he expects me to set up a reception. Lord
... Graceffwas
The last ^w was shouted, andfora moment Riker thought
that Roper was loudly calling for divine intervention.
But then the harried but determined young woman who had
greeted Riker when he first arrived outside
Roper's office barreled in in response. She
sidled past Riker, who had the distinct feeling that
he had been thrown into the middle of carefully, but
barely, controlled chaos.
"Grace," Roper said, "get me Harras
at the catering facility. I have to meet with him as
soon as possible. Also with Counsel Head
Timbor--"
"You just met with him yesterday,"
Grace reminded him, sounding slightly confused.
"Yes, but I didn't know about the Rigelian
ambassador yesterday," replied Roper in
exasperation. "Utterly paranoid people. Never like
to give anyone more than forty-eight hours
notice. And he probably won't even show
up! Cancel at the last minute. Typical.
Typical."
Riker wasn't sure precisely whom
Roper was talking to--Grace, Riker, or
himself ... or some combination of the three.
"When's the earliest I can see Harras?
Tn," he said, answering his own question. "It has
to be tonight."
"You have the Xerx wedding tonight."
Roper held his face in his hands. "Perfect.
Just perfect."
He was silent for a long moment, and Riker
seized the break in the steady flow of conversation.
"Mr. Roper? I'm Lieutenant Riker. I
presume you were told about me?"
Roper stared at him through his fingers. "When was our
appointment?"
"Appoint--?" Riker looked from Roper to the
woman who'd been addressed as Grace. "Is
anyone here expecting me?"
Grace said to her boss with a gentle, prodding
tone, "Starfleet? Remember, Mark?"
Roper still looked blank for a moment, and then
understanding flooded through his face. "Riker!
William Rikerffwas
"Yes, sir," said Riker with a sigh of
relief.
"The new Starfleet liaison! My boy,
please accept my apologies." Roper
circled around his desk and took Riker's hand,
pumping it furiously.
"I'm sorry if I came at a bad time."
"Daytime is generally a bad time," said Roper.
"The second worst time is nighttime. Nevertheless,
it's good to have you aboard. As you can see by my
perpetually discombobulated state, the more help
we have here, the better."
"Whatever I can do to help, sir."
"Yes, well, the first thing you can do is take a
load off." Roper gestured to the chair
opposite him. "And have patience with my natterings
and ramblings. Would you like some coffee?"
"That would be great, thanks."
Roper started to head for the door, but
Grace stopped him. "It's okay, Mark.
I'll get it." She looked to Riker and said,
"Cream?"
"Black."
"Coming up." She smiled and flashed two rows
of clean white teeth at him before walking out.
Roper looked at Riker with what appeared
to be newfound respect. "I admit, I'm
impressed, Captain."
Riker looked at him with mild confusion.
"It's "lieutenant."' And why are you
impressed, sir?"
"Because Grace has been my assistant for
three years and she rarely sees fit to bring me
coffee ... and she never volunteers. But you--"
Roper paused. "Have a way with the females, do
you, Captain?"
A slow smile spread across Riker's face.
"Women seem to ... appreciate me. Why
do you keep calling me captain?"
"Starfleet forwarded me your file. Very
impressive body of work. The ^w on you is that
you're an aggressive, hotshot, up-and-coming
young officer, with a flair and aptitude for some of the
finer points of diplomacy. The general poop--
like poop?"
"On occasion." At first put off by Roper's
style--if such a term could be applied to it--
Riker was slowly finding himself amused by, and even
liking, this somewhat harried diplomat.
"Okay. The general poop is that you're on a
fast track, my young friend. Some even believe you
might beat out Jim Kirk's record for youngest
captain ... and that's stood firm for close to a
century."
"That's the poop, is it?"
"And nothing but the poop. So I figure
I'll start calling you captain now and beat the
rush." Roper leaned forward. "Unless you'd like me
to just skip straight to "admiral"'?"
"That's quite all right, sir, you run the
embassy. You can address me however you want
... although I would appreciate it if, in the
presence of other Starfleet personnel, you
addressed me by my proper rank. Genuine
captains might not consider it amusing."
"Whatever," said Roper with a casual air.
Grace came back in with a cup of black
coffee, which Riker took carefully from
her. She stood over him and said, "Anything else
I can get for you?"
"This will be fine."
"Grace, see that we're not disturbed."
"All right, Mark," she said, but her smile and
gaze were directed to Riker. Then she turned and
walked out.
Roper shook his head. "Oh, yes. Very
impressive. So ..." His tone changed to a more
businesslike timbre. "What have they told you?"
"About this assignment? Well ... Betazed is
supposed to be environmentally quite lovely."
Riker turned his attention to a large window that
opened out onto a dazzling vista. The sky was
dazzling blue with pink clouds hanging against it as
if they'd been painted there. They were on the
twentieth floor of the building, and Riker had an
overview of the city. Rather than being a combination of a
variety of styles, as in so many cities, the
buildings seemed to flow seamlessly one into the other.
Either the city had been meticulously planned from
the beginning or else the growth of it had been
consistently smooth and organic. Far, far in the
distance, Riker could see the barest hints of a
mountain range. "In that," he continued, "I would
have to say the ^w understatement comes to mind."
"It is a lovely world. A lovely people,"
confirmed Roper. "Sensitive to a great
degree. Thoughtful and caring, and utterly
cooperative. A people steeped in tradition, and a
world filled with great thinkers. I am not--it pains
me to admit--a great thinker, Captain. How about
you?"
"For the moment, I'm happy to be a quick thinker.
I presume the rest will take care of itself."
"A very mature attitude. What else do you
know?"
"Betazed is a long
-standing Federation ally, and
quite valued." Then Riker's face darkened. "I
also understand there have been some recent difficulties
with the Sindareen."
"Quite correct," said Roper gravely. "The
Sindareen have a history of belligerence. They also
seem to operate in shifts."
"Shifts?" Riker didn't quite understand.
"They have a number of planets and peoples with
whom they have disputes, or just perceive as being ripe
pickings. But they don't attack them steadily.
They go after them for periods of time until they've
reached the point where they're almost crossing
the line from nuisance and threat to genuine menace ...
and then they pull back. They won't be heard from
for months, even years at a time ... until
they've been pretty much forgotten about. At which
point they start their assaults and raids all
over again."
"And right now they're picking on Betazed."
"That's right. There have been three attacks in as
many months at various points throughout the city."
"What about the outlying cities?"
"Small. Primarily agricultural. A
lot of farmland on Betazed, or cities that are
devoted primarily to philosophical studies.
Here is where the real economic action of Betazed
occurs--alm all of the trading, the commerce,
funnels through here."
"Not the smartest way to arrange things," said
Riker grimly. "Apparently they've never
heard about putting all the eggs in one basket."
Roper shrugged. "It's their planet,
Captain. We can't tell them how to run things.
We can, however, take steps. A squad of
Starfleet security has been stationed here. As the
ranking Starfleet officer, you'll be in charge of
them."
Riker nodded. He was familiar with
ground-based Starfleet security men--
essentially, they were security guards without a
ship. They would be dispatched by the UFP to situations
where a Federation presence was going to be required for
an extended period of time. You couldn't leave a
starship in orbit around a planet for weeks,
even months--but you could send in a squad of
Starfleet security men and leave them there for
however long it took to solve the problem.
Riker had encountered ground security teams on
a couple of occasions. They were generally tough,
strong headed, sometimes contemptuous and even
distrustful of officers who spent their careers in
"fancified starships," as one ground security
man had put it. They were also, Riker knew,
extremely formidable.
"Anything else I should know, Mr. Roper?"
Roper nodded and leaned forward. "Don't try
to con these people, Riker. Their sensitivity to thought
processes is second to none."
"I wouldn't try to "con"' anyone,
sir," said Riker, feeling a bit indignant.
"Oh, come on, Captain, we all do it. For
example--y run into a woman at a
party and she's wearing a dress so ugly it looks
like a Klingon Targ vomited on it. Do you say
to her, "Hello, how are you--why are you wearing
such a god-awful dress?"' Or do you say,
"Hello, my dear, you look lovely tonight."'"
"Well ... the second, I suppose. I
mean, just to be sociable."
"Save it. On Betazed they know precisely
what you're thinking. The fortunate thing is that, because
of that, these people are hard to offend just on the basis of
pure unspoken opinions. They've had
to develop a high tolerance for unexpurgated
thought ... it was either that or kill each other. The
only thing they have little tolerance for is prevarication.
They'd consider that to be insulting. Be
straightforward and honest with the Betazoids and they'll
appreciate and respect you for it."
The door to the office hissed open and Roper
looked up in irritation. "Grace, I thought I
said I didn't want to be disturbed."
A young, cheery-eyed woman with straight black
hair and a bit of the devil in her eye flounced
into the office. "Hello, Daddy."
"Oh! Wendyffwas He gestured to Riker, who
got to his feet. "Lieutenant Riker, this is
my daughter, Wendy. Wendy, this is William
Riker."
"Nice to meet you," said Riker, taking
mental note of the fact that Roper had introduced
him using his correct rank. For that he was most
appreciative.
Wendy pumped his hand in much the same manner that
Roper had. "We have the same initials," she
observed. "W.Rather." She was looking at him with a
frank, appraising attitude.
"So we have," agreed Riker.
"Good." She grinned impishly. "When we
get married, we can have identical monograms
on our towels."
Riker blinked in surprise and looked at
Roper, who shrugged. "Wendy's been here with me
the past three years. She's gotten into the habit
of stating her mind ... even with those people who can't
read it."
"Saves time," she said. She released
Riker's hand but continued to smile. "If you could
read my mind, though, Lieutenant, you'd know I
was just joking."
"Oh." Riker felt a little foolish. "Of
course you were."
"You're cute, though. I like your eyes. They
look like they've seen a lot ... a lot of
amazing things, and a lot of nasty stuff."
Riker was beginning to find her forthrightness somewhat
refreshing. The idea of an entire planet where
people said what was on their minds began to seem a little
less daunting. Since when was the notion of honesty
something to be concerned over?
"You're right," he said. "I'll be happy
to fill you in on some of it."
"I'll be happy to listen."
"And I'm happy everyone's happy. Oh,
happy happiness," Roper put in, sounding a
bit curmudgeonly. "Wendy, was there something in
particular you wanted to discuss?"
"Yes." She turned to her father. "I just
wanted to know, which do you think would be better to wear
to the Xerx wedding tonight? The blue dress with the
ruffles, or the green dress that's cut low?"
"What difference does it make?" asked
Roper. He looked at Riker. "Yet another
one of the social engagements that this office is
expected to participate in. Chandra Xerx, a
daughter of the third house of Betazed, is getting
married tonight. The Federation is to send a
representative. Guess who."
"Well, I'm looking forward to it," said
Wendy.
"What third house?" asked Riker.
"Oh, that. Well, Betazed society has a
number of families that are considered founding
families, tracing ancestry back all the way
to the earliest writings of Betazed history and
culture. There are twenty of these senior
"housese
a"' as they're called. The house of
Xerx is the third oldest, hence the designation
"third house."' Chandra is the eldest daughter
of Gart Xerx, and as Wendy mentioned, the wedding
is tonight. I hate Betazoid weddings," he added
darkly. "And the timing of this one in particular ...
when in hell am I going to meet with Harras
to discuss this sudden reception I have to pull together?"
"Look, sir, if it's too much of an
inconvenience for you, I have a simple solution,"
said Riker. "I'll go."
Roper looked up. "You?"
"If," said Riker, and he turned smilingly
to Wendy, "it wouldn't bother you to have me as your
escort instead of your father."
She looked him up and down in an
even more appraising manner than before, and Riker
couldn't understand why she was grinning so widely. "That
sounds great."
"You really wouldn't mind, Lieutenant
Riker?" said Roper. "You'd be doing me a
tremendous service--clearing up some free time for
me to attend to other matters, and sparing me yet
another one of those ceremonies."
"I don't see what the problem would be," said
Riker. "I'm glad to pitch in and help wherever
I can."
"That's settled, then," said Wendy cheerfully.
"Good," said Roper, slapping his ample
belly. "I must admit, I think that you'll
present a much more dignified presence for the
Federation than I usually do."
Riker smiled politely, not completely
understanding what Roper meant.
But later, he would.
CHAPTER 13
The wedding chapel was small and sedate, a
one-story building shaped like a trapezoid.
It was a crisp, cool evening, and Riker in
full dress uniform had called on Wendy at
her home to pick her up. He saw that she had
indeed decided on the low-cut green dress, and
he felt somewhat appreciative of that. The
cleavage it revealed was most attractive, and
she had a long and slender neck that was nicely
accentuated as well.
She smiled at him and said, "Very chic,
Lieutenant."
"I wanted to make a good first impression on
all concerned. And please, call me W."
"Try and stop me." She inclined her head
slightly. "The chapel's less than a
kilometer away, and it's a lovely night.
Feel like walking?"
"That sounds charming." He proffered his elbow and
she took it.
They headed down the street, keeping up a
pleasant and enjoyable string of chitchat between them.
Riker found out that Wendy was a sociologist; that