Survivors - Jean Lorrah [109]
“No, you didn’t, Data,” the Captain assured him. “You got it,” and he left the android to his contemplation.
For a time Data simply stood there, wishing … wishing he could talk to Tasha just once more, wishing he understood how humans coped with such loss.
As Tasha’s image had said, he had his memories. He supposed some would think him fortunate because he could recall every detail of every moment he had spent with Tasha, and it would not fade with time as human memory did. They could probably not understand that it only meant he would remember more clearly exactly what was now gone from them.
Then he recalled something the warlord Rikan had said. “Survivors are considered fortunate, Data-and the irony is that those who envy us our longevity either do not live long enough to know the cruel fate in store for us … or else they live to share it.”
So this was what the warlord had meant. Data wished he could talk with Rikan-actually considered for a moment using some of his unused accumulation of personal subspace radio time to do so.
And then he remembered Captain Picard saying in the debriefing, “I have more years of experience than any of you.”
Jean-Luc Picard was also a survivor. But like the legendary Captain James T. Kirk, Picard functioned best among the stars, not behind a desk-and having learned its lesson with that same Captain Kirk, Starfleet would allow him to do so for as long as he continued both capable and willing.
After the long, difficult day, the entire bridge crew were off duty. Certainly the Captain would want to rest.
But when Data returned to his quarters, there was a message on his console to contact Picard.
“Oh, yes, Data-there is one more matter concerning Tasha on which I need your advice. Would you mind coming to my quarters?”
“I will be right there, sir.”
The “matter” was one final holographic message. Picard was seated at his desk, turning the cartridge over in his hands. Data had no doubt for whom it was intended.
Picard looked up. “Sit down, Data. I think you know what this is.”
“Tasha’s farewell message for Darryl Adin.”
The Captain stared at the cartridge again. “That’s right. Do you know where he is?”
Picard could have asked the computer. Data did not say so. “He is still on Treva, sir, aiding President Rikan in setting up his new government.”
“Then shall we transmit this to him there?”
“Yes, s-” Data broke off. “No, sir. If you please, Captain, I have a great deal of personal leave time accumulated. With your permission, I will take Tasha’s message to Mr. Adin. I do not think it should be delivered by a-” Data gasped in amazement at what he had almost said.
Picard looked up at him with a small smile. “By someone who did not know Tasha,” he suggested. “Permission granted.” He handed over the cartridge. “It is the first time you must do this, Data, but it will not be the last.” Data was almost certain he was remembering delivering the news of her husband’s death, and probably a similar message cartridge, to Dr. Crusher. Or perhaps it was a sequence of many such events that put the shadows in the Captain’s eyes.
“It is the price we pay,” said Data, “for being survivors.”
Picard blinked at him in surprise. Then he nodded. “I hadn’t thought of it that way, but you are right, Data. And thank you for volunteering. You know Darryl Adin better than I do, but I would have gone myself rather than coldly transmit the information.”
“Starfleet policy is to make every effort to send such messages in the care of someone who knows both parties,” said Data.
“And Starfleet policy has nothing whatsoever to do with your offer,” the Captain told him.
“No, sir,” Data admitted.
“Well, then, go and see about rearranging the duty schedule to allow for your absence. And Mr. Data,” he said as the android turned to go.
Data turned back. “Yes, sir?”
“I said before that you understood the purpose of Starfleet farewells. However, I note that you have no farewell