The Eyes of the Beholders - A. C. Crispin [14]
“I would surmise that you are correct, Captain.”
“We may be able to pick up an ion trail, then. Scan for it, Mister Data.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Selar, am I going to have to leave you and Doctor Crusher and my friends soon?” Thala asked hesitantly. “Are my relatives going to come and take me away from here?”
The Vulcan doctor raised an eyebrow at the little girl’s questions. She and the Andorian child were sitting together in the doctor’s quarters, listening to one of Selar’s favorite human composers, Johann Sebastian Bach. In the Vulcan’s opinion, Bach was the human genius who had best understood the value of understatement, of order, of emotion controlled and channeled into the production of beauty. Listening to Bach often helped her sort through her problems, as even the music played by Vulcan composers on Vulcan harps could not.
Thala also enjoyed human classical music, but of a very different character. Her favorite Earth composer was Elvis Presley.
Reaching over to the computer link, Selar muted the music to a background murmur. “Why do you ask, Thala?”
“Because you and Doctor Crusher told me that my relatives on my homeworld had to decide what to do with me, and that I wouldn’t be able to live on the starship anymore. But that was days and days and days ago, and neither of you has said anything since.” The child’s unseeing eyes stared over Selar’s left shoulder, but the healer had a sudden disconcerting feeling that the little girl could read her in ways a sighted person could not.
Her suspicion was confirmed a moment later when Thala added, “And I can tell that you’ve been worried about me lately.”
“You have been … often … in my thoughts lately,” Selar affirmed slowly. “It is true that I have been concerned about your fate.”
“Why?”
The Vulcan stood up and paced slowly across her quarters, thinking, Thala is an imaginative child, for all her practicality. Her imaginings by now may well be worse than the actual situation. And I cannot lie to her. I am a Vulcan. She halted before the small, scarlet-curtained niche with its traditional firepot and chose her words carefully. “When you first learned that you would have to leave the Enterprise and possibly travel to your homeworld, to live with relatives that you have never seen, do you remember what you said, Thala?”
“Yes,” the little girl replied steadily. “I said that I didn’t want to go and live with strangers, even if they were people who are related to me.”
“Yes. Well, when Doctor Crusher contacted your clan, apparently your relatives expressed much the same reaction.” Selar swung around to face the child, waiting to see whether disappointment would fill her features. But they remained as blank as any adult Vulcan’s.
“Well, I don’t blame them for not wanting me. I don’t want them, either,” Thala said. “It’s not as though I know them or anything.”
“That is true,” Selar agreed.
The child considered for a moment more, then her expression brightened. “If they don’t want me, then does that mean I can stay with you on the starship, Selar?”
“I do not know at this point what will happen, Thala,” the Vulcan said carefully. “I may not be remaining on the Enterprise myself.”
“What do you mean?” Thala asked blankly.
“I have been offered a position on my homeworld with the Vulcan Science Academy, as a head of research. It is a very good position, and I am considering accepting it.”
For the first time in weeks, the child showed real dismay. “You’ll be leaving? Oh, no! If you leave, I’d never see you again!” She began rocking back and forth on her seat, huddling into herself. Andorians did not weep—they had no tear ducts—but a thin, keening sound came from deep in her throat.
Selar’s mouth tightened, and she hesitated, wondering whether she should summon Beverly to deal with this. Emotional upsets were not something she felt competent to treat. Thala’s grief at the thought of parting