When in Rome (TNG) (Post 1)

[Iruka]

This is my first posted story, a Troi-centric TNG one-shot. Getting it into
the proper format is taking a little longer than I thought, so I'm going to
break it into small pieces and post it over a day or so. (Feel free to
comment on the pieces, though!)

SUMMARY: A holodeck celebration in honor of Troi's promotion
becomes a battle of wits between her and Riker (and a fitting
coda to the Bridge Officer's Test subplot from "Thine Own Self").

AUTHOR'S NOTE: While browsing a TNG scripts archive one day, I came
across these two lines in the shooting script of Generations —
specifically, the part of the "high seas" scene where Worf is being
made to walk the plank — that didn't make it into the movie:

PICARD
Don't you think you're taking this a little too far, Number One?

RIKER
When we went to ancient Rome for Deanna's promotion, we threw
her to the lions, remember?

Once I'd finished laughing, this fic pretty much wrote itself. (What
would Deanna really do if confronted with holographic lions? Play
along and/or flounder for the amusement of the crew, probably, just
as Worf does in Generations. What, as a Troi fan, would I want
her to do? Well... this.)

I'd appreciate some feedback on the big stuff — story and
characterization. (After polishing something like this for a few
months, it gets hard to tell the difference between "really cool"
and "just too silly for words"...)

DISCLAIMER: Lest there should be any confusion (huge eye roll
here), the Enterprise and its denizens are not mine; I'm merely
borrowing them for fun, with no intention of making a profit.

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"The truth is, I don't spend nearly enough time on the holodeck..."

- Troi, "All Good Things"
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The Enterprise's Chief Engineer Geordi La Forge looked up from
the data padd in his hands and frowned slightly as he noticed the
rather unusual presence in his domain of ship's counselor Deanna
Troi.

Troi, meanwhile, was snapping out of a somber reverie and
discovering, to her own surprise, that her subconsciously directed
footsteps had taken her down to Main Engineering. Feeling a bit
embarrassed as she tried in vain to remember the voice command she
had given the turbolift, she looked uncomfortably at La Forge from
across the control bank the engineers referred to as the pool table.

If he knew how many times I've blown up the ship with these controls
over the past few days, she thought wryly, he'd be chasing me out of
here with a stick. And heaven forbid he should find out what I had
to do to save the ship...

"Is there something I can do for you, Counselor?" asked La Forge.
Troi shook her head slightly, still trying to recall her mind from
the eerily similar holodeck scenario she'd just left.

The Engineering Qualification Section of the Bridge Officer's Test
consisted of a single trick question, requiring a completely
non-technical solution to what had initially seemed an insoluble
technical problem. As it turned out, that solution was to order
La Forge to his death to save the Enterprise.

Even in holodeck simulation, the eventuality had left Troi badly
shaken.

"No, thank you. I... just dropped by to say hello." But something
in her manner — some inadvertently telegraphed discomfort at the
very sight of him, perhaps — apparently told a different story,
for La Forge's puzzlement began to spike into alarm as he
continued to stare at her.

Deciding to try a different tack, Troi crossed over to him and
placed a friendly hand on his arm, looking him in the eye.
"Geordi, I just want you to know how much everyone on this ship
appreciates all the work you do — that you're a good friend and
an extremely valued member of the crew, and we couldn’t run the
Enterprise without you."

And, she added to herself, that I would never, ever send you
off to die a horrible death in some radiation-flooded crawlway,
even if I do completely outrank you now.

"Uh, thanks," said La Forge, more puzzled than ever.

Troi patted his arm. "You're welcome."

And, still resisting an absurd desire to apologize for something
that, after all, had never actually happened, Deanna Troi beat a
hasty retreat back to the upper decks.

Shrugging, Geordi went back to work.

*****

Deanna was in Ten Forward later that night, attempting to drown
the lingering stress of the Engineering Qualification in a hot
fudge sundae, when she heard the rumor about Will Riker's plans
for her upcoming promotion party.

He had first proposed such a celebration on their way out of
the holodeck after she'd finally passed the Bridge Officer's
Test, and Troi had responded with pleased surprise.

"You're going to the trouble of designing an entire holodeck
program just to celebrate my promotion to commander? Will, how
sweet of you."

Riker had looked thoughtfully at the ceiling and stroked his
beard with an oddly self-satisfied smile. "In fact, I already
have an idea about what the setting could be. Keep an eye out
for the announcement. I'll make it something special. For now"
— this with a gently mocking smile — "congratulations on passing
the Bridge Officer's Test in only four tries."

And then, after bending down to give her a sweetly impulsive
kiss on the cheek, he had turned and headed off down the corridor,
adding over his shoulder, "I'll be in touch about your party soon.
Trust me, it'll be a celebration you'll never forget."

Now — halfway through her dessert — a conversation from the table
behind her caught Deanna's attention.

"...saw Riker's announcement on my screen just an hour ago," a
crewman was saying with evident amusement. "He's organizing a
promotion party on the holodeck Friday night."

The other crewman snickered. "So who's the unfortunate victim this
time, I wonder?"

Victim? thought Deanna, swallowing the wrong way and nearly choking.

Not wishing to eavesdrop on a private conversation, she nevertheless
suddenly found herself unable to tune it out.

"Hey, remember what they did to poor La Forge when they promoted
him to lieutenant commander?"

Deanna didn’t; she had been visiting her mother on Betazed at the
time, and somehow — although she clearly remembered, on her return,
congratulating Geordi on his step up through the ranks — no one had
ever gone into detail about the celebration she had missed.

"Aztec human sacrifice ceremony, wasn't it? Ripping the still-beating
hearts out of people's chests, and all that?"

Human sacrifice? thought Deanna.

"Yep, the whole shebang. And I heard once that Riker did a very nice
American Civil War execution scenario for Palmer's promotion to
lieutenant back on the Hood."

Execution? thought Deanna.

A snort. "Well, if that's the reward for getting promoted, forgive
me for preferring to spend my career as a noncom."

"I dunno, I like to see an XO with a sense of humor."

"A sadistic one, that is!"

And the two shared a hearty laugh.

Having heard more than enough to kill what was left of her appetite,
Deanna abruptly stood up and headed back to her quarters, leaving the
half-eaten sundae behind on the table.

*****

As soon as she walked through her door, it was obvious that Will Riker
had gotten there first.

On the table in the middle of the room was a parchment scroll of the
ancient Terran variety, rolled around a pair of wooden sticks with
knobs at either end. Warily, she unrolled it and read the fancy
gold-colored script.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Divine Imperator Jean-Luc Picard and Centurion William T. Riker
Cordially invite you to a celebration at the Ancient Roman Colusseum
In honor of your Promotion to the Rank of Commander
Friday evening at 1800 hours
Holodeck Two

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Troi eyed the parchment suspiciously. The invitation seemed innocent
enough, but on further examination — especially with the overheard
conversation fresh in her mind — it managed to reveal frustratingly
little about what Will actually had planned. And, despite the captain's
name at the top of the announcement, she had no doubt that Will Riker
would be the driving force behind whatever would happen Friday night
on Holodeck Two.

You're getting paranoid, she chided herself. Don’t jump to conclusions.
Stop and think this through logically.

Slowly she put down the scroll, took a deep breath, and settled herself
on the sofa, closing her eyes for a little directed meditation.

So, she thought, what do I know for certain?

First, that Will is planning me a party — and that the captain will
undoubtedly leave the arrangement of the details up to him...

Second, that these celebrations in honor of promotions apparently have
a reputation among the crew for being unduly harsh on the person for
whom they are ostensibly given...

Third, that Will has decided to set this party in the ancient Roman
Empire, a period of Earth's history noted for high civilization mixed
with episodes of unhealthy hedonism and a certain passion for blood
sports...

And — she couldn't help but admit it, at least to herself — fourth,
that Will does, in fact, have a bit of a sadistic streak, at least
when it comes to practical jokes and other forms of humor.

So the essential question is this: Is Will likely to seize this
opportunity to exercise his slightly sadistic sense of humor on me —
his imzadi — of all people?

The answer to this question came to Deanna's mind with disconcerting
rapidity, coupled with a recent memory of Riker's voice: "Trust me,
it'll be a celebration you'll never forget."

Her eyes snapped open.

Ohhhh, no...

Despite being a man of undeniably high moral character, Will Riker
could, under certain circumstances, be capable of some very
nasty trickery. And if Geordi had been given a sort of figurative
gauntlet to run, Troi would probably be trapped into something
even worse — not in spite of her closeness to Riker, but because
of it.

Thoroughly agitated now, she leapt up from the couch and began
pacing in rapid circles around the room, hands clasped behind her.
And by the time she had completed a few circuits of her quarters,
Deanna had reached the conclusion that she had better find time,
before Friday night, for two important things:

(1) A private talk with Captain Picard, and

(2) Target practice. Lots and lots of target practice.

*****

To be continued...

 

[Iruka]

When in Rome (TNG) (Post 2)

"So, how do I look?" Standing before the mirror in Riker's
quarters, Geordi La Forge turned around and spread his arms to
give the first officer a chance to scrutinize his Roman soldier
costume.

Riker slowly circled the engineer, looking him up and down from
helmet to hobnailed sandals. "Very nice, Geordi."

"Commander," said Data as he stepped from a side room, having just
donned his own similar costume, "considering that my outer casing is
already several times harder than any metal known to the ancient
Romans, I believe this armor is superfluous."

Riker tried to stifle a grin as he explained. "Protection really
isn't the point, Data. The point is to enhance the ambiance of the
program — the armor is for theatrical effect, to help you play your
part better. You two, especially, have to be as convincing as possible.
This is the first time we’ve had a chance to throw a promotion party
for Deanna, and I really want it to be something special."

"So, what exactly is our part, Commander?" Geordi asked, drawing his
short sword from the leather scabbard at his belt and swinging it
experimentally. "You haven't mentioned what you actually need us to
do."

"Well, briefly... you two are members of Emperor Picard's Praetorian
Guard, and your job is to meet Deanna at the holodeck door, escort her
to the Colusseum, and — when I give you the signal — throw her to the
lions."

He said it so casually that for a second Geordi wasn't sure he had
heard correctly. It took the length of a full double-take, and then
some, for the engineer to process this astonishing information.

Finally he stammered, "Th-throw her to the lions? You programmed
lions into Counselor Troi's promotion party?"

"Absolutely," the first officer grinned. "Believe me, it took some
doing to get them just right, but nothing's too good for our Deanna —
isn't that right, gentlemen?"

La Forge's expression remained troubled. "And she's... okay with
that?"

"As a matter of fact, she said it was sweet of me to go to so much
trouble."

Riker was now rummaging enthusiastically in a box of theater props
from his closet. Rising, he pulled a length of rope from the box
and began winding it into a neat coil. "By the way, you'll be needing
this."

Geordi shot an incredulous look at Data, who merely raised his eyebrows
curiously in reply.

*****

By the day before the planned party, Deanna was beginning to think
maybe she had jumped to the wrong conclusion after all.

Carrying out her plan to prepare for the trouble she had at first
anticipated had proven therapeutic — and, since she had added in some
serious research on the ancient Roman period (in the course of which
she had learned, among other things, that the ancient Romans really
knew how to throw a party), Deanna had actually come to look forward
to spending a little time there.

She had thought of trying to discover more about the truth of the
conversation she'd overheard in Ten Forward by asking Will directly...
but, considering all the work he was putting into this program — he'd
been disappearing into the holodeck for hours each night, after their
last duty shift of the day — she didn't want to risk hurting his
feelings over a mere rumor.

Besides, what could she say? "Will, about this so-called party you're
throwing for me Friday night... you're not planning to have me executed
for a finale, are you?"

Still, when she happened to run into Riker, who was leaving the holodeck
just as she entered it on Thursday evening, she immediately reached out
to stop him. "Will, wait a minute. I haven't seen you much this week."
Then, focusing her empathic senses and watching his reaction carefully,
she asked, "So, how's the party coming along?"

Riker's face lit up with a smile. "Nearly finished. I've outdone myself
this time, if I do say so myself. You're going to love it, Deanna. Get
out your sandals and toga, and I'll show you how magnificently Rome can
be built in a day."

He draped an arm around her shoulders and made an expansive gesture
that took in some scenic view only he could see; she could feel his
genuine, almost boyish excitement.

She nodded thoughtfully, and tried to sound casual as she asked the
most important question: "Is there... anything you'd like me to know
about ahead of time? Anything, say, potentially dangerous...?"
He raised his eyebrows at her. "Dangerous? Deanna, this is the
holodeck, after all."

Well, there it is, thought Deanna, with an inward sigh of relief. He
honestly has no idea what I'm talking about.

To cover her reaction, she smiled wryly, casting a mock-suspicious
glance at the doors through which Riker had just come. "All the
more reason to be careful, in my experience."

"Come to think of it, you don't usually spend much time on the
holodeck, yourself... Where are you going now? Planning to relax
in some exotic Betazoid locale, perhaps?"

"Brushing up on my target shooting, actually."

Riker raised his eyebrows in mild disbelief. "You, target shooting?"
Then he shrugged. "Well, come find me when you get your phaser put
away, and we'll go to Ten Forward and catch up." And he headed off
down the corridor, whistling happily.

Somewhat reassured that his plans for the next night weren't, after
all, malicious, Deanna chuckled fondly to herself as she watched him
go. He really was becoming very enthusiastic about this affair — so
much so, in fact, that he had failed to notice she was walking onto
the holographic target practice range empty-handed.

Smiling, she shook her head. "Phaser, indeed."

*****

Inevitably, Friday evening arrived.

After her final duty shift was over, Deanna hurried back to her
quarters to change into the period costume she had replicated — a
fairly standard toga, modified for ease of movement (not to mention
concealment purposes), and a pair of sandals that laced securely
enough to permit running if the need should arise.

She had spent the entire week vacillating about whether or not to
mistrust her _imzadi’s_ apparent good intentions. But, although she
was currently feeling fairly sanguine about the upcoming party (a
nice triumph, perhaps?), Deanna Troi thought it best to be ready for
anything as she left for Holodeck Two.

*****

The crowd was getting restless.

From the emperor's box, Riker looked out over the assemblage of
several hundred _Enterprise_ crew members and the thousands more
holographic spectators — given the relatively short vertical dimension
of the holodeck, in fact, everything above first few rows of seats
was a projection — filling the arena.

The holographic sun was high in the sky, ensuring that the ellipse of
the Colusseum's floor was glaringly hot as well as extremely dusty.
That floor was also empty but for a short marble column, decorated
with Ionic scrolls and supporting something small and green, that had
been placed at one end — the end opposite the emperor’s box, very
close to a large barred opening in the brick-faced stone wall
surrounding the arena.

The first officer's gaze lingered on the arched opening nearest his
own position, and he frowned as he failed once again to spot the
three people for whom they were all waiting. A chronometer would
have been inexcusably anachronistic, of course, but he guessed it
was well past 1800 hours by now.

Riker's heavy centurion's armor and crested helmet were becoming
sweaty and uncomfortable, but for the sake of appearances he kept
them in place, trying to look relaxed as he stood next to the
emperor's throne. Worf and Dr. Crusher, both appropriately costumed,
were seated nearby.

He looked down at Picard, in his purple-bordered toga and laurel
wreath, as the captain wondered aloud, "Shouldn't our guest of honor
be here by now, Number One?"

"They're late, sir. Data and Geordi definitely should have intercepted
Deanna by now."

"Out of curiosity, Will, just how much did you tell her about your
plans for this event?"

Riker smiled mischievously. "Time, place, and occasion were all she
really needed to know, sir. Telling her more than that would have
ruined the surprise."

Picard gave him an incredulous sidelong look. "You didn't warn her
about the lions, then?"

"Especially not about the lions, sir."

Picard sighed. Poor Deanna... she'd be getting the first of several
unpleasant surprises about now...

*****

As the holodeck doors hissed shut behind her, Deanna found herself
in a dusty, deserted, and rather gloomy street lined with crude
brick buildings.

Not the sort of place I would have chosen for a party, she thought.

She started up the stone staircase in front of her, and immediately
found her way blocked by a tall figure in full Roman armor.

Recognizing him, she smiled. "Data! Where are Will and the others?"
But the android did not respond. Troi frowned, sensing something
amiss...

Another presence nearby...

...and that was all the warning she got before the hand she had
half-raised in greeting was roughly seized by the wrist and twisted
behind her back, as was her other arm. Data slowly descended the
steps, removing something from his belt. A coil of rope.

With a panicked burst of strength, Deanna broke free from her
assailant — who let her go fairly easily — then whirled and backed
away, turning her head from side to side as she tried to keep an eye
on him and Data both at once. "Geordi! Data! What. Are. You. Doing?"

Geordi La Forge, also in his soldier costume, stepped back from her
as well, radiating genuine surprise at her reaction and raising both
hands in a conciliatory gesture.

It was Data who answered, holding up the rope as if it were a
perfectly innocent visual aid. "We have been ordered to place you
under arrest, Counselor, and bring you to the nearby arena."

"Commander Riker said he wanted to do 'something special' for your
promotion party. He told us you'd already agreed to the whole
scenario," Geordi added, then stopped and frowned. "Didn't you?"

Deanna stared at her two friends as if they'd gone insane, her mind
racing as several things simultaneously became clear to her.

First, she realized that her worst suspicions about Will's intentions
had been correct. If there had been any real doubt in her mind that
what he had planned for her was less a triumph than a hazing, this
would have laid it to rest. Secondly, seeing the honest bewilderment
on her friends' faces, she knew immediately that others of the crew
— probably _many_ others — would also be expecting her cooperation
in Riker’s game, and that she couldn't dig in her heels and refuse
to participate now without appearing as the worst of spoilsports.
Will had laid his trap well.

Thirdly, she realized that she really needed to stall for time,
because getting trussed up at this point would definitely interfere
with her contingency plan.

Unless...

Miraculously, the sought-for idea came to her.

All these thoughts flashed through her mind in the few seconds it
took Data to frown, lower the cord in his hands, and ask, "Have
we done something wrong, Counselor?"

Troi shook her head as through trying to clear it. "N-no, not at
all... You just startled me, that's all. Proceed, by all means."
And this time she bit her lip and offered no resistance as Geordi
(more warily now, since her earlier adverse reaction had irrevocably
broken his "tough Roman soldier" character) gently pinned her arms
behind her and held them in place for Data's rope.

Deciding that the moment was right for her request, Deanna took a
deep breath, gave the pair of them her most charming smile, and
added, "But I wonder if you two might be willing to assist me with
something first..."

*****

To be continued...

[Only now, unfortunately, does it occur to me that I shouldn't have called the first part "Post 1," as it means that now I'll have to continue as I've begun, with separate postings, since otherwise the rest of the parts could be too hard to find! Sorry for the newbie-ish mistake of cluttering up the board with more than one thread per fic...]

 

[Iruka]

When in Rome (TNG) (Post 3)

Riker looked again at the archway, and there they were — Geordi
and Data in their soldier costumes, blocking the entrance with
their crossed spears and waiting for Riker to notice them and
announce their presence... and that of the third person Riker could
see waiting just as patiently behind them.

"They're here, sir," he said to Picard, then raised his hands. The
noise of the crowd quickly died away, replaced by anticipatory
silence.

"Bring out the prisoner!" Riker bellowed, his voice carrying all
the way across the enormous structure.

The two soldiers uncrossed their spears, stepped back into the
tunnel, and reemerged a moment later.

Between them — head held high, dark eyes blazing, hands tied
securely behind her back — walked Deanna Troi. Even from a distance,
it was obvious that it was she, not they, who was setting the
carefully dignified pace of the trio's entrance onto the vast floor
of the Colusseum.

As was customary, the guest of honor was greeted with shouts and
jeers from her crewmates in the stands, but Troi was managing to
express an almost tangible disdain for this entire phase of the
program. Riker wouldn't have thought it was possible to ignore
something loudly, but if anyone had ever found a way to do just
that, it was Troi as her guards brought her to stand before the
captain and first officer.

As the three of them stopped before the emperor's box and looked up,
Picard answered Deanna's stony expression with an encouraging smile,
and a wink.

Deanna was obviously treating this scenario with extreme seriousness,
but Riker had to work very hard to suppress a smirk as they proceeded
to the next phase of the program.

Although it normally took quite a bit of effort for him to project
his thoughts to her, this time the sheer enjoyment of watching his
carefully wrought plans come to fruition seemed to lend wings to his
mental words. *Lighten up, Deanna, before you miss all the fun!* he
thought at her.

*Oh, is that what you call it?* came the immediate reply in his head,
as she met his gaze squarely. *You might have warned me about this!*

*And ruin the surprise?*

*You’re not the only one who can come up with surprises, Will
Riker...*

This time Riker did smirk, even as he said aloud, "Deanna Troi, are
you prepared to face the charges against you?"

Deanna stood up a bit straighter and matched his volume as she
answered solemnly, "I am."

Clearing his throat and forcing a sterner expression onto his face,
Riker held up the scroll in his hands and read from it in the same
booming voice. "You are hereby charged with knowingly and willfully
gaining the respect and affection of the entire crew of the U.S.S.
Enterprise through seven years of faithful service, with being an
invaluable asset to both the ship and the fleet, and with making
yourself an indispensible comrade and friend to the captain and
senior staff of this vessel..."

As Riker read, Deanna's expression softened just a little, and he
heard in his mind, *Not bad, Commander... write that yourself, did
you?*

Ignoring the mental communication, Riker rolled up the scroll and
continued speaking aloud: "...for which your punishment, by decree
of the glorious Emperor Picard himself, is to be summary promotion
to the rank of Commander..." Unable to keep a straight face any
longer, he allowed the irrepressible smirk to appear once again.

"...if, that is, you are able to pass the final grueling test of
retrieving your badge of office..."

Riker gestured grandly toward the far end of the arena, and Deanna
turned to look with everyone else, noticing for the first time
the column with its spot of green on top — a laurel wreath like
Picard's, almost imperceptibly small at this distance.

She looked back at Riker, silently raising one eyebrow as if to
ask, "Is that all?"

Riker grinned his reply, and shouted at the top of his voice,
"Release the lions!"

He saw Deanna struggle to keep the expression of shock off her
face as the metal gate rose and a trio of the large, hairy
beasts trooped out, surrounded the column, and began to make
their way, slowly and languidly, toward the Enterprise officers.

After all the time, effort, and research he had devoted to achieving
the correct balance between fearsomeness and relative non-deadliness
— these lions were programmed to imitate their real counterparts by
reaching a certain proximity to their prey before charging, and then
to do so at only a fraction of a real lion's speed — Riker couldn't
help but be extremely gratified by the positive reaction, as
measured in stone-shaking decibels, of the watching crowd.

Troi's reaction was somewhat less positive. She turned back to
glare icily at Riker one last time before — at a curt gesture from
the first officer — Data and La Forge grabbed her arms and dragged
her to the center of the arena, where they left her standing, alone
and helpless, as the crowd roared its approval of the spectacle.

"Isn't this a bit much, Will?" Picard shouted over the noise,
concern and a touch of anger in his voice. "You might at least have
untied her!"

Riker grimaced slightly, uncomfortable with this stern reminder of
what seemed to him a minor detail. "Come to think of it, I did
mean to have Data cut her loose..." Then he shook his head and
waved a hand dismissively. "But don't worry, Captain — the holodeck
safeguards are operating, so she can't really get hurt. The lions
are just supposed to chase her around the arena a couple of times
while everyone has a good laugh at her expense — it's all in fun,
sir."

"I can see you're having fun, Number One," Picard said dryly,
"but I'm not so sure about Deanna." Anxiously he looked back at
the center of the arena, where Troi had begun backing toward the
emperor's box at a pace obviously calculated to put some extra
distance between her and the pursuing lions; it was clear that
she was treating the holographic creatures as a very serious matter
indeed. They were, in fact, quite convincing — and must have looked
even more so from where she was, on the wrong side of the wall.
But, Riker realized as he watched, there was nothing careless or
fearful about her retreat. In fact, it almost looked as though she
were leading the animals somewhere.

Could she possibly be planning something? he thought uneasily.
Safeguards or no, he would be enjoying this a lot more if she
would just run away like she was supposed to...

Troi angled her steps toward the wall to the right of Picard and
Riker and finally halted a dozen meters away from them, risking
a furious glance over her left shoulder as though to gauge the
distance between herself and them.

Then, with what looked to Riker like a tiny, satisfied nod, she
planted her sandaled feet shoulder width apart on the dusty ground,
closed her eyes for a moment in concentration, and visibly tensed
her arms and shoulders — clenching her hands into fists — as
though gathering her strength.

The lions continued to follow her at an almost sluggish pace, but
they were no more than fifty meters away now.

The noise of the crowd, meanwhile, had faded to a puzzled murmur
at the counselor’s unexpectedly fearless behavior, then begun to
build again, with anticipation crackling in the air. The tension
was almost a physical force, stealing away the spectators' breath;
a scene meant by Will Riker to be light comedy, if not farce, was
being transformed by Deanna Troi into high drama.

And then everything seemed to happen at once.

As if responding to an unheard command, the three lions broke
into a charge straight at Deanna — who continued, for some
unfathomable reason, to stand still, as though rooted to the spot.

And then Riker felt his jaw go slack as, with a sudden twist of
her wrists, Deanna's ropes somehow loosened and fell away — and,
just like that, she was free.

How did she do that?! Riker thought.

Whirling to catch Picard's eyes, Troi cried out a single word in
a voice that rang from one end of the huge stadium to the other.

"Captain!"

Riker blinked at the oddly confident tone of the exclamation...
then it struck him that this was not a desperate plea, but a
prearranged signal.

"There's my cue, Number One," Picard murmured. Almost faster
than Riker could turn his head to look, the captain yanked a
long, sticklike something from behind his throne and, with a
grunt of effort, hurled it through the air in a high arc
toward Deanna —

— who was just as quickly removing something that had been
hidden in a fold of her toga — a stiff-looking, rolled-up object
made of brown cloth that more or less resumed its proper shape
as she shook it out smartly and put it on her head, taking an
extra split-second to tilt it forward to shield her eyes from
flying grit and glaring sun.

A cowboy hat? thought Riker, dumbfounded.

And then, as it fell end over end toward Deanna's outstretched
hands, Riker got his first clear look at the object Picard had
thrown.

A Winchester rifle.

Troi caught it awkwardly in her arms, stumbling and almost failing
to get under it in time, but there was nothing awkward about the
way she expertly cocked the weapon even while righting it in her
hands, then raised it to eye level, aimed and fired at the foremost
charging lion — a single leap away — in one smooth motion.

With the report of the shot still echoing over the stands, Deanna
threw herself backward, skidding to a stop a few paces away as the
huge creature fell in a great cloud of dust just where she had been
standing a moment before.

Riker had the briefest glimpse of her simultaneously cocking the
rifle a second time and whipping around to face the other two
charging beasts before the billowing dust blocked her from his view;
as the remaining two lions followed swiftly after the first, she
seemed to take an unconscionable amount of time to perfect her aim
before another loud _CRACK-click-CRACK_ echoed throughout the
stadium.

Straining to see through the cloud (and biting back a sudden,
violent urge to shout out Deanna’s name), Riker detected the odd
shimmering effect of vanishing holograms mixed with the blowing
dust...

...which, when it began to disperse, revealed Deanna Troi standing
alone once again, still stiffly sighting down the length of her
rifle.

The vast audience had fallen silent out of pure shock, and since
Deanna appeared to be as stunned as anyone by the sudden and
complete absence of lions in the arena, the entire scene remained
frozen — except for the ever moving dust, which had now completely
coated her once-white clothes — for a seemingly endless moment.
Riker and Picard were close enough to hear their guest of honor
gasping for breath. Slowly, she lowered her weapon until its
muzzle almost touched the ground.

And then — as, with the look of someone gradually coming out of
a daze, she reached up with one trembling hand, readjusted her
dust-covered hat to a more rakish angle, shouldered her rifle,
and began walking briskly, if a little unsteadily, toward the
column at the other end of the arena — the crowd went wild.

Audible above the rest of the roar, at least in Riker's corner,
were Worf's Klingon bellow of triumph and Beverly Crusher's exultant
fingers-in-the-mouth whistle. Picard applauded more sedately, but
said quietly to Riker, "Magnificent, isn't she? You've got to marry
her, Will — what in the cosmos are you waiting for?"

Riker himself was still staring slack-jawed at the floor of the
arena — empty now but for Deanna, who was halfway back to them,
with the supposedly unreachable laurel wreath in her hand, before
the first officer managed to swallow his astonishment and summon
up some semblance of composure.

"Number One," Picard whispered, as though the thought had just
occurred to him, "what's supposed to happen after she brings us
the wreath?"

"I don't know, sir... No one's ever done it before. Usually we give the
badge of office to them once they've worn themselves out trying for
it." For the first time, Riker appeared chagrined by the turn his carefully
laid plans had taken.

Picard nodded to himself. "Very well... I shall have to improvise
something appropriate when the moment comes."

"Looks like the moment is here, sir."

Picard looked down and saw that Deanna was once again occupying the
spot of dusty arena floor directly in front of his throne. The wide
brim of her hat, as seen from above, still obscured her face — but
only for another second, as she removed it and swept a low bow
before the captain, so low that the hat's brim brushed the ground.
Then she straightened up, with a small but triumphant smile on her
face and a different sort of brightness in her eyes — pure happiness,
thought Riker.

"Mission accomplished, Captain."

With pride gleaming intensely in his own eyes, Picard returned the
smile. "Indeed, Counselor, and well done. Mr. Data?"

Obediently, Data knelt down and gave Troi a leg up and over the
low wall and into the emperor's box; there were radiant smiles all
around among the other senior officers, but no one approached Deanna
yet. Though none of them, including the captain himself, could tell
precisely what it would be, they all knew there was something more
to be done first.

*****

To be concluded...

 

[Iruka]

When in Rome (TNG) (Post 4)

When Troi stood before him, Picard paused uncertainly for another
second, then held out his hand for the rifle. "If I may...?"

Without hesitation she handed him the weapon, followed by the
wreath as Picard held out his hand again. Radiating grandeur,
the captain/emperor stood up and cleared his throat.

"Kneel," he ordered the counselor, raising his voice to be heard
by the entire assembly.

For a second, Deanna merely cocked her head curiously at him — but
then, seeing what he had in mind, she smoothly went down on one
knee and placed the hat on the ground next to her, assuming the
head-bowed posture of one about to be knighted.

Suddenly Picard paused, as if remembering something important. He
leaned down to ask Deanna in a low voice, "Is this weapon loaded?"

Troi raised her head long enough to murmur, "Not anymore." Then
she shifted her eyes to Riker and added, in a voice dripping with
sarcasm, "Besides, Captain, this is the holodeck, where everything
is always perfectly safe, remember?"

The captain gave her a wry smile. "Of course. I just thought it
might ruin this perfect moment if it went off accidentally while
I was trying to dub you with it." Straightening up, Picard held
the rifle by the stock and gently touched its barrel to Deanna's
right shoulder, then her left, where he let it rest as his voice
again echoed throughout the stadium. "Deanna Troi, by the power
vested in me by Starfleet and the United Federation of Planets, I
hereby bestow upon you the rank of Commander, with all the duties,
rights, and privileges thereunto appertaining." Lastly, he placed
the laurel wreath carefully on her bowed head. "Rise, Commander
Troi!"

This time, in contrast to their earlier raucous shouts and cheers,
the several hundred assembled crew members broke into thunderous
and heartfelt applause for the ship's counselor, spontaneously
rising to their feet. And this time, as she stood up and warmly
clasped hands with her captain, Deanna couldn't hold back a wide
smile of her own.

She picked up her cowboy hat, turned, and waved it in the air,
acknowledging for the first time the applause of her crewmates,
as the other senior officers in the emperor's box at last
surrounded her with their own congratulations — not only ignoring
the fact that she was now covered in dust from hat to sandals,
but generally behaving as though it were their collective goal
to transfer as much of that dust as possible from her to them.

Beverly Crusher reached her first, enveloping her friend in a
hug of such intensity and duration that the others began to protest
that she was monopolizing the counselor. Worf, grinning his
toothiest, most dangerous-looking grin, practically crushed Deanna's
hand in both of his, then gave her such a dust-raising thump on the
back that Riker grimaced — That's gonna bruise for sure, he thought —
though she didn't seem to mind.

Geordi La Forge and Data climbed up into the box and took their
turns hugging her as well, Data receiving in addition an unexpected
(and, from Riker's point of view, completely inexplicable) kiss on
the cheek.

The sight stirred an unanswered question in Riker's mind, and the
first officer decided that at this point it might be wiser for him
to approach Deanna with a query than with open arms.

Trying to sound casual, he said, "So, Deanna, I was wondering...
exactly how did you manage to get free so quickly when those lions
charged?"

Her wide grin faded just a bit as she turned her attention to him.
She glanced at the android. "Data?"

Data stepped forward to explain. "When Geordi and I arrested
Counselor Troi as per your orders, sir, she asked whether it would
be possible for me to design a configuration of knots that would
come apart easily when pulled in a certain way by the bound person
— an interesting problem, for which I was able to devise a viable
solution in three-point-five minutes. She then volunteered herself
as a test subject."

"Very generous of her, if you ask me," Geordi added, nodding sagely.
Data gave Deanna a satisfied look and added, "It appears, Counselor,
that the experiment was successful."

At that, Deanna laughed out loud. "It certainly was, Data."

"I see." Riker’s lips twisted into a wry smile. "And didn't it occur
to you that such a 'configuration' would rather defeat the purpose?"
"You mentioned no purpose beyond 'enhancing the ambience,' Commander
— and, as Counselor Troi pointed out to us, although you instructed
us to bind her, you did not specify the type of knots we were to use."
Riker rolled his eyes. Leave it to her to find the loophole...

As if divining his thoughts once again, Troi looked coolly at him
from under the brim of her hat. She had already wrapped the laurel
wreath around its crown so as to be able to wear them both at once.

"Sorry to short-circuit your fun, Will, but I really wasn't about
to let you humiliate me in front of half the ship. I have a
professional reputation to protect, you know."

Riker sighed. "You just don't understand promotion parties, Deanna.
But you, Captain!" He turned reproachfully to Picard, who was
handing Deanna her rifle back. "I would have expected you to
see the importance for shipwide morale of occasionally turning
the tables on high-ranking officers, sir!"

Picard frowned slightly. "What I saw, Number One, was an unwarranted
stacking of the deck against Counselor Troi. I was willing to keep
your plans a secret, but when she came to me of her own accord for
a little help evening the odds, I was more than happy to agree."

"I didn't ask the captain to betray your confidence, Will," added
Troi. "Just to keep my favorite holodeck weapon nearby for me, in
case it should be needed." She lovingly stroked the barrel of the
Winchester — eliciting another twinge of jealousy from the first
officer — then smiled radiantly at the captain. "Thank you, sir.
I couldn't have done it without you."

"It was my pleasure, Deanna."

As more acquaintances filed up to congratulate the Enterprise's
newest commander, Riker could hear Worf eagerly recounting the
story of his adventures on the holodeck with Deanna and his son
Alexander, with special emphasis — in an I-knew-the-rifle-before-
it-was-famous sort of way — on the character of Durango that Troi
had created for herself within Alexander's Ancient West program.
Frankly, that whole thing seemed more than a little silly to Riker,
but judging from the wide-eyed admiration on the faces of the
listening crew members, it was only driving their respect for the
counselor higher.

Will snorted to himself. The story of Deanna's exploits tonight
would undoubtedly be all over the ship by morning.

*****

After that, the celebration phase of the party kicked into high
gear — the sort of party Deanna had been hoping for in the first
place but was now, ironically, too exhausted to enjoy properly.

To his credit, Riker had put as much planning into this part of
his ancient Roman program as into the "lions" portion, and the
Roman banquet hall lived up to the reputation of its ancient
predecessors. The crew mingled for some hours over the tables of
real, authentically Roman food specially replicated for this
event.

But somehow, the longer the festivities went on — and the more the
already-famous name of Durango was bandied about, to Riker's mild
annoyance — the less Deanna Troi was to be seen among the revelers.

He finally found her alone in one of the back rooms off the banquet
hall, sitting with her feet propped up on a long table that was
empty but for a bowl of green olives, which she was flicking in
the air with her thumb one by one and attempting, mostly without
success, to catch in her mouth.

From somewhere, Riker saw, the resourceful counselor had produced
a pair of tooled leather boots and a rather tattered knee-length
buckskin coat to don over the toga she still wore; these, together
with fact that she refused either to remove the wrinkled hat or
to let the Winchester out of her sight (it was, at this moment,
resting across her lap as she leaned back in her chair), couldn't
help but give him the impression that she was now deliberately
bucking the setting he had worked so hard to create for her.

"'S there somethin' I can do for you, stranger?" she asked him in
very bad Western drawl, not seeming to care that the latest olive
had ricocheted off the brim of her hat and rolled away into a
corner.

"More deliberate anachronism, Deanna?" Riker shook his head.

"You're getting worse as we go. We're in ancient Rome, not the
nineteenth century!"

She reached for another olive. "We're on the holodeck, Will. So
you pretend to be in your century, and I'll pretend to be in mine."
Riker was quiet for a few moments, then he sighed. "You're not
really angry, are you?"

She waited several seconds before answering, as though thinking
over her reply carefully. "You know, Will, one proven method of
dealing with a past trauma is by planning for the future." She
looked pointedly at him from under the brim of that ridiculous hat.
"Specifically, I'm already mentally planning for the next promotion
party — which is more likely to be yours than mine, you know,
unless you expect me to make captain before you do. I intend to ask
Captain Picard for permission to set it all up myself." Slowly, she
lowered her chair's front legs to the floor and stood up.

Riker smiled nervously and decided not to ask what her plans
involved. "It looks to me like you may be getting into the spirit
of these things after all, Deanna."

To his relief, she returned his smile easily. "Perhaps. But there is
one thing I'm quite certain of." Casually, she sauntered toward him,
the rifle balanced over one shoulder, and stopped about two paces
away.

"Oh? What's that?"

Deanna moved faster than he would have thought possible, considering
her claimed exhaustion. She slammed into him shoulder first, knocking
him back — armor and all — against the wall, and pinning him there.

He felt the muzzle of the Winchester digging into the underside of
his chin, and wondered fleetingly whether she'd bothered to reload
it.

"It is," Deanna hissed, "that if you ever pull a trick like
today's on me again — I don't care if they promote me to admiral of
the entire bloody fleet someday — the hapless animals you send
after me will not be the first things I shoot at, is that
clear?"

"Yes, sir, Commander, sir," Riker gurgled, forcing the words out
through his constricted windpipe.

Troi glared up into his eyes for a moment more, then stepped back,
releasing him, and primly readjusted her rumpled cowboy hat.

"Good. I'm glad we finally understand one another."

*****

It wasn't much later that the holodeck began to empty out as crew
members headed off to late work shifts or to bed. Having lost track
of Deanna some time before — not that she'd been doing much mingling,
anyway — Captain Picard was strolling one last time through the
nearly empty banquet hall when he spotted Beverly Crusher in a
corner, bending over a figure lying prone on a couch. Glimpsing the
distinctive clothes, he recognized Troi.

Crusher was peering carefully under the brim of the hat that was
tilted down over the counselor's eyes, but she looked up as the
captain approached.

"Asleep." The doctor sighed and shook her head. "The danger might
not have been real, but the adrenaline certainly was. Since Will
seems to have departed early, I'll leave her to you, Jean-Luc."
She gave the brim of Troi's hat a fond tug and said softly, "Sweet
dreams, Durango."

Crusher departed, and Picard sighed in turn. Deanna looked too
peaceful to wake, but it appeared to have fallen to him to make
sure she got back to her quarters for some real rest.
Besides, he had one small official function left to perform.

Removing Deanna's hat, he pried off the laurel wreath from around
the crown. Then he reached down and gently touched her shoulder.

"Deanna, wake up. The party's over. Come on, I'll see you back
to your quarters."

Deanna started awake and bolted upright, slightly embarrassed
to have been caught napping by the captain. "Th-that won’t be
necessary, sir. I can get back by myself." She scrambled up off
the couch, shaking her head and blinking away sleep, and her eyes
went to the hat and wreath in Picard's hands. He offered the hat
back to her, but continued to hold her hard-won laurel wreath as
he called for the exit and the two of them headed back to the
twenty-fourth century.

She gestured to the wreath. "You know, Captain, it's too bad
that's just a holodeck prop. After everything I went through
to get it, I really wish I could keep it."

"Oh, but it isn't, Counselor."

She stopped and blinked at him. "It isn't?"

"In fact, as Commander Riker tells me, and as you would have
discovered for yourself on removing it from the holodeck — or
shutting down the program it was part of, for that matter — it's
a real-world object disguised as a holodeck prop. It is, in
fact, the final piece of your ceremonial promotion regalia, and
I want to be there when you receive it." He handed the wreath
back to her, then gestured toward the door. "Shall we?"

With a bemused glance at her captain, Deanna stepped through
the door, holding up the wreath and watching it as they emerged
together into the corridors of the Enterprise. Indeed, the
green, leafy shape in her hand immediately shimmered and disappeared,
to be replaced with something much more compact and — at least for
its size — much heavier.

It was a small gold button.

Deanna's face broke into a delighted smile. "My new rank insignia.
Thank you, sir."

She wished she had her uniform to pin it on. In fact, abruptly she
felt quite ridiculous standing in the corridor of a starship in a
costume that was half ancient Rome and half Ancient West.

She gave Picard an embarrassed smile. "Suddenly I feel an intense
need to get back into uniform, Captain."

The captain glanced down at his own clothing. "Agreed. But only
after a good night's sleep." He stifled a yawn. "I shall look
forward to seeing my newly minted bridge officer stand a watch
tomorrow. For now, good night... and congratulations, Commander."

And with that, Picard set off down the corridor toward the turbolift
that would take him to his own quarters.

*****

To be concluded...

 

[Iruka]

When in Rome (TNG) (Post 5)

Next morning, when Commander Deanna Troi had finished standing in
front of her mirror and admiring the three shiny gold pips on her
uniform collar, she asked the computer for her schedule of
appointments for the day, and was more than a little surprised to
find Will Riker's name at the top of the list.

He appeared outside her office promptly at 0900 — peeking through
the door, as it hissed open, as though expecting an ambush of some
kind, and bearing what appeared to be a small gift box in his hands.
His mood, she could tell, was more than a little uncertain.

Deanna waved him into a seat and sat back in her own favorite armchair,
steepling her fingers and projecting her best professional-therapist
manner. "What can I do for you, Commander?"

Obviously not knowing what kind of reception he could expect, Riker
began cautiously, "I wanted to talk to you, after... you know...
last night."

"Feeling a little unbalanced, are we?"

"Not about me. About us."

She raised an inquiring eyebrow at him. "So I'm to believe you would
behave so inappropriately as to ask for an entire hour of the
counselor's duty time for a personal chat?"

The first officer appeared slightly flustered by her cool response.
"After the way you were acting last night, I didn't think you'd let
me through the door otherwise!"

Troi "hmphed," neither confirming nor denying this assertion. But
then her expression softened, and she sighed. "I'm not really angry,
Will... In retrospect, I can even see where I went wrong when I talked
to you the night before last. When I saw how excited you were about
the party, I assumed that anything that would make you so happy would
necessarily make me happy as well." She arched an eyebrow. "An
ill-founded assumption, obviously. I simply failed to reckon with your
utter lack of compunction about what you were planning to do to me."

Riker felt himself turning red. "Well... it all worked out in the end,
didn't it?"

"Yes, but not the way you wanted it to. Don't try to pretend you
weren't actively trying to embarrass me with that whole 'bring out
the prisoner' routine."

"Come on, Deanna — I've been doing these parties for years, and the
'bring out the prisoner' routine is standard!"

Deanna snorted. "Not for me, it isn't."

"There you go, always wanting to be specially favored and above the
rules..."

"Rules? If I'd been made aware of your so-called 'rules' a few days
ago, we would have had a very different sort of event last night, I
assure you!"

Riker thrust out his chin and glared at her almost angrily. "So was
there anything you liked about it? Was all my work really for nothing?"

That question seemed to give her pause. Folding her arms, the
counselor fixed her eyes on a bare patch of wall over Riker's shoulder
and thought seriously for a few moments.

Finally, she sighed. "Well... it wasn't something you planned..." She
shot him a momentary glare. "...or even bothered to think about, most
likely. But now I'd like you to think about it. I spend every waking
hour of every day experiencing, on some level, the emotions of this
ship's crew, but those emotions are not generally directed at me;
for the most part, I function as an impartial observer and monitor.
When you had me 'escorted' into the Colusseum, that abruptly changed.
I can't remember the last time I was such a center of attention for
several hundred fellow Starfleet personnel in any capacity whatsoever,
let alone as an object of ridicule."

For the first time, Riker paused to consider the implications of
highly developed Betazoid empathy for someone who had been put on
the spot and made the focus of a large gathering of very noisy crew
members.

He grimaced. "Deanna..."

She guessed what he was thinking, and cut him off. "I'm not saying
that first part was all bad, mind you. Fortunately, I could tell
that the yelling and jeering were just for show, that they didn't
really mean any harm; that was how I could brush it off so easily.
"But on the other hand, the last part — after the lions — when
they gave me that standing ovation... Just imagine how wonderful
that felt, Will. Hundreds of shipmates and friends, not just happy,
but happy for me — cheering themselves hoarse with elation over
something I had done. I've never experienced anything like it."

Despite the blissful smile on her face as she thought of it —
reminding him of the look of glowing happiness she'd had when she
returned with the laurel wreath to the emperor's box in the
Colusseum — Riker could think only of what she was tactfully not
mentioning: If things had gone the way he'd planned, the laughter
and ridicule never would have turned to cheers and ovations.

Deanna only added to his growing sense of guilt when she said, "I
have to give you credit, Will. You were right when you said it
would be a celebration I'd never forget."

For a time he said nothing, while she examined her immaculately
polished nails and waited patiently for him to work through a bit
of his well-deserved chagrin.

Finally, he smiled back. "And I have to give you credit,
Deanna — you certainly grabbed the scenario by the throat to turn
it your own way."

Deanna gave a falsely modest shrug. "Just meeting a symbolic
attack with a little symbolic resistance — though it was quite
effective, judging by the dozen or so people I met in the corridors
this morning who addressed me as 'Durango.' Not that I ever meant
for that to become public knowledge..."

He sighed. "The whole deliberate anachronism thing did get on my
nerves, though... That hat, for God's sake —"

She wagged a finger at him. "Don't go criticizing the hat. I could
have done without the rifle more easily than without the hat.
Symbolism, Will."

"Done what? Wrecked the historical accuracy I spent days
perfecting?"

She gave a short, incredulous laugh. "Did you, now. Was that
before or after you decided to have me ambushed by the android and
the man with the VISOR?"

Riker pursed his lips and let the subject drop, turning his
attention to the box that was still resting on his lap. He picked
it up and held it out to her. "Maybe this will help make up for
last night. It's a present you might find more to your liking than
a raucous party. Something to make sure you stay on the right side
of the law."

She raised an eyebrow at him as she took the box and opened it to
reveal something shiny and metallic — a six-pointed star made of
what appeared to be silver. Embossed on its surface were the words
U.S. MARSHAL.

Watching her reaction carefully, Riker was gratified to see her
serious expression give way to an amused grin. Her dark eyes
flickered upward to meet his with an inquiring look.

"'The right side of the law'? What's that supposed to mean?"

He shrugged. "I just found it strange to hear from Worf that a
selfless public servant like you should spend her off hours playing
a mercenary named Durango who only works for exorbitant amounts of
money. Next time, maybe you should try being the long arm of the
law."

Deanna blushed slightly. "You know, I never really thought of it that
way..."

"And what better time than the present?" He rose and held out a
hand to her.

She gave him a frankly suspicious look, even as she took his hand
and let him draw her to her feet. "We're going back to the holodeck?
Well, I suppose your hour isn't up yet..."

"That's the spirit, Deanna," said Riker, giving her his most
dashing smile. "Besides, there's someone there I want you to meet.
Three someones, in fact."

*****

Deanna laughed delightedly as she bent down to scratch behind the
left ear of the fine specimen of Panthera leo sprawled playfully
at her feet. "What did you say his name was?"

"That's Moe..." Riker pointed to the other two beasts in turn.

"...and over there are Larry and Curly."

Deanna rolled her eyes. "Of course. What else would you name a
trio of holographic lions?"

Moe nuzzled against her leg, and Riker gestured expansively to all
three lions, giving Deanna a plaintive look. "Now, I ask you — how
could you ever have considered these boys a threat? They wouldn't
have harmed a hair on your head, Deanna."

She threw him an exasperated glare that couldn't quite hide the smile
underneath.

"That's right," she said in a soothing singsong voice to Moe, who was
now doing a credible imitation of a purr, "it wasn't your fault, was
it? You were just following your programming, weren't you, boy? I'm
sorry I had to blast you to kingdom come with that anachronistic
projectile weapon..."

Riker nodded firmly. "My thoughts exactly. In fact, I don't think you
would've been so quick on the draw if you understood how much work
it took to get their programming just right..." He trailed off
uncomfortably at the skeptical look she was giving him. "What? It's
true!"

"Maybe you're right," said Deanna, with an elaborately unconcerned
shrug. "As I mentioned before, I mean to find out for myself when
it's time for your next promotion. I'm thinking of something
involving lots of chains and walking of planks on the high seas.
By the way, what is 'keel-hauling,' exactly? Do you suppose it's
difficult to learn?"

Putting a companionable arm around her, Riker shut down the program
and escorted her out into the corridor — silently reflecting, as
they walked back to the counselor's office, on the possibility of
using his prerogative as first officer to reclassify as privileged
information all data in the ship's computer on pre-steamship Terran
seafaring...

...at least, he thought with an inward smile, until it was time to
celebrate the promotion of another of his best friends.

THE END

 

[BolianAuthor]

Re: When in Rome (TNG) (Post 5)

Please place all of your posts in ONE thread.

 

[Iruka]

Re: When in Rome (TNG) (Post 5)

Please place all of your posts in ONE thread.

Yes... I apologize. I'll know better next time. (I know how annoying bad formatting can be, I should've looked over the board more carefully before posting...)

Iruka

 

[RevdKathy]

Re: When in Rome (TNG) (Post 2)

Hi Iruka, and welcome as a fic writer. This will be easier to read if you reformat it to remove the faux wrapping. The simplest way to do that is to copy it from whatever you're typed it in into wordpad or notepad, save, then recopy and paste into the board. You'll get the full width that way, I think.

And you don't need to post each chapter in a separate thead - just a separate post in a single thread. We don't warn for multiple posts round here if you're posting a series of chapters.

I've merged the trheads into a single one so people can read it all in one pace. I hope that makes sense.

 

[BolianAuthor]

Iruka,

No problem. I didn't mean it in a bad way... it's just that a lot of times, if people post such numerous threads, sometimes people can see it as spamming, and as you are new, it would be a shame if you got into trouble, just starting out. That being said, welcome to the forum.

 

[Whoa Nellie]

Re: When in Rome (TNG) (Post 4)

Hi.

I know I posted this feedback to your story on ASC, but I thought I'd go ahead and post it here as well.

This was a very enjoyable character piece for Deanna. The delightful way she beat Riker at his own game was nicely done.

Deanna moved faster than he would have thought possible, considering
her claimed exhaustion. She slammed into him shoulder first, knocking
him back — armor and all — against the wall, and pinning him there.

He felt the muzzle of the Winchester digging into the underside of
his chin, and wondered fleetingly whether she'd bothered to reload
it.

"It is," Deanna hissed, "that if you ever pull a trick like
today's on me again — I don't care if they promote me to admiral of
the entire bloody fleet someday — the hapless animals you send
after me will not be the first things I shoot at, is that
clear?"

"Yes, sir, Commander, sir," Riker gurgled, forcing the words out
through his constricted windpipe.

This was a great image! Love it! Bravo!

Warmest Wishes,
Whoa Nellie

Whoa Nellie's Romance Star Trek Fan Fiction Stories
http://whoanellie.fortunecity.com