Day of Honor - Michael Jan Friedman [31]
He felt a lump in his throat, but he swallowed it away. After all, his wife and daughters would be concerned if they saw sadness in his eyes, and Lumas desperately didn't want to ruin their picnic.
Opening his eyes, he saw his memories had come to life, there in the confines of his cabin. His loved ones were as warm and tangible as he was-and a good
deal healthier looking. If nothing else, they had been spared the miseries their world's survivors had been forced to endure.
At least, Lumas thought, there was that very small consolation.
"Father?" said Finaea, her face full of innocence.
He smiled at her. "Yes, child?"
"You've barely touched your ranghia.
Lumas looked down at the bowl that had appeared in his hands. It was full of an aromatic orange puree-one that made his stomach growl as loudly as if the food were real.
"No, " he said, "I haven't, have I?" He held the bowl out to his daughter, just as he had done that day at the shore. "Would you like some of it?"
Finaea's face lit up-then dimmed again. "I don't want to take it if you want it, Father."
But Lumas knew that she did want it. Even at that age, she was too considerate to say so.
"It's all right," he told her. "I'm not very hungry right now."
At the time, he hadn't been lying. He had eaten too much the night before. Now, it took a great deal of willpower to hand Finaea the bowl of ranghia, even if it wasn't real.
But hand it over he did. It was the least he could do for his daughter, now that she had become ...
whatever it was she had become. Again, he felt the lump in his throat, and this time it was much harder to make it go away.
"Agron," said his wife, "are you all right?"
It was one of the most wondrous things about the
realizor-that it could ascertain the mood of the user and make it manifest to his or her creations. Lumas shook his head and held his hand out to his wife.
"I'm fine," he said. "It's just the seamotes. You know how they tickle my nose this time of year."
Looking at his wife, Lumas wanted to say more. He wanted to tell her how much he missed her. He wanted to say how badly he felt that he hadn't done more to keep her safe.
Instead, he added, "Where's that libation we packed? I'm in the mood for a good celebration. In fact-"
Suddenly, Lumas realized the door was open. Sedrek, his second-in-command, was standing at the threshold.
"Excuse me," he said, "but we're in communications range."
Immediately, Lumas wrenched the realizer from his head, making his family blink out of existence. For a moment, he stared at the places his wife and children had occupied, feeling once again the terrible, heartwrenching pain of losing them.
Then he gathered himself and turned back to Sedrek. The man made no mention of the realizorgenerated apparitions.
"Let's go," said Lumas.
He got up, his limbs heavy but far from useless. Fortunately, the realizbr's debilitating aftereffects diminished with frequent use. And in the time since the Borg attack, he imagined he must have employed the device a hundred times.
Still, Lumas was glad the bridge was just down the
corridor. Making his way to the bridge with Sedrek a step behind him, he entered the room and turned expectantly to the viewscreen.
Rahmin looked back at Lumas. "Ah," he said. "There you are."
There was no love lost between Lumas and Rahmin. Though their paths had crossed several times since they left the Caatati homeworld, they seldom agreed on a course long enough to remain in contact.
To Lumas's way of thinking, survival was survival. One did whatever it took to go on and enable his followers to do the same. One didn't stand on principle when lives hung in the balance.
Rahmin, on the other hand, believed in dealing fairly and openly. To him, it was more important to be honest than to endure.
But then, Rahmin had been a teacher on their world. A gentle, unassuming soul with no appetite for conflict.
Once, as a young man,