A Time for War A Time for Peace Read online

  Chapter 2

  U.S.S. Enterprise

  “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 EnterpriseD, 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.”