"We talk."

"About what?"

"About anything you want... anything except s.e.x. The whole point of this is-"

"To rise above the impulses of our bodies. Yeah, I know." He thought about it a moment. "Okay. Okay, I've got something to talk about."

"What?" She sounded almost eager.

He tried to ignore the musical way her voice seemed to float, and the soft feel of her breath against the back of his car. "This stuff I was reading about Betazed philosophy... the one you recommended to me."

"Yes?"

"I don't get it."

"What don't you get?"

"Well, for instance... there was this example about a woman being criticized unduly by her supervisor. And she comes and tells me about it."

"Yes, I know the scenario. And let me guess: you came up with ways to solve her problem."

"Right."

"And the text informed you this was the wrong approach."

"Right."

"And you don't know why."

"Right. So what can possibly be wrong about wanting to solve her problem, instead of just moaning and wailing about it."

"There's nothing wrong with it, if that's what she wanted. But that's not what she wanted. The problem is that you're insensitive to her desires."

"Insensitive?" Riker propped himself up on his elbow. "How was I being insensitive? I listened to her difficulties and tried to make her life better for her."

"She wasn't asking you to do that."

"But if she-look, let's make up a name for her... 'Jane'..."

"Catchy name," said Deanna dryly.

"If Jane came to me with her problem, obviously she was coming for help in solving it. That's a given."

"No, it's not."

"Yes it is," he insisted. "Look... if a technician goes to the chief engineer and says there's trouble with the warp core, the chief engineer isn't going to say, 'Oh, what a shame, that's too bad, I know how difficult this must be for you.' He's going to say, 'We've got to get that fixed!' A busted engine, an abusive boss... it all boils down to the same thing. Namely, a bad situation that needs to be repaired."

"You're missing the point, Will."

"No, I'm not missing the point." He turned over to face her. Their bodies were now pressed up against each other, flesh to flesh. And incredibly, Riker wasn't paying attention. "You're just being obstinate."

"And you're in command mode, Will. The universe isn't Starfleet. Emotions aren't regulated. And Jane, as you call her, wasn't looking for you to solve the problem."

"Then why in h.e.l.l did she come to me!" demanded Riker.

"She came to you because she was looking for emotional support," said Deanna patiently. "She knew she had a problem. She knew it had to be solved; or perhaps she wasn't going to solve it but simply live with it. Either way, though, she had to deal with it in her own way because it was her problem. What Jane was looking for from you was an augmentation of her emotional strength. She needed you to say that you were sympathetic to her difficulties and were supportive of her. This is the philosophy of RaBeem, which, simply translated, means 'I understand.' An even better way to handle it is to tell her of a time when you faced a similar situation-"

"And describe how I solved it?"

"And describe how it made you feel. So she knows that whatever frustration and embarra.s.sment she might be encountering is not unique to her. When you're unhappy or discouraged, it's very easy to believe that you're the only person in the world who has ever felt this way. Teenagers experience that feeling most sharply, but adults do also. And what Jane was simply looking for was a sense that she was not alone."

"But... but then how does the problem get solved?

"It gets solved by her, in whatever manner she chooses. And she's also looking to you to say that whatever she does, you will support her because it's the action that she has decided to take."

"I'm still not sure I get it."

"Oh, you're starting to." Deanna smiled. "You just haven't admitted it."

"What you're saying is that I'm faced with a problem and I shouldn't make the slightest effort to solve it."

"That's not such a bizarre notion for you to have to deal with, Will. Isn't that what the Prime Directive is all about?"

"Not at all. We talked about that, it's completely different."

"Only in scope, not in practice. Just because the problem involves a close friend rather than a civilization of strangers, it doesn't make the theory any less valid."

He was about to reply but realized that he couldn't think of anything to say. Smiling sympathetically, she ran the back of her fingers across his face. "I know it's difficult for you, Will. Your impulse is to take command. It's what you were trained for. It's what you long to do. But command isn't the be-all and end-all of life."

"It is to me. I hope that doesn't sound egotistical, but... it's all I want to do. It's what I'm aiming for. I want to beat Kirk's record."

She frowned politely. "Pardon?"

"Youngest starship commander in Starfleet history. That's my goal. I want my own command... and I guess my mindset sometimes shapes all of that, and makes me..."

"Want to command every situation? Every person you meet?"

He saw the slightly mocking way she raised her eyebrow. "Not exactly... but maybe a little." he admitted.

"Well, who knows? Someday you might find yourself in a situation where you find that you enjoy following somtone more than you would commanding."

"Never happen. Every person I serve under is just a means of learning more and more so I can have my own command."

"You can't see yourself serving with someone simply for the sheer joy of serving with them? Or with the others on board the ship?"

"Never happen. No matter how much I liked the ship or crew, if I was then offered my own command, I'd be out of there in a heartbeat. Trust me on this." Then he paused. "You probably don't understand."

"You're wrong, Will. I do understand. I may not agree. But I understand. So," she said after a moment's thought, "tell me what other things about Betazoid philosophy puzzle you."

And they remained that way, naked, wrapped around each other, talking. Just talking, until the early-morning hours, when the first rays of the sun stole across the treetops. They dressed, Riker feeling extremely self-conscious, Troi feeling... he didn't know how she felt.

"Thank you for an... interesting evening," he said.

"I think we've made some progress."

"When can we get together again?"

"Why do you want to get together again?"

"I... well..." He smiled. "A lot of reasons."

"In that case, I think we've made even more progress than I thought," said Deanna teasingly. "I'll be in touch with you, Will." And she turned and walked off.

When she snuck into the mansion, Lwaxana was waiting for her.

Her mother was standing there, hands on hips, lips thinned virtually to nonexistence. "Would you mind telling me where you were?"

Deanna looked downward. "Yes, I would."

"Deanna, we've never kept things from each other."

"Not quite, Mother. I've never kept anything from you. I've never had much choice."

Lwaxana pointed to the stairs. "Go up to your room, Little One. We'll speak of this later... maybe."

"Mother, I'd rather-"

"I don't care!" Lwaxana's voice was filled with more fury than Deanna had ever heard, and it occurred to the young Betazoid that now would probably not be the best time to discuss matters in more detail... particularly considering the details.

Nevertheless, though, she felt she had to say something.

"Mother," she said very quietly, "don't you trust me?"

The muscles under Lwaxana's face worked for a moment, flexing and unflexing. And then, softly, she said, "Of course I trust you, Little One."

"Well, then...?"

"It's others that I don't trust. Deanna"-she took her daughter's face in her hands-"you have a purpose in life. A higher purpose. And I distrust anyone and anything that seems as if it will dissuade you from that purpose."

"But don't I owe an obligation to myself to-"

"Your obligations," said Lwaxana sadly, "are far greater than those to yourself. You have history to protect. You have tradition to uphold. People who died years, even centuries ago did so with a sense of comfort. Even completion. Because they knew that they were part of a larger tapestry; that they were part of something greater than themselves. It is not easy, Deanna, to sublimate your interests and desires to those long gone and those to come. But the happenstance of your birth and lineage means that you owe it, not only to those who preceded you, but to those who will follow... Please, Deanna... tell me that you won't let me down."

In her face was more of a pleading expression than Deanna had ever seen. At that moment, as they had so often before, her own interests and willpower wilted before the needs and demands of the woman who had so shaped her life.

"Of course, Mother. I won't let you down."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes."

Lwaxana drew herself up, almost looking embarra.s.sed about her heartfelt plea. "Well... that's... that's good to hear. Um... it's early, but... how would some hot chocolate sound to you about now?"

Deanna had to smile at that. Chocolate was one of the few tangible reminders-aside from Deanna's presence, of course-of her father. He had absolutely adored chocolate, and it was a craving that he had imprinted on his wife and, apparently, pa.s.sed on to his daughter. She licked her lips at the thought and said, "That would be wonderful... but I wouldn't want you to go to any trouble."

"Oh!" Lwaxana waved dismissively, "it won't be any trouble at all." She turned, cupped her mouth, and bellowed in a voice that shook the rafters, "Homn! Wake up! Deanna wants some hot chocolate!"

"Mother! I thought you were-" And then she saw Lwaxana's stunned expression and amended, "I could have made it."

"Oh, nonsense. A daughter of the Fifth House? What an absurd notion."

"But why did you have to yell?"

"Because Mr. Homn has an annoying habit of sleeping through my thought-castings. Amazing. The only other person I ever met who could do that was your father."

Mr. Homn appeared moments later. To Deanna's surprise, the towering manservant was fully dressed. She wondered if he was simply a fast dresser, or whether he just slept that way in the event that Lwaxana needed him for something. Actually, for all she knew, he never slept. Certainly life with Lwaxana would seem to preclude the opportunities for such mundane activities.

"Deanna wants some hot chocolate," Lwaxana informed him.

Mr. Homn looked at Deanna impa.s.sively, and Deanna gestured in a manner that silently said, I'm sorry about all this. Homn merely inclined his head slightly and headed off toward the kitchen.

"Now you see, Little One?" said Lwaxana, looping her arm through Deanna's. "There are still some people who know how to give proper respect to those who are ent.i.tled to it. I suggest that you keep that in mind... particularly in the way that it applies to Lieutenant Riker."

Deanna looked at her nervously. "You're not going to contact Starfleet, are you? We're just friends, Mother."

"Just friends because of your actions, my dear, not his. But no... I doubt I'll really speak to Starfleet about him. After all, Little One"-Lwaxana patted Deanna's cheek-"you do want me to trust you, don't you?"

CHAPTER 22.

Breakfasting at their customary caf?, Riker and Roper looked up in surprise when Gart Xerx appeared next to them. "So here's where you're hiding, Roper," he said in mock annoyance to the Federation amba.s.sador.

Roper shrugged. "This is where I am every morning. Ask Mr. Riker here."

"He is," said Riker solemnly. "I can vouch for him."

"Although actually," said Roper, putting his napkin down, "I hate to say this, but I have to cut our usual morning ritual short. I have an early meeting this morning."

He started to rise, and Riker automatically started to put his own food aside, even though he hadn't finished it. But Roper quickly stopped him. "Just because I have to abort breakfast, Captain, doesn't mean you do. Stay. Chat with our great friend Xerx."

"Great ffiend," said Xerx with an exaggerated harrumph. "Didn't come to my daughter's wedding weeks ago."

Roper shrugged. "My daughter and the captain here attended on my behalf. And I did send a lovely gift, didn't l?"