Distant Shores - Marco Palmieri [141]
Akree was in the seat to my right in the box, Jason contentedly sitting on his lap. When the ovation came, he was on his feet with me, hefting Jason onto his shoulder so my son could see his mother get the honors she so richly deserved.
And Mareeza looked beautiful as she took in the ovation. She’d allowed me to help her choose the dress for tonight, and the sable brown satin was just the right color to complement her hair. She chose a gold necklace that Akree had given her for her birthday last month-a perfect amber emyara jewel suspended right over the hollow at the base of her throat where clavicles and sternum met. According to the old superstitions, an emyara was to protect the wearer from harm.
I’d made him promise not to tell Mareeza of our discussion, but that gift told me he certainly hadn’t forgotten it.
When my mobile emitter registered the first signs that the beam-out was beginning, I realized I didn’t have much time. When I’d beamed down, there had been a delay between when I was fully integrated and when the beam disengaged. If felt as though it were happening in reverse. At least it would give me a few moments to make my farewells.
Apparently, what I felt was also visible. Akree looked surprised, but still managed to say, “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of them.” I had no doubt he would.
With that, I spent my last moments on the surface applauding Mareeza’s work with every bit of enthusiasm I could muster. I knew I’d never hear those lilting arias or her wonderful lutebo adagios in person ever again. I caught her eye one last time, and there was an instant of surprise in her eyes when she looked at me. It must have been the slow dematerialization. She curtseyed once, and waved. The last thing I saw before I materialized in the transporter room was that genuine, wonderful smile.
That was yesterday, by Voyager’s time.
Since my return, the captain has kept me busy with reports and cultural briefings, but it hasn’t been enough to make me forget that I’m no longer certain I belong here.
Let the record state that I tried everything I could think of to keep from making the Prime Directive violation any worse than it already was. I did my best to fulfill my responsibility as a Starfleet officer.
Let the record also state that I did my best to serve the people of Tahal-Isut. I followed the Hippocratic Oath to the best of my abilities, so long as it did not compromise my mission. I made every endeavor to allow one set of programming parameters work in concert with the other. Anyone else put into my position might have made different choices, but whether or not they were better, that is not for me to decide.
However, I know that Mareeza and Jason are already gone, memories in the two-hundred fifty-three years that have gone by down there. I can’t help but wonder if Akree or Mareeza ever told Jason about me, and if so, what his reaction was. Of course, I can also understand them not telling him. That would be not unlike telling a small child in Ancient Greece that one of their primary caregivers had been Asclepius himself.
Even though I tried not to interfere with their culture, it would still be nice to be remembered.
On the day of his twenty-eighth birthday, Jason Tabreez stared at the small monitor on the portable recorder, not quite certain whether to smile or cry. After ten years of trying to decipher the unit’s contents, with a dozen computer technicians, linguists, and any other person he could think of who might have had insight all telling him he was wasting his time, that he would never be able to break the encryption on the device, he’d found a way. Neither of his parents had tried to stop him from reading it, something for which Jason was both surprised, and grateful.
A light snoring made it to Jason’s ears, and he looked down to the sight of Gotara, his one-year-old son, dozing peacefully on his lap. Clutched in Gotara’s little hand was a verdil-robed doll that he’d received