"Can you teach me how to be human?"
I started at the question. Was he speaking to me?
My eyes flickered to the screen of my science station briefly, before turning my eyes back to the pale-faced android beside me.
"Who me?" I asked, finally deciding to acknowledge.
"I am unaware of anyone else being asked, commander," he quipped. "Unless you thought I was making the inquiry to the computer data banks, which would be absurd, given the computer has taught me everything about humans but nothing about their mannerisms."
"You'd be surprised," I murmured, pretending to search for some obscure piece of information the Captain had requested a week ago.
Short pause.
"Are you still reviewing those updates to Ferengi artillery the Captain asked for a week ago?"
He said it so loud that I could feel the Captain's gaze burning into my neck.
"I've been busy helping Dr. Crusher with research on the Trevellian Death Syndrome," I said equally as loudly, but trying not to meet the Captain's look. "I'm just getting to the backlog now."
"Backlog?" He blinked at me. "Well why did you not tell me? Let me assist."
He shoved me out of my station and began furiously typing.
"There, all done," he cried triumphantly after a matter of minutes. "I've cleared out the backlog and sent a summary to the Captain's personal PADD for review. Now, when are you off duty, commander?"
In the few years I've been posted to the USS Enterprise, I've learned Lieutenant Commander Data can be a most persistent pain in the you-know-what when he wants something. It's no wonder the Enterprise goes through science officers like tissues - he eventually drives them all insane.
"At sixteen hundred hours," I sighed.
"Perfect!" he said with that dumb childish grin on his face. "I'll see you in the lounge."
