Survivors - Jean Lorrah [58]
But Commander Riker was many light-years away, and Data had to do something here and now. What would Riker do? he asked himself. The problem was, he didn’t know what had happened behind the doors of Beata’s chamber on Angel One, and on several other occasions.
No-wait. He did know one thing: Riker always gave the woman a present, something rare and beautiful.
So he said, “I feel … awkward. You are such a gracious hostess, have provided us with luxurious accommodations, excellent food-and I have nothing to give you in return.”
She smiled lasciviously. “Oh, you will give me something in return, Mr. Data-this evening, I think, after we have met with the members of my cabinet.”
In desperation, he accessed his flirtation files. “Ah, but that will be as much for me as for you, Madame President. I wish to give you something special, something as beautiful as you are … something for you alone.”
“Why, what a lovely thought,” she said. “But I have all I could ever ask of material goods. I shall take the thought as the gift.” And then, to Data’s relief, after a pensive pause Nalavia deliberately changed the subject.
With a sad little sigh, she looked away from him, to the swarming city outside the groundcar and said, “There is one gift you can give me, you know: persuade Starfleet to help my people.”
And, when she put it that way, Data was able to say with perfect sincerity, “Oh, yes, President Nalavia, I shall certainly try to do that.”
Data was watched every moment. Although he was quite capable of doing two things at once, only one of those things could occupy his immediate consciousness. Thus while fencing with Nalavia he could merely set his data processor to indexing the material he had input during the night, so that later he could access the rest of it in an organized fashion, and ponder its meaning.
They returned to the palace for luncheon with representatives of the victims of the “terrorist raids.” Data pitied those who had had friends and families killed or maimed, even though Nalavia had staged the attacks. It was obvious her people did not know that.
It was Data’s first chance to meet Trevans other than the palace staff, for they had never left Nalavia’s groundcar during the tour of the city. There were two spokespersons for the terrorist victims, and eight people who had either been injured or had a loved one killed. Data was puzzled by the lack of anger or anguish in the victims. They were wistfully sad, and spoke lovingly of those they had lost, but they seemed to have no interest in placing blame or exacting retribution. Data wished Dr. Crusher or Counselor Troi were here, for he could not tell if their reactions were unnatural, or normal for Trevans.
After the meal, Data spoke individually with some of their guests, but even when they told of their grief, it was with a kind of distanced sadness. As if somehow they could not find the emotional strength to really care. The spokespersons were little better, they seemed pleased that Nalavia was giving monetary compensation to their clients, and trusted that the government would prevent further tragedies.
Data had come prepared for a difficult session of trying to explain why the Prime Directive would not allow Starfleet to come in and kill off those who had so hurt these people. But the tough questions never came, and afterward he asked Nalavia, “Are these people in shock?”
“Oh, no-no, Mr. Data. They’re just members of the old peasant class. Even though we are educating them and making their lives far better than they used to be, it will take generations to raise their sensibilities. In the meantime, we must protect them as the childlike creatures they are.”
He pretended to accept her explanation, and also to be interested in the visit to a nearby school scheduled for the afternoon, even though he would have preferred to stay at the palace. He was concerned about Tasha’s continued absence-had his colleague really been sent on a time-wasting tour, or had something more sinister happened to her?