Fortune's Light - Michael Jan Friedman [8]
Riker looked at him. “Makes what a bit more difficult?”
His friend met his gaze. “I’m staying, Will. I’ve signed on as permanent trade liaison to Imprima.”
“What?”
“It’s true. Everything’s been approved, top to bottom.” A pause. “You knew they were looking for somebody; I just threw my name in the hat.” Another pause. “Who’d have believed they’d actually give it to me?”
Riker felt empty inside, as if he’d been betrayed somehow.
“I don’t get it, Teller. Aren’t you the one who said to throttle you if you even thought of becoming a diplomat? What happened to all that?”
For once his friend was at a loss for words. He shook his head. “I don’t know, Will. It’s just that … damn, I feel as if I belong here. Like these people are my people.” He shook his head again. “And maybe I can do the Federation some good as a liaison. Lord knows, I won’t do that serving on a starship—not the way you will.”
“Come on, Teller. They didn ‘t make you a lieutenant for the hell of it.”
“We both know why they made me a lieutenant, my friend. So let’s not use that as an argument.”
“I’m not talking about Gamma Tobin. I’m talking about your whole career. You’ve shown as much promise as anyone.”
Teller smiled ruefully. “No, I haven’t. But that’s not even the point. I’m not running away from Starfleet by taking this post. Dammit, I was happy in Starfleet. But now I’ve found something that makes me happier. A lot happier.”
Silence.
“Give me a break, Will. Can’t a man want a change? Can’t he love something that doesn’t move at the speed of light?”
Not this man, Riker told himself. But then, he and Teller weren’t Siamese twins. They were two different people—more different, perhaps, than he’d allowed himself to admit.
“All right,” he said finally. “If that’s what you really want … hell, do it.”
More silence.
“Hey, don’t give me the cold shoulder, all right? I wanted to tell you about this sooner. But I was … well, I was scared. I thought you might talk me out of it.” A pause. “Don’t hold that against me, for God’s sake.”
Riker grunted. He looked into his friend’s eyes, and the anger left him. “I’ve got enough to hold against you, you slimy bastard. You think I need something else to add to the list?”
“Then you’re not mad?”
“I’m not mad.”
Teller blinked. His eyes seemed bluer than ever. “Good. Damn good. But I want you to prove it. Drink a toast to the new trade liaison to the planetary government of Imprima. “
They raised their glasses and drank.
“Not as good as that stuff you brought up from Dibdina. “
Teller smiled. “Nope. Nothing was as good as that stuff.”
“What was that toast you made, then? To the art of the … something. I forget.”
“Me, too. But what the hell, it was just a toast. There’s plenty more where that came from.” Teller looked at him. “Keep in touch, Will. Don’t be a stranger.”
“I promise.”
“I’ll hold you to it.”
“Listen—give these Impriman ladies a break, all right? Without me to chaperon you, you might get into all kinds of trouble.”
“I’m looking forward to it, son. Looking forward to it indeed.”
As the holodeck doors slid away, the android stepped inside. He found himself in a roomful of lockers.
At one end of the room a man sat watching two other men converse on a primitive video monitor. The watcher had his feet up on a chair.
“Sure,” he said. “A beautiful day for baseball. And if it stays that way, I’ll eat my shorts. Hell, I’ll eat your shorts.”
Data approached, took up a position to one side of the fellow. It wasn’t long before his presence was noted.
The man turned a pinched face to him, looked at the android through squinty eyes. “You the new kid?” he asked. “What’s his name—Bogdonovich?”
Was that a persona that Commander Riker had picked out for himself? There was only one way to be certain.
“Stop program,” he said. Suddenly the man with the pinched face came to a dead stop—not that he had been moving that much to begin with. “Query,” said Data. “An individual named Bogdonovich—is this the role Commander Riker had intended to play?”
“Affirmative,” responded the computer in its pleasant