Free Encounter at Farpoint by David Gerrold

swished the air around were beautiful reproductions of early 20th Century wooden-bladed fans. The counterman, wearing striped shirt and white pants and a white fore-and-aft cap, handed Hughes a sundae that LaForge considered pretty plain. A thick cone of vanilla ice cream decked in a coat of fudge syrup and capped with a crown of frothy whipped cream sat in a lacy silver sundae dish.

    Hughes grinned happily at LaForge. “I’ve been waiting for one of these. The
Hood
just doesn’t have a good ice cream maker. It always tastes synthetic.” He dipped into the concoction, savored it, and his eyes closed as he murmured in delight. “Oh, my. . . .”

    “What?”

    “It’s just like the ice cream my grandma used to make on the farm. Try some?”

    “Nah.” LaForge tilted his head, dreaming . . . remembering. “Nobody could make what I’d really like to have.” The counterman watched him, listening intently. “There was only one place—in my home town—that ever made a chocolate sundae with peanut butter fudge syrup and a mound of blue whipped cream and a cherry on top.” He shook his head and sighed softly. God, those were
good
.

    “What was the significance of the blue whipped cream?” Hughes asked.

    LaForge grinned at him cheerfully. “Who knows? That’s just how they
had
to be. Last time I had one was before I left for the Academy my first year—”

    The counterman reached out and gently placed before him a chocolate sundae in a traditional tulip glass, the ice cream topped with peanut butter fudge syrup, a satisfyingly high mound of blue whipped cream, and a bright red maraschino cherry on top. LaForge studied it thoughtfully for a long moment, then he picked up the spoon and tasted a big mouthful.

    Hughes watched curiously. “Is it—”

    “Perfect,” LaForge sighed. “Just like magic.” Then, realizing what he’d said, he looked at Hughes. Hughes stared back.
Just like magic
.

    “I think we ought to talk to Commander Riker,” LaForge said.

    “Right,” Hughes said, standing.

    “Hold it,” LaForge said, clamping a hand on Hughes’ shoulder. “After I finish this.”

     

    The mall foyer was a dazzling construction of trilurium and glass, light and airy and decorated with tastefully arranged clusters of trees, shrubs and flowers, some of them Earth plants and others of alien origin. A number of Starfleet officers passed to and from the mall area through the foyer. Most of them were visitors from the
Hood
, Riker knew, down for the opportunity to look around the station. All personnel transferring to the
Enterprise
had been given transit quarters on Farpoint Station.

    As he entered the foyer, he spotted Dr. Beverly Crusher and her son, Wesley. Crusher would be the
Enterprise
’s new chief medical officer. Riker knew her career record was so outstanding she had achieved the position after only thirteen years in Starfleet. She was also one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen.

    “Dr. Crusher!” he called out.

    Wesley looked around and then back at his mother. “It’s Commander Riker.”

    Dr. Crusher slowed to allow Riker to join them, but she did not smile. She was naturally reserved with strangers. Riker had only met her briefly on a few social situations aboard the
Hood
on its journey out to Farpoint. She wasn’t one for small talk, and after seeing how she dealt with the lines unattached male officers had offered her, Riker had decided not to approach her in that way.

    He had noticed on first meeting Beverly that her face and figure would ensure that she always looked at least ten years younger than her actual age. But her deep blue eyes reflected not only a quick intelligence but a strong, vibrant personality. If she was retiring around strangers, that was her business.

    Wesley, her auburn-haired son, was small, compact and brimming with the same lively intelligence, multiplied by at least four. He was only moderately good looking, but he glowed with enthusiasm