STAR TREK: THE NEXT GENERATION
Delayed Reaction
I
Captain's Log, Stardate 52596.3: The Enterprise is currently escorting a freighter convoy from the Alpha Proxima system to Starbase 375, where our supplies will be distributed to the various fleets and taskforces that are conducting combat operations along the Cardassian front. This sort of duty would not normally be assigned to a Sovereign-class starship, but the supplies carried by the convoy consist of deuterium and its antimatter equivalent, two substances which serve as vital sources of fuel for matter-antimatter reactors. Not only could these supplies be put to devastating use by the enemy, but our starships have been consuming a higher quantity of these substances than normal, due to the increased tempo of warfare, and resupply is desperately needed. It is not believed that Dominion forces have encroached this far into Federation territory, but Starfleet Command has decided not to take any chances.
Counselor Deanna Troi sighed deeply and regarded her current patient, who was seated across from her. "I've been expecting something like this," she told him, sadly.
Data gazed quizzically at her. "I do not understand, Counselor. To what are you referring?"
Troi smiled patiently at him. In one smooth motion, she rose from her seat, moved around the low coffee table between them, and seated herself on the couch next to the android officer. "Data, Geordi has mentioned a few things to me," she said. "He's concerned about you."
Data's face screwed up in an expression of genuine puzzlement. Troi loved that expression. To her, it bespoke her android friend's complete innocence.
"Concerned about what?" he asked.
"He's noticed that you've been spending more and more time with your emotion chip deactivated. Commander Riker has noticed it, too, but it was Geordi who convinced me to see you."
Data looked away from her, studying the walls for a moment. He did not often find himself in the office of the ship's counselor. For many years, his android existence had left him without any emotions whatsoever, and so he had had little need of counseling. But in recent years he had begun to make use of an emotion chip that had been designed by his creator as a final gift, and so had occasionally sought her advice on his newfound feelings.
The emotions granted to him by the chip had been overwhelming at first, particularly after it had become fused to his neural net and could not be shut off. He and Geordi had worked for months after the Veridian crisis to find a way to remove the chip, and ultimately succeeded. They had even built in a relay that would allow him to deactivate the chip with a simple command through one of his sub-processors, allowing him to turn his emotions on and off at will. At the time, Geordi had been openly envious.
"Please don't be angry with Geordi," Troi appealed to him when he didn't respond for several moments. "He's only trying to help."
Data looked at her with what appeared to be genuine surprise. "I am not angry at Geordi," he told her. "He is my friend, and his concern is deeply appreciated. However, I assure you I am functioning within normal parameters."
Troi sighed again. "All right, if that's so, then why have you been spending so much time with your emotions turned off?"
Again, Data looked confused. "Is it not my responsibility to ensure that my personal feelings do not interfere with my duties?"
Finally, she felt like she was getting somewhere. "Have your feelings been getting in the way of your duties?" she asked.
Data's response was nearly instantaneous. "No. I have deactivated my emotions whenever they have threatened to do so."
Troi was suddenly struck with a desire to beat her head, or perhaps Data's, against a large, blunt object. She suppressed it. "Data, has it ever occurred to you that, if you're constantly having to turn off your emotions to perform your duties, there might be something wrong?"
Data peered at her with those large, golden irises. "Do you believe my emotion chip is malfunctioning?" he asked, suddenly concerned.
Troi shook her head and got up from the couch. Slowly, she paced around the room. "No, Data." She took a long moment to consider, and decided to try a different tact.
"Data, how long has it been since you installed your emotion chip?"
"Four years, seven months, three days," he replied earnestly.
"And it has only been since that time that you've had access to genuine emotions, is that correct?"
"Yes, counselor. My positronic matrix was not originally programmed with emotional subroutines."
"And yet," she continued, warming to the subject, "you lived a full life leading up to that point."
Data said nothing, but continued to gaze at her, wondering where she might be going with this line of thought.
"You experienced friendship, camaraderie, love, loss, betrayal, even anger and pain."
Data shook his head. "That is incorrect, counselor. Without my emotion chip, I was incapable of experiencing the emotional responses you ascribe to me."
Troi allowed herself to hope that she was finally getting through. She seated herself once again in her original chair and looked directly at Data. "You're right, of course, but that's exactly the point. You had such a wealth of experiences in the years before you acquired your chip, many of which would have produced intense emotional responses in anyone else, and yet you never felt any of those resultant emotions. You have a lifetime's worth of experiences that you've never really experienced, and as an android you can recall every moment of those experiences as if they happened yesterday. It was only a matter of time before those feelings caught up with you."
Data considered that for a moment. "The recent difficulties with my emotion chip," he said, carefully, "do appear to have revolved around recollections of past events. I am occasionally reminded of moments, or even people, of great importance in my life which now seem to trigger intense emotional responses."
"Would you care to be more specific?" asked Troi. Data had long ago overcome his tendency to ramble, she knew, and he sometimes required a bit of mild prodding to provide much detail.
The android paused for a long moment, and Troi wondered if he might require more encouragement. Before she pressed him further, however, he answered.
"It would seem to have begun with Lieutenant Hernandez's death several weeks ago. My emotional response to that event was . . . astonishing, to say the least."
Deanna nodded, sympathetically. "We were all affected by her death, especially considering the way she died." She hesitated for a moment, then pressed on. "Were you close to Lieutenant Hernandez?"
"No," Data answered, honestly. "That is what struck me as so unusual. I knew the lieutenant only in passing, and her death should not have affected me in the way that it did."
Troi was beginning to feel more confident that she understood the root of Data's problems, but she needed him to explore the issues himself. "Certain kinds of events," she offered, "can sometimes have unexpected effects on us, and witnessing the death of a colleague certainly qualifies."
"And yet," Data continued, "my thoughts in the following weeks seemed centered not on Lieutenant Hernandez herself, but on the more distant past. The manner of her death . . . reminded me of something else."
"Data," Troi explained, calmly, "I wasn't on that away team, so I didn't actually witness what happened. Perhaps, if you could elaborate for me, I might understand better."
Slowly, hesitantly, Data began to relate the events to her, and Deanna listened intently, hoping she could find a way to help her friend.
II
The away team materialized on a desolate stretch of land. The moon they were on was class-L, barely capable of supporting humanoid life, and in every direction the eye detected nothing but barren rock arranged in hills, outcroppings, and even low mountains. The atmosphere was breathable, but only just within the lower limits of human oxygen requirements, and the lack of sufficient greenhouse gasses left the temperature noticeably cold. It was an altogether inhospitable environment.
Commander William Riker, at the head of the team, immediately tapped his combadge. "Riker to Enterprise. We've arrived at the landing site."
Captain Picard's voice echoed metallically from the small speakers. "Acknowledged, Number One. Exercise extreme caution."
Wordlessly, Riker motioned to the rest of his team to spread out. Using the rocky landscape for cover, Riker and Data drew their phasers and moved off to the right. Lieutenants Daniels and Hernandez cautiously moved out to the left, their own weapons also held ready.
The Enterprise was investigating a Starfleet distress call, received only minutes before from the Tapa Delti system. Prior to the war, standard procedure would have been to call up Starfleet transit orders to see if any ships or shuttles had been ordered through that sector, but ever since the outbreak of hostilities with the Dominion, Starfleet Command had begun classifying such orders to hinder Dominion intelligence gathering. Unfortunately, the tradeoff for such secrecy was that it made it harder for ships like the Enterprise to determine exactly what was going on when responding to distress signals. Once in orbit, sensors had detected an ion trail that led to a mass of debris on the surface, debris that could be a downed Federation shuttlecraft. The surrounding rock, however, had a very high content of heavy metals that interfered with sensor readings, so the only way to know for sure had been to beam down and investigate.
Riker and Data quickly reached a large outcropping of rock, and knelt down behind it. Data pulled out his tricorder and opened it, examining the readings.
The android shook his head. "As expected, sir, the heavy metallic content in the rock interferes with normal tricorder operation. The device's effective range is no more than 10 meters."
Riker scowled. "That's barely enough to give us any advance warning at all. A scout on high ground with a good set of binoculars could spot us faster."
Data nodded in reluctant agreement. "That is correct, sir. And unfortunately, the Jem'Hadar shrouding ability could give them a distinct advantage over us." He cocked his head in thought. "Perhaps Commander La Forge would prove useful as a lookout."
Riker shook his head. "No, I don't want to risk another beam-in until we know what we're dealing with. Do you know where the shuttle debris is?"
"One hundred twenty meters in that direction, sir." Data indicated in the appropriate direction.
"Let's keep moving." With Riker leading the way, the two officers worked their way across the landscape, carefully using the terrain as cover.
***
Nearby, Lieutenant Daniels and Lieutenant (Junior Grade) Hernandez crouched behind another set of boulders. Daniels glanced down at his phaser rifle, now held at the ready in both hands, and verified its power setting. Hernandez did the same. That done, Daniels cautiously peered over the top of the boulder, attempting to locate Riker and Data some meters away.
"Can you see them?" asked Hernandez.
Daniels shook his head. "No, they're staying pretty low, and probably using a roundabout approach, if I know Commander Riker. I'm sure he's worried about running into a Jem'Hadar patrol."
Hernandez glanced around, anxiously. "Do you think they're here?" she asked.
Daniels shrugged. "No way of knowing, but it's wartime. It always pays to be careful."
Hernandez nodded, and wordlessly, they began moving again in what Daniels believed to be the direction of the shuttle debris. Cautiously, they moved from one boulder or large outcropping to the next in turn, one of them constantly peering around and watching the other's back. After several dozen meters, the pair of security officers paused again.
"Have you ever actually seen a Jem'Hadar, sir?" Hernandez asked.
Daniels answered without looking at her, preferring not to make eye contact. "Yeah," he admitted, slowly, but seemed reluctant to say more.
"Are they . . ." she began, hesitantly. After a brief moment, she tried again. "Are they as . . . scary . . . as people say?"
Daniels did look at her now, finally making eye contact. She was scared, he suddenly realized. She had only recently transferred to the Enterprise, and had never been in combat before, but after several months of standard security duties, he had thought she was ready. He was beginning to reevaluate that judgement, but it was too late to do anything about it.
"No scarier than any other hostile," he told her, downplaying the threat as much as he could. In truth, Jem'Hadar were among the most dangerous and brutal enemies a Starfleet officer could face, but the last thing he needed was a panicky junior officer on a dangerous away mission.
Hernandez, however, would not so easily dismiss her concerns. She glanced down at her phaser rifle. "I hear it used to be standard procedure to set phasers on stun," she told him, pointedly.
Daniels looked away again. He couldn't deny it—it was in all the regulations—but he didn't want to add fuel to her fears. "Just keep that set above level five and you'll be fine," he instructed her. Without another word, he moved out from behind their cover and continued toward the debris, trusting his junior officer to follow.
***
Some meters away, Riker and Data were making good time. Unencumbered by the bulky phaser rifles, the two were able to quickly slip under and between rocks that might otherwise have given them trouble. Actually, Riker doubted that Data would have been encumbered even in a full environment suit, but for his own sake he was glad that they had elected to carry only type-2 phasers with their tricorders. Riker had always placed more value on maneuverability and speed than firepower.
Data was consulting his tricorder again, no doubt double-checking his judgement of their position. "We should be nearing the debris site, Commander," he said. At a glance from Riker he pointed over a nearby ridge. "It should be just over there."
Nodding, the big commander led the way toward the ridge in question and cautiously peered over the edge. He was rewarded with the sight of a downed Starfleet personnel shuttle that looked to have been buried more than a meter into the ground. Behind it, a long swath of overturned soil marked where the small ship had undoubtedly touched down and continued to slide under her momentum. Scattered all about was metallic debris, a good indication that the shuttle had started to come apart under the force of the crash. Fortunately, the debris seemed to consist mostly of very small pieces, and the pod itself appeared to have remained mostly intact. He sincerely hoped the pilot and any passengers had survived.
Careful not to leave himself exposed for too long, Riker took only a moment to absorb the scene before withdrawing his head back under the cover of the ridge.
"It's a shuttle, all right. Looks like a type-6." He scowled. "So we could have as many as eight possible survivors. Can you tell if there are any life forms in the area at all?"
Data worked his tricorder again, but Riker could see a modicum of frustration on his android friend's face. Ever since he had achieved his goal of obtaining emotions, Riker had found it easier to tell what Data was thinking.
"The interference is still too great," Data admitted at length. "I am barely able to read the debris from the shuttle, and I believe that is only because I know what I am looking for."
Riker scowled and turned back to the ridge. Carefully, he again peered over the rocks at their goal. "There's an awful lot of open space down there," he grumbled. "I don't see any movement from here, but that doesn't mean no one else is around. Do you think you could cover that distance faster than I could? If you can take cover in the wreckage, I could cover you from up here."
Riker waited a moment for the android's answer, but after Data had not replied for several seconds, he turned to look at his friend—
—and found himself staring straight down the barrel of a Jem'Hadar pulse cannon, the weapon's bayonet nearly scraping against his skin. The Jem'Hadar soldier holding the cannon glared threateningly at him, as if daring him to move. Only a meter or two away, Riker could see Data in a similar position, with a second Jem'Hadar weapon trained on his android head. The two officers' eyes met, and even after all the time that had passed since Data had lost his former stoicism, Riker was still surprised to see apprehension on his friend's face.
The two senior officers, having been stripped of their phasers, tricorders, and combadges, were unceremoniously dragged down to the shuttle wreckage by their Jem'Hadar captors. As they neared the shuttle, Riker watched as yet another Jem'Hadar appeared out of thin air and approached them.
"Report!" snapped the new arrival, clearly in charge of the other two.
"Four Starfleet officers have arrived to investigate this craft's disappearance," replied Riker's captor. "These two approached this position the fastest, and we had no choice but to intervene before they drew too close. The other two are still out there, being tracked by more of our number. We await your instructions, First."
The first approached Riker closely, peering into his face. "I am First Ramaka'tar," he snarled, threateningly. "You were foolish to come with so few guards, Commander."
Riker said nothing. With most other adversaries, he might have tried to bluster his way out of this, to intimidate them with his own physical size and aggressiveness or the threat of Starfleet retaliation. But Riker had had enough experience with Jem'Hadar to know that such efforts were worthless with them. One could not intimidate someone who viewed himself as already dead, and was fighting to reclaim his own life.
"These two appear to be the senior officers," offered the third soldier, who had not yet spoken. "The other two are lieutenants, one of them merely junior grade, and belong to the services division. That one," he indicated Riker, "was the only command officer among them."
Ramaka'tar seemed to consider them for a moment, then nodded approvingly at his two underlings. "You have done well," he told them. "These two should prove valuable in discouraging their starship from taking rash action. Put them with the other."
Roughly, Riker and Data were dragged to the other side of the shuttle, which had been out of sight from Riker's former vantage point, and deposited on the ground with their backs to the wreckage. Riker noticed, absently, that Data's soldier seemed to have a bit of trouble dragging the android into position, no doubt owing to his friend's considerable mass. Riker knew that Data, with his superior speed and strength, could certainly escape from these two guards and probably take them out in the process, but the android probably feared what would happen to his human companion during such an escape attempt.
The Jem'Hadar seemed unfamiliar with who and what Data was, and further did not seem to know or care which ship they belonged to. Riker was glad to have an ace in the hole, but he wasn't sure yet how best to use it. They still did not know how many Jem'Hadar belonged to this unit, and he doubted that Data could evade all of them long enough to return to the ship.
When the two prisoners were seated to their satisfaction, the guards stepped back and issued a terse instruction. "Stay," they said in unison, before shrouding and disappearing into the landscape. Jem'Hadar, Riker realized, made excellent guards in addition to soldiers. A prisoner could never dare to misbehave, not knowing when a shrouded Jem'Hadar might be nearby to witness it. The Founders seemed to thrive on instilling paranoia in their enemies.
The commander glanced over at his friend, and suddenly realized they were not alone. Seated on the other side of the android was yet another Starfleet officer in command division red. His rank insignia rated him as a junior grade lieutenant. Data had noticed him, too, but had not yet dared to speak. Neither of them were sure how their captors would react to conversation among the prisoners, but Riker decided he had to take the chance.
"Are you all right, lieutenant?" he asked in a low voice.
The younger officer nodded, weakly. "I think so, sir."
Riker examined him more closely, and realized that the lieutenant was probably putting on a brave front. His uniform was soaked with blood, and he had numerous gashes littered across his face and forehead. Nearly every inch of exposed skin was covered in dirt or blood, some dried and some fresh, and the expression on the young man's face spoke of pain being endured.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Nash, sir. Adam Nash. I was on my way to deliver a set of orders when a Jem'Hadar fighter attacked out of nowhere. It was all I could do to stay alive long enough to set down here."
"We're going to get you back to our ship just as soon as we can," he assured the injured man. Data glanced at him, experienced enough to know that Riker, too, was putting on a brave front, but it was important for the young officer to believe that his commanders had the situation well in hand.
The young man shook his head. "That's not important, sir. I'm Admiral Josten's attaché. I was ordered to ferry a set of deployment orders to the Eighth Fleet in the Paxa system." He grimaced again, and placed one hand on his belly, clearly the source of whatever pain he was feeling. "The admiral didn't want to risk transmission over subspace."
Data glanced from the lieutenant, to Riker, and back again. "Where are these orders now?" he asked.
The young officer took a deep breath before answering. "I had them on an isolinear chip in a locked case aboard the shuttle. I was knocked unconscious in the crash, but I don't think the Jem'Hadar have bothered with any of my equipment. They don't seem to be interested in that sort of thing, but I'm sure their Vorta will be."
Riker scanned the surrounding landscape, absorbing the new information. This complicated matters considerably.
***
Nearby, Daniels and Hernandez were still moving toward the crash site. Hernandez was in the lead, having just passed Daniels in their hopscotch method of covering each other, and had stopped to peer around the corner of a large rock formation.
"Sir!" she hissed, excitedly. Pulling back around the end of the rock, she motioned for Daniels to join her.
"It see it, sir!" she whispered when her commander drew within earshot. Daniels crept to the corner and peered out into the landscape as Hernandez continued. "Commander Riker and Commander Data are already there, but I'm not sure what they're doing."
Daniels pulled back and looked at her after having gotten a good look for himself. "They're prisoners," he informed her, carefully. He wasn't sure how dependable she might be in a combat situation, but it appeared that they suddenly had a situation that needed to be dealt with. "I don't see any guards, but it looks like they've been relieved of their phasers and combadges. We need to get them out of there, but we need to be careful not to get ourselves killed in the process."
Hernandez hesitated for a second. "Jem'Hadar?" she asked, tentatively.
"Keep your mind on your job, Lieutenant," Daniels replied, sternly. "Just because they're shrouded doesn't mean they're invincible. They have to deshroud before they attack, so keep your eyes and ears open."
Hernandez nodded and visibly steeled herself for the task ahead. Maybe she is ready, Daniels thought. If she can control her fear, we might get through this yet.
Taking the lead, Daniels altered their course and began working his way around the crash site. He wanted to get in a better position to see everything before he made any decisions about how to proceed.
***
"Commander."
Riker was startled out of his thoughts by the sudden sound of Data's voice. He had been trying to think of a way to get inside the shuttle without getting killed by their guards, or at least without getting killed before he could destroy the tactical communication, but he was coming up empty.
"What is it, Data?" he asked, grateful for the interruption. Maybe Data has an idea.
Data answered without looking at him. His eyes remained fixed on a point out in the landscape. "Lieutenant Daniels is here."
Casually, Riker moved his head and looked in the direction that Data seemed to be gazing. He couldn't see anything, but he knew Data's eyes were better than his own.
"We'd better think of something before they come charging in here," he told the android, trying to keep his voice low enough that their captors wouldn't overhear.
Data cocked his head to the side in the way he usually did when an idea occurred to him. "We may have an advantage the Jem'Hadar are unaware of."
Riker looked at his friend, and waited patiently for him to continue. He knew Data was probably still considering the particulars of his idea.
"It is well known," said the android, "that the Jem'Hadar shroud effectively conceals the soldiers' heat signature as well as visible light, rendering them undetectable even to thermal imaging. Their bodies must still give off heat, however, as a bodily necessity. This means that they would still leave a modest heat signature on whatever surfaces they came into contact with, and in this cold climate that includes the ground they are walking on. My infrared vision is detecting what can only be described as . . . footprints."
Riker strove to reign in his sudden excitement. "How many can you see?" he asked.
Data considered the question before answering. "I am detecting at least eight Jem'Hadar in the immediate vicinity, five of which have arrived while we have been sitting here. Perhaps they are returning to this location for some purpose."
Riker nodded. "Standard crew complement for a Jem'Hadar fighter is twelve. I hope that's all we're facing." He leaned past Data to speak to Nash. "Are you sure there was only one ship?" he asked.
Nash nodded, weakly. "I got a look at the sensor board during the attack. There was only one."
"It may be prudent to assume that we face no more Jem'Hadar than that," agreed Data. "If there are more, there would surely be no hope of escape in any event."
Riker's eyes narrowed as he scanned the landscape again. "So we have an advantage. The question is, what do we do with it?"
Another voice cut through the surroundings. "Commander! Riker, isn't it?"
The first officer of the Enterprise looked up to see a smiling Vorta approaching from around the shuttle hull to their right, escorted by two more unshrouded Jem'Hadar. Clearly, he was in charge of this platoon.
With no apparent fear while surrounded by so many of his soldiers, the newcomer knelt down beside Riker and spoke casually, as if they were enjoying a nice cup of coffee in a lounge somewhere. "I was told the Enterprise was on patrol in this sector, but I didn't expect to actually meet you. I must admit, your reputation precedes you."
"Charmed," snarled Riker, sarcastically. The Vorta seemed unfazed.
"Forgive me," he said. "Where are my manners? My name is Valdesh. Our landing site was some distance from here, and I'm afraid Jem'Hadar are able to cover ground much more quickly than Vorta. I hope you haven't found their company too tiresome?"
This Vorta was beginning to annoy Riker, as most Vorta did. He decided to be direct, and cut through the meaningless social pleasantries. "What do you want?" he demanded.
Valdesh just chuckled. "Why, nothing, Commander. Why should I want anything? We're at war. When my Jem'Hadar found you, they had a choice: kill you or take you prisoner. You two have the fortune of being relatively senior officers, so you were taken prisoner." With an arrogant smirk and a helpless shrug, he continued: "Your companions, I'm afraid, won't be so lucky."
"What?" Riker demanded, angrily. Eyeing the Vorta's stern-looking escorts a few meters away, he restrained himself from rising to his feet. "There's no reason to kill them, Valdesh! You can capture them just as easily as you captured us!"
Valdesh rocked back on his feet, still kneeling beside the commander. "That's true, but I'm afraid there's no value in doing so. You were captured because your interrogation will probably result in a great deal of classified information, but my Jem'Hadar have already determined that your two other companions are nothing more than low-ranking security officers, and not really worth the effort." Again, the arrogant Vorta offered the smirk and the helpless shrug. "Besides, my Jem'Hadar would be terribly disappointed if I didn't let them kill your security officers. They already have it worked out, and believe me, you don't want to see a disappointed Jem'Hadar."
Riker's face twisted into a mask of rage, and without thinking, he started to rise to his feet, but both of the Jem'Hadar protecting Valdesh stepped forward, their pulse cannons trained on him. With some effort, Riker reigned in his temper and remained seated.
Nearby, Data listened to the exchange, his apprehension growing. His companions were walking into a trap, but as much as the android wanted to warn them, he knew that his priority had to be the tactical communication still inside the shuttle. If he and Riker were killed, there would be no one left to destroy it and the Vorta would almost certainly return to base with an incredible intelligence coup. Worriedly, he scanned the landscape again, but found that he had lost sight of Hernandez and Daniels. He was sure, however, that the Jem'Hadar had not.
***
Daniels and Hernandez had managed to work their way around to an outcropping directly across from Riker and Data, and could now see that there was another officer seated against the shuttle next to them, as well as a Vorta and two Jem'Hadar guards.
Daniels quickly deduced that the other officer must have been the pilot of the shuttle, and quickly factored him into the various possible escape plans running through his head. Unfortunately, the young officer looked injured, perhaps seriously, and that would invariably slow them down. The only way to do this, he realized, would be to join them near the shuttle and signal the Enterprise for an emergency beam-out.
Unfortunately, the Vorta and the Jem'Hadar complicated any such plan. He wasn't worried about the Vorta—they hardly ever put up a fight—but the two unshrouded Jem'Hadar worried him. He couldn't remember the last time he had heard of there being only two Jem'Hadar anywhere. Fortunately, they seemed more interested in watching Riker and the Vorta than the countryside.
Next to him, Hernandez peered across the twenty meters or so that separated them from their comrades. "They don't look so tough," she declared, quietly. "I could pick them off from here."
Daniels glanced at her to make sure she didn't actually intend to pick them off from there, then returned his gaze to the scene before them. "I don't like it," he told his subordinate. "There should be more of them."
Hernandez fixed him with an eager gaze. "We should move in now, before any others show up."
Daniels hesitated. It was true that he couldn't see any more Jem'Hadar, but intuition told him there were more around, even if he couldn't see them. Still, this seemed like the best chance they were likely to get, no matter how long they waited. Reluctantly, he nodded in agreement. "I want to approach separately. You move about ten meters in that—"
Hernandez was already gone, headed toward the shuttle, without waiting for her superior officer to explain his plan. She had always been bold—that was one of the reasons she had opted for a security assignment in the first place—and Daniels realized that he should have expected the young woman to deal with her apprehension by facing it directly. Helplessly, he watched as she charged across several meters before reluctantly following. This was a little more direct and vulnerable than he would have preferred.
***
It all happened so fast. Nash appeared only semi-conscious, but Riker and Data could see everything as it happened.
Helplessly, they watched as Lieutenant Hernandez broke from cover and charged toward their position, her weapon at the ready. They could see her eyes fixed on the two Jem'Hadar guards near Valdesh, and imagined she would stop and fire on them the moment they glanced away from their charge and noticed her. She probably wanted to get close enough to have the best possible chance of hitting them. Behind her, they could see Daniels emerge from cover and chase after her, covering her back as best he could.
They wanted to jump to their feet and charge to her aid, or shout a warning, or something. She was already doomed, but she didn't know it.
Suddenly, four Jem'Hadar deshrouded behind the two security officers, where only Riker and Data could see them. Calmly, almost cruelly, they took aim at the officers' backs. The first shot was fired at Hernandez, at an angle clearly calculated so that there was no chance of hitting the prisoners or the Vorta on the other side. Hernandez never had a chance.
The pulse blast hit her squarely in the back and knocked her forward onto the ground. With his superior vision, Data could see the young officer's face in the split second before she landed on her stomach. Her expression, which only an instant before had been so full of determination, registered only shock. She probably never knew what hit her.
At that moment, something in Data snapped. For an instant, he saw not the death of a young lieutenant he barely knew, but the tragic death of a former shipmate he had known extraordinarily well. The view of Macha Hernandez, charging toward danger, was replaced with the memory of Tasha Yar, who had died doing the very same thing, and for a second time Data was powerless to stop it.
The second shot was no less calculated, but Daniels' instincts and experience saved him. Seeing the shot that killed Hernandez coming from behind him, and knowing that he was trapped out in the open, the security chief turned and ducked, bringing his weapon around to bear in the direction of the shot. He knew he probably wouldn't survive, but he would be damned if he didn't take a few of the bastards with him. The movement saved his life.
Instead of striking him dead center in the back, as had the shot that killed Hernandez, Daniels took a pulse blast in the shoulder where he had turned to face his attackers. The force of the blast continued his spin in the direction he had begun, but his legs buckled beneath him and the spin ended by depositing him unceremoniously on the ground, his legs twisted beneath him. His phaser rifle flew from his hands and he lay there, entirely at the mercy of the advancing Jem'Hadar.
Data, however, was already in motion. Overwhelmed with rage, Data's grief-stricken mind dismissed his concern about his own survival and the destruction of the classified deployment orders. In the face of Yar's death, he was compelled to act.
With the kind of speed that could only be employed by an android, Data reached across Riker and gripped an astonished Valdesh by the throat, dragging him brutally toward him. In an instant, he had the helpless Vorta arranged across his lap as a living shield, one hand still on his throat and another firmly gripping his chin.
He directed his angry gaze at the Jem'Hadar advancing on Daniels. "Drop your weapons and tell the others to deshroud, or I will snap his neck like twig!" Riker looked on, astonished at Data's sudden decision to act. Even more astonishing, he had to remind himself that this was still his friend, Data. The android sounded, for all the world, like his brother, Lore.
The Jem'Hadar, for their part, had trained their weapons on the android the instant he had acted, but even their reflexes were no match for Data's. With their Vorta being used as a shield, they seemed uncertain as to how they should proceed. Riker recognized First Ramaka'tar approaching from the direction of the soldiers who had attacked Hernandez and Daniels.
"The Vorta is prepared to die for the glory of the Founders," the first finally said, uncertainly.
Valdesh was busy grasping frantically at the hands around his neck and chin, desperately trying to pry them off. Data, with the strength and determination of a machine, paid him no mind.
"Do it!" shrieked the Vorta, clearly not enamored with the idea of dying as a result of Jem'Hadar stubbornness. "Drop your weapons! Unshroud!"
Ramaka'tar and his fellows glanced at each other, uncertainly. Clearly, they were not pleased with the idea of surrendering to an enemy, but they were loathe to disobey a Vorta. The first nodded, and they reluctantly dropped their weapons to the ground. Several more Jem'Hadar suddenly appeared, scattered about the clearing, and they, too, dropped their weapons.
Riker quickly stood, intent on taking the opportunity Data had presented them, and took a quick head count. "That's only nine of you!" he barked at the Jem'Hadar. "Where are the others?"
"Do not be concerned, Commander," Data said, still exhibiting his brother's arrogant verbal delivery. His next comments were directed back at the Jem'Hadar. "I am aware of the location of every shrouded Jem'Hadar in this clearing. If you do not wish to see your Vorta die horribly in a heartbeat, deshroud now!"
Valdesh bubbled something incomprehensible, clearly being denied oxygen by Data's vice-like grip, but there was no need for further encouragement. Ramaka'tar nodded again, and three more Jem'Hadar deshrouded around the outskirts of the group, where they had apparently been attempting to circle around behind the shuttle.
"Good," declared Data. "Now all of you gather in a group over there, and kick those weapons away!"
Again, the Jem'Hadar reluctantly obeyed, moving in the direction Data had indicated with a jerk of his head, and watched as their captured Vorta continued to struggle in the android's hands. Absently, Riker wondered how long a Vorta could go without oxygen.
As soon as the Jem'Hadar were safely gathered together, the first officer grabbed the closest pulse rifle and headed in the direction of the fallen Lieutenant Daniels. The Jem'Hadar soldiers across the clearing eyed him, anger etched across their bony faces, but they made no move to intercept him.
When he reached the fallen security officer, he used Daniels' combadge to signal the Enterprise and requested a hasty beam-out. Once aboard, he would instruct the bridge to fire several quantum torpedoes on their current position, thus obliterating the shuttle and whatever classified information remained inside. He wasn't going to bother trying to search the wreckage with twelve angry Jem'Hadar nearby, ready to kill him at the first opportunity.
Moments later, the Away Team, Lieutenant Nash, and the Vorta Valdesh dissolved in the Enterprise's transporter beam. The body of Lieutenant Hernandez, their only fatality, would be turned over to the ship's morgue as soon as they were aboard.
III
Deanna gazed at Data with eyes full of compassion and understanding. "You did what you had to do," she told the android, kindly. "You have nothing to be ashamed of."
Data shook his head, clearly still troubled by what he had told the counselor. "I do not regret my actions during the incident. It was imperative that we escape and destroy the deployment orders aboard the shuttle, and I am grateful that I was able to contribute to that goal. What disturbs me is my reaction to Lieutenant Hernandez's death. I felt . . . anger, to an extent that I have felt only a handful of times before. The previous occasions were all engineered by Lore, but on this occasion I have no convenient excuse for my emotions."
Deanna considered what her friend had told her. Perhaps this is more serious than I thought. "Data, are you concerned that you might become dangerous again? That you might lose yourself in these negative emotions, and accidentally injure someone?"
Data nodded, reluctantly. "That is a possibility. In the weeks since the incident in question, I have repeatedly felt that anger building up inside me, often coupled with other feelings that I am unfamiliar with. Inevitably, my mind lingers over the thought of Lieutenant Yar, and I find it difficult to concentrate on my assigned tasks without deactivating my emotions."
Oh. Now I understand. Rising from her chair, Deanna once again crossed the room and sat next to Data on the couch. She took his hand in both of hers, and looked into his eyes very carefully. "I think what you're feeling is something we all go through at one time or another," she told him. "I think the memory of that event may be particularly intense for you because of who it centers around, but it's a very normal feeling under the circumstances. You're feeling grief."
Data focused on her, puzzled. "You believe I am grieving for Lieutenant Yar. But Counselor, I attended the memorial service with the rest of the senior staff at the time of her death. Should my grieving period not have been concluded at that point?"
"The grieving process is different for everybody," she explained, calmly. "For some people, feelings of grief and loss can be worked through in a matter of weeks, or even days, but for others the process can stretch on for a much longer period. I've seen spouses grieve for years following the death of their partner."
Data did not know what to say. Clearly, her statements should have held some meaning for him, but whatever it was supposed to have been, he could not see how it applied to him. He had not, after all, been Tasha's spouse.
When a reply did not seem forthcoming, Deanna continued. "I know that you have always considered Tasha to be special. She's the only one of your friends that you've ever kept a portrait of. You've been involved with other women since then, and you've had other sexual experiences, but you've always considered your experiences with her as . . . different from the others. Do you know why that is?"
Data struggled with that for a moment. What she said was true, he had always regarded his encounter with Yar to be singular and unique, a status which none of this other relationships had ever truly achieved. Even Lieutenant Desora, with whom he had had a more formal and involved relationship, was not remembered as . . . fondly? In all the years since, he had never really understood why that was.
"I do not know," he finally admitted to Troi.
Deanna patted his hand with hers, and offered him an understanding smile. "I think that's something you're going to have to learn for yourself. But I will say that I think you need some time to deal with your feelings over her death. What you need is a few days off." She knew Data had deactivated his emotion chip, but for a moment she could have sworn that he looked alarmed at that prospect.
"Counselor, the Enterprise is conducting wartime operations," he objected. "I am needed on the bridge."
Deanna shook her head. "I'll speak to the captain. I'm not talking about you leaving the ship, and if an emergency comes up they can always summon you to the bridge, but as long as things remain status quo I'd really like you to spend a few days with your emotion chip on. You're never going to get through this if you cheat and turn it off every time an unpleasant emotion crosses your mind. All you're doing by refusing to experience them is bottling everything up and making it worse. The root cause of your grief is still there, and sooner or later you'll have to deal with it."
IV
Geordi La Forge glanced around the corridor worriedly, wondering what was taking so long. He was standing outside Data's quarters, well within range of the sensor grid that should have informed Data that there was someone at his door. He knew for a fact that his friend was in there—he had checked with the computer just before arriving—and he knew that the sensor would trigger the door chime again every fifteen seconds or so. Still, there was no answer.
Data had been off-duty for nearly a week now, isolated in his quarters. Although Counselor Troi had requested that Data be temporarily relieved of duty, there had been no mention of confinement to quarters and Geordi had become mildly worried as the days had passed without any sign of his best friend. Now, standing at his door, he became concerned enough to use his security override to open the door. Whether Data liked it or not, he was having company.
"Computer," he said, loud enough for the voice pickup to register him, "Security override, authorization La Forge-sigma-niner-niner-one-seven." Obediently, the doors opened and La Forge stepped inside.
The engineer was shocked by the tableau that greeted him. Normally, Data's quarters were a model of efficiency and order. Everything was always in place, not a speck of dust was to be found anywhere, and the place barely looked lived in. Today, however, that was not the case. Personal items of every description littered the floor, and several dirty cat food dishes were grouped at the foot of the replicator near the door. In the next room, Geordi could see that Data's bed (which he used to indulge in his dream program) was unmade and in disarray. A brief glance around the room did not reveal his friend's presence.
"Data?" he asked, loudly. The only answer he received was Data's cat, Spot, who came charging from the other room to stop at Geordi's feet. The cat looked up at him, expectantly.
Geordi glanced at the dirty food dishes, most of which looked quite old, and quickly realized what the problem was.
"Computer, a bowl of Data's most recent feline supplement," Geordi said to the replicator. And android cat-lover was constantly working on new and improved nutritional mixtures for Spot, and had been for years. Obediently, a bowl of cat food shimmered into existence, and Spot attacked it ravenously as soon as the engineer placed it on the floor.
"Data?" he asked again, moving farther into the room, his apprehension growing with each step.
At the door to the bedroom, Geordi finally found the android. He was seated on the floor along the side of the bed, his back against the mattress and his feet against the nearby wall. Geordi noted that the android's hair was out of place, a rarity for his meticulous friend, and his uniform (which was also normally immaculate) significantly disheveled. He appeared to be staring at something on the floor between his knees.
"Data?" he asked, yet again, moving to his friend's side and kneeling down. "Why didn't you answer me?"
Data looked up for the first time, and Geordi was finally able to see the look of anguish on his friend's face. If Data were human, Geordi would have been sure that he had spent the last several hours crying.
"I am sorry, Geordi. I suppose I was . . . distracted," he said, apologetically.
Geordi looked down at the floor to see what had occupied his friend's attention so thoroughly, and thought he finally understood. There, within arm's reach, was the single portrait that Data kept. It was a holographic image of Tasha Yar.
"Data," he asked, carefully, "how long have you been staring at that?"
"Three days, seven hours, fifteen minutes," answered Data, without missing a beat. Geordi had to suppress a chuckle. Emotions or not, his friend was still an android.
"Is . . . is there something wrong?" Geordi asked, after a moment. Clearly, there was something wrong, or his friend wouldn't have torn up his quarters in such a way, but he didn't want to be too direct.
Data returned his attention to Tasha's picture, and answered his friend without meeting his eyes.
"There are many things wrong, Geordi," he admitted. "My life has been full of frustrations, disappointments, tragedies, and losses. Despite that, my mind seems to consistently return to this singular event."
Geordi crossed the few feet between himself and Data, and sat down on the bed close by.
"Tasha," he said, simply. It wasn't a question. Counselor Troi had been discreet enough not to divulge Data's personal difficulties to him. She was, after all, a counselor and even though Data probably wouldn't have minded she still needed to take patient confidentiality seriously. She had told him only that she had recommended Data spend several days in his quarters without deactivating his emotion chip. Now, though, he'd have to be deaf and blind to not know what the problem was. "I kind of wondered when this would catch up with you."
Data looked at him, curiously. "I am beginning to think that my memory recall subroutine may be malfunctioning in some way. The memory of her death continues to be called up without the necessary command."
Geordi shook his head, sadly. "No, I don't think so, Data. If that were true, your recall subroutine would have been doing the same thing without your emotion chip on."
Data looked thoughtful. "That is true. So far, I have only experienced this spontaneous memory recall when my emotion chip has been active. Perhaps the two components are interacting in some unanticipated manner."
Geordi nodded, deeply sorry that his friend had to go through this, but also knowing that it was probably inevitable. "Yeah, it happens like that sometimes."
Data's puzzlement seemed to be increasing by the moment. On the one hand, that was good, because it focused his mind on his curiosity instead of his grief, at least for a moment. On the other, Geordi couldn't imagine that it was a particularly good sign. Data had been sitting in his room alone for three days and he still hadn't figured out why he was feeling this way. As much as he respected Counselor Troi, Geordi decided that maybe android psychology required a little less subtlety than the human variety. The reason for Data's distress was plain to everyone else. Maybe his friend just needed a little help in recognizing the obvious.
"Data," he began, trying to decide how best to broach the subject. "Why is it that the only image of any of your friends is that picture of Tasha."
Data's face seemed to cloud momentarily as he regarded the image. "Lieutenant Yar held a . . . unique place in my life, Geordi. I felt it important to maintain some record of her."
"You're an android, Data. Your entire neural net is nothing but a method of maintaining records. You can recall every event that's ever occurred in your life with complete accuracy. You're not in any danger of forgetting her, or what she looked like. So why keep the picture?"
Data looked puzzled again. "Recalling her image from memory is not the same as seeing her again in real time. While it is impossible to ever see her alive again, this image seemed . . . more pleasing than simply never seeing her again in any form."
"Why?"
Data shook his head. "I do not know."
Geordi decided to switch gears and approach the issue from a different direction.
"Data, have you ever been in love?"
Still focused on Geordi, Data shook his head. "I am afraid I have never been fortunate enough to have that experience, Geordi."
Geordi chuckled. He knew it was inappropriate, and he knew it might hurt Data, but he couldn't help it. To anyone but Data, it was totally ridiculous.
"Of course you have, Data," he said. Mildly frustrated, he stood up from the bed and paced around the room. "Data, your specifications and programming say that you don't have emotions. Every expert you've ever consulted has said the same thing."
Data sat for a moment, puzzled. This was hardly new information.
After a moment, Geordi stopped pacing and shot Data a look, direct, penetrating, and adamant. "No one who's known you for the last twelve years has ever really believed that."
The look of puzzled astonishment on Data's face would have been comical if it wasn't so heartbreaking. Nevertheless, Geordi knew that at this point, he wouldn't be doing his friend any favors by sparing his feelings. He needed to push forward, ruthlessly if necessary. Data needed to face it before he could move on.
"Data, we've all watched you face extraordinary situations and make decisions that would destroy other people. We've seen you grow as a person, become more than the sum of your programming, and become attached to other people as if they were family. And we've watched you do it with an incredible amount of compassion, integrity, and concern for other people's well-being. None of that could have been done if you couldn't feel."
Data's mouth dropped open at the long list of compliments, but no sound came out. Geordi pressed forward before Data could ask a question that might divert the topic of conversation.
"Even before we put that damn emotion chip in, you had feelings, Data. You've always had them. You couldn't have behaved in the way you did without them. It's one of the things that made us friends—that made all of us friends. We could see the compassion in you, what a good person you've always been, even if you couldn't."
"But Geordi," murmured Data, finally finding his voice, "compassion and concern for others is simply part of my programming. Dr. Soong wished to ensure that I would not become another Lore, and so programmed me to always consider other people's well-being."
Geordi held out a hand toward his friend, as if Data had just proved the point for him.
"If that's not compassion, I don't know what is." He leaned closer, to emphasize his next words. "Data, compassion is an emotion."
Data blinked again, and for a moment, Geordi was afraid this might be too much for his friend's processors to handle. "But if that is true, compassion may have been the only emotion I was capable of experiencing prior to the installation of my emotion chip."
Geordi shook his head, knowing exactly how to point out the rare flaw in his friend's thinking.
"Compassion is one of the most basic human emotions, maybe even the most basic. It's one of the first things we teach our children. From there, we develop the ability to empathize, we learn to be angry at how people treat us or treat others. We even learn to love."
The two friends, one human and one android, shared a long look. Eventually, Data's gaze drifted back to the portrait of Tasha Yar on the floor.
"Data, you fell in love with Tasha a long time ago," said Geordi, and his heart went out to his friend with every word he spoke. "And you have a perfect memory, an android memory, that has kept you completely aware of how absent she's been ever since her death. But you've been living this way for so long that I think you learned to ignore it, to just not access that information . . . until Macha died right in front of you, just like Tasha, and brought it all back."
For a long moment, Data continued to stare at the picture of Tasha Yar, seemingly lost for words. Eventually, Geordi crossed the room and knelt beside his friend, placing a gentle hand on the android's shoulder.
"I don't think this emotion chip gives you emotions, Data. I think it amplifies what was already there."
As Geordi watched, a strange change came over his friend, and he knew that his grieving friend had shut off his emotion chip.
"If you are correct," said Data, "then this emotion chip may never have been necessary." Geordi was pleased to hear that his friend's speech had returned to it's normal cadence. "It may be that its input is simply too powerful, and is prone to overwhelming the rest of my operational programming."
Slowly, he rose from the floor. With surprising gentleness, he picked up the holographic portrait and replaced it on the shelf bolted to the wall.
"I do not believe that I require the assistance of the emotion chip to appreciate my memories of Tasha," he said without turning. "She will always occupy a special place in my past, and I believe I can . . . feel her absence even now, an echo in some sense of what I felt with the emotion chip activated."
Finally, he turned to his friend, once more himself. "I do not wish to wallow in my feelings, Geordi. I do not believe Tasha would have wanted that. I wish to move on with my life and live in a manner that would make her proud."
Geordi didn't quite know what to say to that. He wanted to say that she was already proud of him, that they all were, but he kept silent, letting Data work through what he need to work through and suspecting what Data's next words would be.
Data started at the floor for a long moment before he met Geordi's eyes again, and the engineer could see they were full of resolve and . . . sadness?
"Geordi, I believe I would like to remove my emotion chip now."
Geordi nodded, and allowed a small, sad smile to play across his lips.
"I'll go get my tools."