The Children of Hamlin - Carmen Carter [71]
“What if Data repeats the bubble pattern and creates a cluster?” suggested Beverly Crusher. Her brows had pulled together, marking her forehead with worry. “The structure would be even closer to the original… “
“That won’t help,” said Troi. “The construction of the sphere is not the issue. He is reaching out for something we cannot provide.” Once again, though with some trepidation, the counselor thinned her emotional shields and felt what Jason felt. She searched for words to describe his yearning, the sense of abandonment, but her voice choked with tears.
“He’s listening for the Choraii,” said Ruthe quietly.
She stood apart from the other two women. “Even though he knows they’ve gone.”
“Will you play for him?” Crusher asked. “Maybe your music can reach him.”
The translator stood still for a moment before speaking. “When I was little and my mother and I still swam through the waters of our homeship, she would tell me the story of Hamlin. How a child heard the song of the Choraii and laughed and clapped with joy at the glorious sound of their music, even though everything around her was turning to dust and fire. And the Choraii saved the child, and all the other children, so they could listen to the melodies for the rest of their lives.”
“How horrible,” cried Troi.
“Do you think so?” wondered Ruthe softly.
“Ruthe,” Crusher asked through the tightness in her throat. “Please help us save Jason.”
The woman shook her head. “You missed the point. The weak breath of my flute can’t compare with the music of the singers. Besides, all I feel are sad songs.” She turned and walked out of the holodeck.
“Damn her,” said the doctor angrily.
Troi reached out and grabbed hold of Crusher’s arm. “Beverly, this is affecting her, too. When Ruthe first came on board, she had insulated herself from all feelings. Now she is being forced to relive her past through Jason and through the child. I can sense so many emotions coming to life in her. We must be very careful in what we ask her to do.”
“Well, it doesn’t make any sense to me,” said Riker as he and Data strolled through the corridors on their way to the bridge. “How can you even have a religion if you can’t talk about it?”
“Some cultures forbid discussion about sex and yet they manage to reproduce.” Data hadn’t meant to provide amusement, but the first officer laughed at the remark.
Data shook his head. “You never evince the same response at my jokes.”
“That’s because they’re never funny,” Riker said, and laughed even harder.
“The subject requires much study,” admitted Data.
“I’m not sure you can develop a sense of humor by studying,” said Riker. He caught sight of a familiar form and sought to overtake the woman walking ahead of them. “It comes naturally.”
“Like sleep?” Data absently matched the first officer’s lengthening stride. “That is also a difficult concept. So far I have failed to comprehend the appeal of unconsciousness.”
Riker was no longer listening. “Deanna.”
Troi didn’t turn until he had called her name twice over. “What’s wrong?” Riker asked sharply when he saw her face.
“I’m just tired,” said the counselor. Her hand lifted up and touched the dampness on her cheek. “Oh, I’ve been crying.”
“Deanna … “
“I’m fine, Will. I’ve just spent too many hours with the Hamlin captive. He’s so lonely, so filled with despair.”
Acutely conscious of the side glances of passing crew members, and of Data’s undisguised curiosity, Riker was still unwilling to abandon Troi. “I’ll walk you to your cabin.”
“Thank you, Will,” said Troi, then quickly added, “but I’d rather be by myself just now. These are only borrowed emotions, but until I untangle their influence … I’m vulnerable.” Quickening her pace, Troi followed two passengers into a turboelevator.
“Deanna!”
The doors snapped shut between them.