Reunion - Michael Jan Friedman [39]
“And that is why you cannot mingle with them? Because they remind you of the blood-bond?”
“That is my theory. Even if no one else will punish me for Gerda’s crime, I will punish myself.” She raised her
glass and sipped. “What do you think, Counselor? From a professional standpoint, I mean?”
It sounded plausible. Troi was forced to say so. “As I thought.” Asmund put her glass’down again and smiled grimly. “So you see, Counselor, I don’t need to talk with anyone. I’m quite capable of diagnosing my own problems.”
The empath tried to frame her words carefully. “Diagnosis is only the first step, Commander. Now that you know there is something wrong, don’t you want to do something about it?” Asmund stared at her. “From a Klingon point of view, Counselor, it is my responsibility to bear this guilt.” It was a difficult situation. Troi had to concede that. “Would it hurt,” she asked, “if we talked again?” Asmund thought about it. “No,” she said finally. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.”
“Good,” said the counselor. “Then let’s do that. As often as you like.” She returned the other woman’s piercing gaze. “And if I do not hear from you, I will take it upon myself to call.”
Asmund nodded. “Fair enough.”
Troi rose. “I am glad we had this talk.” She smiled. The other woman tried to do the same as she got to her feet-but in all fairness, she wasn’t very good at it. Nor did she offer any further expression of emotion-gratitude or anything else—as the empath departed. Once out in the corridor, Troi took a deep breath and frowned. Again, she had come up hard against Asmund’s wall of self-discipline—a discipline born of hiding her-selffrom herself. Of course, she had gotten some insight into the blond woman by virtue of their conversation-but nothing she could offer to the captain as an indication of Asmund’s guilt or lack of it.
As for easing the woman’s pain … perhaps she had made some headway there. But not as much as she might have hoped. All in all, an unsatisfying conclusion.
Riker bit his lip as the doors opened to reveal Cadwallader’s quarters. Come on, he told himself. The sooner you get this over with, the better.
She was sitting by the computer terminal built into the bulkhead, wearing her mustard-and-black uniform. “Hi,” she said. “Hi.” He was glad she hadn’t changed yet for dinner comparticularly when he saw the very feminine green shift folded neatly over the back of a chair.
Cadwallader turned and followed his gaze. “Not very neat,” she apologized, “am I? I just can’t help it. Leaving clothes all over is my vice.”
“Trivia …” he began, but she was already up out of her seat and across the room. Picking up the dress, she held it before her. Riker could see that it was translucent in places-all the right places.
“You like it?” she asked. “I know it’s bad form to show a date your dress before you’ve got it on, but—” She shrugged. “What can I say? Mum never trained me quite right”
He had known this wouldn’t be easy. But he hadn’t expected her to be so damned excited-so vulnerable.
.trivia … his
She replaced the dress on the chair. “This is appropriate, isn’t it? I mean, I’ve never had dinner in a holodeck. How does one dress for a meteor storm? Or a hot, steaming jungle?”
She stopped short, surprised by the tone of his voice. “Excuse me. Did I say something wrong?”
Riker cursed himself inwardly. He hadn’t meant it to be like this. “No. It’s not your fault. It’s just that—” Here came the hard part. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”
He might as well have told her he was a Romulan in disguise. “I beg your pardon?” she said.
“You know,” he told her, “with both of us being officers …” It sounded