“I THANK YOU all very much for your support, your patience, and your understanding. Good-bye.”

After the recording of President Zife’s resignation speech faded from the observation lounge’s monitor screen, William Riker looked around the table to gauge the reactions of the Enterprise senior staff.

As it happened, they were virtually split down the middle. Captain Jean-Luc Picard and those to his left—Deanna Troi, Data, and Beverly Crusher—all looked impassive, or at least placid. On the other hand, the other two officers joining Riker, on the captain’s right—Christine Vale and Geordi La Forge—looked like they were ready to jump out of their skin.

Vale was the first to speak, and she did so through clenched teeth. “Well, that was a remarkable pile of bullshit.”

Riker couldn’t help but agree with the security chief’s blunt appraisal.

La Forge was fidgeting in his chair. “I can’t believe we’re letting them get away with that.”

Data gave the chief engineer a quizzical look. “Did President Zife and Chief of Staff Azernal not agree to this resignation as a preferable alternative to exposing their secret arming of the Tezwans to the general public?”

The android’s flat mode of speech was almost enough to make Riker grin. It had been a year since the events at the Rashanar battle site had, among other things, led to the removal of Data’s emotion chip. Riker had finally, after seven years, gotten used to Data having emotions; now he had to readjust to the emotionless Data all over again. It had been slow going—but then, he’d had other things on his mind in the months since Rashanar.

“Maybe, Data—but I don’t have to like it.” La Forge leaned forward in his chair and continued fidgeting, as if desperate for something to do with his hands.

“I don’t like it either, Geordi,” Riker said, “and believe me, I’ve got more reason than anyone to be bitter about Tezwa.” Unbidden, the rotted-food-and-fecal-matter smell of the pit on Tezwa returned. Kinchawn, the ousted Tezwan prime minister, and his resistance group kept him prisoner there for weeks. The stench had yet to entirely leave his nostrils; he was starting to wonder if it ever would. “But it’s still the prudent course of action.”

“And if there’s one thing politicians are good at, it’s being prudent,” Vale said bitterly. “That doesn’t change that what he said was bullshit.”

Throughout, Picard had sat with his hand on his chin, seemingly staring at a point in the middle of the conference-room table. Riker was about to prompt the captain when he finally spoke. “Your opinion is noted, Lieutenant, however—it was the best solution to the problem. The alternative was a war with the Klingons.”

“Oh, I’m not denying it, sir,” Vale said quickly. “I’d just like to see a politician tell the truth once. Just, you know, for the novelty value.”

Picard’s hand fell from his chin and he tugged downward on his uniform jacket as he leaned back in his chair. “Sadly, Lieutenant, we live in an imperfect world.”

Troi folded her arms in front of her. “What I’m more curious about is who’s going to run.”

Riker admired the ship’s counselor—his Imzadi and now his fiancée—for her ability to change the subject. The mission to Tezwa had been a disaster and a tragedy, and dwelling on it did nobody any good. “I’m betting T’Latrek will finally run this time,” he deadpanned.

Data cocked his head. “Given that Councillor T’Latrek has refused to run in any of the twelve presidential elections that she has had the opportunity to participate in, and given your own general success at gambling, Commander, I would have to assume that you are being facetious.”

Emotions or not, he’s still Data, Riker thought. “Once again, my friend, you have seen through my poker face.”

“It would not be the first time, sir, as our last poker game would indicate.”

Wincing at the month-old memory of losing an especially big pot to Data on an especially audacious bluff—one that had driven Crusher, La Forge, and Troi out—Riker said, “Good point. With any luck, I’ll be in better shape tonight.”

La Forge leaned back. “If Ross runs, he’ll win it in a cakewalk.” Riker noted that his hands now lay unmoving on the chair’s armrests. The counselor’s subject change had had the desired effect.

“I consider that to be highly improbable, Mr. La Forge,” Picard said dryly. “Admiral Ross is not a politician.” The captain allowed himself the tiniest of smiles. “He’s not that foolish. Actually, I would be most interested to see if Governor Bacco runs.”

Riker nodded in agreement. One of the Enterprise’s assignments during the Dominion War was to attempt to enlist the Gorn to fight on the allies’ side. Sadly, the Enterprise arrived just in time to get caught up in a coup d’état. However, once the crew managed their way out of it, the Gorn did aid in the war effort, thanks in part to some fine negotiating between their new leadership and Nan Bacco, the planetary governor of Cestus III, the Federation world closest to Gorn space.

“I don’t know,” Vale said. “There’s a huge difference between running a planet and running the Federation.”

“Depends on the planet.” Riker turned to look at the security chief. “If this was just some ordinary Federation colony that hadn’t changed much in two hundred years, that’d be one thing, but look at everything Cestus has gone through. They had a huge population explosion ten years ago when they took in a whole bunch of refugees from the Cardassian Demilitarized Zone, which required a massive shift in how the colony was run. Then they were attacked by the Gorn, then they had to rebuild both physically and diplomatically after that. Thanks to Governor Bacco, not only does the Federation have a treaty with the Gorn, but also with the Metrons. I think everyone here knows how hard it is to negotiate with energy beings, much less get them to agree to diplomatic relations.” Nods of agreement went around the table.

“Besides,” Data added, “there is no comparable task in the galaxy to the magnitude of the duties handed by the Federation president. It is impossible to judge with any accuracy how someone who has never performed the task will do so without such a basis to make that comparison.”

“In other words,” La Forge said with a grin, “you won’t know how they’ll do it until they do it.”

“I believe I said that, Geordi.”

“Right—which is why I said, ‘in other words.’ ”

Vale shook her head. “Still, it’s a really limited sphere of influence. I mean, it’s just one planet. I’d be more comfortable with someone like Fel Pagro. He’s been all over the Federation, worked with dozens of different governments. For something like this, I’d rather have someone with a little more breadth.”

“A jack-of-all-trades rather than an expert at but one, Lieutenant?” Picard asked.

Vale nodded. “Something like that, yes, sir.”

“It sounds to me,” Troi said, “that someone from Starfleet would be your ideal candidate. Which brings us back to Admiral Ross.”

Grinning, Vale said, “Yeah, but the captain already said he wouldn’t run, and the captain is always right.”

Picard gave Vale a small nod. “Well said, Lieutenant.”

“Not to change the subject from the lieutenant’s sucking up, sir,” Riker said with a wink to Vale, “but her point raises another one. Ever since Tezwa, we’ve been cooling our heels and making repairs here in the Xarantine system. What’s going to happen to us?”

Picard frowned. “I’m not sure what you mean, Number One.”

“It’s been a year since Rashanar. We’ve been at the bottom of Starfleet’s barrel for that entire time, and all we’ve done is solve a two-hundred-year-old mystery, make a historic first contact, and avert two major wars—one of those at considerable loss of life. I should think that would count for something.”

“I believe, Number One, the true question you wish to ask is, what about me, since after all, I was the subject of Starfleet’s investigation after Rashanar, not the Enterprise.” Another smile. “Besides, Captain, don’t you have concerns of your own?”

Riker refused to take the bait, regardless of the amount of pride he felt from finally taking on his first command. “Until I actually report to the Titan, Captain, I’m still your first officer.”

“Indeed you are.” Picard took a breath. “To answer your question, it’s still to be determined. However, we are not the only Starfleet vessel in this particular quandary.” The captain folded his hands on the table. “Along with the copy of President Zife’s resignation, I received a communiqué from Admiral Nakamura. As many of you know, several Starfleet vessels have been the subject of inspection tours over the past few months. The Enterprise has now been added to the list.”

Troi frowned. “What kind of inspection tour is this, exactly?”

“Apparently, the admiralty is concerned that some ships may be having difficulties similar to those expressed by President Zife in his resignation speech. That four years after the fact, some vessels may not have made the adjustment back to peacetime service, especially those captains who achieved the rank during the war. It is, after all, far easier to fall off the horse than it is to get back on it.”

La Forge shook his head. “What, they want to make sure that we bled according to regulations?”

Riker sighed. “Well, at least they’re not just picking on us this time.”

“True, Number One. The inspection team will be arriving in one week’s time. All personnel are to be at their disposal for the duration of their stay.”

“Do we at least know who’s gonna be on the team?” La Forge asked.

Vale added, “Or how long their stay’s duration’s going to be?”

“The answer to both is no, I’m afraid,” Picard said.

“Wonderful,” Vale muttered.

“In any event, our orders are to remain on station here at Xarantine and complete repairing the battle damage we took at Tezwa until the team arrives.”

“We’ll be done long before then, Captain.” La Forge spoke with his usual air of confidence.

“I’m glad to hear that, Mr. La Forge.” Picard gazed at Riker. “After the inspection, we will be reporting back to Earth. And that, Will, is your cue.”

Riker grinned. “The last few weeks have been a little too busy for Deanna and me to make proper wedding plans, but now that we’re no longer fighting guerrilla wars and rotting in POW camps, we’ve had a bit of time to figure out what we want to do.” Again, Riker had to attempt to banish thoughts of the Tezwan pit from his mind, forcing himself to focus on the fact that he and Troi had finally decided to get married back on Delta Sigma IV. “We just want to have a simple ceremony with a few friends. Obviously, everyone in this room is invited. I’m working on securing an area of Alaska in the Denali Mountains, near where I grew up.”

La Forge shuddered a bit. “We’re not gonna have to climb a mountain or anything to get there, are we?”

Riker looked at Troi. “What do you think, should we allow transporters and shuttles?”

Nodding with mock gravity, Troi said, “I believe that can be permitted, yes.”

“You’re in luck, Geordi.”

“Good—after Tezwa, I’ve had enough of mountains to last a lifetime.”

“Oh,” Riker said, giving Troi a knowing glance, “there’s one thing we need to take care of.”

Picard frowned. “What is that, Number One?”

“Well, traditionally, in human weddings at least, the groom chooses a best man—someone close to him who can stand by his side as he takes the final step into matrimony.” He turned to Picard. “I’d be honored if you’d take that role, Captain.”

It was a rare thing indeed for Jean-Luc Picard to be flabbergasted. On those few occasions when he was, it generally lasted only a short time. Riker therefore always treasured those occasions when he could make it happen. For a full three seconds, Picard’s eyes widened, his mouth fell open, his nostrils flared, and his hands fell to his sides. Riker could not recall the last time the captain looked quite so—well, undignified.

As was his wont, he recovered quickly. Straightening his uniform jacket—which was already straight—he said, “Thank you, Number One. I accept.”

Data then spoke up. “Commander, may I ask a question?”

“Of course, Data,” Riker said.

“Have you informed Counselor Troi’s mother of this event?”

“I sent a message to her,” Troi said. “She hasn’t replied yet.”

Riker frowned. “Why do you ask?”

“Based on observations over the fifteen years, six months, and twenty-two days since first encountering Lwaxana on the Enterprise-D, I am forced to conclude that she is likely to consider ‘a simple ceremony with a few friends’ to be inadequate for the counselor.”

Picard regarded his first officer. “He has a point, Number One.”

Putting up a hand, Riker said, “Deanna and I have already discussed this. It’s our wedding, and we’ll do what we want.”

“Besides,” Troi added, “my mother has been busy with the reconstruction of Betazed.”

Another unpleasant memory, more distant but seared on his consciousness as much as the pit on Tezwa, came to Riker. This time it was sitting in this very conference room five years ago, getting the report from Admiral Masc of the Tenth Fleet that Betazed had fallen to the Dominion. One of the most lush and verdant planets in the Federation, it was also Troi’s homeworld and the planet to which she traced half her heritage. Later on, they learned that the house Troi had grown up in was leveled, along with most of the capital city, by the Jem’Hadar and Cardassians. Lwaxana’s valet Mr. Homn was killed. Lwaxana and her son Barin had survived, though, and soon Troi’s mother was helping lead a resistance movement on the planet. Between that and the efforts of a five-ship task force led by the Enterprise, Betazed was liberated months later, but it did nothing to alleviate the black hole that had opened in Riker’s stomach when he first heard Admiral Masc’s report.

Whenever that memory surfaced—and it did so often, no matter how hard he tried to avoid it—Riker would attempt to overlay it with happier thoughts of his assignment to Betazed as a lieutenant, meeting Troi for the first time, and their blossoming relationship that was now, finally, twenty years later, culminating in marriage. Someday, he hoped, that attempt would actually work.

Troi added, “Not to mention raising little Barin.”

“Not so little.” Riker chuckled, once again grateful to his Imzadi for switching to a more pleasant topic. “That half-brother of yours is, what, six now?”

“Seven,” Troi said.

“Right, seven, and he’s already over a meter-and-a-
half tall.”

“The boy is half-Tavnian,” Data said, “and they are, as a rule, a fairly tall race, by human standards.”

Troi chuckled. “Which makes him even more of a handful. My mother’s not as young as she used to be—”

“Who of us is?” Picard smiled wryly.

“—and she doesn’t have the time or, probably, the energy to organize a large wedding on top of her regular duties.”

Data regarded Troi. “I believe your confidence may well be misplaced, Counselor.”

“I can understand that, Data, but she’s changed since the war. Really.”

Riker leaned forward and, in a mock-conspiratorial tone, said, “You know what I think? I think he’s just scared that he’ll have to dance if it’s a wedding your mother organizes.”

La Forge and Vale both laughed at that. Data simply turned his golden-eyed gaze onto Riker. “Even if I were still equipped with such an emotion, Commander, I would have no fear in that regard. I still recall with perfect clarity the instruction in human dance that Dr. Crusher gave me twelve years, one month, eight days ago in preparation for the O’Brien wedding.”

Turning his glance to Crusher, Riker said, “I guess we won’t need the tutelage of the Dancing Doctor, then.”

It was only when Crusher blinked twice, stared blankly at Riker for a moment, then quietly said, “I’m sorry, Will, what?” that the first officer realized that the doctor hadn’t participated in any of the discussion that had gone on since they finished watching Zife’s speech.

“Are you all right, Beverly?” Picard asked the question with evident concern.

Crusher shook her head, her red tresses waving with the movement. “I’m fine, Jean-Luc, really—I’m sorry, I just fell into a daze.” She smiled gamely.

Riker didn’t buy it for a minute. He knew that Dr. Yerbi Fandau was only a few weeks from retiring as head of Starfleet Medical, and he knew that the position was Crusher’s if she wanted it. He also knew that the doctor had yet to formally accept the job. If she doesn’t give Fandau an answer soon, he’s going to tap someone else.

Vale looked quizzically at Riker. “The Dancing Doctor?”

Before Riker could reply, Crusher said, “Don’t ask.”

“Come now, Beverly.” Picard had a twinkle in his eye as he spoke. “As I recall, you’re a divine dancer.”

“I would like to take this opportunity to reiterate,” Data said with a glance to his left at Crusher, “that I have obeyed your wishes on the subject, and never referred to your past history in dance, Doctor.”

“I know, Data,” Crusher said with a sweet smile, then turned a frown on Riker. “I have my own theories on who unearthed that particular fact.”

Riker grinned. “You shouldn’t have left it in your service record where anyone could find it.”

“We don’t have a choice as to what gets put in those things, as a general rule. Kind of like medical records. Of course, sometimes facts can be altered—like the real cause of your broken arm on Elamin IX.”

The blood drained from Riker’s face. “Beverly…”

“What is she talking about?” Troi asked indignantly.

“Nothing,” Riker said quickly.

Crusher smiled at Troi. “Nothing you need to worry about, Deanna. Besides, it’ll all be in the file I prepare for the Titan’s CMO.”

Putting his head in his hands, Riker muttered, “Great. Just great.”

Chuckling, La Forge said, “Why do I get the feeling this meeting is over?”

Picard stood up. “Dismissed.”

Riker also rose, giving Crusher a pained look. For her part, the doctor ignored it and left the observation lounge, followed by Troi, who gave Riker an annoyed look of her own before dashing out to catch up with Crusher. Data and La Forge followed Picard toward the bridge, leaving Riker and Vale in the observation lounge.

“Sir, can I ask a question?”

Riker looked down at Vale. Though petite, she was by no means small, and he had learned in the four years she’d served on the ship that she was also not to be trifled with. More than anyone else on the Enterprise crew, she had shined during the year since Rashanar, from spearheading two separate rescue operations at the Dokaalan colony, to aiding the local peacekeeping forces in their desperate attempt to maintain order on the increasingly chaotic Delta Sigma IV, to her expert work in coordinating ground movements under the worst possible circumstances during the Tezwa mission. She was also due for a well-deserved promotion to lieutenant commander, and he had not told her this only by dint of wanting the official approval from Starfleet to come through. In times past, he wouldn’t have bothered to wait, as promotion recommendations from the Enterprise were generally rubber-stamped, but the cloud that Rashanar had cast on Jean-Luc Picard’s judgment meant Riker could take nothing for granted.

Vale was staring at the floor, which surprised Riker, as she had always been the type to look one directly in the eyes.

He prompted, “Go ahead, Lieutenant.”

“I was wondering, sir, if—” She finally looked up. “If there was room for one more at the poker table tonight.”

Riker blinked. “I didn’t know you played.”

“Some, though it’s been a while. Me and a bunch of my classmates at the Academy had a weekly game during our fourth year, and we used to have Texas Hold’em tournaments on the O’Keefe.”

“Well, you’re more than welcome to join us any time. I’m surprised you didn’t mention this sooner—especially since you were more than happy to take me up on that anbo-jytsu spar back at Delta Sigma.”

At that, Vale smirked. “To be honest, sir, I didn’t feel entirely comfortable asking to be dealt in. I always thought it was something you D guys did.”

“ ‘D guys’?” Riker repeated with a frown.

“That’s what Daniels called you. I talked to him after I got transferred over here.”

Riker nodded. Daniels had served as the Enterprise-E’s security chief from its maiden voyage until the end of the Dominion War, broken only by a six-month paternity leave, during which several other officers filled in. After the war, Daniels resigned his commission in order to be with his wife and raise their child on the Canopus Planet.

Vale continued. “It’s nothing you do consciously, and only off duty, really, but you, the captain, Geordi, Deanna, Beverly, Data, Alyssa, Taurik—all of you who served on the Enterprise-D together—it’s like you have you own clique. It’s inevitable, from having served together for so long and doing all the things you did. Ambassador Worf’s part of it, too—I noticed it especially when he came on board during the gateways mess. You guys all have your own code, almost. Daniels warned me about it when I came on, and he was right.”

“Lieutenant—” Riker started, but Vale held up her hand.

“It’s all right, Commander, really. Honestly, it makes perfect sense, and you guys don’t do it consciously. It’s not something that affects the work, either, which is why it really isn’t that big a deal. Believe me, when I sound battle stations, I have never had the feeling that the captain would rather the ambassador was at tactical. But it’s also why I never felt comfortable asking in on the poker game. Like I said, that always seemed to me like something the D guys did.”

Thinking back over the seven years since they took the new Sovereign-class Enterprise out of drydock—a time frame that was almost as long as the interval they served on its Galaxy-class predecessor—Riker realized that the crew who came over from the previous ship did tend to cluster together off-duty. There’s a lesson in that, Riker thought, filing it in his ever-growing mental folder of Things To Be Aware Of When I Have My Own Command.

“Well, on behalf of the D guys, Lieutenant, I apologize, and offer as penance a seat at our poker table tonight.”

Vale grinned. This took Riker aback. Over four years, he’d seen her smile plenty of times, though it was often a vicious one, indeed one that frightened a security staff that didn’t scare easily, not to mention whoever might be unfortunate enough to be on the other end of Vale’s phaser. However, this was the first time he saw her let loose with a friendly grin. I wonder if I’d have seen it more often if I ever opened up and let her in more.

“I accept, sir,” she said. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” As Vale moved toward the door leading to the bridge, Riker asked, “Lieutenant?”

She stopped and turned around. “Yes, sir?”

“What changed your mind?”

“Sir?”

“You said you weren’t comfortable asking before. What changed to make you comfortable?”

Another grin. “Your promotion, sir. Once you’re off on the Titan, they probably won’t be having the weekly games on the Enterprise anymore, and I didn’t want to miss my chance to beat the pants off you.”

With that, she left.

This, Riker thought, is gonna be fun.

 

“The game,” Data said, “is Murder. Seven-card stud, high hand splits with high spade in the hole, queen of spades up resets the game with a fresh ante, queen of spades in the hole is wild.”

Riker tried to stifle a groan and failed. So did Troi and La Forge’s attempts to do so. Picard simply let out a long breath through his teeth.

Vale, however, simply regarded the android—wearing his trademark green-tinted visor—with a penetrating stare. As usual for poker night, Riker kept the lights in the quarters he and Troi shared dimmed, aside from the big lamp hanging from the ceiling over the poker table. The directed light cast a shadow on Vale’s face that made her already menacing stare all the nastier, and just at the moment Riker was glad for Data’s sake that his emotion chip had been removed.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The security chief had, in fact, said that practically every time Data dealt, as the second officer had been favoring complex variations that often involved wild cards. Riker allowed such things mainly because they helped vary the routine for their friendly game, but they were the sorts of things that would never be tolerated at serious professional tournaments.

Vale was apparently a purist, and Riker wished even more fervently that she’d gotten into the game sooner.

Data dealt the hand, and betting proceeded apace. Over the course of that and the next three betting rounds, no one got the queen of spades up, so the game was never reset. Riker was grateful, as whenever he had a good hand in this game, the queen almost invariably came up, and the redeal would provide him with a junk hand. This time, with one down card left to be dealt, he had a pair of tens showing, with the ten of spades in the hole. Three of a kind was a decent hand, and the ten of spades had a good chance of being the high spade in the hole as well, since the ace, king, and jack were showing in front of Picard, La Forge, and Troi, respectively. Data and Troi had both folded, and on this last bet, La Forge did likewise, leaving only Vale, Picard, and Riker.

Riker studied the table. The four cards Picard had showing included nothing useful beyond that ace of spades. Riker himself had the ace of hearts, and Data’s now-folded hand had the ace of diamonds, so the best Picard could have was two aces—unless he had the queen of spades, a wild card, in the hole.

About a year prior to the destruction of the Enterprise-D, Picard joined the poker game for the first time, saying that he should have done so years earlier. Within an hour of playing at the table with him that evening, Riker agreed wholeheartedly, for one simple reason. Picard might have been the finest captain in the fleet. He might have been able to recover from experiences as brutal as Borg assimilation and Cardassian torture. He might have been perfectly at home amid the landmines of Klingon politics or the labyrinths of some ancient ruins,

But, his claims to have been “quite the card player” in his youth notwithstanding, Jean-Luc Picard was a very mediocre poker player.

It wasn’t that he was particularly bad at it. He had a fine poker face—Riker found few “tells” in his facial expressions or gestures that he could use to his advantage—but he also wasn’t particularly good at betting properly or judging the cards on the table beyond his own hand. As a result, he regularly stayed in long past the point where he should fold, and was often the first to run out of chips, mostly as a result of staying in too long with weak hands. He was better at draw games—where there were no cards showing to the other players, and so one relied on the ability to read people, at which Picard excelled—than stud games.

On this hand, Picard had been betting in his usual manner—not aggressively, but not passively, either. Unfortunately, that meant he either had the pair of aces, and he thought that was an improvement on Riker’s pair of tens and Vale’s pair of threes, or he had both the ace and the wild card in the hole, giving him three aces and a better hand than Riker’s.

As for Vale, in addition to the pair of threes, she also had a six of hearts and a seven of clubs showing. It was possible she had a straight.

Only one way to find out, Riker said after Data gave him an unnecessary reminder that the bet was his with the high hand showing.

“Check,” Riker said. He wanted to see how Vale and Picard bet.

Vale, however, was no fool. “Check,” she repeated.

Picard, predictably, put in two gray chips. “I bet twenty.”

Not high enough to scare anyone out. Riker put in four gray chips. “Your twenty and up twenty.”

Vale, her expression unreadable, put in four gray chips. “Call.”

Picard’s expression was just as unreadable as he did likewise.

Data dealt the final card down. Years of long practice kept Riker from reacting in the least to the fact that he got the eight of diamonds, which gave him a full house of tens over eights. His chances of winning the hand had just improved drastically.

He grabbed a white chip. “Fifty.”

This time Picard raised an eyebrow, a mannerism he’d picked up after a particularly intense Vulcan mind-meld thirteen years earlier, and which was one of his few tells: it meant he wasn’t sure how to bet.

Vale, however, didn’t hesitate. “Call,” she said, putting in a white chip of her own. This raised Riker’s confidence: she didn’t feel strong enough to raise, but felt that she could beat whatever he had alongside the tens.

After several moments’ thought, Picard called as well.

The only time Riker ever allowed his face to relax when he played poker was after the final bet. This time he grinned as he turned over his hole cards. “Boat.”

“You know,” Troi said, “I still don’t understand why a full house is called a ‘boat.’ ”

“The etymology of the term, Counselor—” Data started, looked around the table, saw the annoyed looks most everyone was giving him, including Troi, and then continued with only minimal hesitation: “—is something we can discuss at a later date.” Several people at the table chuckled, including Riker. “The commander has a full house, tens over eights, and also has the ten of spades.”

Picard turned over his hole cards to reveal that he did have the other ace, as well as two kings, hearts and diamonds. Riker was not surprised, though he was disappointed that the captain was willing to part with his chips so easily. Riker would have beat the captain even if he still had three of a kind.

“Two pair for the captain, no spades in the hole.” Data then looked at Vale. “Lieutenant?”

First Vale turned over the queen of spades. If nothing else, that entitled her to half the pot, since it was the highest spade in the hole.

Then she flipped over the four and five of hearts. Along with either of her threes, the six of hearts and the seven of clubs, it gave her a straight. Riker was now especially grateful for the eight he pulled on the last round, as the straight would have beaten his three tens.

“Straight flush for the lieutenant,” Data said, and Riker’s jaw fell.

What the hell?

Then he saw it.

Damn Data and his stupid variations anyhow. So focused was he on the queen of spades as the high spade that he momentarily forgot that it was also a wild card. Vale had the three through six of hearts, and could use the wild to substitute for the seven of that suit, thus giving her one of the best possible poker hands.

“Well played,” Riker said glumly. “I’m surprised you didn’t raise me.”

“Nah,” Vale said as she raked in her chips. “If I started going crazy with only a pair of threes showing, you would’ve known I had something good in the hole, which would’ve beat your three of a kind.”

“I had a boat,” Riker pointed out.

“You pulled that on the last card,” Vale said confidently.

Frowning, and ignoring the giggles that were now emitting from the mouth of his fiancée, Riker asked, “How’d you know that?”

“You checked on the second-to-the-last bet. You never check when you have a hand better than a straight.”

“Yes, I do!” Even as Riker said the words, he frantically thought back to the night’s prior hands to see if that pattern had, indeed, emerged.

“Maybe you do generally, but you haven’t tonight. You should be careful of that.”

Again, Riker thought back over the night’s hands—then stopped. Dammit, she got me. She was trying to psych him out—an obvious trick that he never used to fall for. “I can see I’m getting complacent in my old age.”

“Well, it happens to the best of us, sir—stands to reason, it’d happen to you, too.”

Riker snorted. “Watch it, Lieutenant. I’m still first officer on this ship for a little while longer, and it’s very much within my power to have you keelhauling first thing in the morning.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, sir.” Vale spoke in a mock-grave tone.

“See that you do,” Riker said, barely managing to keep a straight face. He turned to La Forge. “Your deal.”

Looking dolefully at his small pile of chips, then at the much larger pile in front of Vale, La Forge grabbed the cards and started shuffling. “The game is La Forge Takes the Pot. All my cards are wild, and nobody else is allowed to get a face card or an ace.”

“I haven’t played that one since the Academy,” Vale said without missing a beat. “My roommate called it all the time.”

“Playing against you, I believe it.” La Forge shook his head.

“I’m glad you’ve joined us, Christine,” Troi said. “It’s good to shake things up a little.”

“Agreed,” Picard said.

“I was kinda hoping for a shakeup that would tilt some chips my way,” La Forge said as he gave the cards a final shuffle, “but like the captain said before, it’s an imperfect world.” He placed the deck in front of Data, who cut it in half. Riker suspected that Data cut the deck right at twenty-six cards. “The game,” La Forge said as he picked up the cut deck, “is five-card draw, jacks or better to open, trips or better to win.”

Even as he dealt, the intercom beeped. “Bridge to Commander Riker.”

It was the soft voice of Lieutenant Wriede, the gamma-shift tactical officer. “Go ahead.”

“Sir, I have a message from Betazed for you and Counselor Troi. It’s on a diplomatic channel, but it’s marked personal.”

Troi rolled her eyes. “I wonder who that could be.”

“Stand by, Lieutenant,” Riker said.

Picard stood up. “I believe that is our cue to leave.”

“Damn,” Vale said, also standing, “I was just getting warmed up.”

“That’s what we’re afraid of,” La Forge muttered.

Riker looked around in mild irritation. “You don’t all have to go. This’ll only take a minute. We’ll sit out Geordi’s hand and take it in the next room.”

Picard turned to his second officer. “Data, in the fifteen years and however many months and days since we first met Lwaxana, what is the average duration of personal communications from her to this ship?”

Data opened his mouth to answer, but Troi interrupted. “Point taken, Captain. Come on, Will, let’s get this over with.”

Riker sighed as the four officers left the cabin. “Computer, full lights.” As the room brightened, he said to Troi, “I don’t see why this has to kill the game.”

“Because the captain’s right. No matter what she has to say, Mother will take three times as long as is necessary to say it. And if she finds out we’re trying to cut her short just to get back to a poker game, she’ll take even longer and we’ll never hear the end of it.” She smiled. “Besides, better we stop the game now before Christine completely humiliates you.”

Drawing himself up, Riker said, “I was lulling her into a false sense of security.”

“She didn’t look very lulled to me.”

“It was all part of my cunning plan. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.”

She patted him on the shoulder. “The important thing is, you believe that.”

“Damn right.” He tapped his combadge as they both sat at the desk on the other side of the cabin’s common room. “Patch it through, Mr. Wriede.”

“Yes, sir.”

The screen on the workstation in front of them lit up with the Starfleet logo, which then faded and was replaced by the smiling visage of Troi’s mother. Lwaxana’s face had considerably more lines than the last time Riker saw her, but her obsidian eyes looked more lively.

Another memory, now, this one of Lwaxana on Betazed when the Enterprise helped liberate the world. She was dressed in a battered, filthy one-piece outfit, her hair was unkempt and thinning, and her black eyes were rimmed with red. In many ways, Lwaxana’s bedraggled state was the perfect metaphor for the devastation that the Dominion War wreaked on the Federation. In all the years Riker had known Lwaxana, she had never been disheveled, unkempt, or even rumpled.

More to the point, until that day on Betazed five years ago, he’d never seen her look old. Sick, yes. Comatose, once. Tired, many times. But never old.

Now she at least was more hale and hearty than she had been shortly after the war. Her dress was gaudy and well pressed, she was wearing one of her more subdued wigs, and of all the lines on her face, the deepest were the smile lines around her mouth. That bright smile had always been the second thing people noticed about Lwaxana.

“Little One, it’s so good to see you! And you too, William, especially in light of the wonderful news you sent me! Congratulations to you both!”

The first thing people noticed, of course, was the voice, a remarkable instrument that could penetrate duranium—all the more impressive for a member of a telepathic species that generally used vocal communication only with offworlders and prepubescent children.

“It’s good to see you too, Mother,” Troi said.

“Very good,” Riker added, and he even mostly meant it. “And thank you. How’re things going on Betazed?”

“Quite well, I’m happy to say. The new housing development on the Emrin River was finally finished last week, and there’s a lovely plaque dedicating it to the people who died during the occupation. Most of the structures have been rebuilt, and the ecological damage is being—well, repaired anyway. I don’t think it can ever really be fixed, but we’re doing our best.”

“That’s wonderful to hear, Mother,” Troi said with a warm smile. Riker slipped his hand into hers. Betazed had been through so much during the war, it was good to hear that its recovery was proceeding well. “How is Barin?”

Lwaxana rolled her eyes. “Oh, he’s quite a handful. He’s growing so fast, the clothes replicator can’t keep up with him—and frankly, neither can I. The new valet—”

“Mother,” Troi cut in, “you haven’t fired another valet, have you?”

“Now, Little One, stop playing personnel manager. I should think you had enough of that on that ship of yours without doing it in my house, too.”

Troi closed her eyes. Riker squeezed her hand. Based on this latest news, Lwaxana had now gone through nine valets since the war. And that’s just the ones we found out about. Looks like Mr. Homn isn’t as easy to replace as we’d thought.

“In any case, I am so thrilled to see that my precious girl is finally getting married. And to think, it only took me fifteen years to find the right man for you after that disaster with the Wyatt boy.”

Riker shuddered. His bride-to-be had once been betrothed to a human named Kevin Wyatt thanks to some arcane Betazoid ritual that Lwaxana, in a fit of lunacy, decided to impose on her daughter. That marriage had been avoided, a fact for which Riker was happy then, and downright grateful now.

“As I recall, Mother,” Troi said with an impish grin, “you didn’t find Will, I did.”

“Yes, of course, Little One, whatever you say. The point is, you two are finally doing what you should’ve done twenty years ago, and I couldn’t possibly be happier. And you getting your own ship, too, William—that’s marvelous!”

“Thank you,” Riker said. “The Titan’s a very good ship, it—”

“That’s fine, dear, I’m sure it’s wonderful, but what I really need to know is when Jean-Luc can get you two to Betazed.”

Riker blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Well, naturally, you two will get married on Betazed. It won’t take any time at all for me to set up the ceremony and put the guest list together. Of course, I’ll have to bring the new valet up to speed, but—”

Angrily, Troi asked, “Mother didn’t you read our message?”

“Of course, I did, Little One, how else would I have known about you two getting married and William getting to command the Giant ?”

“It’s the Titan,” Troi said in a tight voice, “and if you know that, you should also know that we just want to have a simple ceremony on Earth.”

“Well, you’re certainly welcome to do that, too, if you want, Little One, but I don’t much see the point when you’re going to have an extravaganza on Betazed. After all, you are the Granddaughter of the Fifth House and Heir to the Sacred Chalice of Rixx.”

Riker tried and probably failed to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “And Heir to the Holy Rings of Betazed, don’t forget that.”

“No, dear,” Lwaxana said in a patronizing tone, “I’m the Heir to the Holy Rings of Betazed. If Deanna was the Heir, I’d be the Holder, like I am of the Sacred Chalice. Really, if you’re going to marry into the family you’re going to need to know these things.”

“Sorry,” he muttered.

Troi blew out a breath. “Mother, do you really have time for this?”

“I’ll make time, Little One. I’ve been waiting for this moment since you were a baby! Now that the happiest day of my life has finally arrived, do you really think I’m just going to let you get married on some cold mountain on Earth?”

“That ‘cold mountain’ happens to be Will’s home.”

Riker could see this was getting out of hand, so he stepped in. “Deanna, maybe we should just—”

“Are you just going to let her belittle your home like that?”

“I’m not belittling anything, Deanna.”

“Yes, you are, Mother, like you always belittle anything that you don’t micromanage.”

Oh God, Riker thought. The last place in the universe I want to be is between these two if they start getting into it.

And getting into it they were. “How can you say that? After all I’ve done for you, after I gave you a home, raised you by myself, let you pursue your career…”

“Intruded on my life at every opportunity, tried to force me to marry someone I’d never met, constantly matchmaking and making a fool of yourself in the name of making me happy…”

Lwaxana went on as if her daughter hadn’t interrupted. “And now—now you have the nerve to keep me from doing one last thing for you, something I’ve wanted for so long?”

“We’re not keeping you from anything, Mother. We want you to be there with us when we get married.” She let go of Riker’s hand and leaned forward into the small screen. “This is the happiest day of our lives too, Mother—can’t you just be there for us and let us do it our way?”

“You can’t even have a proper Betazoid wedding on Earth—especially not in Alaska. It’ll be freezing!”

“Mother, that’s enough!” Troi snapped.

Riker stared in horror at the expression on his fiancée’s face. She looked furious, her black eyes blazing.

“Little One, this is what I’ve wanted for you for so long, and I don’t see why—”

Speaking in a low, menacing tone that gave Riker a cold feeling in his gut, Troi said, “No, Mother, you don’t see. You never did.”

And with that, Troi cut off the communication, got up, and ran into the bedroom.

Riker blinked for several seconds, dumbfounded. Troi and her mother had argued before, certainly, but never like this. And Troi’s anger was wholly out of proportion to what had just happened.

He followed her into the bedroom, and in a gentle voice, prompted, “Imzadi?”

Troi was lying facedown on their bed, her face half-buried in the pillow, muffling her voice. “Not now, Will, please, I want to be alone.”

“Tough,” he said, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “We’re in this together now, remember? Besides, after a blowup like that, you don’t get to be alone without explaining yourself.”

“It’s nothing,” Troi said, punctuating her words with a sniff. Then she rolled over, and Riker saw tears running down her cheek. “It’s just the usual with my mother.”

“No, Deanna, it isn’t. And I’m not leaving this bed until you tell me what it is. We’ve been through too much for you to start holding back from me now.”

She sat up. “I just want us to be happy, Will. Why can’t she see that?”

“And why can’t you see that I’ll be just as happy with a major production on Betazed as I would be in Alaska? Hell, we can go to Risa, to Qo’noS, to the Founders’ homeworld, for all I care, as long as we’re married at the end of it. After everything that’s happened, all that matters is that you and I are together.”

Troi nodded, even as more tears rolled down her cheek. “I know—I feel the same. It’s just—”

Riker held Troi’s hand in his. It felt oddly cool to the touch. “Deanna, I spent fifteen years trying and failing to figure out how to make my father happy. In the end, I never did figure it out, and he died without my knowing whether or not he was happy with me.” He smiled ruefully. “Or if I was happy with him. But you still have your mother. So let’s make her happy and have the wedding on Betazed.”

Moments passed before Riker got the reaction he was hoping for: a smile from Troi. “We will. We’ll call Mother back in the morning—give her some time to calm down first. If we try now, she won’t answer just out of spite.”

“Fair enough,” Riker said, giving her a smile of his own.

 

The sound of William Riker’s breathing was a comfort to Deanna Troi. The rhythmic inhaling and exhaling provided a certain steadiness to the external world that was woefully absent from her internal self. They’d lain beside each other, just being in each other’s arms, for almost an hour before Riker finally dozed off.

Sleep, however, didn’t come quite so easily to Troi.

She hadn’t told the entire truth to Riker. Blowing up at her mother had precisely nothing to do with the wedding or Mother.

Minza.

Every time she closed her eyes, Troi saw the placid face of the Tezwan general. Part of the deposed prime minister’s resistance movement, the group that had abducted Riker, Minza had been captured by Enterprise security and brought to the ship, where Troi tried everything she could within Federation law to interrogate him.

No, to break him. To make him suffer. He knew where Will was being held, and he wouldn’t tell me, and I wanted so much to just take that smarmy expression off his face, I wanted to rip his feathers out one by one…

Again the anger started to build, just as it had with Mother, just as it had with Minza. She remembered him leaning back, his arms folded behind his head, giving her that pitying expression, even as she tried—and failed—to break him by assaulting him with temperature changes, bright lights, and a cacophonous combination of both Klingon and human opera, combined with Data’s near-monotone recitation of The Mikado. All he did was laugh at her, saying, “If this is your worst…I pity you.”

She wanted so much to wipe that pity off his face.

Rising slowly from the bed, being careful not to disturb her fiancé’s slumber, she padded into the next room. Regulating her breathing, which was speeding up at an alarming rate, she tried to tamp down the anger, quench the inferno that was building inside her.

How long will I have to do this?

She sat at the same desk where just a few hours ago she’d yelled at her mother for no good reason and contacted the bridge.

“Wriede here.”

“Falon, it’s Deanna. Tell me—” She hesitated, then decided to vague things up a bit. “Are the Amargosa, Republic, and Musashi still in real-time communication range?”

“Let me check, Counselor.” A pause. “The Republic isn’t, but the other two are. Why?”

“Nothing you need to worry about,” she said quickly. The last thing she wanted was to let the entire gamma-shift bridge crew know precisely what she was doing. “Thank you.”

“No problem, Counselor.”

She then put a private call through to Counselor Marlyn Del Cid on the Amargosa.

Moments later, a bleary-eyed Del Cid appeared on the viewer in front of her. Her long hair was uncombed and unkempt, and she was wearing only a nightshirt emblazoned with a large version of the Starfleet delta—she’d obviously been woken out of a sound sleep. “Del Cid here.” Then she realized who it was. “Deanna? What’s wrong?”

Troi hesitated. “I—I snapped at my mother tonight.”

“Well, that’s certainly a good reason to wake me out of a sound sleep,” Del Cid said with a wry smile. “After all, that sort of thing never happens between mothers and daughters.”

“It’s not that—I just—” She sighed. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have woken you for this.”

Waving her hand in front of her face as if she was swatting an insect, Del Cid said, “No, no, I should be the one apologizing. I just don’t do well first thing after I wake up. I take it you don’t normally snap at you mother?”

She actually smiled at that, which was a relief, as Troi hadn’t credited herself with that capability at present. “Actually, I do all the time, but not over something like this—and I never get this angry with her.”

“Back to the anger, then?”

“Yes.”

“Something to consider, Deanna. Those Federation laws that you were dancing on the edge of with Minza—the ones that kept you from torturing him, or even visiting any kind of cruel and unusual punishment on him?”

Troi frowned. “What about them?”

“The thought occurred to me that it’s a natural instinct to want to inflict pain and suffering on someone who has done you wrong, or who was withholding critical information from you. If it wasn’t, we wouldn’t need those laws you had to abide by, would we? You said you felt poisoned, and maybe you were—but the point isn’t that you wanted to beat Minza until he bled, the point is that you didn’t.”

Leaning back in her chair, Troi let out a long breath that she hadn’t even realized she was holding. “You may be right.”

Del Cid’s bleary eyes twinkled a bit. “Well, don’t be too sure—it could just be the exhaustion talking. What does Will have to say?”

Looking away from the viewer, Troi said, “I haven’t talked to him about it.”

Up until now, Del Cid had barely been able to keep her eyes open; at Troi’s words, though, they widened considerably. “Why not?”

“I haven’t—I didn’t want to burden him with this.”

“That’s a particularly feeble excuse, Deanna.”

Defensively, Troi said, “He’s been through a lot, and—”

“So’ve you. You two are in this together now, remember? That’s what marriage is supposed to be all about.”

Troi closed her eyes for a moment, wincing inwardly at Del Cid’s repetition of Riker’s words from earlier. Then she opened them. “You’re right.”

“So instead of waking me out of a sound sleep, go wake him out of his. It’ll be a lot easier for you to get past this if you’ve got him on your side. This is too deep in you to not share with him. If you don’t, it’ll come exploding out at the worst possible time—and you know that.”

Again, Troi said, “You’re right.” She let out another breath. “Thank you, Marlyn.”

“My pleasure. Really, Deanna, ignore my bitching and moaning—any time you need to talk, get in touch. I know how hard it is for us counselors to take our own advice, so I’m more than happy to give you the occasional kick in the rear.”

Troi chuckled. “I’ll be sure to remember that. Now go get some sleep.”

“Gladly.” Del Cid sounded thrilled at that very notion, and Troi felt a pang of regret.

I should never have called her—I should’ve gone straight to Will, she thought as she terminated the connection.

Getting up from the chair, she padded back into the bedroom. Reaching out with the mental link that the two of them had shared ever since their initial affair on Betazed all those years ago, Troi nudged Riker awake.

He rolled over, and looked at her with tired eyes. “Deanna? What is it?”

Sitting down next to him on the bed, putting a hand on his shoulder, she said, “Will—we need to talk.”