Metamorphosis - Jean Lorrah [95]
“You know their beliefs. At the moment of death, they believe the soul leaves the body and cannot return.
If we were to resuscitate Thralen, he would never forgive us … nor would he be likely to survive long. He would be an outcast from his people, for they would believe him to be a body without a soul.”
Riker put in, “He would believe that himself, Data. Let him go now.” Data swallowed hard over a lump in his throat. He should have known that about Theskians; he had been programmed with information on what to do-or not to do-in an emergency concerning any race in the Federation. He looked down at the body of his colleague. If he had been alone he would have done everything to revive him … and if Theskian internal physiology were similar enough to human, he might have succeeded. Which to Thralen would have been worse than death. Data sat on the edge of the transporter platform, feeling worse than useless, while the medical team took away the remains of what had been a friend, and the security team took away the Konor. He couldn’t think. His mind leaped from one image to another, incoherently.
Counselor Troi remained behind. She knelt beside him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Data,” she murmured, “it is all right to cry. Let out your sorrow. We have all lost a colleague, but you knew Thralen better than any of the rest of the bridge crew.”
Only then did Data realize that unshed tears burned in his throat and behind his eyes. When he stopped fighting them and let them fall, they brought physical but not emotional relief. He looked up at Troi. “Thralen believed that he would go to the arms of the Great Mother. I … hope he was right.”
“I hope so, too,” she replied. “In any case, his belief was a great comfort to him in his life, Data. He never feared dying, and he died bravely.”
“And not without purpose,” Data agreed. “He gave his life to save another.”
But as far as their mission went, Thralen’s loss was pointless. They had had no success in communicating with the Konor. “Mr. Data, Counselor Troi, report to sickbay, “came Commander Riker’s voice over the communications system.
Troi sighed. “I’m all right, but I suppose Kate won’t be satisfied until she checks me out for herself.”
But what does Dr. Pulaski want with me?
Data wondered. As it turned out, neither Troi nor Data was the patient: the doctor had insisted that Worf bring his prisoner to sickbay, where the.
Konor was just now recovering from the phaser stun.
Pulaski had placed him in a restraint field used to protect hallucinating patients who might otherwise harm themselves or others. The Konor could sit up, but not get beyond the forcefield that kept him on the examination couch. It was a one-way field, however; the doctors and nurses could reach through it to treat the patient.
Picard, Riker, and Worf were already there. The
captain turned as Tr6i and Data entered, saying, “Counselor, are you well enough to work?”
There was dirt on Troi’s usually immaculate face and clothing, along with Thralen’s blood, which stained her pale skin and deepened the wine color of her uniform. Her long hair was in disarray, but she was unhurt except for minor bruises and abrasions. “Yes, Captain, although I don’t know what I can do.”
“See if you can get through to this man, one-onone.”
“You’ve done it with me, Deanna,” Riker reminded her, “and I’m not telepathic at all.”
“Nor am I,” Worf added, “but down on the planet I also heard these Konor inside my head. There is no doubt that they are telepathic.”
“They are broadcast telepaths,” Troi said.
“They do not seem to be receptive, like Betazoids.”
“Try,” Riker urged her. “Here, in private, without a crowd to drown you out, you may get through to him.”
By this time the Konor was pushing himself up groggily onto his elbows, looking around.
Dr. Pulaski moved toward him, saying, “You are in our