Beginnings
Lieutenant Commander Data set down the small pack into which he'd loaded his remaining possessions, following the destruction of the Enteprise-D in the Viridian star system. Spot's catcage was sitting on the far side of the room, its feline captive mewling miserably, and attempting to claw its way out from behind the shiny, metal bars. Data had determined that Spot would be released to wreak havoc on his new environment - a trend which had followed consistently when Data had changed the arrangement of his quarters the odd time on the Enterprise - when, and only when, Data had finished unpacking everything else.
The quarters were approximately 37% smaller on Earth Station McKinley than the accomodations he previously become accustomed to. The station was only a temporary residence, established for him in the loss of the ship that had been his home, and that of hundreds of others, for the last seven years. This was not of especially great consequence - Data had few possessions, and had need for few. These living quarters provided a desk and a computer terminal, at which he could conduct research and access the station's computer, and included a bed. His needs called for little else - he did not require the same quarters nor the same considerations as his other crewmen. His shipmates had been human, with a few exceptions including Worf and Counselor Troi.
They were in the midst, now, of waiting for new orders and re-assignments. Following the court-martial hearing of Captain Picard, in which Starfleet Command had ruled that he was not in fact guilty or at fault for the loss of the vessel, the crew had been ordered to this station to wait until their next assignment should arrive. There were whispers, of course, that Commander Riker had been offered his own ship, that Lieutenant Commander Worf was considering transferring to a station near Bajor, and that Lieutenant Barclay had already been transferred to Starfleet Command, in San Fransisco. Most of these lacked facts, or substance, but Data had learned of their existence from his odd conversation or meeting with his Enterprise crewmates, over the last week.
Their hope was still that Picard would pull through, and find a vessel that they could serve on, together. The command staff of the Enterprise had become something akin to a family, and Data, thanks to the recent addition of Lore's emotion chip to his programming, had advanced, as an individual, to the point where he could appreciate that sentiment. On a platonic, purely logical level it would be best to remain with Picard, Riker, and the others - they had advanced to the point where they all functioned well as a team. Each knew each other's strengths and weaknesses, proficiencies and deficiencies, and it had been proven time and time again during the Enterprise's seven-year flight that they functioned in a more efficient manner as a group than they did as individuals, or as separate units.
Data acknowledged this, but also acknowledged that emotionally, he felt...attached, to the group of them. They were his shipmates, his friends, and, as Picard had often observed, the group of them were family. Data realized that the odds of serving with any of them on his next assignment were astronomically low...in fact, there was only a 10.4% chance, given recent disturbances near the Bajoran wormhole involving the Cardassians and the Jem'Hadar, that the ship that Data transferred to would be home to any of his previous shipmates at all, if the matter were left strictly to chance. He hoped that he would remain with his shipmates, but found himself also dreading the news that, most likely, would come that he would be transferred elsewhere, on his own.
The first thing that he removed from his bag, as he moved back towards the desk in his quiet little room, was a small wooden case, with glass over the front, which contained numerous medals he'd been awarded by Starfleet over the years, some of which were among their highest honors. Even before the installation of his emotion chip, these things had been close to him, and he had valued them dearly. He found himself wondering just how much the emotion chip really had to do with the sensations and the feelings he experienced now, or if perhaps it was just the catalyst that built up reserves of feeling and emotion that had built up from the day he had come online. It was a distinct possibility, one he had considered before.
The next item he freed was a little leather-bound book, one that had been difficult for Picard to replicate for him in the first place. Books, after all, were something considered to be bygone and obsolete - there was little that one could find in a book that couldn't be accessed more conviently from a ship's computer, or library, or specifically on a PADD. The Captain had insisted that written word was more personal, and that it had a human quality to it that a PADD simply could not approach. The matter had always fascinated Data, and the book itself was an exceptional work, and so Data had always kept the reminder of his former Captain. Picard was a man with a wisdom and insight that was rare, not just among humans, but throughout the galaxy in general. The man truly did possess the soul of an explorer, and the heart of a poet...
...just as Tasha had said, had she not?
Data took a deep inhalation, allowing cool air to regulate his rising internal temperature as he reached into the bag for the final item. It seemed that, regardless of how he packed, this was always the last item in, and the last item out. Was it, perhaps, that he avoided it, because of the memory of her death? Or was it, perhaps, that he saved it for last so that it might be the most cherished? Data reflected frequently on her, and on the events of her life and death. Her time aboard the Enterprise had been brief, indeed. And they had, as he'd been forced to reveal at the hearing of 2364, been intimate.
More intimate than he had revealed.
She had been the first individual with whom he had experienced intimacy. She was his first partner. From his observations of humans, one's first love tended to be reflected on with more frequency and, generally, more fondness than later, lesser relationships. Often, however, that reflection was marred with tragedy, or with heartbreak. Even before possessing the capacity for emotion, Data had experienced and grown from both.
Data was detecting increases in his core temperature consistent with the several occasions, over the last seven years, that he had observed her hologram. Reflections on her tended to produce more rapid, sporatic firing of his positronic brain, and he found that when he recalled the days that they had spent together, their time on the bridge, on the Enterprise at large, but especially their time together under the influence of the Psi 2000 virus...he found that it was difficult to turn the images away.
The reason for this malfunction was unknown. He did not have the capacity...or he hadn't, before the emotion chip...to feel the sort of attachment or fondness that humans felt. He did not have the capacity for love...perhaps that was why she had seemed so displeased, and so short with him following their intimacy. Had she felt as if he had taken advantage of her? Had she felt that it had been irrelevant to him, or that he had just been fulfilling an unused part of his programming for his own amusement? Nothing could have been farther from the truth...and yet, he would always question whether this was how she had observed the events of that night, from her point of view, which was based on the darker, cruel experiences of her life.
He had never used his sexuality program before, but had pushed it to its limits during their encounter, striving to make it the most pleasant experience possible for her. While he himself could not experience the physical thrill of it all, Lieutenant Yar had lived a life lacking in the love that she'd shared with her comrades, in life. She had previously indicated that intimacy was, on her world, something selfish, something forced, something strictly about sensation and domination. When Data had come to her, she had told him that she'd wanted gentleness, and that she'd wanted love. He had made it, in those brief minutes, his primary function to grant that to her. To allow her to experience that physical closeness, despite all her preconceptions and apprehensions.
He flicked a switch at the side of the hologram projector in his hands, and her image, eternally young, content, peaceful, and beautiful...yes, beautiful...was before him. Her short blond hair, her eyes, her smile, the way she stood, the way she looked...all of it caught captured his attention, commanded his full focus. He'd always found her to be aesthetically pleasing, but watching her figure again, he felt...he felt...
...he felt...
He felt too many emotions, to the point where his neural net felt as if it were on fire. He felt rejection, and shame, at having been pushed away. He felt anger, for having not been quick enough on Vagra II's surface, to save her. He felt disgust, and hatred for Armus. He felt despair at knowing that she was gone, and that no matter how much he wished that she might return...she would not. He had thought of her through the years, wondered how the Enterprise would have fared in any number of situations had she lived and carried on as its security chief.
He felt longing, as he finally accessed and felt...really, really felt...the sensory data from that night, in her quarters, when they had been joined. The night that they had...the night that they had given themselves to each other, in that fateful embrace. He remembered the way she had kissed him, the way that her soft, warm skin had felt against his...he felt it as if experiencing it all over again, the first time. He felt horror, at the sort of things that she'd lived through, the events of her life that had shaped her. He felt grief, knowing that he could have done something to save her. He could have warned her, could have stepped forward in her place, could have fired his phaser just a little sooner, could have provided a distraction long enough for her to get past...
As he stood, watching the hologram, he realized he had nothing. She was gone. He would never know whether she had cared for him in return, or thought of him in return. He would never have the chance to love her, the way that she had deserved. He would never get to watch her grow old, as he would watch Captain Picard, or Commander Riker, or the others. He would never have the chance to say goodbye. All he had were questions, and what-ifs, and a limited number of observations. He wanted more. He wanted to have more memories, more experiences with her. He wanted to have known her better...he wanted to go back. He didn't want for her to have died.
Those possibilities were all he had, now. He was alone. He would remain eternally young...as would she, in death...but he would always be alone. And she would always be silent.
For the first time, since he'd arrived on McKinley after the planetfall of the Enterprise-D, his eyes welled up with sad, hot tears. He swallowed, sharply, and let his tears flow out, slowly and surely, wiping them away lest they drip down and damage the projector in his hand. He took a deep breath...
"Tasha..." he whispered, tearfully, "I am...sorry..."
As the hologram flickered restarting its loop, he heard the sound of a cough behind him, as if someone were clearing their throat. It took his audio sensors a few seconds to process the input, but the source of the voice was unmistakeable. Rapidly, Data flicked the hologram off, feeling slightly...violated...at having been interrupted, without warning. He set the projector down, and turned, confronting the man in the black uniform with blue shoulders, wearing a captain's rank. The man with dark hair, and hungry eyes. Data wiped his eyes a second time, clearing his vision and preventing the intruder from determining his feelings.
"Is it not customary to ask permission before entering one's quarters?" Data inquired, cocking his head slightly, "I believe I made clear to you on your previous intrusion that such an entry was unwelcome."
Captain Bruce Maddox, looking a little reddened and embarassed, smiled nervously, and waved his hands apologetically.
"Data," he sighed, "I am sorry. Yes...one should ask permission if they're going to enter another's quarters. But...technically, Data, I'm not even here."
Data paused, and raised an eyebrow.
"Inaccurate," Data remarked, "You are indeed present, without my permission. May I ask why?"
Maddox watched the inactive holoprojector on the desk, a guilty and sorry look on his face.
"I remember her," he explained, "From the hearing. Your ship's security chief."
"You have not answered my question," Data snapped back, moving towards the desk and putting the holoprojector into a drawer, away from Maddox's prying eyes. Maddox had a reputation for snooping. "However," Data continued, "On your subject, yes. Lieutenant Natasha Yar."
Maddox nodded, and sighed. "She was beautiful," he smiled, sympathetically, "You were a lucky man, Data."
Data shook his head. "Your observations are insufficient to completely grasp the magnitude of my luck, as it is, Captain," he explained, "If you assume from a single projection that I was lucky, then I wish you might have seen her in life, and that you might have known not only her physical parameters and appearance, but her background, her experiences, her behaviours, her mannerisms, and innumerous other factors. She was a remarkable individual. She was a proficient crewman. She was a good friend, and she was special to me."
"Yes," Maddox nodded again, "I remember. You...told me that you were intimate."
"We were," Data nodded, his face betraying his grief, "We were, Captain."
Maddox sighed, and crossed his arms. Data glanced over curiously, wiping his eyes again, and making a futile attempt at small talk.
"How is Lore?" Data inquired, "I recall that his parts were forwarded to the Daystrom Institute for storage and disassembly."
"He's inactive," Maddox explained, "But...we were able to recover a great deal of information from his body. It's allowed us to make significant advances in robotic engineering and, in some cases, medical technology. I'm hoping someday that we might be able to reactivate him...once we can repair his neural net, and ethical subroutines."
"I am pleased that your endeavours were successful," Data explained, "As mentioned at our last parting, while I found your methods to be somewhat unacceptable, your passion for your work is inspiring, and many of your theories are both sound, and fascinating - !"
Maddox waved a hand, cutting him off in mid-sentence.
"Data," he explained, "I'm not supposed to be here. But something has recently come to my attention." He started to pace around the quarters, his hands behind his back, and he had the appearance of someone nervous, someone uncertain. Data had known him in the past to be a driven, motivated individual, and saw such an appearance disturbing, at the very least.
"Captain Maddox," Data asked, "Are you well?"
"I am," Maddox nodded, "But...I was the project leader for the construction of a series of probes that were recently deployed by the USS Rorschach, a Nebula-Class science vessel currently docked here at McKinley." He cleared his throat, and continued. "She's a good ship...and she's in desperate need right now of a new first officer."
Data paused, considering his words carefully.
"The Rorschach," Data observed, "Is the research vessel assigned, by Starfleet Command, to Starfleet's robotics division, a scientific department of which you, Captain, are the head." Data paused, "Do you wish to, again, dismantle me? I suspect that, now, with the research conducted on Lore, that such a procedure would now be capable of preserving my consciousness, and while I find the prospect somewhat daunting, I would be glad to endure it for the sake of further advancing - "
"Data," Maddox interrupted, "This isn't about that. Another time, I might be glad to...but, no, I need your help."
Data raised an eyebrow, again, glancing confusedly at him.
"Please continue," he asked.
Maddox nodded, and pulled a PADD out of his uniform jumpsuit, showing Data a series of star charts and schematics.
"Robotic, unmanned probes that I developed were deployed last month along these four systems," he explained, pointing out several stars on the charts. "One of them returned interesting results. A world we previously observed to be pre-warp, but relatively well-developed, is now barren, rocky, and devoid of life. We could find no reasonable explanation for the change. We moved on."
Data raised an eyebrow, watching the charts move with fascination to their next set of stars.
"Fascinating," he remarked.
"That's not even the half of it," Maddox explained, "In testing another probe, a few days later, I deployed probes to these systems. Now, at first I thought my readings were off, but I saw this."
Maddow pointed out, on the right-hand side of the PADD, an image of a blue-green, lively looking world, clearly inhabitable.
"An M-Class planet," Data commented.
"An M-Class planet as it appeared in our databanks," Maddox explained, "But this is what our probes found instead."
A dead, red-brown world with a hazy atmosphere and black, slick blotches littering its surface came into view.
"Dead. Just like the last one," Maddox explained. Data paused, and glanced over the PADD a second time.
"Alarming," Data remarked.
"That's what I thought, too!" Maddox exclaimed, his renowned passion returning, "But...then I consulted Starfleet Command. Who promptly informed me that two points make a line, not a pattern."
"They are correct," Data observed, "However, the coincidental death of two worlds at the same time, with the same symptoms, does seem most unlikely."
"I ran every scan I could think of," Maddox sighed, "All I could find were random neutrino emissions. But I followed them. I nearly burned the Rorschach's new sensor pod out doing it. Based on the location of the first planet, the second planet, and following the neutrino emissions that seemed to be generated near each of these worlds...I found the third planet. I deployed a probe, and discovered this."
He flicked a switch, and the image of a black, liquid sphere appeared. Data paused, glancing up at Maddox confusedly.
"Are you certain the probe did not malfunction?"
"Positive," he nodded. "And then, we approached the world to take further sensor readings, but before we had a chance to react, or raise our shields, a wave of energy shot up at us from the surface. The Rorshach was severely damaged. Lieutenant Commander Ming-Xia Cho, my executive officer, was killed, along with most of the others. We're running on a skeleton crew."
Data glanced up, at the Captain, still as confused as he'd been a moment ago.
"Then you need more than simply a first officer," Data explained, "It sounds as if you will not be spaceworthy for some time."
"Actually," Maddox smiled, "I'm planning on disembarking by morning. I need your answer by then."
Data paused, and arched an eyebrow.
"I do not understand why this is of such urgency."
Maddox flicked the PADD open again, and the three worlds appeared, with a line charted between them.
"Starfleet Command bureaucrats are debating how to act on this new data," he explained, "But...I drew a connection between these locations. I've managed to predict the time, and the location, of the next dying world. It's going to happen in less than a week, Data. Six days. And...the world, if my calculations are correct...it's going to be Earth."
Data's eyes widened, and he seized the PADD from the Captain's hands.
"With your permission, Captain," he spoke, "I would like to confirm your calculations for myself."
"Certainly," Maddox nodded, "And if you find them off, I shall be a very grateful, and relieved, man."
Data spent a minute flicking through the information on the PADD, and his positronic brain fired like lightning, piecing together each and every one of the figures, and introducing numerous ones of his own that Maddox likely hadn't accounted for. Frighteningly, the end result was the same.
"Six days, nine hours, fourteen minutes, and thirty-two seconds," Data whispered, stunned, "And that target...Earth."
"With the new Dominion conflict," Maddox explained, "Starfleet is too wrapped up in Bajor to pay attention to scientific research. They've told me that a ship will be dispatched to investigate in a week."
"But you have already completed the necessary observations," Data countered, "Seven days will be approximately fifteen hours too late."
"I know," Maddox nodded, "So...I'm taking the Rorschach on another tour of deployments. I've told the fleet we'll be testing out the AI systems and guidance systems on new torpedoes in testing ranges in these systems here, and here, and here," he explained, motioning towards another spatial grid on the PADD, seizing it back from Data. "Typical of Starfleet Command, right now, but weapons research gets priority. So they approved the request. I've predicted that whatever did this to those planets will be traveling through these systems first. The Rorschach will proceed, and stop whatever did this from destroying Earth. At all costs."
Data paused, considering all the implications.
"Why have you come to me?" he asked.
Maddox smiled.
"Because fate put you on this station when I needed you," Maddox grinned, "Data, you are a remarkable person, and a remarkable piece of machinery. I'm going to need every possible advantage against...well, whatever this is. I can't take any chances."
Data nodded in agreement, but was still not certain on how to proceed.
"Will the transfer be permanent?" Data asked, indulging a question to his more emotional side, the side that wanted to stay with the Enterprise crew.
"Not unless you want to make it that way," Maddox sighed, "I just need your help long enough to get this thing taken care of. Data...I came to you because I respect you. I admire you. You've got more command experience and more combat experience than I'll have in ten lifetimes. You're the right man for this job."
Data paused, glancing at Maddox with further concern.
"And...may I discuss this mission with Captain Picard, or any of my old shipmates?"
"I'd rather not," Maddox sighed, "If Starfleet Command catches wind of this...well, it will cut our trip awfully short, if you know what I mean."
Data nodded in agreement.
"An unacceptable outcome," he explained, "However, I feel that Captain Picard or Commander Riker might have valuable insight and assistance to offer. I am certain that they would support your mission."
"Data," Maddox exclaimed, "I can't take that chance right now! You know them, I don't. I don't know that I can trust them right now."
"Do you trust me, Captain?" Data asked.
Maddox paused for a few moments, and then nodded quickly.
"Well, yes."
"Then you need only then extend your trust to my judgement. You said yourself that you need every advantage available," Data concluded.
Maddox waited a moment, and nodded.
"So...do you accept?" Maddox asked, anxiously.
"If you refer to your request for my serving as First Officer, then yes," Data explained, "I do."
Maddox extended his hand, smiling broadly. Data took it, and the two shook hands. Maddox had the expression on his face of like someone had taken ten years off of it. He was the same enthusiastic, albeit awkward, fellow who'd Data faced off against years ago in that hearing.
"Wonderful!" Maddox smiled, "I was hoping you'd agree! The Rorschach leaves at 0800 tomorrow morning. I'll need you beamed over by then." Maddox's expression dissolved into that of a pupil admiring a work of art, which wasn't altogether surprising considering Maddox's dedication to the studies and disciplines established by Doctor Noonien Soong, Data's creator. At the same time, though, he seemed ecstatic that things were going his way, that his mission was going ahead.
"Data," he asked, "Why don't you join me this evening at the old Academy bar, in San Fransisco, to celebrate? Me and a couple of my officers are having a get-together...for old times' sake, in case we don't make it back. We'd be glad to have you along. I'd also be glad to...well, catch-up with you. It's been a long time since the hearing."
Data shook his head, negatively.
"I apologize," Data explained, "I have a transporter reserved in one hour for Paris, where I'm going to be meeting with another colleague. I would be glad to accept your invitation at a later date."
Maddox, looking a little disappointed, nodded and crossed his arms.
"Right," he sighed, "Well, I'll see you on the bridge tomorrow, then. Replicate yourself a command division uniform in the meantime."
Data nodded. With that, Captain Bruce Maddox stepped out the automatic doors, and into the corridor of the station.
"Thank you, again, Mister Data!" he called out, disappearing into the station, "See you in the morn - !"
The closing of the automatic doors finished his last thought for him.
Before Data could process any further thoughts, calculations, or computations, he was interrupted by a disgruntled mewl. Data reached down, and opened the catcage, at last unleashing Spot upon his new habitat. He paused, and before the cat could get away Data picked up the little creature, stroking its back affectionately. Spot purred with audible delight.
"You are a good cat," he smiled, "And a pretty cat. Tonight, you will dine on Feline Supplement 221. And then you will be spending the next six days, at the very least, in the company of Lieutenant Commander LaForge."
* * *
Jean-Luc sipped at the fresh, hot Earl Grey he'd been served in the little cafe, back home in Paris. Replicators, he had decided this night, didn't do the drink justice. This was an old place he'd gone before with academy friends, and he'd thought it appropriate for the meeting he'd called with Lieutenant Commander Data. He'd already broken the news to Riker, Troi, LaForge, and Crusher, and all of them had been utterly delighted. Worf's revelation had been a nasty surprise, but aside from the loss of his Tactical Officer, Picard was four-for-four on his little recruitment campaign for his new starship.
His new Enterprise. A sovereign-class starship, the most advanced vessel in the entire fleet. She was a sleek, stern, fast ship. While she wasn't quite the family craft that his last vessel had been, she was an admirable boat, and a very impressive young lady. From the designs he'd viewed of her, and the sneak preview Admiral Nakamura had granted him at Spacedock, Picard had to admit he was rather smitten with the new starship. He had been looking forward all day to giving Data the news. Perhaps, more than any of the others, Picard felt a certain kinship with the android.
In the last seven years, Data had become like a son to him, and especially after the loss of his brother and nephew in the fire earlier that year, Jean-Luc had found that one of the greatest reasons he hoped to reunite the crew was so that he might help Data, again, discover just a little bit more of the humanity the android strove for. All of them were dear friends to him, and he trusted them all with his life, but Picard would be disappointed if, after all this effort, he wouldn't be able to help Data complete his search, his quest for humanity. The android, from a purely paternal point of view, was Picard's real, only last chance to leave a legacy other than the stuff of textbooks, stories, and songs. The best chance he had to one day be succeeded. It was a selfish, sentimental wish, but it was how the man felt on the matter.
His excitement turned to disappointment, an evident disappointment on his face, when the android walked into the cafe wearing a freshly-pressed red, command-division uniform. Some bloody bureaucraft must have gotten to Data first, and assigned him to a new ship.
"Not you, too," Picard groaned, smiling in a friendly gesture, but still raising a palm to his face. "I've already had to release good Mister Worf to Deep Space Nine. Dare I ask which vessel I'm losing my Chief Operations Officer to?"
Data stepped over to the table, sat, and glanced at Picard with an expression of uncertainty on his face.
"I was requested to replace the First Officer of the USS Rorschach," Data explained.
Picard's face immediately tightened.
"You do realize, of course," he mused, taking another sip of tea, "That the Rorschach is Bruce Maddox's vessel."
"I do, sir," Data responded, "The request came from him personally."
Picard rolled his eyes, and took a deep gulp of the tea, staring sternly across the table.
"Data," Picard started, "If you have a desire to serve Starfleet, to advance, or to improve yourself as a human being...I can appreciate that, and I admire that. However...we are talking about the man who tried to dismantle you. I don't know how confident I feel leaving you under his command."
Data paused, and then glanced back over at his former Captain, apologetically.
"He made his intentions plain," Data explained, "He needs assistance only in tracking anomalies through nearby sectors, and diverting them from a potentially hazardous course. I...hope that I have not upset you, sir."
Picard was about to scold the android further, when he thought better of it. He smiled, and took another sip of tea.
"So..." Picard smiled, setting up his next statement, "A Nebula-Class vessel? She'll have an impressive sensor range, cruise speed, and excellent maneuverability."
"It is likely that the only significant of those facilities aboard for our mission will be the sensors," Data explained, "However, I must agree. For a science vessel, her impulse engines and ability to maneuver are impressive, especially compared, for example, to Ambassador and Galaxy-Class starships."
"Oh, yes, indeed," Picard sighed, almost scoffing, "But, Mister Data," he mused, still setting himself up, "Her warp speed will be atrocious. Her phasers negligible. Her shields just barely above standard. Her torpedo launchers archaic. Your quarters will be minuscule, your main computer will likely be overloaded and in need of desperate maintenance, and, as a First Officer, you'll be drastically overextended on what's certain to be an undermanned, underappreciated vessel." Picard took a sip of his tea, making a mock frown. "I sympathize, of course."
"I am unlikely to be overextended, sir," Data explained, "I do not require the same manner of rest that organic beings do. And, as the Nebula-Class is a science vessel, there is little need for warp speeds, phasers, or above-average defensive measures. However, I appreciate your concern for my safety and well-being, sir."
"Oh, you'll be fine, Mister Data," Picard mused, "But...all I'm trying to say is that I would very much like to see you on a ship that is slightly more worthy of an officer with your track record and achievements. Something sleek...fast...a true tall ship, for our time. A vessel at the forefront of not only scientific exploration, but also exploration of new forms of life, new civilizations, serving the Federation in the same diplomatic, military, and intrepid capacity that the Enterprise herself did." He paused, and lifted a PADD, scrolling through it, keeping its contents hidden from the android's sight. He put on a poker face, masking his excitement. "A ship with bio-mnemetic gel packs, providing a more advanced computer interface and course corrections...sensors and targeting systems that put a Nebula-Class ship to shame...and, for the explicit pleasure of letting us play with all the new toys, I think a quantum torpedo launcher might be a nice touch, don't you?"
Data paused, glancing up in confusion at the wily Frenchman. A waitress approached, glancing at the android, then at Picard. She was young, quite young, and had probably only seen a few Starfleet officers in these parts before. She glanced at them a bit nervously.
"C-can I get you something, Commander?" she asked Picard, a hero-worship grin on her face.
"Oh, no need for formalities," Picard smiled, taking a menu off her hands and glancing through it. "And...four pips indicates the rank of Captain, my dear, just so you're aware next time."
The girl seemed to straighten right up, trying to deport herself as best as possible.
"I'm sorry, Captain, sir," she stammered.
"Relax," Picard smiled, flipping to the second page. "Ah," he grinned, pointing towards an old Labarre recipe, "I'll have this one. One for my friend, as well. Oh, and let's have a fresh bottle of wine, as well, my dear. And...please avoid serving the synthetic stuff."
She nodded, smiling broadly, and took the menu from him. Within seconds, she'd scampered off back to the kitchen. Data was still sitting with a stunned expression on his face.
"Sir," Data explained, "I regret to inform you that gel pack technology is still in the experimental phases, quantum torpedo launchers are only being tested currently on select tactical vessels of the Defiant class, and no class currently active has a more advanced sensor system than the Nebula-Class with a refitted sensor pod. While what you describe would, indeed, be a 'tall ship' and an impressive technologic achievement, it is simply not possible."
Picard glanced in staged disappointment at the PADD.
"Is that so?" he asked.
"It is," Data responded concisely.
"Mister Data," Picard mused, smiling at him, "It brings me great pleasure, for the first time in the last eight damned years, to prove that the Soong-type android in any given argument isn't always right."
"Sir," Data explained, "Based on all current Federation vessels in active service, as well as recent periodic journals from Starfleet Research and Development, and the conclusions from scientists involved in the creation of these new technologies, it would not be possible for a vessel with the specifications that you have outlined to be possible with our current level of advancement, let alone - "
Picard turned the PADD, displaying the image of a new ship, complete with technical specifications. Data glanced at it, and motioned towards it.
"May I?" he asked.
"You may," Picard responded confidently, placing the PADD into his hand.
Data glanced over the information for a few seconds, and then glanced back at Picard.
"Oh," Data mumbled, glancing up apologetically.
Picard's response was a smug, victorious grin.
"My apologies, sir," he expressed, handing the PADD back, "I was not aware that such designs existed, nor that such technologies had been sufficiently tested."
"Oh, they very much exist," Picard explained, "And her construction is nearly complete. And she's going to need a new Ops officer."
Data watched, with surprise, still attempting to put the pieces of Picard's little puzzle together. As he did so, the waitress returned, with the bottle of wine and two glasses. She poured one for each of them, and then smiled impressionably at Picard as she set the bottle down on the table.
"Will that be alright, sir?" she asked, politely.
"It's marvelous," Picard responded, "Thank you kindly, my dear."
The waitress returned to the kitchen, a bit of a skip to her step.
"Sir," Data asked, seeming to understand Picard's message and beaming a grin, "Are you...inviting me aboard?"
"Well, I've already managed to strongarm everyone else into it," Picard smiled, "Even after Commander Riker was offered the Thunderchild. With the exception of Mister Worf, who I wish all all the best at Deep Space Nine...I'm hoping to collect the full Enterprise set."
Data's expression turned into a broad, excited smile, like the child finding presents under a tree at Christmas.
"I would be glad - !" he started, and then his expression darkened significantly.
"What's wrong?" Picard asked, leaning over the table, a little concerned.
Data glanced back at him with a look on his face that could only be described as sad, or forlorn.
"Captain," Data spoke, "There is a possibility that the anomaly we pursue may be hostile. It is, currently, on a course for Earth. We are attempting to divert it...but I am uncertain as to whether we will be successful. I may not return from this mission alive."
Picard paused, putting the PADD away, and sucked back the last of his tea in one fell swoop. He looked back, watching Data for a few seconds, and then leaned over the table, resting his elbow on it.
"I see," he sighed, "I will make the rest of the crew aware, of course."
"Of course, sir," Data explained. "The anomaly has already rendered several M-Class planets uninhabitable. I am not yet certain how we will proceed, or what the end result will be."
"Have you alerted Starfleet Command?" Picard asked, "And have they not dispatched a more appropriate ship?"
"Command is preoccupied with the looming Dominion conflict," Data explained, "They do not believe there is yet sufficient indication of a threat."
Picard sighed, leaned back in his chair, and crossed his arms.
"But...Maddox believes otherwise?" Picard answered.
"He does," Data responded.
Picard chuckled, glancing over at him.
"Bruce Maddox has been wrong before," Picard stated, "The fact that you're still functional, alive, and in one piece is evidence of that."
"I have reviewed his calculations, and they seem sound," Data argued, "I...wished to tell you this, as I have rarely before been placed in a position of such importance aboard a ship. Before we embark...I wished only to seek your...approval, sir."
Picard sighed, but smiled. Data had come to him to ask permission...in much the same manner that a son would. Picard, despite himself, was proud of the android, and of the progress that he had made. He wasn't sure what to think, but was confident that the android would rise to whatever challenge Maddox had discovered.
"Of course you have my approval," Picard sighed, "So long as Maddox's intentions are truly honorable, and so long that you feel this is what you are being called to do. It's a shame the Enterprise won't be complete for another three weeks...we might have otherwise have been able to join you, and Captain Maddox."
Data's smile was indication that his emotion chip was still running at full swing, and he leaned forward, glancing over at Picard.
"Enterprise?" Data asked, eagerly, "She's...a new Enterprise, sir?"
"NCC-1701-E," Picard responded, proudly. "And there's going to be a spot waiting for you at Ops when you return from the Rorschach."
Data paused, his expression grim.
"But sir," Data explained, "I may not return, in which case it would be beneficial for you to select a second choice, in the event that - "
"Oh, I'll most certainly not select a second," Picard snapped, with a laugh, "I have construction to oversee, the entire remaining crew to pick out, and Starfleet Command already nipping at my heels to take her out on a shakedown cruise. The last thing I need to do is sit down and train a new Ops officer. I simply haven't the time. And so, Mister Data, you will return. That is an order."
"But sir - !" Data started to protest.
"There will be no 'buts' on the matter, Lieutenant Commander!" Picard barked, merrily, "I will be expecting you on the Enterprise in three weeks' time. I shall be quite disappointed if you do not arrive."
Data paused, and glanced back over with a smile.
"Then I shall return, sir," Data answered.
"You'd better," Picard responded, warningly, "Because it'll be a damned inconvenience, Mister Data, if you don't." Picard raised his glass, indicating to Data to do the same. Data complied. "Now," Picard explained, "This shall be our arrangement. We will drink this one glass each, and I will save the remainder of the bottle for you on your return. I expect to have another good drink in your company, Mister Data, and I expect you to have stories to tell. I expect this will be quite an experience for you."
"Then perhaps," Data pondered, "Our first toast of the evening should be to journeys."
"Or," Picard suggested, "Perhaps, rather, to their beginnings."
"Very well," Data nodded, "To new beginnings, sir?"
"To new beginnings," Picard responded.
The glasses clinked together, and the officers drank.