4
Jean-Luc Picard paced back and forth in front of the viewports, Betazed looming ominously against the backdrop of open space. He was already exhausted from playing cruise director to his honored guests, while navigating the endless labyrinth of social niceties that seemed to accompany every diplomatic event. When he finally dropped off opera singer Tangela Vallejo at the temple, he’d wanted nothing more than to take an hour or two for himself before preparing to beam down for the start of the festival tomorrow morning.
But a message had been waiting for him.
His door chimed. “Come,” he called out, distracted. Clouds moved in pale streaks across the curve of Betazed.
He turned just as Commander Troi and Lieutenant Worf stepped into his quarters. The counselor was frowning in that very particular way she did whenever her mother was involved.
“Thank you for coming.” He nodded at Worf. “Lieutenant, I’m glad you decided to join Counselor Troi. This may actually end up being of interest to you as well.”
“Sir?” Worf looked over at Troi. She shrugged slightly, then turned back to Picard.
“Captain,” she said. “This message—has something happened?”
“It was—” Picard cleared his throat. “An invitation.”
Troi pressed her lips together. “I see.”
“I’ll let you listen. I hope you’ll find a way to”—he waved his hand—“extricate me from the situation.” He straightened up. “Computer, play the recent message from the Betazoid ambassador.”
Instantly, Lwaxana Troi’s bright grin materialized on the screen. “Jean-Luc!” she cried, and Picard resisted the urge to slink backward. It’s a recording, he told himself. “Thank you so much for bringing so many High Guests to Betazoid for the ceremony this weekend! When the Federation offered Starfleet to transport the guests, I ensured the Enterprise was included in the list.”
Picard glanced over at his officers, their faces lit up by the screen. Troi was keeping her composure, but he thought he saw a faint gleam of panic displayed in her expression.
“And now that you’re here—” Her smiled broadened, her teeth shining like the jewels set in her long dangling earrings. “Well, let me say this first. One of the High Guests had to cancel. Something about a fire on Cuziti.” Lwaxana shook her head. “A terrible tragedy, yes, but it leaves us one guest short.”
“Oh, no,” Troi said. “She didn’t—”
“She did,” Picard responded grimly.
“It was E’kan Closa, the great Gartian philosopher? He was one of our Dreams Guests. There has to be precisely forty-seven of each type, and so of course the planning committee is all in a rush, trying to find a last-minute replacement.”
Troi made a sympathetic noise in the back of her throat. Picard rubbed at his temple, bracing himself, as he knew the rest of Lwaxana’s message.
“And I said to Casimir, the coordinator in charge of securing all the High Guests, do you know who would be absolutely marvelous as a Dreams Guest?”
“Jean-Luc Picard,” murmured Troi, a few beats before her mother trilled, “Captain Jean-Luc Picard!”
“Computer, stop replay.” Picard threw his hands up and turned to Troi. “I take it I don’t need to explain my conundrum to you.”
“Ambassador Troi wishes you to be one of the High Guests?” Worf frowned. “It is a great honor, sir.”
“Of course it is,” Picard said quickly. “But an honor that belongs to an artist. A philosopher like E’kan Closa. I’m just—”
“A starship captain does fit the parameters of a Dreams Guest,” Troi said.
Picard slumped down in the chair positioned behind his desk. Lwaxana Troi was frozen on the screen, her expression brimming with delight. “I know.” He looked up at her. “Tell me, is there any way I can refuse? Politely, of course—”
Hesitation flickered across the commander’s face, and Picard already knew the answer.
“Damn,” he said softly.
“It would be considered an insult for you to turn down the invitation,” Troi said gently.
Picard let out a long sigh.
“Is this an official invitation? Or did my mother simply—”
“Yes,” Picard said with another heavy sigh. “Resume replay.”
Lwaxana’s voice again filled the room. “And Casimir absolutely agreed, how wonderful is that? So she pushed through a request to the Ceremony Director Council and insisted on a last-minute approval, which of course they did.” Lwaxana clapped her hands together. “As soon as you’re able, all you’ll need to do is beam down and I will personally present the Seal of Invitation to you.”
“Oh,” Troi said, “a last-minute approval.”
Picard did not like the finality of those words.
“If they rushed the invitation through—” Troi offered him a thin smile. “You will be a last-minute guest. I’m sure they won’t expect you to do all of the ceremonies. Just the unveiling.” She paused. “And the Welcome Celebrations. The Cotillion. Oh, I imagine the House Performances, that’s terribly important—”
Picard felt himself grow heavier with each additional task. “It would be inappropriate for me to turn the invitation down.”
Troi glanced at Worf, who had been watching this entire exchange with an unreadable expression. “Yes, sir.”
Worf shrugged almost imperceptibly.
“I understand.” Picard leaned forward, pressing his elbows onto the table. Three days. That was the length of the entire celebration. The Enterprise would be in orbit, waiting to return their assigned guests back to their homeworlds. Picard had intended to spend those three days on board the ship, catching up on reports.
So much for that plan.
“Very well.” He straightened in his seat. “Mister Worf, with Commander Riker and Lieutenant Commander Data on Kota, you’ll be in command of the Enterprise while I’m managing my”—he closed his eyes—“duties. Counselor?”
“Yes, Captain?”
“Will you accompany me down to the operations building? I would appreciate your insight.”
“Of course.” She nodded, and Worf turned to Picard.
“Captain, thank you for this opportunity,” he said. “I will not disappoint you.”
“I’m certain of that.” Picard thought that he should be focusing on the positives—there were worse tasks than serving a role in a three-day Betazed ceremony. He did, however, see a glimmer of excitement behind Worf’s cool facade.
“Here we are again,” he muttered. Just looking at the transporter platform made Picard feel exhausted.
“Captain,” Troi said, “I know this wasn’t how you hoped to spend the next few days, but it really is a tremendous honor. And I think you’ll do wonderfully as a Dreams Guest.”
Picard suppressed the urge to scoff as he and Troi stepped onto the pads. He looked over at Lieutenant Kociemba. “You did excellent work today,” he said. “Energize.”
Kociemba smiled, then moved her fingers up the controls and sent Picard and Troi on their way. A few seconds later, they stood in front of a small, nondescript square building covered in vines heavy with pink and yellow blossoms. Isszon Temple rose off in the distance, its spired roof sparkling in the lemony sunlight.
“I suppose I should get this over with,” Picard said, smoothing his dress uniform.
“You’ll do wonderfully, Captain.”
Picard felt the grim lock of inevitability clamp down on him. It’s only three days, he told himself.
He took one step toward the building and immediately the door slid open and out swept Lwaxana Troi, her ball gown glittering in much the same way as the temple. “Jean-Luc!” she exclaimed. “Oh, I’ve been waiting for you. I am thrilled you’ll be joining us!” She bustled over the lawn, both hands gathering up the fabric of her gown. “Deanna! Tell me you won’t be wearing that to the ceremony, I hope?”
Troi sighed. “It’s my uniform, Mother.”
“Oh, I know.” Lwaxana drew her into an embrace. I’ve missed you, Little One. I requested the Enterprise especially for delivering guests. I had to make sure you wouldn’t miss the ceremony!
Thank you, Troi thought.
Ambassador Troi clucked her tongue and turned toward Picard. She gave him another one of her brilliant smiles. “I can’t tell you how delighted I am that you’ve accepted the invitation,” she said. “You’ll be simply marvelous. Sildar and Sulel are dying to meet you.” She looped her arm in Picard’s and pulled him forward, and the captain felt himself slacken. No use in swimming against this current.
As serene as the building looked on the outside, Picard expected its interior to have the cool emptiness of a museum. Instead, when Lwaxana flung open the door, he was met with an onslaught of sheer chaos. The small room was cramped with tables and desks of various origins, all crammed up next to each other and piled high with fabrics, serving dishes, padds, statuary, ancient paper books, and, in the center of it all, a silent hologram of a Betazoid woman in ancient dress swinging around a large silver spoon.
Weaving between these desks were harried-looking Betazoids, most in what Picard could only call partial formal wear—a floor-length skirt with a baggy tunic, a crisp suit with bare feet. They were shouting tasks at each other, an elaborate call and response of things to be done and tasks completed that Picard couldn’t follow.
Lwaxana plunged headfirst into the maelstrom and was immediately swallowed in a whirlwind of discordant glamour.
“What,” said Picard softly, “is happening?”
Beside him, Troi murmured, “Organized chaos. Be grateful you only have to command a starship, and not plan a Betazoid event.”
“Where are the House placards?!” someone screamed from the center of the room, only to be immediately met with, “Amalia has it! Concentrate!”
“No one is controlling their thoughts,” wailed someone else. “If we would all just calm down, this would be so much easier—”
Picard edged closer to the door. Troi stopped him before he got trampled.
And then Lwaxana reemerged. Picard had never been so grateful to see her. This time, she was trailing two companions: an older Betazoid man dressed in a rather elaborate cape-centric ensemble and the Federation’s ambassador to Betazed.
“Is this him?” asked the Betazoid man.
“It is.” Lwaxana beamed. “Jean-Luc Picard, Deanna, I’m pleased to introduce you to Sildar Syn, the Ceremony Director—”
Sildar gave a quick bow.
“And this is, of course, Ambassador Sulel of Vulcan.”
The Vulcan woman nodded briefly.
Sildar stepped forward, his eyes narrowed and his gaze sweeping up and down Picard’s frame. Picard shot a glance at Troi, who offered the captain an apologetic smile.
“He’s too small for E’kan’s costume,” Sildar said. “I’ll have Seabert replicate a new one. Seabert!” he hollered, spinning off into the vortex of ceremony preparations.
“Costume?” Picard said weakly.
“Of course. You’ll be dressed in the traditional wear of the Lakryn era, when Betazed first achieved space flight,” Lwaxana said. “And you’ll look very handsome in those pantaloons. Won’t he, Sulel?”
Sulel gazed implacably at Picard. “It is not my place to say.”
Picard felt his face getting hot. “Is there a Seal of Invitation you need to present me, or—”
“Of course!” Lwaxana clapped her hands and a gaunt, gray man materialized, startling Picard. “Homn, do you have the Seal?”
He nodded and produced it from a side pocket in his tunic: a rolled parchment tied with pink ribbon. He handed it to Lwaxana and she immediately turned to Picard and intoned, “In my role as representative of Betazed and daughter of the Fifth House, holder of the Sacred Chalice of Rixx and heir to the Holy Rings of Betazed, I, Lwaxana Troi, formally invite you to attend the Unveiling of the Three Treasures of Xiomara as a High Guest, a shining example of those arts we hold in glorious esteem: Dreams! Do you accept, Jean-Luc Picard?”
She had sunk down in a curtsy as she spoke, her dress pooling across the floor. Behind her, the ceremony team was still in a whirlwind, voices clattering for instructions and pleas to use your thoughts. The Vulcan seemed like she wanted to laugh—and that had to be his imagination.
He gave one last desperate look at Troi, and she only shook her head.
“I accept,” he sighed.
Lwaxana pushed the scroll toward him. He took it out of her hands.
“Marvelous!” Lwaxana said. “Shall I accompany you to the reception in the temple? I’m sure it’s still—”
“I can take him.” Troi stepped forward. “I don’t suppose there’s a liaison for him, is there? I can show him to the guest quarters.”
“Oh, don’t be silly,” Lwaxana said, pressing up to Picard’s side. “It’s no trouble.”
“Mother, I insist. I’m sure you’re needed here to help with the last-minute preparations.”
“Nonsense. I can—”
“I believe your daughter may be correct, Ambassador Troi.” Sulel lifted her chin, her dark eyes bright and mischievous. “It would be far more logical for us to stay and oversee the general preparations, particularly as we may be needed by Sildar.”
Picard hadn’t expected the ambassador to intervene on his behalf, but he certainly appreciated it.
“Ambassador Sulel is right, Mother,” Troi said. “I can help Captain Picard get settled. You stay here, where you’re needed.”
“Very well.” Lwaxana dismissively waved a hand. “It’s just one more night before the opening ceremonies. And then we’ll have plenty of opportunity for quality time.”
Just what Picard had been hoping to avoid.
“Then it is decided,” Sulel said. “Captain Picard, Commander Troi, I am sure we will be seeing each other. Come, Lwaxana. I believe the stage production team needs your help in deciding upon a drapery for the unveiling.”
Picard stood very still as Sulel led Lwaxana back into the frenzy. Then he sagged, turned, and bolted outside. Troi followed him up, laughing.
“Now, that wasn’t too bad, was it?” she said as they stepped back into the sunlight and the sweet-scented air.
Despite Deanna being the ship’s counselor, Picard didn’t want to talk about it any further.