It seemed as if the women had gone out of their way to obscure whatever natural assets they might have.
"I had assumed that you would wish to use this facility for the reception," Picard said.
Nistral--who, like Graziunas, was known only by the name of his house--slowly turned in place, as if taking in the entire room. "It will suffice," he said simply.
The wife of Graziunas was looking around as well. "It seems a bit spare, to be honest," she said, and it was clear she was trying to hide her distaste.
Guinan glanced around. She wasn't entirely sure she was taken with the woman's tone of voice, but her unflappable manners prevented her from making the response that came immediately to mind.
Picard, for his part, smiled tightly and said, "The Ten-Forward lounge has always served our needs more than adequately. And we have always felt, in Starfleet, that less is more." The wife of Nistral was also gazing around.
"In that case, this lounge is positively excessive." Now it was Picard's turn to bite off a reply. In response to the woman's remark, however, Nistral laughed loudly. "What snobs we're becoming, eh, Dai?" he said to the woman, giving Guinan the first indication that she had a name other than "Mrs. Nistral." "So caught up in our own tendency to decorate every inch of space with our latest acquisitions that we've forgotten simple elegance can be as strong a statement. My apologies, Captain, and to you, Guinan.
We'd be honored if you'd share the Ten-Forward with a group of ungrateful Tizarin." "My pleasure," said Guinan, nodding graciously.
Graziunas was moving about the room, taking wide strides with his feet no less than four feet apart, even when he was standing still. His massive cape swept about him, almost knocking a glass to the floor, but an alert Guinan scooped it up just as it started to fall. "I don't see what your problem was!" he said.
"I liked it from the moment I walked in. You're too obsessed with opulence, Nistral! Isn't he, Fenn?" he said, turning to address his own mate.
Nistral smiled thinly. "I've already admitted as much, Graziunas. I think it's time we moved on in the conversation, don't you?" His voice was low and calm, whereas Graziunas seemed to bellow everything with a boisterous frivolity.
"How long do you see requiring Ten-Forward for?" asked Guinan, also eager to move on.
"How long will the party last?" "A week," said Nistral briskly.
Together, Picard and Guinan said, "A week?" "Of course a week!" declared Graziunas.
"When the firstborn child of a house head weds, a week of celebration and festivities at the place of the wedding is mandated custom! Are you saying that our children are not worthy of that?" "No, no, not at all," said Picard.
"It's just that a week..." "We don't have to keep it entirely in here, Captain," said Graziunas' spouse, Fenn.
Her hands fluttered as she said, "We can certainly use the entire ship to..." "No!" said Picard, a bit more loudly than he would have liked. Ever the diplomat, he composed himself immediately. "We will set aside a portion of the ship--" "A large portion!" boomed Graziunas.
"A portion," said Picard firmly, with a tone of voice that indicated he was not going to lose control of the situation. "We will be as cooperative as humanly possible, and put our ship at your disposal, but there must be limits, gentlemen and ladies. I'm sure--as ruling heads--you understand the need for it." "Of course," said Nistral neutrally.
Graziunas shrugged his massive shoulders.
"It's your ship, Captain." "Yes," said Picard in no uncertain terms.
"It is. We have a level of discipline and order that must be maintained. I welcome the idea of a celebration, especially for something as joyous as a wedding. But I cannot tolerate disruption of my ship or her crew. We are all quite clear on this point?" There were quick nods from all concerned.
"I like you, Picard!" declared Graziunas.
"A man who speaks his mind and takes a stand.
The kind of man who demands respect and gets it." "Thank you," said Picard.
Graziunas dropped down to a table and propped up his meaty hand. "Would you care to arm wrestle?" Picard was rescued from the situation by Fenn, who in irritation slapped her husband on the shoulder.
"Stop that," she snapped. "You always do that, no matter how inappropriate the time, and I can't think of a more inappropriate time than this." He shrugged expansively as if to say Women and relaxed his arm. Picard couldn't help but notice that it looked as big as a slab of beef.
"Can we see the bridge?" asked Nistral abruptly. "As a spacegoing society, we are always interested in the design of other ships." "Of course," said Picard, and they started to head to the door.
He stopped, though, when Guinan said, "Captain, a moment of your time, please?" He smiled at the Tizarin and made a small, just-a-minute gesture, and went over to Guinan. "Yes?" he said softly, in a voice just low enough that they couldn't hear.
"Something's up," said Guinan uncomfortably.
"Up?" "I don't know what it is," she told him.
"That bothers me. Just a funny feeling that something's going to happen." "But nothing specific." Picard was all business. If there was one thing he had learned, it was to trust Guinan's hunches.
"No, nothing specific." "Do you think it's necessary to cancel the wedding?" It was a display of his confidence in her. On her say-so, he would scrap the entire affair, and even though Starfleet would raise all hell about it, he would unflinchingly take the heat.
She couldn't abuse that trust, especially when she wasn't precisely sure what was making her feel this way.
"It'll be fine," she said with a confidence she didn't entirely feel. "I'll just keep alert, and if I can lock it down, I'll let you know immediately." He nodded curtly. Then he reapplied his best diplomatic smile, turned, and faced the members of the Tizarin.
"Now, then, you wanted to see the bridge..."
Kerin and Sehra stood on the observation deck of the Nistral ship, gazing at the glistening, majestic starship that hung next to them. The Nistral ship was half again as large as the Enterprise, but nevertheless the young people found the Enterprise to be most impressive.
"You nervous?" said Sehra, holding his hand.
Her fingers were interlaced with his.
"Not at all," he replied, but he squeezed her hand with a firmness that seemed to indicate, if nothing else, a certain degree of anxiety.
"How about you?" She returned the grip. "Not in the least." "When do we go aboard?" he asked.
She shrugged. "Tomorrow, I think. By that time, the last of the Federation guests will have shown up, and then the celebration can begin." "A week," he said softly, wi/lly.
"An entire week. Gods. Now that we've committed to each other... it seems like an eternity. An eternity to wait." "To wait for marriage?" she asked.
"For... everything," he replied. He smiled ruefully. "But I'll wait. As my father waited, and your father, and theirs before them..." "Yes, you're right," she said. "I mean, everything has to wait for a week..." She paused significantly. "Doesn't it?" He looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. "Doesn't it?" "Well..." She paused thoughtfully.
"We are to be married. That's definite. Nothing can change that." "Nothing," he agreed readily.
"So if we didn't wait for... everything... maybe it wouldn't be so bad." He paused. "Are we talking about the same thing?" One of her fingers rubbed the inside of his palm, and he trembled. For some reason there was a pounding in his head that resounded throughout his body.
"I think so," she said softly.
"But it's not right. It's not proper. It's not tradition. What would our parents say?" "They're on the Enterprise. Who's going to tell them?" "Right. Let's go." He bolted towards his room, almost yanking her arm from the socket as he ran. She dashed after him, trying to keep up with him and with her hand, which was firmly in his, and she laughed with a joyous laugh that was like a bell.
Picard always took pride in his ship, but rarely more so than when people who were truly knowledgeable in the ways of space vessels look the Enterprise over with nods of approval. And who could be more knowledgeable than people who have lived, from birth, in the airless byways of space?
Graziunas and Nistral walked around, nodding briskly, running their fingers over the consoles and studying the displays. Their wives stood by impassively. Deanna Troi watched them with interest.
"Impressive," said Nistral at length.
"Most impressive." He turned just in time to see Data walk out of the turbolift, and he gasped in surprise.
"Gods!" he said.
Data stopped, his head slightly cocked with curiosity. Graziunas, anticipating some problem, spun in his place and blinked. "I'll be damned," he exclaimed. "If I didn't know better..." "Some problem, gentlemen?" asked Picard.
"This man is a Tizarin?" said Nistral uncertainly. "Of the house of Shinbum?" "No, sir," Data politely informed him.
"I am an android. Data. Of the Enterprise." "Remarkable resemblance. Especially the gold skin--a sure sign," said Nistral.
"That was the choice of my creator," said Data.
Graziunas nodded. "So it was with us all." The Tizarin looked around a bit more, asking questions to satisfy their curiosity, and then took their leave of the bridge to return to their ships. As soon as they had departed, Picard turned to Deanna Troi and said, "Counselor.
did you get any impression from them?" "There is a continuing undercurrent of antagonism, Captain, between the Graziunas and the Nistral. It is well hidden and kept in check, however, by their determination to honor the wishes and potential happiness of their children. They have clearly resolved to make the best of the situation, and perhaps even welcome the excuse to put their long rivalry behind them." Picard nodded. "Excellent. Most excellent. Putting their children's concerns before their own. Most definitely not, Mr. Data, a Romeo and Juliet situation." "That is fortunate, Captain," said Data neutrally. "A mutual suicide on the part of the bride and groom would not be conducive to merrymaking." "I could not agree more." Worf suddenly looked up. "Captain--we are receiving an incoming transmission from another arriving wedding guest." Picard mentally ran down the list of various representatives who had already shown up. He had a feeling he knew who was left.
"Put it on audio, Lieutenant," said Picard.
A moment later, a low chime sounded within the bridge. "This is the Enterprise," Picard said briskly, deciding to put forward as much of a businesslike demeanor as possible, as early on as possible.
A stern male voice said, "Enterprise, this is the Ambassador Shuttle from Betazed.
Prepare to transport over the delegate from Betazed..." The pilot's voice hesitated momentarily as they heard a familiar whisper filtering over.
When he came back on, it was with a heavy sigh that indicated he was being prompted.
"A daughter of the fifth house..." "We'll bring her aboard," said Picard briskly. "Bridge to transporter." "Holder of the Sacred Chalice of Riix," the pilot was continuing, sounding as if he'd just as soon pilot the ship into a star and be done with it.
"Chief O'Brien, prepare to transport over the representative from Betazed." Remembering the cadaverous, perpetually silent Mr. Homn, who always hovered within a few steps of Mrs. Troi, Picard added, "and her retainer." "Heir to the Holy Rings of Betazed." The pilot sounded at his wits' end. There was desperation in his voice as he said, "Enterprise, I've fed you the coordinates.
What's the delay?" "Mr. O'Brien, beam them aboard. We'll be down momentarily. Make my apologies to Mrs. Troi for the delay." "Yes sir," said O'Brien, who didn't sound especially thrilled.
A moment passed, and then the pilot's voice said, with overwhelming relief, "Enterprise, they're gone. You've got them or don't, I don't care." Picard glanced at Deanna Troi, who was endeavoring to cover her chagrin and not totally succeeding. "Was there difficulty, Betazed pilot?" "First off, I'm not Betazoid, I'm Rigellian," came the pilot's voice. "I just run a ferry service, specializing in transporting diplomats. But that's the last time I take that woman. I sympathize about her being in mourning, but she never shut up about it the whole trip..." "Mourning!" Deanna's dark eyes widened.
Picard turned to Deanna. "Has there been a death in your family, Counselor?" "Not to my knowledge, Captain," said Deanna, getting quickly to her feet. Her green skirt swished around her long legs. Right behind her was Riker.
Picard's glance skimmed the bridge crew.
"Mr. Data, you come with us too." Data obediently got to his feet as Picard said, "Pilot--might I ask for whom she was in mourning?" And Deanna Troi came to a halt as the pilot's voice came over the speaker.
"Yeah," said the pilot. "She's in mourning for her daughter."
