Survivors - Jean Lorrah [85]
At the thought, his attention strayed to Darryl Adin, who tonight sat beside Tasha on the settee. Tasha seemed to spend all her time with Adin now. The man was obviously attempting to reawaken feelings Tasha had once had for him, to overwhelm her reason and devotion to duty with memories of a past that could never be recaptured.
Adin leaned closer to Tasha, and Data accessed his directional microphone to hear him murmur, “Let’s go out onto the balcony.” They excused themselves to Rikan, and went out into the moonlit night. Data could still see them through the glass doors, leaning against the balustrade and looking out over the night-black chasm. Adin put his arm around Tasha’s bare shoulders, and she leaned against him, nothing more.
During all of this, Data had let his flirtation file entertain Pris-until she chuckled. “You are cleverer at talking nonsense than any man I’ve ever met! Where did you learn it?”
Data checked the file he had been accessing. “A modern adaptation of techniques detailed in the works of Jane Austen,” he replied honestly.
Pris laughed aloud. “Well, it is utterly charming, and if I didn’t have to be up early tomorrow morning I might ask you just what other techniques you happen to know. But then, you won’t be leaving us for a while. I hope we will have the chance to get to know one another better.”
“That would please me as well,” he replied, but did not volunteer the answer to the question she had not quite asked.
The parlor was clearing out now, in deference, it appeared, to Rikan. Data noticed the old warlord’s slightly stiffened posture as he forced himself to sit up straight.
When Data looked back at the balcony, Tasha and Adin were gone. In moments he would be alone with Rikan … forgotten.
Data had nothing to do for the night. There was no library computer, no science lab to visit to feed his voracious curiosity.
He would go down to the strategy room, he decided. Someone would certainly be there, and perhaps he would be allowed to explore what else was in that very fine computer.
But when he went to bid goodnight to Rikan, the old man asked, “Do you sleep, Mr. Data?”
“No, sir.”
“Then will you do me a favor?”
“Certainly, sir, if I can.”
“I am an old man. I don’t suppose old age is something you will ever experience-but then neither will you have the pleasure of people indulging your whims simply because you are old.” Rikan looked up at him, eyes still clear and sharp. “How old are you, Mr. Data?”
“Twenty-six Federation Standard Years, sir.”
The warlord’s eyes widened. “So young! Then you are just at the beginning of life’s experience. But you have been many places among the stars, done more in those twenty-six years than I have in my long life.”
“That may be true, sir, especially as I was … created … as an adult. On the other hand, I never had the experience of being a child.”
“That is sad,” said Rikan. “Childhood is the happiest of all times-or ought to be. But I am becoming forgetful. The favor I would ask is that you come to my room after Trell has helped me to bed. Although my body is tired, age robs me of the ability to sleep easily or well. Will you come and talk with me?”
“Gladly, sir.”
So when Trell informed him Rikan was ready, Data went to the warlord’s room, keeping in mind the servant’s caution, “Please do not stay late. My lord needs to rest, for he will be up at dawn, no matter how few hours of sleep he has had.”
Ensconced in the large bed, Rikan seemed smaller and frailer than in his usual stiff clothing. He was propped up against the pillows. “More wine?” he asked, pouring himself a glass and offering to do so for Data.
“No, thank you, sir. Alcohol has no effect on my metabolism. I have tasted your wines only to add to my experience of bouquets and flavors.”
The warlord smiled. “You spend your life gathering data?”
“It is what I was designed for.”
“Not only that, surely,” said Rikan. “You said experience a moment ago. I can see that