Imzadi. Part 3

"Well, that being the case, I could hardly ignore such sound advice, could I."

"If it's good enough for the captain of the Hood," Wesley Crusher said firmly, "it's good enough for you." He turned and walked out the door.

Through the viewport of his quarters, Riker could now see Betazed, coming up fast.

Help me, he said. Help me get through this, Imzadi.

There was, of course, no answer. Nor had there been for quite, quite some time.

CHAPTER 5.

Betazed was nothing like he remembered it.

Then again, it had been many years since Riker had set foot on the planet. Not since the days when he had been first officer of the Enterprise 1701-D, under the command of Capt. Jean-Luc Picard.

Not since- He wavered slightly, putting a hand to his head, and he felt Crusher's firm grip on his shoulder. "Are you all right, Admiral?"

All the anger, all the resentment and fury that he had thought he was long past, flashed through him once more with unexpected heal.

"I'm fine!" he practically snarled. "You don't have to sound so d.a.m.ned patronizing!"

Young Wesley Crusher would have taken a couple of steps back. He would have become dead pale, tried to stammer out some sort of a reply-and probably failed.

Capt. Wesley Crusher merely removed his hand from Riker's shoulder, then lanced him with a grim stare. "I was always raised to believe, Admiral, that being concerned over someone's welfare was considered, at the very least, good manners. Hardly patronizing."

Riker met Crusher's stare and said slowly, "Yes. Quite right, Captain. My... apologies."

Crusher nodded in a way that indicated that, as far as he was concerned, the minor incident was closed. Instead, he glanced toward the heavens. "Looks like the weather's turning nasty on us, sir."

At that, Riker nodded. It was something that he'd become accustomed to on Betazed. The majority of the time, the weather was calm, pleasant, bordering on the tropical. But when the atmospheric conditions s.h.i.+fted, they did so with startling and almost violent speed. One minute, cloudless and blue skies, and the next minute-bam.

Riker remembered that Lwaxana perpetually carried an umbrella with her when strolling about, particularly in the countryside. She had always prided herself on being ready for anything.

Anything.

"It's this way," said Riker.

They'd materialized on one of the more well-to-do avenues of the city. The homes were far apart and set back... but not too far. Betazoids walked a fine line between a desire for privacy and acceptance of its impossibility-for amidst all empathic society, privacy was at best a pretense and it was rude to pretend otherwise.

Crusher could have had them beamed right to their destination, but before he had specified anything, Riker had given specific coordinates that deposited them half a mile from where they wanted to be. It was as if Riker weren't all that anxious to arrive at his goal.

Riker set the pace, which was not especially fast, and Crusher fell into step next to him. The admiral did not seem particularly interested in talking, and they might indeed have gone the entire way in complete silence if an unexpected voice hadn't chimed in behind them.

"It is you."

Riker and Crusher stopped and turned, and Riker chuckled low in his throat.

"Wendy Roper. I don't believe it."

The woman who stood behind them seemed a few years younger than Riker. She was small and slim, and her white hair, with a few remaining streaks of black in it, was twisted around in an elaborate braid. A sparkle in her eyes made it seem that a very amused young woman was hiding somewhere in the aged body.

"Will Riker, you old sleaze."

He walked to her and put his arms around her-tentatively, as if afraid that he might break her in half. They separated and he looked at her.

"Don't you dare," she said. "Don't you dare say I haven't aged at all."

"Why shouldn't I?"

"Because the thought that I looked like this half a century ago would be too much to cope with."

His smile widened. "Can I say you look great for a woman your age?"

"With my blessing." She ran fingers across his bearded cheeks. "When did you get so scruffy?"

"About forty years ago."

"Makes you look ancient."

"I feel ancient." He paused, then shook his head. "I can't believe you're still here. I mean, you can't still be a.s.signed here with your father..."

Her expression saddened slightly. "Daddy died about ten years ago, Will."

"Oh." His face clouded. "I'm sorry. Oh... my manners." He stepped back and waved Crusher closer. "Capt. Wesley Crusher, this is Wendy Roper."

She shook Crusher's hand firmly but said, "Wendy Berq, actually."

Riker looked at her in surprise. "Married?"

"That's usually the way."

"When?"

"Actually, about two years after you left. My husband is Betazoid... a teacher. That's why I stayed."

"My G.o.d..."

She patted him on the arm. "Don't worry about it, Will. I know news travels slowly out in s.p.a.ce."

He let out a slow breath. "I really am a sleaze. I've been back planetside a few times... but I never saw you. Never tried to contact you. Not even..."

"I was at the funeral."

Riker blinked in surprise. "You were? I didn't see you."

"As I recall, you weren't seeing much of anything that day."

To that, Riker said nothing. Then, slowly, he nodded. "That's about right." He paused. "I should have looked you up. I'm sorry."

"It's understandable. If there's one thing that living among Betazoids has taught me, it's to be respectful of people's feelings. If you ask me, the entire Betazoid credo boils down to one word: RaBeem."

Crusher looked momentarily puzzled. "'RaBeem'?"

Riker glanced at him and said, "it means 'I understand.'"

"Very good, Will," said Wendy.

"I had a good teacher."

They stood there for a bit in uneasy silence, then Wendy cleared her throat. "I won't play games or pretend this was coincidence, Will. I knew you'd be coming. I knew she'd asked for you. And I thought-"

"You thought that I could use the moral support," he said, tossing a look at Crusher. "I've heard that quite a bit. Well... fine, Wendy. I suppose the more the..." Then he stopped. "I guess that's hardly appropriate to the situation, is it?"

"Hardly," agreed Wendy.

Riker stood there, feeling as if he'd been cut adrift. He felt that way a great deal these days-alone, floating. Unattached to anyone or anything in the galaxy around him. Clumsy with his speech, clumsy with his orders, just... clumsy. Unable to focus on anything or decide anything.

Make a decision, you idiot.

"Come on, then," he said. "Let's go."

The three of them walked up the small incline that led to the mansion that Riker knew so well. It had been years since he'd been there-a lifetime ago, it seemed-and yet every angle of the house, every aspect of it, had been forever etched into his memory. Tall and graceful, it was constructed on a reduced scale so that, although the upper stories were not abnormally high, they seemed to go on and on, almost touching the sky-the sky that was now darkening with the customary Betazed speed. And yet, somehow, it seemed as if it were holding back. Seemed as if it were waiting for something.

The door was opened before Riker even had the opportunity to knock. And filling the doorway was a figure that momentarily surprised Riker by its appearance... and then, he wondered why he had been at all startled. Of course he would be here. Where else would he be?

"Mr. Homn," said Riker, bending slightly and formally at the waist.

Wesley Crusher looked up in surprise. He had fleetingly seen Homn from time to time, back in his days on the Enterprise. His memory had been that Homn was incredibly tall... and yet, in later years, he had wondered how much of that recollection was shaped by the fact that young Ensign Crusher had been that much smaller. Now, as an adult, he found himself no less impressed by Homn's towering presence than he had ever been.

Wendy had never seen the towering manservant before. She just gaped.

And then, Homn did something totally unexpected... something that, to Riker's knowledge, he had only done once before.

His voice was low and surprisingly soft for so large a man-and there was even a faint hint of a lisp-as he uttered two simple words: "She's waiting."

The response echoed in Riker's mind-Waiting for what? Waiting for me? Or waiting to die? Or are the two connected?

Mr. Homn stepped aside, and Riker entered, Wendy and Crusher following him.

The house, in contrast to its elegant exterior, still smacked of being overdone to Riker, even after all this time. He knew why that was, of course. Lwaxana's late husband had designed the outside and left the actual furnis.h.i.+ng to his wife. And furnish it she had... with a vengeance.

Every corner, every available bit of s.p.a.ce, was crammed with... stuff. Everywhere Riker looked there was furniture or mementos: portraits, trophies, souvenirs, objects of art that ranged from the acceptable to the ghastly. The taste at casa Troi was, to put it mildly, eclectic.

Mr. Homn stood at the bottom of the central stairway and gestured. He remained immobile, like a monument. A living link to days gone by.

Riker started up the stairs. They seemed to stretch on forever. Once, once a very long time ago, he could have charged up these steps, taking them two, even three at a time. And a woman would have been waiting for him up there, her arms outstretched, her face mirthful and loving, her curly black hair cascading about her shoulders.

Back in the old days. Back when he was another person entirely, and the only thing he had in common with the old man who now trudged heavily up the stairs was the name.

He held on to the banister, pulling himself up as he went. He paused for a few moments on a landing to catch his breath before he continued upward. He knew that Crusher and Wendy were directly behind him, but they offered him no support or aid. Nor would he have wanted it.

The stairway opened up onto the second-floor corridor, which seemed to stretch almost to infinity. This effect was aided by the fact that the corridor was illuminated only by flickering lamplight, and also because full-size mirrors were at either end.

Appearances. Once again, appearances. They had always been so important to her... and now, it would seem that appearances were all she had left.

At first he didn't know which door she was behind... but then he realized. It was partly open, and from within he could hear slow, labored breathing. It sounded as if she was just barely hanging on. h.e.l.l, she might die any minute.

If he walked slowly enough, if he took enough time...

He saw the look in Wesley Crusher's eyes as the captain of the Hood stood next to him. He had a feeling that Crusher knew precisely what was going through Riker's mind.

Dammit, Riker, he scolded himself. Be a man. For crying out loud, get it right!

His hands curled into fists, and with a stride that indicated a confidence he did not feel, he walked toward the sound of the breathing.

When he was just outside the door... it stopped.

The cessation was abrupt; right in the middle of a breath, so it was very noticeable. Riker looked at Crusher as if for confirmation, and it was clear that Crusher had heard it, too. Wendy, feeling tired and labored, had just made it to the top of the stairs and so wasn't there yet.

For just the briefest of moments, relief flooded through Riker. And then it was immediately replaced by anger at his hesitation... cowardice, even. Quickly he entered the room.

He was stunned.

He had expected the most ornate of surroundings for this, the master bedroom. But such was not the case. In fact, it was quite the opposite.

Only a bed occupied the room. A canopied bed with black drapes hanging down. There wasn't a stick of furniture anywhere else.

It only took a moment for Riker to realize what had happened. All the furniture had been removed-the different sheen on various parts of the floor indicated that. He did not understand, though, why it had been done.

As if reading his mind, Wendy now said softly from behind him, "Betazed tradition. Some feel that you come into the world with virtually nothing. So when you leave, you try not to surround yourself with the things you've acquired. It's... excess baggage, for want of a better term."

"Oh."

He walked slowly toward the bed, but now there seemed to be no hurry. There was no doubt in his mind that she was gone. There was still that anger, bordering on contempt, that he felt for himself. This is what you wanted. This is why you dragged your heels. So why aren't you happy about it? The reason was, of course, that he also felt tremendously guilty.

Look at her. You owe her that much.

Slowly he parted the black drapery around the bed.

Lwaxana Troi lay there, unmoving. Her skin was taut, conforming uncomfortably closely to the outlines of her skull. Her lips and incredibly, her hair, were the same parched color as her skin. Her arms and shoulders were bare-she was probably naked, just is was customary for a Betazed wedding, but a sheet was pulled up to just under her arms.

Her eyes were closed. Her chest was not moving.