Fortune's Light - Michael Jan Friedman [106]
“Commander?” The android spoke softly, not wishing to interrupt.
The human looked up at him. “Sorry, Data. I didn’t mean to ignore you.” He indicated the vase with a glance. “My friend’s ashes. In his will, he requested that they be returned to Beta Sargonus Four. That’s where he was born.” Riker smiled to himself. “There’s a mountain pool there—a place where young women like to go skinny-dipping. Sort of a tradition, I guess—no men allowed.” He shook his head. “Teller asked that his ashes be scattered in the pool. That, apparently, was his idea of paradise.”
The first officer stopped, noting Data’s puzzlement. “You know what paradise is, don’t you?”
The android nodded. “Paradise, yes. It is the term ‘skinny-dipping’ that I cannot seem to find a meaning for.”
Riker explained.
“Ah,” said Data. “I see.” And he did, for the most part, though he did not quite understand why swimming naked should be such a thrill.
Riker picked up the vase, rose, and placed it on a shelf built into the bulkhead. It sat next to a book called Baseball Compendium. Smiling again, be considered the vase.
“It’s not going to be easy to get near that pool,” he said, “much less dump Teller’s remains in it.” His expression became positively mischievous. “But I’m going to give it my best shot. After all, what are friends for?”
“Indeed,” said the android.
The first officer gestured to the chair that stood opposite his. “Care to sit down?”
“Thank you,” said Data. He sat. So did Riker.
“Now,” he said, “enough of my friend’s bizarre wishes. Unless I miss my guess, you’re here to talk about that baseball game.”
“That is true,” said the android.
The human leaned back in his chair. “So? What did you think?”
Data regarded him. “I found it most intriguing,” he said.
Riker looked a little disappointed. “I sort of hoped you would say you’d enjoyed it.”
The android thought about it. “I suppose I did,” he concluded, “to the extent that I am capable of such a response.” A particular thought intruded and he brightened. “Especially one part.”
“What part was that?”
“The part where I won the game.”
Riker’s eyebrows shot up. “You won the game?”
The android nodded. “Yes.”
“You’re kidding.”
“That is unlikely,” Data reminded him.
“Yes. Of course it is.” Riker looked at him askance. “But how did you do it?”
“I hit a home run,” said the android. “In the bottom of the ninth inning.”
The human stared at him with undisguised admiration. “Why, Data—that’s great! That’s the kind of thing little boys used to dream about!”
“Yes,” said the android. “Wesley has informed me of that fact.”
Riker grinned. “You’re full of surprises—you know that?”
Data didn’t quite know what to say. And he still hadn’t asked the question that had been bothering him.
Fortunately Riker picked that up. “You’re wondering about something, aren’t you? What is it?”
The android paused to collect his thoughts. “It appeared from your choice of persona that you identified with the Icebreakers. And with Bobo in particular.”
“That’s true,” said the first officer. “The Icebreakers were the only Alaskan team in major league baseball. In fact, one of the few Alaskan teams in any professional sport.” He shrugged. “When they made their run for the American League pennant, they made a fan of every Alaskan alive.” He paused. “Of course, I was born hundreds of years after the last of those men had died. But when I read about them as a youngster, they struck a chord in me. They were my heroes. Particularly Bobo—I don’t know why, exactly. Maybe because he was still a kid when they disbanded the Icebreakers—and since I was a kid, too, he was the easiest for me to