The two men exited the transporter room, each watching the other carefully. O'Brien let out a sigh the moment they were gone. This whole business was becoming more difficult with each passing day, and O'Brien, for one, couldn't wait until it was over.
Lwaxana adjusted her elaborate headpiece, a large affair with exotically upswept sidepieces of gleaming black metal. It was traditional, having been handed out from generation to generation. Truth to tell, the damned thing weighed half a ton. She felt like she was wearing a satellite on her head. But once again, traditions had to be attended to.
Her glimmering black dress hugged her, and she ran her hands along her hips and along the flatness of her stomach. Not bad. Not bad at all. Not quite the body of her youth, she reasoned, but what slight deficiencies there might be were more than made up for by her years of acquired experience, grace, and sophistication.
She went to her jewelry box and opened it, examining the contents. What to wear, what to wear ?
"I have just the thing." She whirled. Q was standing directly behind her.
He was wearing a formal Starfleet uniform.
Lwaxana folded her arms and adopted a stern look, not immediately willing to let him back into her good graces. "You left me in the lurch earlier," she said. "That was not very polite." "I sensed that you were overwhelmed," Q replied, circling the room, his hands behind his back. "I felt my continued presence might intimidate you." She pointed her chin. "I can be surprised, Q. Even overwhelmed. But never intimidated." "My apologies," he said suavely. "I hope this will help." From behind his back he withdrew a pendant that was glorious beyond belief.
The breath left Lwaxana as her eyes widened. All of her archness vanished in the unadulterated amazement of what she was seeing.
The pendant hung from his hand in front of her.
Within the glittering jewels there seemed to be suns, exploding and being formed continuously. "Will you accept this small token?" asked Q.
Lwaxana was shocked to see that her hands were actually trembling as she reached for it. "I.
I'm honored," she breathed as she took it.
She held it reverently and then whispered, "Would you mind... putting it on me?" "It would be my honor," said Q.
She turned and presented the back of her neck to him. He did not have to touch her, though, because a split-instant later the necklace was around her neck. She drew a hand over it, and the pendant seemed to throb with a life of its own.
She turned to face him. "It's the most splendid thing I've ever seen..." She paused significantly, then added, "aside from you." "You're right," said Q.
Picard, once again clad in that irritating formal uniform, smoothed out the front of his jacket and rang the buzzer of Beverly Crusher's quarters. "Right out," came her voice.
Wesley Crusher walked past and slowed when he saw Picard. "Captain," he said in polite greeting. Salutes were long outmoded, but courtesy required some sort of acknowledgment when encountering the ship's most senior officer.
"Mr. Crusher," replied Picard. "Will you be in attendance this evening?" Wesley appreciated that the captain did not broach the subject of the girl. He took it as an indication of Picard's trust in him that he would resolve matters in short order on his own. It seemed that everyone else, however, was not hesitating to voice an opinion, or at the very least give him an amused look. Wesley's private little matter was all over the damned ship.
"I'm not sure yet, Captain." Picard raised an eyebrow. "You don't have much more time to decide." "I know, sir." The door hissed open and Picard turned.
Both Picard and Wesley gaped.
Beverly Crusher stood there, her red hair elegantly displayed in a stunning wave. Her expression was soft, and she wore a long, dark blue formal gown that was slit provocatively up to mid-thigh on the left.
"Jean-Luc," she said, her voice sounding deep and throaty.
Picard cleared his throat, which suddenly felt congested. "I am without words, Doctor." "Do you think when words are found, one of them might be "Beverly"?" she asked, her gleaming lips parted in a small smile.
"Of course, Beverly," said Picard.
She turned her luminous gaze to her son.
"Wesley?" she said. "Will we be seeing you tonight?" Wesley looked at the way Picard was regarding his mother, and the way his mother was looking at her son, and he started feeling emotions that he couldn't identify. But he knew what he was going to do about it.
The blue girl looked up as the doors opened. "Wesley!" she said, upon seeing who was at the door. She stood and immediately dropped her robe.
"What is your name?" he demanded. He hadn't wanted to know because, somehow, he would have felt that it was implying interest on his part.
"Karla," she said.
"Get dressed, Karla," said Wesley.
"We're going out."
The buzzer of Deanna's quarters sounded.
"Come," she called, and when she turned, there was Will Riker standing in the doorway. Like Picard, he was dressed in his formal uniform.
"Counselor?" he said.
"Yes, Commander?" He took a step in. "I had thought you would be accompanying me to the festivities tonight. You don't seem ready." She sighed. "If it's all the same to you, Commander, I think I'll stay in." "It's not all the same to me," he said firmly. "Escorts are required, and as first officer, it's incumbent upon me to be in attendance." "I'm sure that you can easily find a young lady to accompany you," said Deanna. She went back to her computer screen and stared at text that she hadn't really been paying attention to for the past hour.
"I'm sure I can," said Riker. "But I had intended to--and wanted to--go with the most stunning, personable, and pleasant woman on the ship. That, Counselor Troi, happens to be you. Now, get dressed, or you'll force me to remove your clothes and dress you myself." She looked up at him, smiling in spite of herself. "Now, that sounds like a chore you would simply detest." "A dirty job," agreed Riker. "But that's why they pay me the big money." "All right," she sighed. "Give me a few minutes." "Whatever you say." He leaned back against the wall, his arms folded.
"Outside," she said.
"You're a tough customer, Deanna." "Tougher than anyone knows," she informed him, as he stepped back out into the corridor.
The dance was already in full swing when Picard arrived with Dr. Crusher on his arm. There was a slight decrease in the volume of music from the ever-popular Federation Horns, in deference to the captain's appearance--and partly out of acknowledgment of the stunning medical officer on his arm. Then the music went back to its previous levels, and other couples continued to flow into the holodeck. The Horns struck up a slow waltz time.
A rather intriguing scenario had been created for the evening's entertainment, one that would make the Tizarin feel at home. The walls, the ceiling, even the floor looked like a glistening starfield.
Couples were, in essence, dancing in space.
Of course, some variations in the holodeck environment had been made. It wouldn't do to have guests freezing to death or suffering from explosive decompression. The aim was for romance, not deadly realism.
The floor of stars was solid beneath them, but nevertheless it was disconcerting for Picard to look down and see an endless drop beneath his feet, yet not be in any danger of falling. It took a few minutes of getting used to, but after that initial period he was effortlessly gliding across space, Beverly Crusher in his arms.
She matched his steps with artful gracefulness.
She moved like liquid silk against Picard, and for a brief moment his face softened as he thought, God, how lovely she is. Then he remembered who he was, and who she was, and his expression returned to the polite but faintly distant look that he usually maintained in such instances.
Beverly was aware of the rapid "in and out" of the captain's attitude and sighed inwardly.
Jean-Luc, you brilliant fool, she thought, and reflected on it no more.
Instead her gaze wandered across the "star room." Couples sailed across, and Dr. Crusher felt that if there was indeed a heaven, this was probably some inkling of what it was like.
Then she noticed something and murmured, "Jean-Luc." "Hmm?" She tilted her head just slightly in the direction she was looking, and Picard turned to follow her gaze.
He saw Kerin dancing suavely with some girl of the house of Nistral. He seemed to have eyes only for her, and standing off to the side, looking immensely annoyed, was Sehra.
"That," murmured Picard, "does not seem to bode well." "Oh, they're young," said Crusher. "They'll work it out." "I certainly hope so. The last thing you want when you have heavily armed ships on either side of you--manned by individuals with a long-simmering feud--is to have a situation that's going to antagonize them."
Deanna and Riker entered, Deanna having changed from her red pants outfit to a flowing turquoise gown. She glanced around quickly and said, "I don't see them here." Riker sighed. "Are you going to spend the entire evening worrying about your mother? Deanna, if she's not worried, I don't see why you should be.
She's a grown woman." "A grown woman with an increased sex drive and garnering the attentions of a godlike being with unknown intentions. Will, how am I supposed to--" He picked up a date and popped it into her mouth. "Shut up and dance, Counselor," he said, and swung her away.
Ensign Charles was with a number of other young crewmen. Their dates were standing nearby, chatting among themselves. Charles was chuckling to the others, "Told you he wouldn't be here." "I don't see why you're so worked up about him," said Lieutenant Dini, munching on a carrot stick. "Unless you're interested in the girl." Dini let out a low whistle, and Walter Charles glanced around to see what he was whistling at.
Wesley Crusher had just entered, and on his arm was the blue-skinned woman with the red hair.
Wesley was formally dressed, but the woman-- "Oh my God," breathed Charles.
The vast majority of her dress wasn't there.
It was composed of several strips of glimmering metallic material, strategically placed, and a long, shimmering cape swirled off her shoulders.
Her blue skin seemed iridescent.
Wesley nodded once in the direction of the young officers. "Gentlemen," he said simply, and then he took the girl in his arms and started to swing her out onto the dance floor.
She stepped on his foot.
Wesley's back was to the others, so they didn't see this. He jammed his top teeth into his lower lip to prevent a cry of pain.
"Sorry," she murmured.
"No problem," he gasped back.
Beverly glanced over Picard's shoulder and almost tripped. "Ohhhh my goodness," she said.
"What now? Bride and groom about to shoot each other?" asked Picard.
"Wesley is here." He turned and looked and raised an eyebrow.
"It seems your son has done quite well for himself." "I'll say. What in the world is keeping that dress on?" "The eyes of every young man in the holodeck, I would wager," said Picard.
Riker was pouring punch for Deanna, when he spotted Wesley's date.
"Will," said Deanna softly.
"Yes?" "I think that's more than enough." Riker pulled his gaze away from the dancing ensign and gave a startled utterance. To say he had overfilled Deanna's glass would be to understate matters. It was pouring over the sides and splattering onto the va/s of space.
"I'm sorry!" said Riker. "I was.
distracted." "I know. You've always been easily distracted," said Deanna, not without amusement.
He turned back to Deanna and grimaced slightly. "That's always been our problem, hasn't it." "Not our problem, your problem. I've come to accept that about you, which is why we will forever remain Imzati... but no more than that." Despite her problems, she smiled. "Besides, Commander.
it's not as if I've been sitting about, waiting for you..." Her voice suddenly trailed off as her eyes widened.
"Deanna, what is it?" said Riker, suddenly alert. "They're coming," whispered Deanna.
Wesley felt a tap on his shoulder and he turned. Ensign Charles was standing behind him.
"May I cut in?" asked Charles.
Karla looked at Wesley curiously.
"Cut in?" she asked.
"He wants to dance with you," said Wes.
Charles sucked in his gut, silently matching his rather impressive physique against Wesley's. "Right, sweetheart. You see, I know the real story between you and Crusher here, and I thought you might be interested in exploring other opportunities." Wesley felt his cheeks flush and he started to turn, but the blue girl held him firmly in place.