Possession - J.M. Dillard [7]
Deanna felt it all the same. “The entire crew mourns Janice’s death,” she reminded him softly. “Her body has already been shipped home. But perhaps a memorial service might help those of us still on board to cope with our own sorrow.”
Picard turned and nodded quickly. “Of course. Of course. Deanna, may I ask you to organize it?”
“Certainly, Captain.”
“And, Doctor,” he said, his tone conciliatory, “please don’t blame yourself. You did everything medically possible. She could have had no better care.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you,” Crusher replied, managing a wan smile to match the captain’s.
Picard dismissed her with a nod.
Crusher left, and the instant the doors closed over her, Deanna took a step closer to the captain. “You’re taking this very hard, sir. As hard as Dr. Crusher. As hard as Lieutenant Singh, Ensign Ito’s senior officer. As hard as Commander La Forge, the chief engineer—”
“Shouldn’t we be?” he interrupted sharply, meeting her gaze. “She was her parents’ only child—the pride of their life. It’s an inconsolable loss. Not all deaths are needless; some serve an important purpose. But this …” He shook his head.
“I understand your anger, Captain. And your guilt. If Ensign Ito had come to speak to the ship’s counselor about her perceived failure, perhaps her foolhardy act could have been circumvented. If I had talked to her, maybe …”
Picard drew back in mild surprise at this revelation; his expression softened. “You’re right, Counselor. The death of a crew member affects everyone.”
Troi did not quite smile. “Yes, sir. And I know you don’t really regret involving us in the TechnoFair transport. You’ve been one of its greatest supporters.”
He nodded. “It is an innovative idea, gathering so many of the galaxy’s renowned scientists together in one place for the express purpose of promoting the free exchange of ideas. But I’m afraid this tragedy has taken much of the joy out of it for me. Perhaps if I hadn’t pushed the crew to such spit-and-polish …” He trailed off as she cocked her head to one side, ready to remind him that there was nothing they could do to change what had happened.
“I thought,” she suggested, “we might have a small service in Ten Forward.”
He considered it. “That’s sensible.” The after-duty lounge had already been emptied of all furniture in preparation for the TechnoFair displays.
“Then, after the service, we can allow our guest researchers to set up their demonstrations, as we had originally planned?”
Picard sighed in reluctant acquiescence. “We must. It’s the only way the crew will get to see any of the exhibits, since we’ll be too busy ferrying to attend the Fair itself. And … life does go on in spite of tragedy, doesn’t it?”
She allowed herself an instant of silence, in acknowledgment of her own grief and anger at a Universe that could permit the young and brilliant to die.
At last she said, “I’m afraid if death teaches us nothing else, it teaches us that.”
“Yes,” Picard agreed bitterly, “but how many lessons must we endure?”
“Geordi,” Data asked, with the same implacable patience he always exhibited, “even though I have studied this topic thoroughly, I still fail to understand why humans insist that attending memorial services makes them ‘feel better.’ “
Geordi La Forge, the Enterprise’s chief engineer, was busy recalibrating the power conduits that caused the untimely death of Ensign Ito. Now Data, being an android, could recalibrate the conduits, discuss philosophy and the mortal condition, and learn an entirely new violin sonata at the same time—but Geordi was a mere human and, as such, needed to concentrate.
Even more so considering the tragedy that had prompted his task. He hadn’t been on duty when Ito had died, hadn’t—like poor Lieutenant Singh—heard the hum of the power surge followed a split-second later by the thump of her fall. But his shift had overlapped with hers, and he had called a goodbye to her as he left.
‘Bye,