Fic Post: Borderlands
Title: Borderlands
Author: vegawriters
Series: Imzadi
Fandom: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Pairing: Deanna Troi/Will Riker
Rating: General (reference to war trauma)
Timeline: Pre-Canon
A/N: This is my attempt to fix the disaster that is the history of Will and Deanna, and also bring in some of the other history of what was happening in the Federation at the time of them meeting. References to the Cardassian occupation of Bajor and the border wars with the Federation are included.
Disclaimer: There was a time when Star Trek published fanfiction and they hired unagented writers. Those times are (mostly) gone. So here I am, making no money, and loving every minute of this exploration. But, that being said, if the powers that be would like to make my stuff canon, I’m always taking calls.
Summary: How many times could Reja Falor sit down with whatever Cardassian Gul was in charge of mining operations on Bajor and have a civilized conversation? Children were dying.
Betazed
3 Years Before Encounter at Farpoint
Armed with only the confidence imbued by her station as a daughter of the 5th house, Deanna walked into the party.
For once, Deanna didn’t need her mother to tell her to stand up straight and focus. For once, she was here at this dinner with a purpose and she wasn’t leaving until she’d at least had her say. The Diplomatic Corps was doing what they could, yes. But it wasn’t enough. How many times could Reja Falor sit down with whatever Cardassian Gul was in charge of mining operations on Bajor and have a civilized conversation? Children were dying.
It was a reception much like any on any given night. Members of the 5th House and Parliament mingled comfortably with educational and religious leaders from all over the Federation. Betazed was a jewel and drew to her shores those who framed the narrative of the galaxy. Musicians housed in an alcove near an open window crafted melodies meant to keep the gathered in a state of calm. Deanna sighed and looked around the room, taking in the gathered, the scent of flowers around them, the breeze blowing in from the nearby lake. Parties like this were where so much of the political work was accomplished, where connections were made. Deanna understood this, and while a part of her loathed the concept, another part of her was drawn to the gentle chime of the gong and the low murmur of voices. Nothing was accomplished without relationships and trust.
Through the crowd, she could feel her mother’s familiar presence, as well as that of Reja Falor. They were comfortable. Enjoying the night. She was here to ruin it.
“There’s an old concept from Earth,” her father had said to her shortly before he died. They’d been hiking up by Jakara Lake and she’d been complaining about a boy in her class who was bullying others and she wasn’t sure if she should tell her teacher. “Speak your truth, even if your voice shakes.”
Well, Daddy, Deanna thought as she took a glass of sweet wine from a tray, here goes everything. She walked over to Reja, put a smile on her face, and reached out to touch his arm. “Reja? Can I have a word?”
She’d interrupted him, which wasn’t Betazoid custom, but she had to do this before she lost confidence. Still, there was a presence that felt familiar and she glanced at the man Reja had been talking to. Standing there was the Starfleet attache from the other day - William something. Riker. William Riker. She nodded her head in apology, trying to tear her eyes from his. She had a mission here and getting distracted by a set of beautiful blue eyes and a comforting emotional presence just wouldn’t do.
“Deanna!” Reja smiled. “Have you met --”
“Lieutenant Riker,” she cut off the minister. “A pleasure to see you again. I hope you don’t mind, but I do need to speak with Minister Falor for a few moments.”
The officer nodded and gestured to her in a way that she found vaguely unsettling, but she knew was a human trait. Humans tended to believe they had ownership of everything they came into contact with, and to give it up was a gesture of goodwill. But that was an emotion to unpack later. Right now, she just wanted to talk to the minister.
Reja -
There are non-Betazoids present, Deanna. Why the secrecy?
We need to talk about the Bajoran refugees and we need to do it alone. She prayed her mother would keep her distance for now, but she could tell the other woman was engaged in a deeply entertaining tale of one of her adventures on Pacifica.
He nodded, brow burrowed, and followed her as she walked out to the rose gardens. Outside, under the dual moons, wrapped in the perfume of the air, she let out her flood of emotions, letting them flow over her cousin. He blinked and stepped back, shaking his head.
Deanna?
I know the Federation has taken a neutral stance because of the border wars, but we as a people can no longer allow it. Reja, do you understand what the Bajora are going through?
We know they are being --
Deanna took a deep breath. I have been working with a little girl who was forced to watch as her parents were set on fire. She directed the emotions at him and felt him recoil. They have enslaved and are torturing a population, Reja. We have to do something more than offer sanctuary.
It was her turn to step back as she felt the anxiety and frustration flow from him. The Federation has taken a neutral stance. All we can do is offer them the chance to heal.
They need to be able to go home.
Will sending them home bring back that little girl’s parents?
Silence. From both of them. Deanna stopped projecting her emotions, suddenly too drained to do anything but sink to a bench and stare up at the minister. He looked into her eyes.
Deanna, you aren’t alone in your feelings. We have brought this to the Federation Council on more than one occasion. But, the Federation cannot risk an all out war, Deanna. The Romulans are a threat, always, and the peace with the Klingons is shaky on the best of days. To bring the Bajora under a protectorate, more than we have, it could destroy the fragile peace. A peace that so many of our own kind of helped to craft.
What is being done?
Earth, Betazed, Vulcan, we are all sanctuary planets. We are doing the best we can. But …
But one population is not worth ruining the peace of 150 others?
They both winced at the sarcasm in her tone and Deanna sighed, feeling foolish. She should have known better, should have known that the actual politicians were doing what they could do. But she felt so helpless anymore. It was one thing to know an atrocity was happening, it was another to see the emotional ramifications for yourself. Deanna stood up and walked back to the door, slowing before entering. How can any of us be at peace, Reja? She sighed and walked back into the party, forcing a social smile to her face.
She was mad, mostly, at herself. What had she expected, anyway? That Reja would stop the reception and race them all to do … what, exactly? This had been stupid. She needed to approach him in chambers, ask for something official. Approaching him this way only gave him the ability to brush off her later concerns. She’d just had to do … something. This was why her mother was a member of the diplomatic corps and she was a student of psychology.
She made it almost all the way through the party, to the front door when something stopped her. Deanna turned back to the gathered, and realized he was still there. Riker.
And he was staring right at her.
She glared at him, for no other reason than she could, turned, and stormed out.
***
Betazed was absolutely beautiful. Riker wasn’t sure what caught his attention more - the crystal mountains, the pink clouds, the jeweled tones of the water, or the women who walked past him every day, their black eyes missing nothing. He hated to admit his distraction, and his ego tried to pass it off as fascination with a new culture, but in truth, the women were stunning. The men weren’t bad either, to be fair.
His first two weeks had been a rush of learning his team, learning the staff of the Embassy, and trying to wrap his mind around Betazoid political structure and customs. For such a relaxed society, there were a number of ways to insult them and all of them seemed to revolve around mental discipline and psychic energy. He still wanted to be out in space, exploring, but Starfleet wanted him here. For administrative experience, Sahra had admitted before she left. “Don’t worry, Lieutenant. You won’t be stuck here long.”
But for as much as he didn’t want to be here, the planet was rapidly growing on him.
He’d taken to a morning run. His shift started at 0700, so he rose every morning at 0500 to do a ten kilometer trek around the city. The route took him mostly around the university and back behind the capital complex. The midpoint was a road leading out of the city, lined with ancient trees that dripped with a fragrant flower that was somehow a mix of magnolia and lilac. Up the road, he knew, were many of the royal estates, all still active homes and political centers. More than once, he’d spied the servant class taking transports up to the homes and found himself wondering if anyone would stop him if he changed his route. But there were no gates as far as he could see.
This morning, however, someone was jogging down the path. A woman. Her step slowed as she recognized him and he didn’t miss the smirk that crossed her face - clearly she remembered him staring at her. Much as he was doing right now.
“Lieutenant,” she said, nodding her head. “How are you enjoying your time on Cyndriel?”
He blanched. On where? That damned smile crossed her lips again.
“If I’m not mistaken, the star charts classify Earth as Terra Firma, correct?”
He nodded, entranced by the professorial tone she’d taken on. Or by the sweat running from her hair down her neck. He wasn’t quite sure.
“To the star charts, we are Betazed. But our home is Cyndriel. And the term for who we are, for how we are, there is no direct translation.”
“Because it is a thought and not a term?”
That earned him a smile. “You’re learning quickly.” She stretched one leg behind her. “Do you care to resume your run, lieutenant? I will join you.”
“Will,” he said. “Please. Call me Will.”
She paused, clearly weighing her next decision, and then shrugged. “Deanna,” she said.
He nodded and took off, expecting to need to slow his step but she quickly outpaced him and he had to push his threshold slightly to keep up.
“So, can I ask a dumb question?” He asked as he settled into her rhythm and could breathe and talk again.
The quirk of her lips told him that yes, oh yes, he could.
“Is that why you refer to yourselves as Betazoids? Because there is no translation?”
“Exactly.”
They took his route, circling back toward the university, running in companionable silence for a few minutes. It was unnerving, how comfortable the Betazoids were with silence. Still, with Deanna, it didn’t feel oppressive.
“Can I ask another stupid question?”
She took a turn around the perimeter of the capital complex and nodded. “Of course.”
“Deanna’s a pretty human name.”
“Well, we have been influenced by your culture in some ways. My mother laments how many women named Rachel she has worked with.” She paused. Riker wanted to push, curious if her mother disliked human names, why did Deanna have one. “But, my name comes from my father. He was human.” They slowed again, and Riker realized they’d run his part of the route and she was dropping him at the Embassy door. “He was a Starfleet Officer, actually. It’s how he met my mother.”
The cyclical nature of the moment was not lost to him and Riker wanted to ask questions, but she was ready to move on.
“A pleasure, Will,” she said, her mouth rolling tones over his name. “I am sure we will run into each other again.”
And then she was gone.
***
The office Deanna shared with a host of other graduate students was small but hardly cramped. The windows opened out onto a view of the north side of the campus, giving them a stunning view of the sun through the crystal mountains. Five students shared two desks, which was only frustrating during the occasional conference session, but Deanna’s preferred hours often gave her the entire office to herself for hours at a time. She liked arriving early, settling in to grade papers or work on her case notes from the hospital.
Today, however, she was distracted, and it had everything to do with the fact that William Riker was a beautiful man and his blue eyes made her forget a lot of the things on her mind. The small things. It had been a while since her brain had conjured up a crush and right now, she was as useless. Utterly useless. Chandra would tell her to go out and find herself some companionship for an evening, to put the image of this absolute stranger out of her mind. Deanna knew that Chandra had a point. But, the truth was, she didn’t want to just ignore William Riker.
How did you know? She’d asked once. She’d been sixteen, and recovering from a brutal fight with her mother about her preferred plans for her career. Stunned from the mental onslaught she had absorbed from her mother, and from the one she’d projected outward, Deanna had crawled into her mother’s bed and snuggled up against her, awash in the daily pain her mother barely managed to suppress.
How did I know what, Little One?
That Daddy was your Imzadi?
She’d been a child, lost in the romance of finding that One True Person. Scared to death of the weight of responsibility before her. School, her place within the 5th House, her ever impending marriage to Wyatt Miller. All she wanted was to finish her studies and go off to Starfleet Academy and leave everything behind. Never in her life had she imagined her mother’s resistance. Had she imagined the reason for her mother’s pain was not just the loss of her beloved but also the fact that he’d been killed while serving his duty.
Her mother had shuddered, a low whimper escaping her before she breathed deeply and settled down. Her hand stroked down Deanna’s hair, soothing them both. You look so much like him.
Silence for a long while. Just the resting state of the healing emotional consciousness.
I wish I could explain it, Little One. Oh, I was so lost. My own bonded arrangement had ended … through no fault of either of ours, to be fair. But your grandmother, she was so truly enraged at me, at him, at everyone. Her daughter had failed. So, I tried to be the good daughter. I tried to do what I was supposed to do. And at a reception, I looked over … and there he was. I couldn’t stop looking at him. I couldn’t get over his presence in my mind. And your father, he walked right up to me and took my hand and kissed it and, I tell you, my darling, I never looked back. You’ll know, Deanna. You will know.
What if he isn’t Wyatt?
Her mother’s silence had said everything. After all, her own bonding had failed.
It was romantic nonsense to indulge in the moment, in the way William Riker looked at her, in the feelings his presence brought to the surface. She was a Starfleet officer, an expert in psychology, telepathic physiology, and First Contact procedure. She was a daughter of the 5th House of Betazed, heir to the Sacred Chalice of Rixx - which, to be fair, was an old clay pot with mold growing inside it. She didn’t need romantic notions. Not when there was still a bonded marriage out there to honor.
But still, she saw him when she closed her eyes. She could still smell him from their morning run. She could feel his presence.
Was this what her mother had meant?
Humans had a concept: love at first sight. It was a notion of romanticism handed down from a time when they told stories of how romance saved the day and women were the pawns of men, traded as bartering tools in marriage. The concept of love at first sight supported men’s domination and women’s need to find safety in their situation. And yet, there was science that supported the concept. There was science that showed the psyche reached out and connected to others in the larger sphere. So, which was it? Was she merely lusting after Riker, or was there something deeper? And, did it matter either way? It wasn’t like she was pledged to chastity while waiting for Wyatt Miller to decide he wanted to marry her.
For such a matriarchal culture, Betazed society sure was pledged to some of the most outdated notions she could imagine.
Deanna sighed and turned to the first of the papers she had to grade. Today was about more than a jog through the city. She had classes and students and time at the hospital with refugees who had true issues to manage. Deanna was doing just fine and she needed to remember that.
With a mental wave of her hand, she banished William Riker from her conscious thought and returned to her work.
***
It took three weeks, but Riker made it over to the hospital to meet the team in charge of processing Bajoran refugees.
The office was in a quiet area of the university campus, a windowed space on the first floor, looking out over gardens of flowers Riker was sure he’d never learn to pronounce. There was a small fountain and an expanse of grass, sheltered by trees that looked like small versions of Earth’s weeping willows. Outside, three Bajoran children, still in rags, played tag while an exhausted adult sat on the bench, her head covered with a tattered scarf. It wasn’t lost on Riker that two fingers of the hand that clutched her scarf were missing. A shiver raced up his spine.
Glass doors opened before him and he stepped inside to a room full of the sound birdsong and water cascading. Glancing around, he saw that the ceiling was retracted, and above his head, butterflies danced in the drafts. A Bajoran man sat at the front desk, the light glinting off the earring he wore. Riker made a mental note to look up the meaning behind the jewelry.
“Greetings,” the man said as Riker approached. He stood and held held out his left hand. At first, Riker assumed it was Bajoran custom but then realized there was no right hand to shake. He was older than he looked at first glance - there was gray in his hair and lines around his eyes. “Lieutenant Riker?”
“Yes,” Riker replied.
“I’m Verjan Fain. Minister Vesh will be with you shortly. She was called into a meeting about an arriving transport.”
Riker nodded and his eyes drifted out to the courtyard. The woman and children had been joined by a team of two - one Bajoran and a now-familiar Betazoid. Deanna held bags in her hands - clothes, Riker realized. And toys for each of the children. The woman’s scarf had fallen away, revealing a spiderweb of scarring on her face and an eye so swollen that she couldn’t see from it. His stomach clenched.
“They just arrived,” the administrator was saying to him. “A transport of twenty. The only survivors of a labor camp on an outpost at the edge of Cardassian space.”
“They’re children …” Riker said, and then realized how stupid he had to sound to a man who had survived an occupation he couldn’t even imagine.
“They’re often given the most dangerous jobs.” Verjan replied. Riker thanked him, silently, for not being as condescending as he could have.
Nervous, Riker looked around, hoping for an out, but none came. So he stared at Verjan’s stump and blurted out, “Is that how you lost your hand?”
The Bajoran only met Riker’s eyes as he reclaimed his seat. “I was dragged out of bed in the middle of the night, held down by Cardassian soldiers, and forced to watch as they took my wife and oldest daughter into custody to serve as concubines to the officers of the nearby camp. I was told that if I complied, my son and I would suffer for nothing. When I fought back, they shot my son on sight and cut off my hand as a reminder.” He paused. “The last I heard, my daughter had been executed. My wife vanished into a labor camp.”
Riker’s stomach rolled. Verjan was so matter of fact about his reality. A reality that felt so distant that he understood, suddenly, why the Federation had taken on a neutral stance. He’d been so much happier only twenty minutes ago. He stared out the window. Deanna was still there with one of the children. The others were gone - presumably to rooms or to get cleaned up or what he didn’t know. That was what he was here to do, to tour the hospital. To have perfectly sanitized conversations with patients who were progressing in just the right way.
And that was when it hit him. Minister Vesh wasn’t running late. This moment was intentional. The hospital ministers knew full well that Starfleet could only do so much, that the Federation would only risk so much, so Verjan was here, telling his story, because the patients would most likely be far too scared to.
He watched Deanna with the little girl. The scene wasn’t scripted, but it still told him the story. Deanna and the child were sitting in the grass, the shade cast over them, and she was rocking her ever so gently. There were no tears, no screaming. Just a little girl, dirty and scared. Undoubtedly orphaned. Having to start over on a planet where no one looked like her, no one talked like her, and where she couldn’t trust that the shadows wouldn’t steal her away in the middle of the night.
“What will happen to her?” He asked Verjan.
Silence for a long moment. “We try to take care of our own. The Betazoids have offered to foster the children who come here alone, and we appreciate the help, but for the most part, we foster together. The government has offered unlimited resources to help our settlements find strength and rebuild, and through that, we can try to keep some sense of normalcy for the children. The Betazoids are a lovely people, but they do not share our Gods, they do not have our same sense of culture.” He paused again. “First, she will be evaluated. If she is stable enough to be released, she will go first to one of our group homes. When there is an opening in a stable home, she will move there. Some children .... they need more. She will probably be one of them.”
“And if she isn’t stable enough?”
“She’ll stay here, in the constant care of the doctors.” A sigh. Riker watched the little girl, her glassy eyes staring into the distance. What horrors had she already been witness to?
Riker turned back to Verjan. “Do you like it here? On Betazed?”
Verjan shrugged. “Betazed reminds me of Bajor at times. The water is a touch green. There aren’t enough moons.” A small smile passed his lips. “They are artists and philosophers here. Farmers. But see, Lieutenant, I remember the before time. I remember waking up in V’Lor Province to the light smell of the Kava trees in bloom. I remember walking through the vines, hand in hand with the woman who would become my wife. I remember blue grasses and bright pink blossoms and I know that if the Cardassians ever leave my planet, none of those things will exist. V’Lor will be nothing but scorched ground and rubble. The Temple where I married my wife will be desecrated. Graves of the dead will litter the landscape.” He paused. “So yes, I like it here on Betazed. Because my home was destroyed, and nothing can bring her back to me.”
Riker wanted nothing more than for the ground to open and swallow him whole. So he watched Deanna stand and take the little girl’s hand and together they walked inside the hospital. Riker wanted nothing more than to go back twenty minutes, to have Minister Vesh be ready for him. But this was supposed to happen. He was supposed to know the truth. So he bit his lip and forced himself to keep from making empty promises. The Federation remained neutral. The Federation remained neutral.
It took another five minutes before Minister Vesh appeared. She was a tall, dark skinned woman, with hair so black it was purple, and her black eyes shone. “Hello, Lieutenant. I apologize for making you wait.” The tone of her voice confirmed that the entire conversation with Verjan had been planned. “I trust Verjan was helpful?”
“Very,” Riker said. “Thank you for your time.”
She nodded and led him back through the doors, pausing to make sure they locked behind her. “I’m impressed it only took you three weeks to visit us. Your predecessor waited almost six months.”
“The crisis with Bajor can’t be ignored, Minister.”
“Well,” she smiled tightly, “I’m glad we agree on that at least.”
They walked through another set of doors, entering a clinical setting with an admissions desk and two hallways of rooms. The infirmary, Riker quickly realized. Two men in white uniforms stood next to the desk, tapping on padds. They were clearly communicating, and the silence was unnerving. “This is our moderate care ward. You’ll forgive me if we skip the tour of the critical unit. There’s been a new ship that arrived today, and many of the refugees are in crumbling shape.” They moved on from the desk. “It’s a hard day on my staff as well.”
“My apologies. I could have come another day.”
“I refuse to put off any time a representative of the Federation wants to face this crisis.” She paused at a window, making a sweeping gesture. “Lieutenant, this entire building is dedicated to the refugee crisis. At any given moment, we are treating symptoms ranging from traumatic stress to complete systemic failure. Any day is a hard day on my staff.” She crossed her arms in front of her and sized him up in that way he was learning was commonplace for Betazoids. “So when is Starfleet going to do something about it?”
Riker took a breath. “I can’t make promises either way, Minister, and it’s unfair of you to ask me.”
An almost-smile crossed her lips. “Damnit. You’re better than I wanted you to be. If I take empty promises back to the Federation council, I can make waves.” She sighed and continued the tour. They stopped at a window where he could see the children from before. All but one were bathed, dressed in new clothes, playing with their new toys. Deanna sat on a gray beanbag with the little girl, ever patient.
“Verjan said these children were in a labor camp?”
“The Cardassians will start them as young as four.”
Riker shuddered but his response was cut off as he realized the little girl Deanna was sitting with was not a full Bajoran. Her face held the telltale signs of the Cardiassian ridgelines, the indentation of a forming spoon. “That little girl …”
“Her name is Zilla. Her mother died on the transport. She was …” the Minister’s tone shifted. “Some Bajoran women are selected as concubines for the officers. Others are used as playthings. The hybrid children are refused by both sides. Often rejected by their fathers lest the truth come out. The mothers usually die in childbirth. There are orphanages on Bajor full of children just like her. From what we understand, when the children are old enough, they are sent into the camps to die.”
“Minister,” Riker struggled to speak, “why isn’t the Federation doing more?”
“I’m supposed to give you a political answer on these tours, but the truth is, they are overwhelmed at the humanitarian crisis and the brutality of the Cardassians and they have enough on their hands with the border wars. They know this is just the tip of the iceberg, so to speak.”
Will nodded at her use of the human phrase, appreciating her tactical use of it. He had yet to serve at the front, and seeing this, he no longer had any desire to play hero.
Deanna glanced up then, and through the glass, met his eyes. She hugged Zilla close and then stood up, making her way out of the playroom. “Minister,” she said as she emerged. “Lieutenant.”
“Oh, you two know each other?” Vesh glanced between them.
“In passing,” Deanna replied. “I trust your tour has been informative?”
“Very,” Riker replied.
“How are they?” Vesh asked.
Deanna’s shoulders sagged a bit. “Broken. Completely.”
Vesh nodded. “Their rooms are almost ready.”
“Can I ask a question?” Riker interjected.
Deanna nodded.
“What will happen to Zilla?” He looked through the glass at the scared little girl who was being ignored by everyone in the room. She hugged her toy close and stared into space.
“Most of the hybrid children are fostered with Betazoid families,” Deanna replied. “There is no home for them to return to.”
The silence at the end of her statement punched him in the gut. But he only nodded and when Vesh turned to continue the tour, he followed. But he glanced back over his shoulder as Deanna stepped back inside the room and reclaimed her place on the floor with Zilla.
Author: vegawriters
Series: Imzadi
Fandom: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Pairing: Deanna Troi/Will Riker
Rating: General (reference to war trauma)
Timeline: Pre-Canon
A/N: This is my attempt to fix the disaster that is the history of Will and Deanna, and also bring in some of the other history of what was happening in the Federation at the time of them meeting. References to the Cardassian occupation of Bajor and the border wars with the Federation are included.
Disclaimer: There was a time when Star Trek published fanfiction and they hired unagented writers. Those times are (mostly) gone. So here I am, making no money, and loving every minute of this exploration. But, that being said, if the powers that be would like to make my stuff canon, I’m always taking calls.
Summary: How many times could Reja Falor sit down with whatever Cardassian Gul was in charge of mining operations on Bajor and have a civilized conversation? Children were dying.
Betazed
3 Years Before Encounter at Farpoint
Armed with only the confidence imbued by her station as a daughter of the 5th house, Deanna walked into the party.
For once, Deanna didn’t need her mother to tell her to stand up straight and focus. For once, she was here at this dinner with a purpose and she wasn’t leaving until she’d at least had her say. The Diplomatic Corps was doing what they could, yes. But it wasn’t enough. How many times could Reja Falor sit down with whatever Cardassian Gul was in charge of mining operations on Bajor and have a civilized conversation? Children were dying.
It was a reception much like any on any given night. Members of the 5th House and Parliament mingled comfortably with educational and religious leaders from all over the Federation. Betazed was a jewel and drew to her shores those who framed the narrative of the galaxy. Musicians housed in an alcove near an open window crafted melodies meant to keep the gathered in a state of calm. Deanna sighed and looked around the room, taking in the gathered, the scent of flowers around them, the breeze blowing in from the nearby lake. Parties like this were where so much of the political work was accomplished, where connections were made. Deanna understood this, and while a part of her loathed the concept, another part of her was drawn to the gentle chime of the gong and the low murmur of voices. Nothing was accomplished without relationships and trust.
Through the crowd, she could feel her mother’s familiar presence, as well as that of Reja Falor. They were comfortable. Enjoying the night. She was here to ruin it.
“There’s an old concept from Earth,” her father had said to her shortly before he died. They’d been hiking up by Jakara Lake and she’d been complaining about a boy in her class who was bullying others and she wasn’t sure if she should tell her teacher. “Speak your truth, even if your voice shakes.”
Well, Daddy, Deanna thought as she took a glass of sweet wine from a tray, here goes everything. She walked over to Reja, put a smile on her face, and reached out to touch his arm. “Reja? Can I have a word?”
She’d interrupted him, which wasn’t Betazoid custom, but she had to do this before she lost confidence. Still, there was a presence that felt familiar and she glanced at the man Reja had been talking to. Standing there was the Starfleet attache from the other day - William something. Riker. William Riker. She nodded her head in apology, trying to tear her eyes from his. She had a mission here and getting distracted by a set of beautiful blue eyes and a comforting emotional presence just wouldn’t do.
“Deanna!” Reja smiled. “Have you met --”
“Lieutenant Riker,” she cut off the minister. “A pleasure to see you again. I hope you don’t mind, but I do need to speak with Minister Falor for a few moments.”
The officer nodded and gestured to her in a way that she found vaguely unsettling, but she knew was a human trait. Humans tended to believe they had ownership of everything they came into contact with, and to give it up was a gesture of goodwill. But that was an emotion to unpack later. Right now, she just wanted to talk to the minister.
Reja -
There are non-Betazoids present, Deanna. Why the secrecy?
We need to talk about the Bajoran refugees and we need to do it alone. She prayed her mother would keep her distance for now, but she could tell the other woman was engaged in a deeply entertaining tale of one of her adventures on Pacifica.
He nodded, brow burrowed, and followed her as she walked out to the rose gardens. Outside, under the dual moons, wrapped in the perfume of the air, she let out her flood of emotions, letting them flow over her cousin. He blinked and stepped back, shaking his head.
Deanna?
I know the Federation has taken a neutral stance because of the border wars, but we as a people can no longer allow it. Reja, do you understand what the Bajora are going through?
We know they are being --
Deanna took a deep breath. I have been working with a little girl who was forced to watch as her parents were set on fire. She directed the emotions at him and felt him recoil. They have enslaved and are torturing a population, Reja. We have to do something more than offer sanctuary.
It was her turn to step back as she felt the anxiety and frustration flow from him. The Federation has taken a neutral stance. All we can do is offer them the chance to heal.
They need to be able to go home.
Will sending them home bring back that little girl’s parents?
Silence. From both of them. Deanna stopped projecting her emotions, suddenly too drained to do anything but sink to a bench and stare up at the minister. He looked into her eyes.
Deanna, you aren’t alone in your feelings. We have brought this to the Federation Council on more than one occasion. But, the Federation cannot risk an all out war, Deanna. The Romulans are a threat, always, and the peace with the Klingons is shaky on the best of days. To bring the Bajora under a protectorate, more than we have, it could destroy the fragile peace. A peace that so many of our own kind of helped to craft.
What is being done?
Earth, Betazed, Vulcan, we are all sanctuary planets. We are doing the best we can. But …
But one population is not worth ruining the peace of 150 others?
They both winced at the sarcasm in her tone and Deanna sighed, feeling foolish. She should have known better, should have known that the actual politicians were doing what they could do. But she felt so helpless anymore. It was one thing to know an atrocity was happening, it was another to see the emotional ramifications for yourself. Deanna stood up and walked back to the door, slowing before entering. How can any of us be at peace, Reja? She sighed and walked back into the party, forcing a social smile to her face.
She was mad, mostly, at herself. What had she expected, anyway? That Reja would stop the reception and race them all to do … what, exactly? This had been stupid. She needed to approach him in chambers, ask for something official. Approaching him this way only gave him the ability to brush off her later concerns. She’d just had to do … something. This was why her mother was a member of the diplomatic corps and she was a student of psychology.
She made it almost all the way through the party, to the front door when something stopped her. Deanna turned back to the gathered, and realized he was still there. Riker.
And he was staring right at her.
She glared at him, for no other reason than she could, turned, and stormed out.
***
Betazed was absolutely beautiful. Riker wasn’t sure what caught his attention more - the crystal mountains, the pink clouds, the jeweled tones of the water, or the women who walked past him every day, their black eyes missing nothing. He hated to admit his distraction, and his ego tried to pass it off as fascination with a new culture, but in truth, the women were stunning. The men weren’t bad either, to be fair.
His first two weeks had been a rush of learning his team, learning the staff of the Embassy, and trying to wrap his mind around Betazoid political structure and customs. For such a relaxed society, there were a number of ways to insult them and all of them seemed to revolve around mental discipline and psychic energy. He still wanted to be out in space, exploring, but Starfleet wanted him here. For administrative experience, Sahra had admitted before she left. “Don’t worry, Lieutenant. You won’t be stuck here long.”
But for as much as he didn’t want to be here, the planet was rapidly growing on him.
He’d taken to a morning run. His shift started at 0700, so he rose every morning at 0500 to do a ten kilometer trek around the city. The route took him mostly around the university and back behind the capital complex. The midpoint was a road leading out of the city, lined with ancient trees that dripped with a fragrant flower that was somehow a mix of magnolia and lilac. Up the road, he knew, were many of the royal estates, all still active homes and political centers. More than once, he’d spied the servant class taking transports up to the homes and found himself wondering if anyone would stop him if he changed his route. But there were no gates as far as he could see.
This morning, however, someone was jogging down the path. A woman. Her step slowed as she recognized him and he didn’t miss the smirk that crossed her face - clearly she remembered him staring at her. Much as he was doing right now.
“Lieutenant,” she said, nodding her head. “How are you enjoying your time on Cyndriel?”
He blanched. On where? That damned smile crossed her lips again.
“If I’m not mistaken, the star charts classify Earth as Terra Firma, correct?”
He nodded, entranced by the professorial tone she’d taken on. Or by the sweat running from her hair down her neck. He wasn’t quite sure.
“To the star charts, we are Betazed. But our home is Cyndriel. And the term for who we are, for how we are, there is no direct translation.”
“Because it is a thought and not a term?”
That earned him a smile. “You’re learning quickly.” She stretched one leg behind her. “Do you care to resume your run, lieutenant? I will join you.”
“Will,” he said. “Please. Call me Will.”
She paused, clearly weighing her next decision, and then shrugged. “Deanna,” she said.
He nodded and took off, expecting to need to slow his step but she quickly outpaced him and he had to push his threshold slightly to keep up.
“So, can I ask a dumb question?” He asked as he settled into her rhythm and could breathe and talk again.
The quirk of her lips told him that yes, oh yes, he could.
“Is that why you refer to yourselves as Betazoids? Because there is no translation?”
“Exactly.”
They took his route, circling back toward the university, running in companionable silence for a few minutes. It was unnerving, how comfortable the Betazoids were with silence. Still, with Deanna, it didn’t feel oppressive.
“Can I ask another stupid question?”
She took a turn around the perimeter of the capital complex and nodded. “Of course.”
“Deanna’s a pretty human name.”
“Well, we have been influenced by your culture in some ways. My mother laments how many women named Rachel she has worked with.” She paused. Riker wanted to push, curious if her mother disliked human names, why did Deanna have one. “But, my name comes from my father. He was human.” They slowed again, and Riker realized they’d run his part of the route and she was dropping him at the Embassy door. “He was a Starfleet Officer, actually. It’s how he met my mother.”
The cyclical nature of the moment was not lost to him and Riker wanted to ask questions, but she was ready to move on.
“A pleasure, Will,” she said, her mouth rolling tones over his name. “I am sure we will run into each other again.”
And then she was gone.
***
The office Deanna shared with a host of other graduate students was small but hardly cramped. The windows opened out onto a view of the north side of the campus, giving them a stunning view of the sun through the crystal mountains. Five students shared two desks, which was only frustrating during the occasional conference session, but Deanna’s preferred hours often gave her the entire office to herself for hours at a time. She liked arriving early, settling in to grade papers or work on her case notes from the hospital.
Today, however, she was distracted, and it had everything to do with the fact that William Riker was a beautiful man and his blue eyes made her forget a lot of the things on her mind. The small things. It had been a while since her brain had conjured up a crush and right now, she was as useless. Utterly useless. Chandra would tell her to go out and find herself some companionship for an evening, to put the image of this absolute stranger out of her mind. Deanna knew that Chandra had a point. But, the truth was, she didn’t want to just ignore William Riker.
How did you know? She’d asked once. She’d been sixteen, and recovering from a brutal fight with her mother about her preferred plans for her career. Stunned from the mental onslaught she had absorbed from her mother, and from the one she’d projected outward, Deanna had crawled into her mother’s bed and snuggled up against her, awash in the daily pain her mother barely managed to suppress.
How did I know what, Little One?
That Daddy was your Imzadi?
She’d been a child, lost in the romance of finding that One True Person. Scared to death of the weight of responsibility before her. School, her place within the 5th House, her ever impending marriage to Wyatt Miller. All she wanted was to finish her studies and go off to Starfleet Academy and leave everything behind. Never in her life had she imagined her mother’s resistance. Had she imagined the reason for her mother’s pain was not just the loss of her beloved but also the fact that he’d been killed while serving his duty.
Her mother had shuddered, a low whimper escaping her before she breathed deeply and settled down. Her hand stroked down Deanna’s hair, soothing them both. You look so much like him.
Silence for a long while. Just the resting state of the healing emotional consciousness.
I wish I could explain it, Little One. Oh, I was so lost. My own bonded arrangement had ended … through no fault of either of ours, to be fair. But your grandmother, she was so truly enraged at me, at him, at everyone. Her daughter had failed. So, I tried to be the good daughter. I tried to do what I was supposed to do. And at a reception, I looked over … and there he was. I couldn’t stop looking at him. I couldn’t get over his presence in my mind. And your father, he walked right up to me and took my hand and kissed it and, I tell you, my darling, I never looked back. You’ll know, Deanna. You will know.
What if he isn’t Wyatt?
Her mother’s silence had said everything. After all, her own bonding had failed.
It was romantic nonsense to indulge in the moment, in the way William Riker looked at her, in the feelings his presence brought to the surface. She was a Starfleet officer, an expert in psychology, telepathic physiology, and First Contact procedure. She was a daughter of the 5th House of Betazed, heir to the Sacred Chalice of Rixx - which, to be fair, was an old clay pot with mold growing inside it. She didn’t need romantic notions. Not when there was still a bonded marriage out there to honor.
But still, she saw him when she closed her eyes. She could still smell him from their morning run. She could feel his presence.
Was this what her mother had meant?
Humans had a concept: love at first sight. It was a notion of romanticism handed down from a time when they told stories of how romance saved the day and women were the pawns of men, traded as bartering tools in marriage. The concept of love at first sight supported men’s domination and women’s need to find safety in their situation. And yet, there was science that supported the concept. There was science that showed the psyche reached out and connected to others in the larger sphere. So, which was it? Was she merely lusting after Riker, or was there something deeper? And, did it matter either way? It wasn’t like she was pledged to chastity while waiting for Wyatt Miller to decide he wanted to marry her.
For such a matriarchal culture, Betazed society sure was pledged to some of the most outdated notions she could imagine.
Deanna sighed and turned to the first of the papers she had to grade. Today was about more than a jog through the city. She had classes and students and time at the hospital with refugees who had true issues to manage. Deanna was doing just fine and she needed to remember that.
With a mental wave of her hand, she banished William Riker from her conscious thought and returned to her work.
***
It took three weeks, but Riker made it over to the hospital to meet the team in charge of processing Bajoran refugees.
The office was in a quiet area of the university campus, a windowed space on the first floor, looking out over gardens of flowers Riker was sure he’d never learn to pronounce. There was a small fountain and an expanse of grass, sheltered by trees that looked like small versions of Earth’s weeping willows. Outside, three Bajoran children, still in rags, played tag while an exhausted adult sat on the bench, her head covered with a tattered scarf. It wasn’t lost on Riker that two fingers of the hand that clutched her scarf were missing. A shiver raced up his spine.
Glass doors opened before him and he stepped inside to a room full of the sound birdsong and water cascading. Glancing around, he saw that the ceiling was retracted, and above his head, butterflies danced in the drafts. A Bajoran man sat at the front desk, the light glinting off the earring he wore. Riker made a mental note to look up the meaning behind the jewelry.
“Greetings,” the man said as Riker approached. He stood and held held out his left hand. At first, Riker assumed it was Bajoran custom but then realized there was no right hand to shake. He was older than he looked at first glance - there was gray in his hair and lines around his eyes. “Lieutenant Riker?”
“Yes,” Riker replied.
“I’m Verjan Fain. Minister Vesh will be with you shortly. She was called into a meeting about an arriving transport.”
Riker nodded and his eyes drifted out to the courtyard. The woman and children had been joined by a team of two - one Bajoran and a now-familiar Betazoid. Deanna held bags in her hands - clothes, Riker realized. And toys for each of the children. The woman’s scarf had fallen away, revealing a spiderweb of scarring on her face and an eye so swollen that she couldn’t see from it. His stomach clenched.
“They just arrived,” the administrator was saying to him. “A transport of twenty. The only survivors of a labor camp on an outpost at the edge of Cardassian space.”
“They’re children …” Riker said, and then realized how stupid he had to sound to a man who had survived an occupation he couldn’t even imagine.
“They’re often given the most dangerous jobs.” Verjan replied. Riker thanked him, silently, for not being as condescending as he could have.
Nervous, Riker looked around, hoping for an out, but none came. So he stared at Verjan’s stump and blurted out, “Is that how you lost your hand?”
The Bajoran only met Riker’s eyes as he reclaimed his seat. “I was dragged out of bed in the middle of the night, held down by Cardassian soldiers, and forced to watch as they took my wife and oldest daughter into custody to serve as concubines to the officers of the nearby camp. I was told that if I complied, my son and I would suffer for nothing. When I fought back, they shot my son on sight and cut off my hand as a reminder.” He paused. “The last I heard, my daughter had been executed. My wife vanished into a labor camp.”
Riker’s stomach rolled. Verjan was so matter of fact about his reality. A reality that felt so distant that he understood, suddenly, why the Federation had taken on a neutral stance. He’d been so much happier only twenty minutes ago. He stared out the window. Deanna was still there with one of the children. The others were gone - presumably to rooms or to get cleaned up or what he didn’t know. That was what he was here to do, to tour the hospital. To have perfectly sanitized conversations with patients who were progressing in just the right way.
And that was when it hit him. Minister Vesh wasn’t running late. This moment was intentional. The hospital ministers knew full well that Starfleet could only do so much, that the Federation would only risk so much, so Verjan was here, telling his story, because the patients would most likely be far too scared to.
He watched Deanna with the little girl. The scene wasn’t scripted, but it still told him the story. Deanna and the child were sitting in the grass, the shade cast over them, and she was rocking her ever so gently. There were no tears, no screaming. Just a little girl, dirty and scared. Undoubtedly orphaned. Having to start over on a planet where no one looked like her, no one talked like her, and where she couldn’t trust that the shadows wouldn’t steal her away in the middle of the night.
“What will happen to her?” He asked Verjan.
Silence for a long moment. “We try to take care of our own. The Betazoids have offered to foster the children who come here alone, and we appreciate the help, but for the most part, we foster together. The government has offered unlimited resources to help our settlements find strength and rebuild, and through that, we can try to keep some sense of normalcy for the children. The Betazoids are a lovely people, but they do not share our Gods, they do not have our same sense of culture.” He paused again. “First, she will be evaluated. If she is stable enough to be released, she will go first to one of our group homes. When there is an opening in a stable home, she will move there. Some children .... they need more. She will probably be one of them.”
“And if she isn’t stable enough?”
“She’ll stay here, in the constant care of the doctors.” A sigh. Riker watched the little girl, her glassy eyes staring into the distance. What horrors had she already been witness to?
Riker turned back to Verjan. “Do you like it here? On Betazed?”
Verjan shrugged. “Betazed reminds me of Bajor at times. The water is a touch green. There aren’t enough moons.” A small smile passed his lips. “They are artists and philosophers here. Farmers. But see, Lieutenant, I remember the before time. I remember waking up in V’Lor Province to the light smell of the Kava trees in bloom. I remember walking through the vines, hand in hand with the woman who would become my wife. I remember blue grasses and bright pink blossoms and I know that if the Cardassians ever leave my planet, none of those things will exist. V’Lor will be nothing but scorched ground and rubble. The Temple where I married my wife will be desecrated. Graves of the dead will litter the landscape.” He paused. “So yes, I like it here on Betazed. Because my home was destroyed, and nothing can bring her back to me.”
Riker wanted nothing more than for the ground to open and swallow him whole. So he watched Deanna stand and take the little girl’s hand and together they walked inside the hospital. Riker wanted nothing more than to go back twenty minutes, to have Minister Vesh be ready for him. But this was supposed to happen. He was supposed to know the truth. So he bit his lip and forced himself to keep from making empty promises. The Federation remained neutral. The Federation remained neutral.
It took another five minutes before Minister Vesh appeared. She was a tall, dark skinned woman, with hair so black it was purple, and her black eyes shone. “Hello, Lieutenant. I apologize for making you wait.” The tone of her voice confirmed that the entire conversation with Verjan had been planned. “I trust Verjan was helpful?”
“Very,” Riker said. “Thank you for your time.”
She nodded and led him back through the doors, pausing to make sure they locked behind her. “I’m impressed it only took you three weeks to visit us. Your predecessor waited almost six months.”
“The crisis with Bajor can’t be ignored, Minister.”
“Well,” she smiled tightly, “I’m glad we agree on that at least.”
They walked through another set of doors, entering a clinical setting with an admissions desk and two hallways of rooms. The infirmary, Riker quickly realized. Two men in white uniforms stood next to the desk, tapping on padds. They were clearly communicating, and the silence was unnerving. “This is our moderate care ward. You’ll forgive me if we skip the tour of the critical unit. There’s been a new ship that arrived today, and many of the refugees are in crumbling shape.” They moved on from the desk. “It’s a hard day on my staff as well.”
“My apologies. I could have come another day.”
“I refuse to put off any time a representative of the Federation wants to face this crisis.” She paused at a window, making a sweeping gesture. “Lieutenant, this entire building is dedicated to the refugee crisis. At any given moment, we are treating symptoms ranging from traumatic stress to complete systemic failure. Any day is a hard day on my staff.” She crossed her arms in front of her and sized him up in that way he was learning was commonplace for Betazoids. “So when is Starfleet going to do something about it?”
Riker took a breath. “I can’t make promises either way, Minister, and it’s unfair of you to ask me.”
An almost-smile crossed her lips. “Damnit. You’re better than I wanted you to be. If I take empty promises back to the Federation council, I can make waves.” She sighed and continued the tour. They stopped at a window where he could see the children from before. All but one were bathed, dressed in new clothes, playing with their new toys. Deanna sat on a gray beanbag with the little girl, ever patient.
“Verjan said these children were in a labor camp?”
“The Cardassians will start them as young as four.”
Riker shuddered but his response was cut off as he realized the little girl Deanna was sitting with was not a full Bajoran. Her face held the telltale signs of the Cardiassian ridgelines, the indentation of a forming spoon. “That little girl …”
“Her name is Zilla. Her mother died on the transport. She was …” the Minister’s tone shifted. “Some Bajoran women are selected as concubines for the officers. Others are used as playthings. The hybrid children are refused by both sides. Often rejected by their fathers lest the truth come out. The mothers usually die in childbirth. There are orphanages on Bajor full of children just like her. From what we understand, when the children are old enough, they are sent into the camps to die.”
“Minister,” Riker struggled to speak, “why isn’t the Federation doing more?”
“I’m supposed to give you a political answer on these tours, but the truth is, they are overwhelmed at the humanitarian crisis and the brutality of the Cardassians and they have enough on their hands with the border wars. They know this is just the tip of the iceberg, so to speak.”
Will nodded at her use of the human phrase, appreciating her tactical use of it. He had yet to serve at the front, and seeing this, he no longer had any desire to play hero.
Deanna glanced up then, and through the glass, met his eyes. She hugged Zilla close and then stood up, making her way out of the playroom. “Minister,” she said as she emerged. “Lieutenant.”
“Oh, you two know each other?” Vesh glanced between them.
“In passing,” Deanna replied. “I trust your tour has been informative?”
“Very,” Riker replied.
“How are they?” Vesh asked.
Deanna’s shoulders sagged a bit. “Broken. Completely.”
Vesh nodded. “Their rooms are almost ready.”
“Can I ask a question?” Riker interjected.
Deanna nodded.
“What will happen to Zilla?” He looked through the glass at the scared little girl who was being ignored by everyone in the room. She hugged her toy close and stared into space.
“Most of the hybrid children are fostered with Betazoid families,” Deanna replied. “There is no home for them to return to.”
The silence at the end of her statement punched him in the gut. But he only nodded and when Vesh turned to continue the tour, he followed. But he glanced back over his shoulder as Deanna stepped back inside the room and reclaimed her place on the floor with Zilla.