Then the guest list grew to a number that the chapel simply could not accommodate, so the venue was changed to the spacious grounds behind Lwaxana’s new house.

  Then she decided that the grounds weren’t spacious enough, so she reserved a park near Lake Cataria.

  Then she realized that the weather this time of year was such that an outdoor wedding was impractical, so she reserved Amick Hall. Named after one of the Betazoids who died in the fight to drive the Dominion off the planet during the war, it was built on the site of Byram Hall, the place where Lwaxana and Ian Troi were married, which was destroyed when the Dominion took Betazed.

  Then she added a hundred more names to the guest list, and even Amick Hall was no longer large enough, so she altered the day’s events so that there would be a before-wedding party on Lake Cataria, with the actual wedding—with a different list of guests—to be held at Amick Hall.

  Now, two hours after the Enterprise left the Davlos system, Riker was ready to commit an act of matricide. All right, she isn’t even my mother-in-law yet. What do you call it when you murder your fiancée’s mom? The endless amendments to the ceremony were getting beyond tiresome.

  He had tried to lose himself in the mission, but there was no joy there, either. Davlos proved an easy system to eliminate as Kahless’s location, as it had no Class-M worlds. Three planets were inhabited, but all the sentient life was located within easily scanned atmospheric domes. The only Klingon they found was a patron in a bar on Davlos VI, and he turned out to be the supervisor of an independent mining team.

  As the Enterprise warped its way to the Cygnet system, Vale looked down at her status board and then at Riker and Troi. “Commander, you and Counselor Troi have another mess—”

  Before Vale could even finish, Troi said, “Not my mother again?” Her voice sounded to Riker like a plaintive wail.

  “Afraid so, Counselor. I’m really sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Troi said with a sigh.

  “Oh, I know it isn’t,” Vale said. “I’m sorry because I had 1700 in the pool.”

  Picard turned to look back at Vale. “A pool?”

  Suddenly nervous, Vale said, “Uh, yes, sir. Captain Scott put up a bottle of single-barrel scotch as the prize. I think Ensign Hoang was the one who picked 1640.”

  “I see.” Picard turned back around with a neutral expression on his face.

  I’m glad somebody’s getting some entertainment out of this, Riker thought. He wished he’d known about the pool, as he might well have chosen 1640 hours, and right now he really felt like he could use a good stiff drink. On the other hand, maybe Hoang can use it on her next date with Studdard.

  Turning to his left, he asked, “Captain, can we use your ready room?” To Riker’s chagrin, his voice sounded strained and irritated, the very qualities he was trying to keep out of it.

  “Of course, Number One.”

  “Thank you.” Looking over at Vale as he and Troi rose, Riker said, “Pipe it in there, Commander.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  As soon as the doors closed behind them, Troi turned to Riker and said, “You’re upset.”

  “I’m gonna go out on a limb and assume you didn’t need your empathy to pick up on that one.”

  She smirked. “Good guess. Look, Will, I know my mother is micromanaging this thing, but it’s very important to her—”

  “Deanna, I had no problem with having your mother run the ceremony on Betazed—when it was just a few dozen people in the chapel where we met. But this is getting out of control. This is supposed to be our wedding, not her look-my-daughter’s-finally-getting-married party.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way, William.”

  Oh, damn, Riker thought, looking over to see that the viewer on Picard’s desk had raised out of its slot. Of course, I told Vale to pipe it in here, so of course the channel’s already open. I’m an idiot.

  Troi had the same stricken look on her face that Riker imagined was on his own. However, she recovered quickly, touched the control that rotated the viewer so they could see it from the two guest chairs, in which they each sat. “Mother, he has a point. I understand how important this is for you, but—”

  “But enough is enough,” Riker said.

  “Will…” Troi said with an undercurrent of menace, but Riker refused to be intimidated.

  “Of all the unmitigated gall—”

  At that, Riker stood up, putting a hand to his chest. “You’re saying I have unmitigated gall? This is my wedding. This is the most important day of my life. I watched my father step into a disruptor blast meant for me and then die in my arms. I sat in a pit on Tezwa that was less than two meters long for weeks, with my hands and ankles bound. The only thing that got me through those things was knowing that I’d be with Deanna at the end of it. So yeah, I have the unmitigated gall to tell you to go to hell, Lwaxana. We are getting married on Earth in Alaska in the Denali Mountains. You and whoever your valet-du-jour is are welcome to join us.”

  “How dare you speak to me that way! I am a Daughter of the Fif—”

  “I don’t care if you’re a Daughter of the American Revolution or a member of the Order of the Bat’leth,” Riker snapped. “That’s what we’re doing.”

  Troi snapped right back, “Will, that’s enough!”

  “You—”

  “You too, Mother,” Troi said, whirling on the viewer. “Both of you calm down.”

  “Little One, I’m the picture of calm. It’s William who’s not being—”

  “You’re both behaving like idiots, and I’m not going to stand for it anymore.”

  Riker, who was still standing, looked down at Troi. “Deanna, that’s not fair, I—”

  “Not fair? You’re the one who just unilaterally decided we were getting married in Alaska. Were you planning to consult me on this decision?”

  Abashed, Riker sat back down and put his hand on Troi’s. “Deanna, I thought that’s what you—”

  “No, you didn’t—think, that is.” She turned to the viewer. “And as for you, Mother, I’m amazed you didn’t simply invite the entire population of the Federation and have done with it. You haven’t been thinking either—or, rather, you have been, but only about yourself.”

  “Little One, that’s hardly fair. I just want what’s best for you.”

  Glowering at the viewer, Riker said, “So do I.”

  Troi smiled sweetly. “Good. Then here’s what we’re going to do. Will, you’re going to reserve the spot in the Denali Mountains.”

  “But Deanna, I—”

  “Thank you,” Riker interrupted, feeling triumphant.

  “As for you, Mother, you’re going to continue making arrangements on Betazed.”

  Riker’s triumphant feeling fled. “What?”

  “What?” Lwaxana parroted. “Deanna, I—I don’t understand.”

  “Simple—we’re going to have two ceremonies. It’s a common enough practice in mixed marriages. First we’ll get married on Earth, and then we’ll do it again on Betazed.”

  Riker blinked. He opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, then closed it again. He blinked a few more times. Finally, he managed to say, “Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself, dear—I didn’t think of it, either.” Lwaxana spoke in as close to a contrite tone as she was ever likely to adopt. “Can you both accept the apologies of an old woman who let herself get carried away?”

  Troi smiled so widely, her perfect cheekbones crinkled up to her lovely black eyes. “There’s nothing to apologize for, Mother. You were simply being you.”

  “Well, who better?” Lwaxana also smiled. “The funny thing is, the reason why I called is to say that I wanted to add an after-ceremony party at the house, just for close family and friends, plus a few people I forgot about that need to go on the guest list, and so—”

  Riker grabbed Troi’s hand and squeezed it. “Lwaxana, do whatever you need to do. We’ll just show up, strip, and get married.”

  Lwaxana let out what sounded like a sigh of contentment. “Of course, Little Ones. I’ll see you in a few weeks on Betazed, then.”

  “Of that, you can rest assured, Mother.”

  With that, Lwaxana signed off.

  Riker stared at Troi. “So is she gonna start calling me ‘Little One’ now?”

  “Apparently.”

  Shaking his head, Riker stood up, pulling Troi into a hug. “So I get to go from Number One to Little One—both from people shorter than me.”

  “You’ll live.” She looked up at him. “You know, when I said I needed help getting past my anger at Minza, I didn’t mean for you to get angry instead of me.”

  Riker laughed. “Yeah, sorry about that. I guess I just let your mother get to me. I just can’t believe we didn’t think of doing two ceremonies sooner.”

  “I can. We just wanted to keep things simple—two ceremonies belie that, as does what Mother is doing.” She smiled, and Riker felt his heart melt, as it always did when she favored him with the expression. “But it doesn’t matter. Like you said, as long as we’re married at the end of it, I don’t care how we do it—or how many times we do it.”

  Rather than respond verbally, Riker kissed her passionately.

  When they broke the kiss several joyous eternities later, Troi stroked his beard and said in a small voice, “Yuck.”

  “I’m not shaving the beard again, Deanna.”

  Troi shrugged. “That’s your choice—just as it’s mine to say, ‘yuck.’ ”

  “Suit yourself, Counselor.” He broke their embrace and indicated the ready-room door. “Shall we get back to the business of finding lost emperors?”

  “After you, Little One,” she said with a smirk.

  The red-hued river flowed down from the distant mountain, its current splashing regularly against the black rocks.

  When he first came to this world, he had heard about the crimson rivers, and he had assumed that they would look like blood, but they didn’t. This one in particular looked more like a ruby given liquid form.

  As he stood before the mighty river, the yellow grass staining his boots, he marveled at the natural beauty, which, he was told by the natives, had remained unchanged for countless millennia.

  He had memories of standing near a similar river by a volcano, at which he forged a mighty weapon. But that memory was false, implanted within his mind by those who would use him for their own ends.

  For a time, he was content to let them do so, for his own desires matched theirs. Was it because they programmed those desires into me? Perhaps. But ultimately, it did not matter. I did what I was compelled to do, and I was happy to do it.

  Reaching into the large satchel he had carried with him to the riverbank, he pulled out the easel, canvas, paints, and brushes. His landscapes had improved in recent weeks—indeed, they hardly could have gotten worse. Those who made him did not feel the need to provide him with any artistic ability, but he was a living creature, capable of learning and adapting. After several false starts, and dozens of truly abysmal landscapes, he finally was getting the hang of painting. It was a most soothing and—now that he was actually starting to approach competent—satisfying way to pass the time.

  The process fascinated him. He began with an empty canvas. Initially, the process was laborious and irritating. The smell of the fresh paint overpowered the natural scents beyond. Worse, there was always the vexing process of where to start: the river? the large tree to the right? the smaller one to the left? the sun? the mountain? the sky? the grass? the fortra bush? Then there was the matter of color, finding the right blends of the too-bright red and the black to capture the look of the river, and also mixing the red with the yellow to properly illustrate the sunlight.

  With each stroke, he became more confident. With each portion of the landscape complete, he felt more satisfied. This day was different from all the others. The lack of clouds meant the sun was brighter than usual; the river flowed more intensely thanks to the warmer weather melting the snow on the mountain; and this was the one day a year that fortra flowers went into full bloom. He did not know if he had enough colors in his palette to properly do the flowers justice.

  But he would try. This was a day he wished to preserve.

  He dabbed the last of the red-mixed-with-black on the lower-left-hand corner of the canvas, finally completing the river. Although he was not altogether happy with the way he rendered the water splashing on the rocks, he was mostly satisfied with how it looked.

  The question before him now was what to do next, the tree or the flowers. The flowers were a bit intimidating, as they had several colors in a small space. But then, the challenge was part of the fun.

  Before he could make the decision, however, he heard the sound of a transporter effect—specifically a Federation one.

  How disappointing.

  He turned around to see three figures in Starfleet uniforms. He recognized two of them as William Riker and the android named Data. The third was a woman he did not know. All three were armed, but they had their phasers holstered.

  “Emperor Kahless?” Riker said as he approached him.

  “That is the name I generally answer to, yes.”

  “And it’s really you?”

  “Yes, I am truly the clone of Kahless, the one who was created on Boreth and placed on the throne. And I am not a hologram, unlike the person who has occupied the throne these past six months.”

  Cautiously, Riker said, “So you know about that.”

  “Of course. I was the one who, with the help of some friends, created the hologram.”

  “Friends?” Riker asked.

  “Yes. I am sure that Imperial Intelligence will go to great lengths to try to determine who those friends are. But being an emperor does not merely buy friendship—it buys discreet friendship.”

  “I see,” Riker said, though he clearly didn’t. “If you don’t mind my asking—what’re you doing here?”

  Kahless smiled. “I am doing whatever I want, Commander. It is a very welcome change.”

  Chapter 12

  Qo’noS

  MARTOK, SON OF URTHOG, did not consider himself to be of a sadistic bent. Yes, he would and could kill without hesitation or mercy, but only in battle or on the hunt. He never did so simply for the pleasure of inflicting violence.

  Now, however, he strongly felt the urge to inflict pain on whichever being, sentient or otherwise, presented itself as he stood behind the desk of his personal chambers in the Great Hall. Also present, standing around his office, were Worf, Worf’s son, Picard, Picard’s first and second officers, and the focal point of Martok’s rage, the real Kahless. Or, rather, the real clone of Kahless. With so many copies of copies, it’s a wonder I don’t go mad. At least this one is flesh and blood.

  When he’d received the communiqué from the Enterprise that they’d found Kahless, and that the deception was of the emperor’s own doing, the chancellor abandoned his original plan of welcoming him home in front of the entire High Council. He would confront Kahless personally before dealing with him in an open council session. He also asked Picard and his seniormost officers to beam down with Kahless; Picard, in turn, insisted that the Federation ambassador be present, a condition which Martok naturally had no difficulties with.

  Glowering at the emperor with his one good eye, Martok channeled all his rage, all his anger, all his frustration into one word, spoken in a low, rumbling voice: “Why?”

  “That is a complex question you ask, Martok. It is at the heart—”

  Wincing and waving his arm in front of his face, Martok said, “Do not ply me with your tiresome aphorisms! It is not a complex question, it is a simple one. Why did you replace yourself with a hologram and go to Cygnet IV to pick flowers?”

  Picard’s android spoke up. “Actually, Kahless was painting landscapes when the away team made contact with him.”

  “Thank you, Commander,” Martok said witheringly, and marveled at Picard’s patience for not having this babbling creature disassembled.

  Kahless said, “My reason was simple, Martok. I replaced myself with a holographic duplicate to see how long it would take you to notice.”

  It became all the more difficult for Martok to restrain himself. Bile rose in his throat from the fury, tasting of that morning’s jInjoq bread. “This was a game to you? Our nations are on the brink of war because of your foolishness!”

  “If that were so, I would offer my life up in exchange for dishonoring you and the empire with my actions—but it is not so, and you are fully aware of this fact.” Kahless started to pace Martok’s chambers, indicating Picard and his first officer with one hand. “I have spoken at length with Captain Picard and Commander Riker. They have informed me of the planet Tezwa, and of the seizing of the Federation embassy. Those are the events that have led to this state of affairs, not my deception.”

  Worf said, “And yet, at least one of those events occurred because of you.” At the questioning glances of the others in the room, including Martok, Worf added, “The members of the terrorist group who seized the embassy did so in part because they obtained the knowledge that you had been replaced with a hologram.”

  “Perhaps. But it no longer matters, for the point has been proven.”

  Baring his teeth, Martok asked, “And what point might that be?”

  “That my time has ended.” Kahless turned to look at Worf. “When I first appeared before you on Boreth,” he said, then turned to Picard and added, “and rode on your ship, I was told many times of how decadent the empire had become, and how I was desperately needed. And, after I became emperor, I saw that those words were true. The empire was divided by petty concerns and strayed from the path of honor.” He looked back at Martok. “But that was ten years ago. Few things in this life are sureties, but one thing that never changes is that things will change.”

  Martok felt a growl build in his throat. “Another of your tiresome aphorisms.”

  “Actually,” the android said, “that particular tiresome aphorism was not originally from Kahless, but from the Andorian philosopher Chasinthrof zh’Mai, from her book New Sun, Old Sun.”