Part 15 (1/2)
Riker looked puzzled at that. ”Why did you think so?”
”You're not Deanna's type. I know her, I know the kind of background she comes from. Her taste would run towards someone more intellectual-no offense.”
”None taken,” said Riker, although he wasn't entirely sure how to react. ”But I'm hardly a mental midget.”
”Oh, I didn't say that you were. Far from it. You're an extremely bright fellow. But you just don't think along the same lines she does. She's a gentle rainstorm, and you're lightning in a bottle. I doubt either of you would have the patience with the other to get anything going.”
”Actually, we're going to be seeing each other again. Tomorrow, in fact.”
”No!”
”That's right.”
”Up to you, Captain. I just hope that you're not counting on Deanna to be the one who breaks your streak of celibacy while on this fair planet.”
”I have no intention of being celibate, Mark,” said Riker, leaning forward and dropping his voice. ”And if you absolutely must know... she definitely wants me.”
”Nonsense.”
”It's true. She just hasn't admitted it yet. But she'll come around.”
”When? On her deathbed?”
”A lot sooner than that.”
”Never happen.”
”it will, Mark. Bet on it.”
Roper looked at him with mischief in his eyes. ”All right. One hundred credits says you never 'become intimate' with her.”
Riker laughed in disbelief. ”Mark! I'd never bet on anything like that! It's... it's cra.s.s, it's tasteless, it's...”
”Two hundred credits.”
”It's a bet.”
Roper raised a warning finger. ”And no funny stuff. No getting her drunk. Has to be utterly mutual. You can't force her.”
”Force her! Mark, I've never 'forced' a woman in my life. Honestly, now. What do you take me for?”
Roper patted the top of Riker's hand. ”Captain... I believe I've taken you for two hundred credits.”
CHAPTER 19.
The Betazed museum of art was a tall, impressive building, and extremely ornate. Deanna and Will stood outside as she explained to him the history of the structure, the design work and theory that had gone into it. She spoke at length for some minutes.
Riker, for his part, was happy that she was once again wearing her hair down, and that the outfit she was wearing was more flattering to her figure. Much of what she said barely registered until finally she turned to him and said, ”Why am I bothering?”
”What?”
”You don't seem at all interested in what I'm saying, Will. I'm trying to explain to you why this building is, in and of itself, a work of art.”
”And I'm trying to explain to you, Deanna, that I can only appreciate one work of art at a time.”
”And right now you're still appreciating me.”
”I guess so, yes.”
She sighed, took him by the hand, and said, ”Come on.” She pulled him toward the building and through the large columned doors.
Inside there was music playing, loud and sonorous, and it sounded somewhat like organ music.
It was coming from a large, multiple-piped instrument in the middle of a great rotunda. Seated in circles around the musician were various Betazoids, who were listening to the music. their eyes closed, their faces blissful. Riker looked around and tried to get a feeling for what was going on. The music sounded okay to him, but nothing particularly special. He couldn't understand why it seemed to be affecting the listeners so deeply.
He looked at Deanna, and she, too, appeared to he totally taken by it. Her eyes were half-lidded, and she was swaying slightly to the tones. Riker whispered, ”Are you all right?”
She opened her eyes and looked at him. Her stare was almost incredulous, as if she couldn't believe that he was still capable of speech. ”This is soul music,” she whispered. ”Listen to it, Let it pervade you. What does it say to you?”
He listened. He let it pervade him.
”What is it supposed to say?” he asked.
With an irritated noise, she pulled at him and dragged him off down a large corridor.
The air in the cavernous building was cool. Riker looked around, trying to take things in. His eyes adjusted to the dimness, and he kept trying to find something that would he startling and revolutionary to him. Something that would give his innermost thoughts a voice and fill him with understanding. Nothing in particular seemed to leap out at him, however.
Deanna led him into a room and made a sweeping gesture.
Paintings hung on the walls. All of them appeared to be what Riker would term ”abstract”... that is, they didn't seem to be pictures of anything in particular. In front of every single painting was a small bench, and in a number of instances, Betazoids were seated on the benches staring intently at the works.
”I come here once a week,” whispered Deanna. Her voice, although it was as low as she could possibly make it, still attracted glances from the occupants of the room. Silent communion was the norm here. People looked from her to Riker and then back to her, and their expressions changed from mild irritation to understanding tolerance... and even, in a couple of cases, a degree of pity-much to Riker's annoyance.
”Once a week? Why?”
She led him over to one work in particular, which was concentric splashes of red, blue, green, white, black, and a couple of colors that Riker didn't recognize. Here, in one of the more far-off sections of the room, no one else was sitting nearby at the moment.
”Because, Will,” she said quietly, ”it's one of the methods I use to stay in touch with myself.” At his blank expression, she continued gamely, ”in order to fully understand others, you must learn to understand yourself. Only by being in touch with what motivates you can you then grasp what motivates others.”
”I studied this in the Academy. The course was called Dynamics of Command.”
”Commanding who?”
”Other officers. Crewmen.”
”Yes, well, you see... here the only person you're trying to command is yourself. Now... I want you to look at the painting and tell me what it says to you.”