Metamorphosis - Jean Lorrah [111]
Data hid his agony. Thelia had no idea who he was, and now that he knew she loved another he wanted only to keep her from knowing. He yearned to flee, and yet, knowing this was the last time he would ever see her, he wanted to stay in her presence forever.
“Now you must tell me about him,” Thelia said.
“Did he receive the gift he desired from the gods?”
“Not … exactly,” Data said.
Her face fell. “Ah, I was afraid he didn’t know how to ask it, or wouldn’t because he doubted the gods” powers. But surely they gave him something precious. And healed him? That is, repaired his injuries? His damage?”
“Of course,” Data said, “the gods would not leave anyone in such condition. You need not be concerned about Data. He is … back in Starfleet where he belongs. And he remembers you . .
. with great fond-ness.”
He had to fight not to blurt out who he was, but what good would that do? Thelia didn’t want him. She might care very much for the android she remembered, but only as a dear friend. And she showed no response whatsoever to Data as he was now. She was in love with another; he could not win her if he tried.
Nor did he want to cause her distress. He could not stand to provoke her pity, or the guilt she might feel at causing him pain, however unintended.
He could not have said what answers he managed to her questions, but she had made time in a busy day for the unexpected visitor from Starfleet. Soon her duties called her back to her schedule, and Data was ushered out. There was nothing left for him to do but go back to the ship and try to forget her. He would throw himself into his duties, and try to find some meaning in a life without joy.
Unsatisfied? It was a gross understatement of Data’s conditiona condition he would not be suffering if he had not gotten precisely his fondest wish.
He remembered telling Thelia the story Ira Graves had told him, about the tin man who had found his heart without being transformed into something he was never meant to be. “I understand that story now,” Data said to himself. “Why did I ever want to be something other than myself?”
He returned to the spot he had beamed down to before and tapped his combadge. “One to beam up, Mr.
O’Brien.”
The transporter took him-but when he coalesced, he was not on the Enterprise transporter platform.
He was atop the sacred mountain, in the rainbow sanctuary of Elysia’s gods.
“Data of Starf eet, was the now-familiar voice said to him, “our gift was never intended to bring such pain. was “Then relieve it,” he said. “I shall not ask you to make Thelia love me-she is fulfilling her destiny, and I could not give her any greater happiness than she already has.”
“You speak wisely, “the voice replied.
“What do you ask, then?” “Make me stop loving her. Let me make what I can of my life without that pain.”
“That is not possible. The only way to remove the effects of Thelia’s kiss would be to deprive her and her descendants of the gift our predecessors bestowed upon her ancestor. his “Your … predecessors?”
“Or perhaps our descendants. The languages you know have no words for our condition. his “What are you?” Data asked.
“Like you, creatures bound by the natural laws of the universe. Although we have no physical form, neither are we immortal nor infallible. We erred in not preventing Thelia from binding you. However, we cannot take a gift from another in order to alleviate your pain. was “Then take back my gift! Make me an android again-then surely Thelia’s kiss will have no effect.”
There was a long silence, but finally the voice said, “That is also not possible. We gave you what you most desired. was “Yes-but that was not what I was sent to Elysia for. I should have asked to know what you are, how you maintain the habitats on this hostile planet, how you can entirely change a person’s form.”
There was another pause. Then the voice spoke again. “Would you exchange the gift we gave you, then?”
“Gladly!”
“We can show you what we are. But the human mind cannot comprehend it. was