your best was not only insufficient, but unappreciated."

"That," he said thoughtfully, "is certainly true enough."

She drew a finger across the line of his beard, tracing it. "I may have had some doubts about you at first, Riker, I freely admit that. But the most vital thing to remember is that Saket believed in you. I think he even liked you. And if you are good enough for Saket, then you are more than good enough for me. I believe that you can help me topple governments that I seek to disempower."

"You want me to help you disempower governments."

"That's right."

He tried not to laugh ... but even more than that... he tried not to take it too seriously. Because he was starting to dwell on her words in a way that almost implied they made sense, held some appeal. They didn't, of course. They held no sway for him at all...

.. . except...

... except the Federation and Starfleet... really had left him out to dry, hadn't they? Maquis or not, he was Starfleet first and foremost. They could have done something to get him out of that h.e.l.lhole, couldn't they? How long had they been intending to let him rot on Lazon? Forever? Probably. Yeah... probably.

With an effort, Riker fought to keep his senses on track. He had to remember the goal that he had set himself: to find out what Sela was up to, and figure out a way to thwart it. And in doing so ...

In doing so ... what?

Impress Starfleet? As if they cared about him. Still, that was another way that he and Sela were alike. Through sheer dogged determination, they were both trying to please the governments which had turned their respective backs upon them, in the same way that anxious children will do anything to try and please Mommy and Daddy.

He was not a child, though. He was William Riker ...

No! He was Tom Riker...

But even as he thought that, he hated the reality of it. He was Will Riker, dammit. He was every bit as real and as vital and as deserving as the original-no, as the other-Will Riker.

Eight long years he had spent alone on Nervala IV. Eight long years.

One of the difficulties that mere mortals have trouble dealing with is the fact that life does indeed continue without them. But how much more galling for Tom Riker to learn that not only had everyone else's life gone on without him, but his had as well! And it was turning out so much better than his ever could. He would always be playing catch-up, always.

Better that he had died, alone and unknown, on Nervala IV. That was just more frustration that he felt himself lying at the figurative doorstep of the Enterprise.

"You can do yourself a favor, Riker," Sela almost purred. She was sitting quite close on the edge of the table, and she had an intoxicating scent to her. Riker had no idea whether she had applied it or it was a natural smell to her. He certainly didn't have the nerve to ask. "And it won't just be for yourself; it'll be for the Federation as well."

"Oh?" He s.h.i.+fted uncomfortably in his chair.

"That's right. You see, you feel as if your Federation has abandoned you. I know my empire has. But we can win back the admiration of both groups through the destruction of their mutual foe. ..."

"The Carda.s.sians?"

"Well, at the moment, the Carda.s.sians are technically allies of the Romulans. Of course, my little raid doubtlessly didn't endear the Romulans to them, but my people will make the convincing argument that it was a rogue independent operator acting on her own. No, when I speak of mutual enemies"-she lowered her voice in obvious disdain-"I'm speaking of the Klingons and the Klingon Empire."

"The Klingons." Riker guffawed. "Sela, I know that you might be just a little out of touch, but last I looked, the Klingons and Federation were allies."

"The one who is out of touch is the Federation." She snorted disdainfully, wrinkling her nose in disgust. She had slid closer to him on the edge of the table, and one leg was swinging at the knee in a fas.h.i.+on that could best be described as "girlish." It was surprisingly fetching.

Eight years.

Eight years ... by himself. With no company, no loved ones, no ...