Part 17 (1/2)
Deanna looked down.
”Aren't you.” This time there was even a bit more of an edge than before.
”Yes, Mother,” said Deanna automatically, a phrase she had repeated any number of times before on a variety of occasions.
”Good, because frankly... and I'm only giving you my surface interpretation here, since you seem uncomfortable with allowing me to probe more deeply on this... you're making it quite clear that you can't exactly control yourself when it comes to this lieutenant.”
Now Deanna looked up, her jaw set. ”I can control myself just fine, Mother. I'm not some... some animal in heat.”
”I never said you were.”
”No, but you implied it.”
”I didn't-”
”You did.”
”All right, maybe I did,” said Lwaxana, putting her hands up. ”But it's understandable. You don't seem yourself when it comes to thoughts of him. Perhaps I should have a talk with the people at the university. If this lieutenant is merely a case study for you, then I think that the university is doing a pretty shabby job of teaching you something as simple as clinical detachment.”
”They're doing a fine job, Mother. Please... stay out of it. I can handle Lieutenant Riker just fine.”
Lwaxana stared at her piercingly. ”And how do you define 'just fine'?”
”I define it as being capable of rising to a situation without your help.”
Lwaxana appeared to consider this a moment, then speared another piece of fish with her p.r.o.ng. And then she said simply, ”See that you do.”
Mr. Homn hit his chime and Deanna winced slightly. Funny how, after all these years, she'd never realized just how d.a.m.ned annoying that persistent chiming was.
Riker lay in his quarters at the emba.s.sy, reading a primer on Betazed philosophy that Deanna had recommended.
It was puzzling to him. In example after example, situations were presented and the reader was asked, basically, ”What would you do or say in such a situation?” And Riker was consistently getting it wrong.
He went on to the next example and read it out loud to see if it would make more sense: ”A friend tells you that she is very upset. Her immediate supervisor has said several overly critical things in regards to her work, and she feels frustrated and hurt over the situation. How do you respond?”
Riker thought about it and then said out loud, ”All right. I tell her one of two things: either she can a.n.a.lyze her work habits, see where she's being remiss, and improve her performance, or, if she firmly believes that the criticism by her supervisor is unwarranted, she can tell her supervisor that and demonstrate why. If he continues to be overly critical, she can inform him that if he does not cease and desist in his unreasonable demands, then she will go to the next level in the chain of command and file a grievance.”
He pondered that for a moment, decided that it was a good, solid, reasonable response, and moved on to what the text claimed was the proper way to handle it.
He read it out loud without understanding it.
”'Tell your friend'”-and there was incredulity in Riker's voice-”'that you understand her frustration. That you know she's in a difficult situation, but have confidence she'll work it through. Cite an instance in your own life where you experienced similar feelings of anxiety. Let her know that she's not alone and that she can count on you as a source of emotional support.'”
He stared at the words floating there on the screen and shook his head. ”But what's that going to solve?” he asked in frustration. ”Sitting there and commiserating about how difficult life is? That's not going to do anything to address the problem! It's not going to make things better. I mean, why would she come to me with this problem if she didn't want me to try and come up with ways to solve it?”
He pushed the screen away in annoyance, shutting it off. This was ridiculous. Tang had been absolutely right about these people. They seemed to dwell endlessly on how everyone felt.
He resolved to ask Deanna about it the next time he saw her.
Which was not the next day.
Or the day after that.
Or the day after that.
By the end of the week, the silence on the part of his ”tutor” had become somewhat puzzling, if not downright irritating. He made several calls over to the mansion and was repeatedly told that Deanna wasn't there or wasn't available. He asked that she return his calls, but she never did, He was starting to become irfitated, and his irfitability showed through when Sergeant Tang happened to stop by to chat about a new piece of ordnance. Riker was short-tempered with him and then immediately regretted his tone.
”Sorry, Sergeant. That was uncalled for.”
Tang stared at him and rubbed his beard stubble thoughtfully. Riker wondered for a moment how in h.e.l.l Tang perpetually managed to look as if he needed a shave. Did he just sc.r.a.pe along the edges of the stubble, cutting it to a particular disheveled length?
In a manner that was a bit too overfamiliar for a sergeant to deal with a lieutenant-but nevertheless seemed utterly in keeping with Tang's personality-the veteran s.p.a.cer slapped Riker on the forearm and said, ”C'mon with me, Lieutenant. I got something set up downstairs that you look like you could use.”
Riker followed Tang to the lower sections of the emba.s.sy, to rarely used storage facilities. At the moment, the facilities, were relatively empty, particularly because the reception for the Rigelian amba.s.sador had depleted much of the stock. Riker knew there would not be a s.h.i.+p along to restock for several weeks.
Riker was surprised-but not too surprised-to see that Tang and his men had converted the large facilities into a makes.h.i.+ft armory. ”We're good at making do with what we have,” said Tang. ”Every so often, though, we fall into a bit of luck.”
”Good lord.” Riker was looking at one of the most ma.s.sive pieces of armament he'd ever seen. It hung on the wall and was almost as large as Riker himself He looked around to Tang and said, ”May I?”
Tang waved toward it. ”You're the CO. Be my guest.”
Riker lifted the long, cylindrical weapon down and staggered under the weight of it. He had trouble placing his hands correctly and felt it slipping off his shoulder. But then Tang was there, steadying him, although actually he seemed a bit more concerned about the weapon's safety than Riker's.
”Here, you take it,” said Riker. handing it off to Tang. Although Tang was a head shorter than Riker, he hefted the weapon as if it weighed a fraction of what it actually did. Riker tried to suppress his astonishment at the display of strength and was only partially successful. ”What is that?”
”This,” said Tang, patting it proudly with his free hand, ”is the latest in mobile ground-to-air defense. The portable Level 10, shoulder-mounted phaser cannon, Model II.”
”Makes you wonder what Model I was like.”
”Model I blew up during field testing and destroyed half of Pluto. No one cared-it was a boring planet, anyway.” Then, when he saw Riker's expression, he grinned, showing slightly irregular teeth. ”I'm kidding, Lieutenant.”
”I knew you were,” Riker lied. ”How powerful is that thing?”
”On full strength, I'd probably have a shot at knocking one of Betazed's moons out of orbit.”
”You're kidding again.”
Tang looked at him, his face inscrutable. ”I didn't say I'd have a good shot at it.”
He placed the gun back on the wall and took a couple of small target-practice phasers out of their mountings. ”Come on. I'll show you what we got set up.”
He led Riker over to another area, which was somewhat darkened, and handed him one of the phasers. Then from his belt he unclipped a couple of small, diamond-shaped devices. ”Standard issue for ground security,” he said. ”Keeps us from getting stale no matter where we are.”
He tossed them into the air, and on their own, they started hurtling around the chamber. ”Pick your shot and start firing, Lieutenant.”
Back to back, Riker and Tang began firing at the diamonds, trying to nail them in midflight. They glistened as they darted about the room, bobbing and weaving in no particular pattern. Riker managed to land a couple of shots; Tang landed far more.