Tam Elbrun

Not physically present, but his name alone evokes fear, apprehension, and unresolved trauma in those who know his history.

Absent but looming; his name carries the weight of 47 lives lost and the fear of what his telepathy might uncover.

Implied as volatile and unstable, with the potential to destabilize both the mission and the crew. His name carries the weight of past disasters and the promise of future chaos.

Defensive and abrasive on the surface, but deeply insecure and fascinated by Data’s uniqueness.

Defensive and anxious, using abruptness and control to mask his deep-seated fear of being exposed or overwhelmed by his telepathic abilities and past failures.

Defensive fascination masking deep trauma; his hostility is a shield against the overwhelming noise of human thoughts, and Data’s silence offers him a fleeting respite—one he can’t afford to acknowledge.

Defensive and restless; Tam's nervous energy masks deeper unease, and his fascination with Data's unreadable mind briefly distracts him from his usual guardedness. His rejection of Picard's offer to see his quarters suggests a desire to avoid personal connections, though his shared history with Troi hints at vulnerability.

A volatile mix of excitement, guilt, and defensive anger—his pain and past traumas simmering just beneath the surface.

Agitated and pained, masking deep isolation and desperation. His emotional state oscillates between manic excitement (about Tin Man) and raw defensiveness (over Ghorusda), revealing a man at the breaking point, clinging to the mission as both a professional imperative and a personal lifeline.

A storm of vulnerability and defiance—he is drowning in the weight of his perceptions but refuses to be dismissed.

Fractured—oscillating between despair (drowning in emotions) and determination (proving his worth through telepathy), with a deep undercurrent of loneliness.

Anxious and vulnerable, but driven by a sense of purpose—his telepathic connection to Tin Man and the Romulan commander fuels his determination, despite the emotional toll it takes on him.

Vulnerable yet determined, his telepathic overload making him both a liability and an asset.

Panicked, resolute, and emotionally spent—his telepathic cry is a last-ditch effort to protect Tin Man, but the aftermath leaves him detached, as if part of him remains fused with the entity.

Initially introspective and warm during the conversation with Data, Tam’s emotional state rapidly devolves into panic and desperation on the bridge. His fear for Tin Man’s safety and the Romulans’ aggressive intentions overwhelm him, leading to a frantic, almost animalistic resolve. After the energy pulse, he is emotionally hollowed out, his actions having consequences far beyond his control, leaving him in a state of detached exhaustion.

Panicked desperation giving way to a detached, dissociative fugue—his mind fractured between the alien's voice and his own guilt.

Indirectly, Tam’s emotional state is implied to be one of guilt, exhaustion, or detachment—his actions have created a rift in the crew, and his absence from this scene underscores his isolation and the consequences of his choices.

A raw, exposed state—oscillating between detached recitation of Gomtuu’s past and visceral empathy that borders on a breakdown. His desperation is palpable, fueled by a sense of kinship with the alien’s loneliness.

A storm of grief, guilt, and resolve—overwhelmed by Gomtuu’s pain but driven by the belief that he is the only one who can ease its suffering, even at personal cost.

Inferred as deeply conflicted—his past actions suggest a mix of defiance, desperation, and a desperate need for connection, all of which make him both a liability and a tragic figure in the eyes of the crew.

Inferred as distressed and unstable, with a deep sense of alienation from both the crew and his own humanity—driven by a compulsion to merge with Tin Man that he cannot control.

Distressed and resigned—Elbrun is acutely aware of the risks he faces, both personally and for the mission, but he recognizes that his abilities are the crew’s only hope. His compliance is not without fear, but it is driven by a sense of duty and the desperate need to prevent further destruction.

Anxious and resigned, with an undercurrent of dread. Tam Elbrun is acutely aware of the risks and the fragility of his own mental state, but he recognizes the necessity of the mission. His emotional state is a mix of fear, determination, and a quiet acceptance of his role in the unfolding events.

Neutral on the surface, but likely internally conflicted given his past trauma and the high stakes of the mission.

Initially terrified and overwhelmed, transitioning to serene acceptance as he merges with Gomtuu’s consciousness.

Surface: Initially panicked and defensive, then serene and accepting. Internal: Terrified by the psychic invasion, but ultimately relieved by the connection, as if Gomtuu’s memories and emotions fill a void he didn’t realize he had. His whispered ‘It’s alright now’ suggests a deep, almost spiritual resolution—he is no longer alone.

Implied distress and isolation, with a growing sense of desperation as he grapples with the alien entity’s overwhelming presence.

Euphoric and triumphant, masking a deep sense of belonging and purpose that replaces his earlier trauma and isolation.

Resigned longing tinged with defiant triumph—like a drowning man who has finally stopped fighting the current. The fear is gone, replaced by a bittersweet acceptance of his choice, knowing it will sever him from his past but bind him to something greater.

Profound relief and quiet joy, underpinned by a steely resolve—no longer haunted, but fully present in the moment of his salvation.

Ambiguous and thematically charged, with a sense of fulfillment and unresolved tension.

Though not physically present, Tam’s emotional state is implied through Data’s description: a sense of peace and completion, having found belonging and healing through his union with Tin Man.