A Time for War, a Time for Peace - Keith R. A. DeCandido [11]
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