Ship's counselor Deanna Troi stood uneasily in Captain Jean-Luc Picard's ready room. She'd placed herself almost directly between the captain, who was seated behind his desk, and the chief medical officer, Dr. Beverly Crusher, who stood, arms crossed, several meters away.

"Doctor," Picard insisted, in his clipped, most precise tone, "you have yet to answer the singular question: Why?" His hazel eyes were narrowed disapprovingly not at his medical officer, but at a report on his computer screen -- an autopsy report.

"I've told you why, Captain," Crusher said wearily; beneath the exhaustion was a clear undercurrent of anger. "You're just not listening."

Deanna winced, inundated by waves of powerful emotion from these two strong-minded people, but, of course, that was why she, a half-Betazoid, was here: to sense their conflict and help resolve it. However, this time, she doubted whether she had any answers. Death and the raw anger and grief it evoked were, of all things, most difficult to explain.

"It was an accident," Beverly explained again, in a tone so exasperated it bordered on insubordination. She ran a careless palm over her pale forehead as if to soothe the thoughts there, in the process sweeping back a lock of copper hair. "Crewman Janice Ito either forgot -- or deliberately disregarded -- safety regulations when she went into the power fluctuation in the plasma stream. She went alone, with minimum equipment. No power neutralizers, no safety shields. Just herself, a handful of tools, and a tricorder. She wasn't experienced in working in such a small place with major power conduits, and the shock killed her instantly."

Picard looked up from the report at last and gave a terse shake of his head, as if casting off the very notion that such a thing could occur. "What happened to her training? Where was the senior officer working with her? How could an intelligent twenty-year-old ensign, in the top ten percent of her Academy class, do something so damned stupid?"

Beverly straightened, bristling -- every bit as angered as the captain, Troi knew, by the needless death; perhaps more so, since she had fought vainly in sickbay to resuscitate the young woman. And Beverly's frustration and grief were about to well over and cause her to say something she would later regret.

What is stupid here, Captain, is your refusal to listen.

Troi smoothly intruded, before Crusher had the chance to give the thought utterance. "I believe, sir," Deanna said calmly, "that that's why it's called an 'accident.'"

Picard turned his scowl on her. "This is the Starship Enterprise, the flagship of the Federation. We're not supposed to have 'accidents' -- especially not senseless, fatal accidents with promising young officers."

He rose, straightening his uniform, his actions as taut and precise as his speech, and stepped around his desk. "I will tell you this: there will not be another. I'm ordering a complete shakedown of the crew. I want training sessions reviewed, new officer orientation reevaluated, emergency procedures reconfigured, and the entire drill process reassessed. And when that's done, we'll do it all again!"

Deanna drew a slow, even breath, allowing herself to sense the others' feelings while still maintaining her own inner calm. "Captain..." she began gently. "All of that is well-considered, and may even prevent some future tragedy. However, in light of the fact that we're on a tight schedule, the timing of extensive drills could be a problem."

Picard simmered a moment, his lips drawing into a tight thin line as he gave her a sharp glance, then he looked away, down, and sighed, surrendering slightly. "That damned thing!" he grumbled.

This was not the time to remind him that he had eagerly volunteered the ship and her crew for "that damned thing" -- a heavily scheduled transport assignment to support the Universal TechnoFair. The Enterprise had been picking up and transporting a major contingent of Federation scientists for at least a week now, and there were still several more stops on the schedule. The TechnoFair would not wait for them -- no matter what had happened on board.

"Right now," Deanna continued, in her consummately conciliatory counselor's tone, "both of you need to come to grips with this tragedy. You're both blaming yourselves for something only one person could have prevented -- Ensign Ito, who violated procedure and risked herself unnecessarily."

She glanced from Picard to Crusher, but neither officer met her gaze; instead, they each glowered at separate, far-distant points as they pondered her words. There was still anger, yes, but Deanna sensed it weakening. Wisely, she kept quiet until, at last, Crusher broke the silence.

"Janice's Academy roommate is on board," Beverly said, her voice strained, her eyes still focused on an unadorned patch of bulkhead. "She told me that Janice had made some technical blunder right after she'd been assigned here. The senior officer, Lieutenant Singh, handled it properly, but it was the first major error Janice had made in her career. She'd been golden at the Academy -- completely unused to failure. Her roommate thinks that she was determined to make up for the perceived screwup, especially in light of our preparations to pick up those scientists. So she took too many risks."

Crusher paused and drew a breath; her gaze seemed to turn inward, toward a painful memory. "I had her in sickbay in seconds. We used everything, did everything possible, but I couldn't stabilize her. She'd suffered so much brain damage..."

Deanna herself drew a breath, steadying herself at the wave of sorrow, defeat, and failure that emanated from her friend. She regretted Beverly's suffering; at the same time, she admired the compassion that made her such a good doctor.

"The worst thing about it is," Beverly continued, her voice near breaking, "one of the scientists already on board -- a surgeon, Dr. Ellis -- has developed a technique for replacing damaged brain cells with synthetic tissue. It's still experimental, but... with his technique, it's theoretically possible to stabilize a damaged brain until the victim's own cells can be cloned and specialized. Had I known he was on board, had I known of his work -- it would've been a risk worth taking..." She lowered her face in a gesture of utter defeat.

"Beverly..." Deanna moved to stand beside her friend and put a gentle hand on her arm in support. "There's no way you could keep track of all the people we've been picking up this last week. It's easy to think this doctor might have helped Janice, but there was more than brain damage involved."

Crusher nodded slowly, but her expression remained grim. Even so, Troi sensed the transformation of pure outrage into grief, mixed with the first glimmerings of acceptance -- and so she again remained silent for a moment, until Picard sighed, and said, "I had to speak to her parents. Of all the responsibilities that I dread, this is the worst" -- he gestured at his computer terminal -- "to send my regrets to the parents of that promising young officer." He turned away from the two women to look out at the moving backdrop of stars, his hands clasped tightly behind his back, as if to hold in the surge of emotion.

Deanna felt it all the same. "The entire crew mourns Janice's death," she reminded him softly. "Her body has already been shipped home. But perhaps a memorial service might help those of us still on board to cope with our own sorrow."

Picard turned and nodded quickly. "Of course. Of course. Deanna, may I ask you to organize it?"

"Certainly, Captain."

"And, Doctor," he said, his tone conciliatory, "please don't blame yourself. You did everything medically possible. She could have had no better care."

"Yes, sir. Thank you," Crusher replied, managing a wan smile to match the captain's.

Picard dismissed her with a nod.

Crusher left, and the instant the doors closed over her, Deanna took a step closer to the captain. "You're taking this very hard, sir. As hard as Dr. Crusher. As hard as Lieutenant Singh, Ensign Ito's senior officer. As hard as Commander La Forge, the chief engineer--"

"Shouldn't we be?" he interrupted sharply, meeting her gaze. "She was her parents' only child -- the pride of their life. It's an inconsolable loss. Not all deaths are needless; some serve an important purpose. But this..." He shook his head.

"I understand your anger, Captain. And your guilt. If Ensign Ito had come to speak to the ship's counselor about her perceived failure, perhaps her foolhardy act could have been circumvented. If I had talked to her, maybe..."

Picard drew back in mild surprise at this revelation; his expression softened. "You're right, Counselor. The death of a crew member affects everyone."

Troi did not quite smile. "Yes, sir. And I know you don't really regret involving us in the TechnoFair transport. You've been one of its greatest supporters."

He nodded. "It is an innovative idea, gathering so many of the galaxy's renowned scientists together in one place for the express purpose of promoting the free exchange of ideas. But I'm afraid this tragedy has taken much of the joy out of it for me. Perhaps if I hadn't pushed the crew to such spit-and-polish..." He trailed off as she cocked her head to one side, ready to remind him that there was nothing they could do to change what had happened.

"I thought," she suggested, "we might have a small service in Ten Forward."

He considered it. "That's sensible." The after-duty lounge had already been emptied of all furniture in preparation for the TechnoFair displays. "Then, after the service, we can allow our guest researchers to set up their demonstrations, as we had originally planned?"

Picard sighed in reluctant acquiescence. "We must. It's the only way the crew will get to see any of the exhibits, since we'll be too busy ferrying to attend the Fair itself. And... life does go on in spite of tragedy, doesn't it?"

She allowed herself an instant of silence, in acknowledgment of her own grief and anger at a Universe that could permit the young and brilliant to die.

At last she said, "I'm afraid if death teaches us nothing else, it teaches us that."

"Yes," Picard agreed bitterly, "but how many lessons must we endure?"

"Geordi," Data asked, with the same implacable patience he always exhibited, "even though I have studied this topic thoroughly, I still fail to understand why humans insist that attending memorial services makes them 'feel better.'"

Geordi La Forge, the Enterprise's chief engineer, was busy recalibrating the power conduits that caused the untimely death of Ensign Ito. Now Data, being an android, could recalibrate the conduits, discuss philosophy and the mortal condition, and learn an entirely new violin sonata at the same time -- but Geordi was a mere human and, as such, needed to concentrate.

Even more so considering the tragedy that had prompted his task. He hadn't been on duty when Ito had died, hadn't -- like poor Lieutenant Singh -- heard the hum of the power surge followed a split-second later by the thump of her fall. But his shift had overlapped with hers, and he had called a good-bye to her as he left.

'Bye, Janice...

See you later, Commander...

She had been leaning over a console, but she had glanced up and turned her head so swiftly that her short, straight hair had swung about in an arc. Then she'd smiled brightly and given him an impish little wave. Swift and bright: those were the words for Janice. There was a brilliance to her, a radiance that couldn't be captured by any holo. The likeness of her in her Starfleet file showed a plain-looking Asian woman with a broad face, dark eyes and hair; nothing special, nothing exceptional. Ordinary. Until you met her, shook her hand, and were dazzled by the light in her eyes and smile.

As swift and bright and focused as a phaser beam, yet so constantly cheerful, so apparently at ease that the stresses that came with being at the top of her Academy class -- and later, the brilliant new ensign aboard the Enterprise -- never touched her.

Or so Geordi had thought. But something had to have touched her, to have rattled her, to have eaten at her, for Janice to have made such a stupid mistake.

If he had only been on duty...

He clutched the cold metal calibrator in his hand and stared down at the bright-colored conduits in front of him, imagining how Janice must have looked when Singh found her, with all the light gone out of her.

"Geordi?"

"Oh. Sorry, Data." He returned to the present with a sigh. "You'd just asked about memorial services, didn't you?" His concentration wasn't at its best at the moment, and if he didn't answer Data's question, he'd lose even more time.

He did the sensible thing, and handed the android the calibration device, so that Geordi could concentrate on something less critical while answering the question.

"I thought you had this whole mourning thing figured out, Data," he said, watching the android perform the calculations at a staggering speed. "Wait, wait a minute -- don't forget to figure in the power curves.... Yeah, that's it."

Data nodded his long, pale face and continued the recalibration work. "As I said, I have analyzed this topic before -- when Tasha Yar died, and also when I was planning your memorial service. However, I received mixed messages about the need and usefulness of such a service. I understand that it is intended to comfort the survivors, and yet that does not seem to be the case at all."

Geordi smiled faintly, flattered by the fact that Data liked to discuss things with him, and often let him know that he didn't feel a topic fully explored unless he'd gotten Geordi's opinion. It was one of the things that assured him he and Data were truly friends.

"Memorial services do help," Geordi said, thinking of the service for Ensign Ito they had just attended -- and how strange it had seemed that Ito herself hadn't been there with them. "They let the people who are grieving bring everything to an end. In a funny kind of way -- they do make you feel better."

Without a pause in his calculations, Data said, "No one at the service today looked like they felt better. Everyone seemed quite sad. That was true of Tasha's service, as well."

"Well, we were. Losing a crew member in a preventable accident is hard to accept. But having the service reminds us of the value Ensign Ito had, of what a fine person she was. And it reminds us of our own mortality." He fell silent, realizing that perhaps Data had difficulty comprehending the subject because, technically, he had no mortality. It was one thing for which Geordi was grateful; here was one friend, at least, he didn't have to worry about losing.

Data continued his work, but the tilt of his head and faintly distant look in his eye showed he was analyzing Geordi's statement. At the same time, the android finished the recalibration figures and handed the palm computer to the engineer to check. Geordi scanned the results and smiled, pleased. It would have taken him more than twice as long to come up with the same results -- and he would have had to concentrate.

"So you are saying," Data continued, "that memorial services are not designed to bring immediate relief of sadness. That they mark the beginning of a grieving process for the survivors."

"Yeah, that's the truth. Grief is a process. It takes time for the living to accept and adjust. The memorial service allows us to begin doing that."

Data gave a single approving nod. "A concise explanation. Now, about the concept of the afterlife..."

Geordi plugged Data's figures into the main computer and initiated the program. "Hold on, Data. Discussions about the afterlife have been going on for thousands of years. You and I don't have time to explore that right now. We're supposed to help set things up for the TechnoFair scientists. Now that we've got this recalibration going, that's next on the agenda. The afterlife will just have to wait!"

Data drew back with his quizzical "analyzing" expression, which quickly resolved into a look of satisfaction. "Ah! 'The afterlife will have to wait.' Because, of course, that is what the afterlife -- if there is one -- does. It waits for the living to transcend this life and join the afterlife. Sophisticated humor bordering on pun. Very clever, Geordi."

"Thanks, Data." La Forge took his analytical friend's arm and steered him into the nearest turbolift. "Ten Forward," he told the 'lift, then turned to Data again. "Look, we've got a lot to do. We've got to provide portable power packs for each bolo display, make sure each scientist gets enough room for his or her setup, and decide if we're going to have to set up more space in the auxiliary lounge next to Ten Forward."

"I have already arranged for extra power packs," Data answered smoothly, without a shift in tone, as if they had been discussing business instead of the afterlife all along. "And, based upon the information the scientists have offered me, at least eight will need to be set up in the auxiliary lounge."

"Excellent, Data, thanks!"

The turbo doors opened silently onto the large expanse that, a day before, had been the crew's observation lounge and relaxation area; a few hours before, it had been the scene of Janice Ito's memorial service. But the arrangements for the service had been simple and had already been cleared. Now there was nothing but vast open expanse.

"Good thing Guinan stopped off at Andoria to attend that bartenders' convention," Geordi said. "She hates it when they move all her stuff."

"Bartenders' convention?" Data tilted his head and actually managed to look startled. "I though it was a spiritual retreat. She called it a 'relaxation seminar.'"

"Same thing," Geordi insisted with a small smile, as he walked across the vacant lounge, trying to decide who should be set up where. "She said she'd be useless here, since scientists don't believe in being 'off duty.' Well, let's start arranging tables and defining areas."

Data moved to a wall computer and used it to tap into the console in his quarters. "Here is a list of the dimensions of space the scientists have said they will require for their displays. I compiled that information along with the dimensions and parameters of Ten Forward, and the subject matter of the displays, and have come up with a tentative arrangement that best utilizes space and takes topic matter into account."

Geordi grinned broadly for the first time since Janice Ito's death. "That's great, Data. You've thought of everything! That's why I volunteered us for the setup when we could have had a few ensigns do it. I wanted it done right."

To his surprise, Data frowned. "Geordi, I could not possibly think of 'everything.' That is too broad of a concept, even for me. For example, I am not sure the aesthetics of my arrangement will be satisfying for the less technical crew members. Would it be best to place the display of forcefield technology next to the particle physics hologram, or--"

"Aesthetics be damned, Data," Geordi said, scanning the list. "We're in a hurry. That's something the TechnoFair designers can worry about. Your plan looks fine; I like the way you set Dr. Tarmud between that surgeon, Dr. Ellis, and the ocular specialist, Dr. Dannelke. Their work complements each other's."

Data straightened with something suspiciously similar to pride. "Thank you." He processed for a moment, then added, "Geordi, you seem very eager to meet Dr. Tarmud."

The engineer clapped his android friend on the shoulder. Data worked hard to master the "give and take" of a conversation, and he was doing well with it. On some level, Geordi knew that his compliment of Data's work had triggered a program response that told Data to touch on an area of Geordi's interest. He didn't care. Data was showing he cared, and Geordi was happy to respond.

"You're right about that," he told Data. "I've been wearing his VISOR for a long time." He touched the silvery eye shield that permitted him his own type of vision. "This invention changed my life, and the lives of others like me. It's broadened my abilities and given me more freedom. I can't wait to meet the man and shake his hand! Besides, how many scientists get to meet the actual recipients of their work? He'll probably get a kick out of meeting me, too."

Geordi moved away from the computer and approached the stacked tables and temporary walls they would use to set up the displays. "Come on, Data. We've got work to do!"

"It's not often I have three handsome men escort me to a fair," Deanna Troi teased her entourage as they strolled down the corridor toward Ten Forward.

Commander William Riker's bearded face broke into a sly grin. "We decided that after wrangling with a cross Captain Picard and speaking at a very sad memorial service, you deserved a night on the town."

"The commander is correct," Lieutenant Worf added in his deep bass voice. His stern tone lacked the good humor of Riker's -- and his dark, fearsomely Klingon countenance showed no hint of a smile -- but the black eyes beneath his prominent skull ridges contained the very faintest hint of amusement. "Though the best we could do is the impromptu Science Fair in Ten Forward. Still, the displays should be interesting... and educational." This last he directed pointedly at his son, Alexander.

The young Klingon/human child glanced up at Troi, whose hand he was holding. "That means boring in Klingon," he told her, and rolled his eyes in a purely human gesture.

Deanna and Riker struggled to smother their smiles as Worf growled low in protest. He and his young son rarely saw eye-to-eye.

"Oh, come now, Alexander," Deanna replied, trying to help Worf save face. "You don't find school boring. Your teacher tells me you're in the top ten percent of your grade. She says you're fascinated with physics and calculus and have enough curiosity for five students."

As she expected, the compliment embarrassed the boy; he stared at his feet, his dusky skin tone darkening.

"I guess Alexander knows," Riker added, "that a warrior can't just rely on his strength. He also must be more cunning than his opponent."

"Well said," Worf agreed, mollified.

As they passed through the open doors of Ten Forward, the adults paused to take in the massive changes to the once-familiar space. Deanna hadn't realized just how many scientists the Enterprise had picked up, nor the extensive scope of their work.

It was Alexander who put the entire thing in context for them, as he grabbed his father's hand and, pointing with the other, announced excitedly, "Look, Father! There's a holo display of a giant eyeball!"

He towed the hapless Klingon over to it.