The Red King - Michael A. Martin [18]
Standing in the front row, Ra-Havreii suddenly looked up at him, his eyes filled with pain. Almost immediately, the new chief engineer set his gaze downward again.
Riker resumed: “Some of you are billeted in special customized quarters designed by Nidani and her engineering team. You no doubt got to know her as a funny and friendly woman who truly cared about your well-being.” Riker knew that Chaka, the insectile Pak’shree computer specialist, was likely observing the ceremony from one of the simulated hillside caves; her den, Ensign Aili Lavena’s water-filled accommodations, and Melora Pazlar’s vertical micro-g quarters were some of the more impressive feats of Ledrah’s ingenuity.
“As we face the future aboard Titan, this crew has been robbed of further interaction with Nidani. And yet, her influence, her spirit, remains everywhere within these bulkheads. The place she strove to make a home for all of us is infused with her dedication, her passion, and her love.
“For those who wish to partake, Nidani will now become a part of us as well.”
He gestured to Vale, who stepped forward with an elaborately decorated container. Everyone on the ship had been notified of this Tiburon funereal custom, and he expected that most would choose not to participate. Ledrah had been cremated within six hours of her death, and her ashes had been pulverized to a fine dust. Still, despite the fact that the ashes were sterile, he doubted many of the crew would actually choose to ingest their comrade, though it was the highest honor one could pay a fallen Tiburon.
Riker glanced at Deanna, then accepted a tiny vial which Vale had removed from the container. Removing its stopper, he lifted it toward the twilight sky.
“Jancarik terme ikkos preen, Nidani Ostiquin Ledrah,” he said, in Tiburoni. “You live within us forever, Nidani Ostiquin Ledrah,” he repeated in Standard.
Then, he poured the tiny amount of powder out of the vial and onto his tongue. It was flavorless. He held it there for a moment, and swallowed.
Deanna stepped forward next, taking a vial from Vale, and hoisting it aloft.
Through eyes that brimmed with tears, Riker saw others—many others—from the crew begin to step forward behind his wife. He saw that Ra-Havreii, looking haggard and haunted, was the first in line. Even Chaka was exiting one of the caves to take a place in the queue.
He closed his eyes and wondered how many other such ceremonies he would have to preside over in the coming years, as Titan continued its voyages.
And as the voices of his crew washed over him, calling to the memory of Ledrah, he held fast to the hope that occasions such as this would be few and far between.
As she entered the quarters she shared with her husband, Deanna Troi immediately noticed that the lights were low. Will’s dress tunic lay on the table, but she didn’t pick it up.
Imzadi? She reached out with her mind, not hearing anything from the other rooms.
“In here, Deanna,” Will said, his low voice coming from the bathroom.
She turned the corner and looked in at him. He was leaning on the washbasin, staring into the mirror. He had changed into his regular duty tunic, but hadn’t closed the front of it yet.
“Are you all right, Will?”
He continued staring into the mirror. “Yeah. I just prepared a message for Nidani’s family. When we get back to Federation space, I’ll send it.”
She felt a pang of guilt. “I haven’t been here for you much since the attack,” Troi said, stepping into the smaller room and reaching out her hand to brush Will’s ear.
He smiled wanly. “It’s not your fault. The crew needs you and it needs me. Duty comes first, especially during a crisis.”
But duty can always be tempered with the love we share, Troi thought, joining