Survivors - Jean Lorrah [108]
“That is correct, Data,” said Picard.
Data frowned. “I do not understand. If such emotional manipulation was wrong for Armus-“
“Data!” Geordi gasped.
At the same time Dr. Crusher said angrily, “You can’t accuse the Captain of-“
“Let him speak!” Picard overrode their protests. “That is a valid question, Mr. Data.”
Data explained, “It is not the act of leaving Armus behind I question, but the method. An act in and of itself has no moral value, positive or negative. We have all fired our phasers to injure or kill, for example. In self-defense or in defense of our colleagues, such acts are justified.”
As Data paused, searching for the words to explain his disquiet, Picard anticipated him. “What you are asking, Data, is whether I acted in revenge, with the same sadism as Armus.”
Data felt the others staring at him, but although he would not have couched it in such harsh terms, that was in essence his question. “Yes, sir,” he admitted.
Picard gave a slight sad smile. “I cannot answer that, Mr. Data.”
“What!” gasped Riker. “Sir, we all know you would never-!”
“No, Number One,” Picard said calmly, “you don’t know that because I do not. That is the greatest danger in confronting evil: it is contagious. I have no doubt I did what was necessary. Why I did it-whether I achieved the superhuman feat of feeling no thrill of revenge for Tasha’s death or the pain Armus put the rest of you through-I will probably question for the rest of my life.”
“I am sorry, sir,” said Data. “I should not have asked.”
“Oh, yes, Data,” the Captain replied, “you should have. I have more years of experience than the rest of you, but that doesn’t make such decisions any easier. Sooner or later we all face the no-win situation. One of the hardest lessons of life is that there are times when the best we can hope for is a draw. When the battle is with one’s own conscience, that is the most difficult of all.”
With that, the debriefing ended-but the long, tense day was not yet over. At last there was time to confront their grief over Tasha’s death. First there was the public funeral service, open to anyone aboard the ship. Data had attended many such services in his years in Starfleet; today he heard familiar words of comfort and consolation, but did not find either.
He had lost colleagues before. This was the first time he had lost a friend.
Off duty, Data returned to his quarters after the service-only to have his introspection interrupted within minutes by the Captain on the intercom. “Please come to the holodeck, Mr. Data.”
“The holodeck, sir?”
“You are named among those for whom Tasha left a farewell message.”
“Yes, sir,” Data responded automatically-but there was nothing automatic about his internal response. He knew of the Starfleet tradition, of course … but no one else had ever included him in it.
The whole bridge crew were there, including Wesley Crusher. Dr. Beverly Crusher also joined them.
Data stood back, a little behind the rest, not knowing what to expect. When Tasha’s image appeared, he saw Wesley look to his mother, and felt an affinity for the boy.
When Tasha had made the recording, she had guessed right about dying quickly in the line of duty. She spoke of her love for her friends, her gratitude to Starfleet, and her personal feelings for each of them.
When it came to Data, she called him her friend, and added, “You see things with the wonder of a child, and that makes you more human than any of us.”
As Tasha’s image faded, only Captain Picard responded, “Au revoir, Natasha.” Then he added, “This gathering is concluded,” and people began filing off the holodeck.
Data, though, walked forward, staring at the cloud images, trying to understand what had just happened. Again he felt isolated. Picard joined him, but waited for Data to speak first.
“Sir,” said Data, “the purpose of this gathering … confuses me.”
“Oh? How so?”
“My thoughts