Disclaimer: Paramount/CBS owns the canon stuff, and I own the rest. No androids were harmed in the writing of this chapter. Really.
Structural Note: First, this story is actually inspired by Bach's Unaccompanied Cello Suites, and each chapter represents a movement in one of the suites. This chapter is a little different than the previous three were and the remaining three will be. The only timestamps are in the various news and tabloid reports, but it basically covers the entire month of September, 2368. Unless otherwise noted, all news reports are video feeds, so assume that video of Zoe and Data is accompanying any reports.
UNACCOMPANIED
A Suite for Actress and Android
IV. Sarabande
The Sarabande is a Baroque dance that is said to have come from the Saracens. It is in triple meter, and characteristically the second note of the measure is lengthened, giving the dance a stately, majestic flavor. In dance suites, the Sarabande is typically the third or fourth movement, and is often followed by a menuet (minuet) or gigue (jig).
Chronicle Entertainment News
Dateline: San Francisco, Earth, 7 September 2368
Pakkiat Pekki reporting
X's and O's for the Acting XO of the U.S.S. Bozeman
Approximately ninety years ago, the U.S.S. Bozeman left starbase seventeen never to be heard from again, until, just over a week ago, the U.S.S. Enterprise found her whilst investigating a temporal disturbance in the Typhon Expanse.
On Thursday morning, the ship, long believed to be lost, arrived home with a team of volunteer officers from the Enterprise, including acting executive officer Lt. Commander Data, who was greeted with a kiss and a warm embrace – a sad contrast with the group of counselors and ombudsman awaiting the arrival of the Bozeman's crew.
Still, nothing is so heartwarming as seeing a Starfleet officer's partner welcome them home, and in this case the rather personal welcome was given by none other than the young actress, Zoe Harris, whom we interviewed just a few weeks ago about her work as this year's resident ingénue in the Idyllwild Theatre Troupe's summer season and fall tour.
[Video of Data and Zoe's kiss at Spacedock Arrivals dominates the video feed at this point. It's looped several times, from different angles.]
We're not sure what the extent of their relationship is, but we're guessing that an actress dating an android must come with a special set of challenges. In any case, we wish both Commander Data and Ms. Harris well, and hope they enjoy their time in San Francisco.
Tickets for Idyllwild's two week run here in San Francisco are available now. Ask for 'tickets' to enter the purchase kiosk. Our news division is handling the ongoing story of the Bozeman. Ask for 'general news' or 'Starfleet updates' to change feeds.
-30-
"Data, you need to see this." I hand him the padd with the Chronicle's entertainment section currently active. We're sitting outside at the Blue Mermaid, but they've got patio heaters to offset the evening chill. It's been a lazy September Saturday, one of my last few in San Francisco, and loathe as I am to share our time together with others, my friend Annette is in town for a last weekend with Ray before he heads back to the Enterprise, and we've asked them to meet us for dinner.
The fact that it's technically our first double-date is hovering in my mind, but I don't bring it up.
My partner sets his own device aside and accepts mine, reading the text-only version first, then activating the control to watch the actual video feed. His expressions are never broad, but his face does change subtly as he views the article I'd flagged.
"It would seem we are more of a story than I anticipated."
"Apparently." My tone is dry, but inside I'm terrified that he'll decide our relationship isn't actually worth the fuss of media attention, despite the fact that the subject of marriage had been broached the night before. "If you want to transfer to 'fleet housing, after all…" I offer, not because I want him out of my apartment, but because I want to give him an 'out.'
"I do not." His emphasis on the final word is as much of an emotional display as I'm likely to get, and one he would deny is based in emotions at all. "I do not," he repeats, in a more level tone. He sets the padd aside and covers my hand with his. "We are already cohabitating on the Enterprise; I do not see any reason to behave as if that is not so, merely because we are both on Earth."
"Well, it is just one story," I say. "And it's not even that bad, but then the Chronicle has a strongly pro-Starfleet bent. They always have."
"Have you always been this aware of the media?" Data asks.
"You know who my father is," I remind him. "There were always reporters around, hoping to catch him cheating on Mom again, or trying to find out about his next project. I thought… I don't know… I thought I'd be a little more advanced in my career – in my life – before I had to deal with it directly."
"It is not 'all you,'" Data observes. "Perhaps I was naïve to believe that we could continue to exist 'beyond sensor range' indefinitely."
"You haven't been in the media since the stories on the launch of the Enterprise." I know because when I first started crushing on him, I spent hours scouring the news nets for anything I could find about his younger days. Even the hearing which had codified his status as person, not property, had either never been a story, or had been expunged from the public records.
"That is true. Nevertheless, I have had my own experiences with the press, especially in my first days at the Academy."
"That must have been rough for you."
"Many things about my first years of activity could be considered 'rough,'" he agrees.
"You'll tell me about them, sometime?"
He opens his mouth to answer but is cut off by the happy voices of my friends approaching the table. Still, he meets my eyes for a moment and that look is enough to assure me that at some point I will know his whole story.
We both rise, so I can exchange hugs with Annette and Ray. Annette reminds Data that, like me, she's no longer his student, and he accepts her embrace with grace, and meet's Ray's handshake with his own.
"Thank you for letting us join you, sir," Ray greets him, and for a moment I'm thrown. Neither of them is in uniform, and on the Enterprise things are less formal than you might expect.
"Zoe considers you to be family, Ray," Data answers, making a point of using my 'adopted' brother's name. "And you have been a good friend to her. Please call me Data, at least while we are off duty."
Ray's answering blush and stammer elicit a grin from me, and a kiss on the cheek from Annette.
Over dinner, we talk about Ray's enrichment courses, and Data's journey with the Bozeman. Annette talks about her first week at her university, and I share the news that we're only a week away, now, from pre-tour preview performances.
"If there's any chance you can come back next week," I tell Annette, "I can get you comps to our opening weekend."
"I'll try," my friend promises, and I know she means it.
The restaurant is known as a chowder house, but the server doesn't blink an eye when Data asks for vegetarian options, and then chooses a corn chowder rather than any of the six varieties of clam also offered. I hesitate, not wanting to offend him, but he touches my hand, and whispers, "Have what you like, Zoe. You cannot offend me."
I know that isn't quite true, but it's true for this circumstance. I order the soup I want – a sampler of three of their flavors, including one made with roasted red peppers, but I skip the hamburger I'm secretly craving and choose chili rellenos as my entrée instead. Annette and Ray order a seafood dish and pasta respectively.
The conversation remains lively.
"Data, Zoe said you visited her when she was at Hunter's Moon; did you get to see her perform?"
"I would not have missed it," he answers Annette's question, elaborating, "The entire cast was extremely well chosen, and quite effective in their roles."
"But Zoe was your favorite, wasn't she?" my friend teases.
"I confess that she may have distracted me from the other performers," he hedges, rather than denying that he has favorites of anything.
We finish eating, and discuss dessert, but when our server returns to the table, he asks, "Excuse me, but… are you two the actress and the android who were in the Chronicle's newsfeeds this morning?"
Data and I share a look, before he confirms our identities.
"That's so cool," the server gushes. "You looked so good together." There's nothing offensive in what he's said, but I'm put off enough that I almost want to skip dessert. However, our server – Clyde – is astute enough to realize my discomfort. "If you're interested, we make a chocolate-almond gateau here that is completely scrumptious. Let me comp it as an apology for embarrassing you."
I open my mouth to protest, but I can see that Ray and Annette both want to try the cake as much as I would under normal circumstances. "That sounds lovely," I say. "Could we get a round of cappuccinos to go with it?"
When Annette and I leave the table to use the restroom, I pause to whisper in Data's ear: "Leave a big tip."
He does.
(=A=)
The Galactic Gaper
Dateline: San Francisco, Earth, 9 September 2368
Umrod Chaze, reporting
Starfleet's Android Caught in Lip-lock with Centauran Celeb's Scion
Lt. Commander Data, Starfleet's gold-hued golden boy, second officer of the illustrious flagship, U.S.S. Enterprise arrived on Earth via San Francisco Spacedock on Thursday, where he was met with a warm groping – er – greeting – from celebrity composer Zachary Harris's only daughter Zoe, who's currently part of the Idyllwild Theatre Troupe's summer season.
It's no secret that Commander Data is the only artificial life form serving in Starfleet, but as far as we can tell, his relationship with Ms. Harris is as real as it gets.
Elsewhere in the Federation, that Ambassador of Amour, Lwaxana Troi of Betazed, has recently separated from her latest long-term beau. Is she on the prowl again? Daughters, lock up your well-fortuned fathers.
-30-
"Power off," I instruct the entertainment system in my living room. "So much for us only being in the Chronicle," I tell Data. "I think… I think Lach is right. I need to start assembling a team. God. We don't even start previews until Friday – and I'm not even going to mention that Friday's the thirteenth."
"I believe you are making more of this than you should," Data responds. "However, even without this sort of media attention, if you wish your career in the performing arts to be a successful one, you will eventually require the professional services of an agent."
"And a PR person," I add. "Dad can't come and help me but my uncle is on Earth – "
"Zane?"
"Yes. He's been holed up down in Baja working on new songs, but I have his private contact code, and he knows how to navigate all this." I waved my hand in the direction of the darkened screen. "I love you, and I know you can do a lot more than you let on, but if this is really the career I'm choosing, I'm going to need more help than you can give."
"I concur," he said. "Do you wish me to be part of the conversation with your uncle?"
"I don't know. I mean… I really don't… I haven't thought that far. I guess I should call him first, and we should take it from there."
"That would seem to be a wise course of action."
I reach for his hand, squeeze it once and let go, then relocate to the desk where the main comm is. Data remains on the couch, giving me the illusion of privacy.
It takes a few minutes for the call to go through, but eventually my uncle's dark eyes are staring at me from his too-tanned face. "Zoe-licious! What's up with you?" he asks. "You aren't still on Earth, are you?"
"Through the first week of October, yes. Mom's wedding is on the fifth." I wait for him to process that. "I'd invite you, but I think it would be a little weird."
"A little, yeah, but tell Em congrats for me."
"I'll do that. Look… I need…" I rolled my eyes. "I cannot believe I'm saying this out loud, and don't you dare crow about it, but, I need your help."
"I don't crow," he insists. "Well, not much. But this is me, not crowing. What's up, kidlet?"
I filled him in on the calls I'd been getting for the past month and the stories about Data and me. "Lach said I need to consider getting an agent and Dad thinks I need a public relations person, and as much as I've been on the fringes of his career and yours, I have no idea how that works, only that people keep calling asking to represent me." I pause. "Look, you know, and I know, that for us – for entertainers – there's really no such thing as bad publicity, but I'm concerned about Data."
"Is he there?"
In that moment, I realize that my uncle is all too aware of the stories about us. "He's staying with me for the month while he's on temporary assignment here," I say. "And he's not leaving. I moved into his quarters before I left the Enterprise."
"Let me talk to him a minute."
"Sure." I glance over at Data, who isn't even pretending not to be listening. Then again, with his hearing, he could be two floors up and still be able to follow our conversation, if he really wanted to. "I'm transferring you to the entertainment console. Back in a minute." I rejoin Data on the couch as the comm-feed switches to the big screen in the living room.
"Data, how are you?" my uncle greets when the feed resets.
"I am well," my boyfriend answers. "Zoe has apprised you of our situation?" I love that he asks, even though he heard the whole thing.
"She has. I think my brother and Lachlan Meade are right – she needs representation, and you both probably need help with this current story. There's a firm called Sesame that does both – entertainment representation and management, and public relations. I'll put a call in to my guy tonight." He pauses, and seems to assess the two of us. Whether to make a statement or because he knows I like it, Data puts his arm around me while my uncle speaks. "If Starfleet has a press rep," he adds, "you should call them. The Chronicle piece wasn't bad, but the Gaper is getting into tabloid territory."
"I will do so," Data promises.
"One more thing," my uncle tacks on, though he's clearly ready for the call to end, "Commander Data, my niece is precious to me. Whatever happens… you're the person in the best position to protect her, but you're also the person most able to hurt her. See that you don't."
"Zane! That really wasn't necessary!" I don't quite yell at him.
But Data seems to understand that my uncle is speaking out of love and concern. "Mr. Harris," he says, using the same formality Zane did. "I would never intentionally harm Zoe, nor will I allow her to be harmed by another. I am devoted to her."
I'm looking at the screen, not at my partner, but I can tell from my uncle's reaction that Data's expression is as open, as naked, as he's capable of being. As if he's willing the man on the screen to trust him as much as I do.
It's enough.
"Thank you," Zane says, nodding once. He directs his final question for me, "Zach says you start previews on Friday; any chance of comps for your favorite uncle?"
"You're my only uncle," I feel obligated to point out. "Friday or Saturday, and how many? I'll put you on the list."
He gives me the information I require, and we end the call.
I settle back against the couch, nestling into Data's embrace as his arm is still around me. He doesn't speak, but he nuzzles my hair and kisses the top of my head and just lets me exist in his solid presence for a while.
(=A=)
Generation Next! Magazine
Dateline: San Francisco, Earth, 12 September 2368
Harb Culkin, reporting
Idyllwild Previews Begin, Idyllwild Ingénue Signs with SESAME
Hi there, Gentle beings! Harb Culkin here with today's entertainment headlines.
Idyllwild Theatre Troupe's fall tour previews launch tomorrow night at their space in SoMa. This year's tour slate includes the Jason Robert Brown song-cycle Songs for a New World, Shakespeare's storm-tossed tragicomedy The Tempest, the Ken Ludwig backstage farce Lend Me a Tenor, and the newly commissioned stage version of the Children of Tamar fable of Darmok and Jalad, Tanagra Uncloaked.
Tickets are selling out quickly. Ask for 'ticket kiosk' to purchase yours. The preview performances run this Friday through Sunday, and Thursday through Sunday for the following two weekends. Ask for 'Idyllwild schedule' to determine which play is slated for any given date.
Related news, Idyllwild's young ingénue Zoe Harris (Woman 1 in Songs, Miranda in Tempest, understudy for Maggie in Tenor), Lachlan Meade's latest discovery, and apparent significant other of Starfleet's android officer Lt. Commander Data of the U.S.S. Enterprise, has signed with SESAME, the entertainment representation and PR agency known more properly as Stinson, Erickson, Summers, Allen, Mosby, and Echols. Rumor has it she's being repped by senior partner Bernadette "Bernie" Stinson herself.
Young Ms. Harris, age 17, is the most recent member of the Harris family of Centaurus to 'go pro' as it were. Her father is composer/conductor Zachary Harris, current musical director of the Capitol City Orchestra on Centaurus, while her uncle, Zane Harris is the lead singer/songwriter for his eponymous rock band Zane and the Zetabytes.
We were fortunate to catch Ms. Harris in performance with Songs for a New World during a limited engagement at Hunters Moon earlier this summer, and we're excited to see how her career progresses as she – and her art – matures.
Repeat: Tickets are selling out quickly. Ask for 'ticket kiosk' to purchase yours. The preview performances run this Friday through Sunday, and Thursday through Sunday for the following two weekends. Ask for 'Idyllwild schedule' to determine which play is slated for a given date.
- 30 –
"Take this off for me?" I ask Data in my dressing room at Idyllwild's theatre. I hold out my wrist so he can remove the string of beads I almost never take off by choice. "I can't wear them with Miranda's costume, and I forgot to leave them at home."
My wrist feels too light and oddly naked without the bracelet there. "There's a jewelry bag inside the garment bag with my dress for the after-party," I tell my partner, who has been a source of quiet support for most of the day. I'm not nervous about my performance, but I'm anxious for the people I care about, at least those who are in attendance tonight, to like what I do.
"I will ensure that they are safe," Data responds.
"Thank you," I say. I take a moment to look at him – really look at him – for the first time that day. "Not just for this, but, for being here. For coming to opening night, and being my date for the after-party, and putting up with the press."
"I suspect there will be more press to 'put up with' after tonight," he says.
"Oh, god, don't remind me," I protest. "I don't want to be a celebrity; I just want to be good at what I do."
"I believe the critics who have seen your work already believe that you are. As for the rest, we will navigate this, as we have every challenge we have faced in the past year: together."
"Have I mentioned lately how awesome you are?"
I can almost see him calculating the number of times, then thinking better of stating that number. "A good many times," he says in a slightly stilted tone.
"Have I mentioned how sexy you look in your dress uniform?" My own tone is flirtatious. "Think I could persuade you to come home with me tonight?"
"Perhaps," he answers, playing along. "But only if my girlfriend does not object. She is very possessive."
"Is she? Pity. Are you and she very serious?"
"Extremely," he states, but then he draws me against him and kisses me softly, and whispers. "I am devoted to her." In his more usual tone, he adds, "I must go take my seat, Zoe. You will…" He pauses, pulls away, gives me the faint hint of a smile that I seem to be the only one to provoke. "Break a leg."
I laugh. "Thank you. I love you. I'll see you after."
He leaves the room to take his place in the audience. I have more people here supporting me than I'd initially expected – Data, of course, because of his temporary assignment to 'fleet HQ – Annette, in for the weekend from her university in Scotland, and Wesley on a pass from the Academy, as well as my uncle Zane and his date du jour, and Alynna Nechayev. She's actually one of the Troupe's major donors, but still, it's nice that she's here on opening night.
The performance goes smoothly, and for the first time I don't feel too young to be playing Miranda, even though the character is supposed to be twenty-five. It's difficult to gauge the audience reaction from the stage, but I think we all have the sense that they're totally with us, and that support feeds our performances, making them stronger. That give-and-take is something you can never get from a holo-novel or a tri-vee show, no matter how much the techies try.
When we are given a standing ovation, not one of us feels like we didn't earn it.
(=A=)
The after-party is at the rooftop bar of the hotel across the street, and it's already in full swing when Data escorts me in, just after Lach and Oberlyne. There are reporters waiting to snap pictures – holo-pix and still photos – but the rule is that there are no interviews allowed at the party, and I'm suddenly grateful for that.
"Commander Data, Ms. Harris, over here please?" Someone is calling us, and when we both turn toward the voice, camera flash nearly blinds me.
"Are you alright?" Data asks, as I try to blink away the starbursts.
"Flash-blind, but I'll be fine in a minute. Remind me to acquire the affectation of wearing sunglasses everywhere. I'll get them in fashion colors and be considered eccentric, but at least my eyes won't sting."
"I will have a word with the photographer if you wish?"
"No, it's okay. Lach said they're kicking them out after fifteen minutes, anyway. Let's go find a table. And something to eat? I'm starving."
We end up sharing a table with the admiral and a couple of her colleagues. "Zoe," she greets warmly. "I knew you were talented, dear, but you outdid yourself tonight. Congratulations. Commander Data, it's good to see you again."
"Thank you, sir," he says.
"Have you met Commanders Cregg and Kim?" the small, blonde woman asks, indicating each in turn. "Lt. Commander Data is the only officer to ever devise a solution to the Picard Maneuver," she tells them. I can tell there's a round of 'fleet chatter about to begin, but they actually delay it until after I've had something to eat, and she's checked in with me about how things are going with the press, and with my mother.
Eventually, though, Commander Cregg turns to Data and asks if he's the same Lt. Commander Data who was in temporary command of the Sutherland back in January. I'm actually enjoying watching him be the focus of the conversation. Seeing him talk about his work with people who both understand and appreciate it is fantastic, and besides, Data should get to socialize, too – but I know my eyes will begin to glaze over at any moment.
I am rescued by the sudden re-appearance of Lach. "Admiral, Commanders, thank ye all for coming tonight." His brogue is barely discernible, I note. Interesting. "I hope ye'll join us next week when we open Tanagra. D'ye mind if I steal the lassling away from you for a bit?"
"If I'm not back in half an hour come find me?" I whisper to Data. The Admiral, her friends, and my partner all give their leave for me to part company with them for a while, and I let Lach lead me away.
"Were you rescuing me from Starfleet shoptalk, or do you actually need me?"
"Both, m'dear. Both."
"Oh?"
"Society Page wants a picture of the whole cast, and I thought you'd actually like t'meet Harb Culkin."
"From Generation Next!?"
"Aye, lassling. He wants to do a feature on you."
"I think he's supposed to go through Bernie…"
We're threading our way through the crowd as we talk, and even though people are pausing us to offer compliments, we don't linger with any of them, just nod politely, or smile, and murmur polite responses.
Finally, we're at the back of the bar, inside the building, rather than out in the (admittedly climate-controlled) open air, where the rest of the cast has assembled, and Simon, who is our Prospero as well as Man 1 in Songs is telling some story about his time in the Curiosity Shakespeare Company on Mars, but he interrupts himself when Lach and I approach.
"And there's our shining starlet. Well done tonight Zoe." He sketches a bow, despite being seated, and I curtsey in return, as all of us laugh. "Isn't your partner here?" His rusty voice is laden with mischief.
"He was waylaid by Admiral Nechayev."
"Poor lad," Lach puts in.
"She's really not that bad," I insist. "Well, she's not that bad if you don't report to her." Again there is laughter from the group.
A small but dapper man rises from the darkest corner of this alcove and makes his way toward me. He's got a classic Mediterranean olive complexion, and dark eyes that shine with good humor. "Ms. Harris," he greets extending his hand. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."
"This is Harb, lassling," Lach informs me. "Harb Culkin."
"Call me Harb."
"Only if you call me Zoe," I counter, meeting his hand with mine. I try to make my shake firm and professional, but I'm not sure if I manage it.
"I hear Bernie Stinson is representing you." It's a statement, not a question.
"As of a couple days ago, yes," I confirm.
"If she vouches for me, will you do an interview – you and your android….?" He lets the sentence trail off so I can supply my own word.
And suddenly I'm stuck. Data and I have had many conversations about what our relationship means to us, but we've never discussed the way to present ourselves. "I'll happily talk to you about my work with Idyllwild," I say after a too-obvious pause. "But I can't speak for Commander Data." I meet his eyes and wait for him to respond.
For a moment, it seems as though he doesn't know quite how to answer me, but then he nods and shakes his head slightly as a rueful smile takes over his face. "Fair enough," he says. "I'll have my assistant comm Bernie in the morning. But Zoe… you should consider asking the commander. Bright young ingénues sell, but bright young ingénues dating Starfleet officers sell more."
He turns away before I can respond, and I hear him murmuring something to Lach, though I can't discern the actual words. Both men turn their heads in my direction, but I shake off the feeling of being scrutinized because Simon is insisting I take his spot on one of the sofas.
"Why don't I just perch on the arm?" I suggest and move into the group more completely. There's a Society Page photographer directing the movements of several camera-drones, and every so often there are soft pops of flash. It's almost as though miniature fireworks are going off.
I listen as Simon spins a story about one of his first professional performances. "So there I am," he said. "I've finished act two, and for some reason, I get it in my head it's time to go home. I take off my costume, throw on street clothes, and I'm half way out of the theatre when I hear the music that leads in act three. I rush back inside, and make it onto the stage wearing the bottom half of my costume and a t-shirt that says 'Shakespeare! The play's the thing!'"
"What happened?" Somak has his curious expression on.
"Oh, the audience was extremely confused, and the director almost fired me, but her daughter intervened and now Danielle and I are a month away from our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary."
"That's so sweet!" I can't help but explain.
The photographer gathers her drones, and thanks us all for letting her eavesdrop on our evening, but the truth is, I was so relaxed, and so engaged by Simon's story that not only had I forgotten the cameras were there, but I start when someone touches my shoulder.
"Data!"
"You asked me to find you in half an hour," he reminds me. "I am afraid it has been considerably longer."
In fact, it is nearly two in the morning, and, just as Data has come to find me, Danielle, Tricia, and Jeremy suddenly become very visible as well, as they come to claim their spouses. There are brief, quiet greetings, followed nearly immediately by warm goodbyes, and the party begins to disperse.
The flitter ride back to our apartment isn't a long one, and after we land on the rooftop parking bay, Data comes to my side and supports me as I slide to the ground while wearing heels – something I'm still not accustomed to doing.
I wobble, and he catches me, his hands on my upper arms. I look up into his face, and I'm struck by how much I love him, and how fortunate I am that he's been given this month-long assignment on Earth when he was originally supposed to be back on the Enterprise by now. I can't help stretching up to kiss him.
The second our lips meet, camera-flashes light up the sky around us, and just as quickly, the camera-drones disappear into the night.
I want to ask Data if he noticed a company ID or logo on any of the cameras, but he beats me to it. "I was looking at you, and did not see the drones before the flashes went off, and the bright lights made it impossible to see anything but silhouettes. Come, we should go inside. It is late, and you have two performances tomorrow."
"Are you going to spend all night attempting to learn who sent those?"
"No," he says, taking my arm and guiding me toward the stairwell, down the stairs, and into the apartment. Once inside, he helps me off with my coat, saying, "I am going to contact the authorities and make a report while you prepare for bed. Please be sure you communicate with Ms. Stinson in the morning; she will need to know what has transpired."
I do his bidding, washing my makeup off, and changing out of my dress and into Data's purloined Starfleet Academy t-shirt. I hear his voice on the comm, but by the time I return to the living room he has severed the connection. "Anything I need to know?" I ask.
"Not at this time. Are you ready for bed?"
"Beyond ready. Kiss me goodnight?" But he rises from the desk, and follows me back to the bedroom. "You don't have to…" I begin, meaning to tell him yet again that I don't expect him to waste every night in bed with me.
"I want to," Data insists, interrupting me. "I am aware that spending nights in our bed is not a requirement of our relationship. I believe you are aware that there will be times when I will not be able to do so. Must I remind you that I will be returning to the Enterprise after your mother's wedding, when your tour starts?"
I shake my head. "No. I know this month has been a gift. I know you're here because you want to be, I'm just… Harb Culkin from that magazine – Generation Next!? – he asked me if I'd do an interview with him if Bernie said it was a good idea, and he suggested you be part of it." I climb into the bed while I speak. "He tried to get me to put a label on us. We use words like boyfriend and girlfriend, partner, lover – but those are between us. I didn't know… I don't know how to answer that, how to refer to you, if I should refer to you…."
Data is stripping off his uniform as I speak, but despite this, I have no doubt his entire focus is on me, and what I am saying. He gets in bed beside me, and breathes my name – an invitation to turn toward him, which I do. His yellow eyes are warm and steady and somehow more intense than I've ever seen them, and his hand comes to rest on my hip, the way it did during our first such conversation, on my birthday, in our bed at home.
"I have been considering this since our initial appearance in the press. I do not believe either of us would be served by lying about our relationship. I do not believe 'lover' is considered to be appropriate in 'polite' society, but I have no objection to either 'boyfriend' or 'partner.'"
"So the interview?"
"I must contact Captain Picard, but if he and the Starfleet press office approve, I will participate in the interview with you."
I wriggle my hand free of the covers and lift it to his face, then lean up on my other arm, so I can kiss him. "I love you." I speak the words against his mouth.
But Data doesn't tell me that he's devoted to me. Instead, he squeezes my hip lightly, and shifts his position so that his forehead is pressed to mine, and for a long moment he just holds me, as if everything I mean to him is in his grip. "My Zoe," he says, "my dearest one."
(=A=)
The Probe
Dateline: San Francisco, Earth, 17 September 2368
Vilaz Ngalui, reporting
Starfleet's Star Android Likes 'Em Young
It can't be easy for an android to find a human companion his own age, but according to a source close to Starfleet's Commander Data his tastes would run young even for an organic Earthling.
The source, who declined to be interviewed except by voice link, implied that the relationship between Commander Data and not-quite-eighteen-year-old Zoe Harris, aspiring actress and daughter of composer/conductor Zachary Harris, has been a bit more than platonic for some time now, perhaps since she was a tender fifteen.
"She is not an 'ingénue', but she plays one onstage," says the source. "And Commander Data, whose obsession to become human in all ways is well known, knows enough about human male sexuality to know a willing pigeon when he finds one."
While the pair have been seen out and about in San Francisco in recent weeks they have been cagey about PDA, though our source hints at a more complete picture.
[Video feed from the cameras that were on the rooftop of Zoe's apartment, including feed of she and Data entering the stairwell plays from here to the end, with the reporter's face in a bubble in one corner of the screen.]
"Ask Miss Harris about her living arrangements aboard the Enterprise. Ask her about her 'oral jewelry' and how it was removed. Ask Commander Data who sits in his lap when his cat is otherwise occupied."
This reporter plans to reach out to the couple to determine how much of a couple they may be... though The Probe's source says that will be fruitless.
"If the truth comes out, it will not be from the Golden Android and his little pigeon."
To follow this story and further developments, ask for 'subscription.' To access related stories, ask for any of the following headlines: 'Android's Ex: I Transferred to Another Ship to Mend My Broken Heart,' 'Reliable Source says Zoe Harris has history of mental health issues,' or 'Sex on the Beach? School chums say Zoe Harris was party girl at home on Centaurus.'
- 30 -
"God, it just makes me so angry!" I am with Oberlyne and Tara in a vintage dress shop on the Haight. It's the same store where my mother found her wedding dress, via their digital catalogue, and I'm here to try on the two or three dresses that I liked and she approved for her maid of honor – me.
"Almost every entertainer goes through some kind of issue with the press at some point in their career," Oberlyne says. "Lach certainly is no stranger to the kind of trash The Probe publishes. At one point they did a smear campaign against him, saying that he had affairs with all of his lead actresses."
"I remember that, I think," Tara adds. "It was just when Somak and I were starting to date, and he hadn't been exposed to such things in the part of Vulcan where he's from."
"I grew up with it," I share from behind the curtain – an actual cloth curtain – in the dressing room. "I mean, it was my Dad being dragged through the tabloids, and Mom was barely mentioned, but… I don't know… in retrospect, I think everyone probably went through a lot of effort to make sure it didn't touch me." I pull the curtain aside and step out in the second of dresses – we'd summarily vetoed the first without me bothering to try it on. "It's very different when there are camera drones waiting outside the place where you live."
"I'm surprised Data didn't grab a phaser and start doing target practice." Oberlyne is looking me up and down as she speaks. "This one isn't bad, but that sweetheart neckline screams 'prom' to me, and I don't think that's quite the look you're going for."
"No," I agree. "Tara?"
"I'm surprised you didn't grab a weapon and start doing target practice," the younger woman quips.
"Tara!"
"Oh, you want my opinion about the dress?"
I rolled my eyes at her. "If you don't mind?"
"It makes you look sweet and innocent, and almost completely unlike the funny, snarky, Zoe Harris I know," she says. "Oberlyne's right. Definitely too high school."
"I suppose if I point out that technically, I'm still in high school you'd tell me it was irrelevant?"
"Are you?" Tara blinks her blue eyes at me with practiced guilelessness. "I hadn't noticed. How's it going, anyway?"
"Oh, super," I snark as I return to the dressing room to try on dress number three. "The tutor the company contracted with can't even teach my subjects. I'm beginning to wish I'd just taken the equivalency test."
"Why didn't you?" Oberlyne's question is one I've been asking myself.
"Lots of reasons," I hedge, but I realize that these two women have reached out to me and befriended me, and they deserve a real answer. "First, I really want to graduate with what's left of my class on the Enterprise. There aren't a lot of us, but we've become family to each other. Second, it would mean missing half a year of time where Data and I are in the same place. This month has been amazing, but the reality is that he's the second officer of the flagship, and I'm probably going to be back on Earth next September, and I feel like, if we're going to have the future we want, those months are crucial." I don't mention that it will also be the last few months I'll spend in close proximity to my mother. At some point, that's become secondary, or even tertiary, in my list of reasons for wanting to be back at home on the ship.
Tara's question is the same one all of my friends and family have been asking. "How serious are you two, Zoe? I mean… you're not even eighteen, but you make it seem like you and Data are a permanent thing."
My reply is muffled because I'm slipping the last dress over my head. "We are." I smooth the dress down and can tell even without the reactions of my friends that this is the one. It's a pale peach sheath, a basic tank dress, really, tea length. But there's an overlay – a sort of misty sage green that's completely sheer – just the hint of color. I love the dress so much that I decide it's coming home with me, no matter what. I take a deep breath and open the curtain again.
I don't know what Oberlyne had planned to say, but when I step out of the dressing alcove, she gasps. "Oh… Zoe. That's perfect."
"You look amazing," Tara seconds. "Take your hair out of that pony tail for a moment, would you?"
I do as she asks, first running my hands through my hair to break up the place where the elastic pinched it, and then shaking my head so my hair falls more naturally. "Ohhh," the younger of the two women with me croons. "You should only ever wear that dress."
Oberlyne chuckles, adding, "Data's head is going to start smoking when…" she trails off, reacting to the look on my face. "Not funny?" she asks.
I shake my head. "I know where you were going, but… I saw him all smoked and scorched once, and…" I can't help but shudder. "If I never see him that way again, it will be too soon." I step more fully into the focus of the three-way mirror, and survey myself in the dress, and manage a sincere smile. "This is definitely the dress."
(=A=)
Financial Times
Dateline: 22 September, 2368, San Francisco, Earth
Stoxor, reporting
Ferengar's Grand Nagus has issued a statement claiming that the recent devaluation of gold-pressed latinum has been caused by an unexpected upsurge in Spican flame gems trickling in from an unconfirmed source. Investigations suggest that said source may be part of a jewel trafficking consortium located in the Typhon Expanse.
Scandal Sells! Idyllwild Theater Troupe's last preview weekend begins this Thursday, and tickets are already sold out here on Earth, and for the first three tour stops at Luna Colony, Curiosity Village, Mars, and Risa. This tour features ingénue Zoe Harris, significant other of Starfleet's Lt. Commander Data, the only sentient android in the Federation.
Ask for 'gems' to find out more about the jewel trafficking story. Ask for 'kiosk' to attempt to buy tickets to Idyllwild's future tour stops.
-30-
"Zoe, honey, you look lovely." Bernadette "Bernie" Stinson – my agent - greets me. She's about five-four with dark red hair so vibrant that it's obvious it's not from a natural source, and a voice that rasps and squeaks like old paper and a rusty hinge. She's also old. I'm not sure of her exact age, but I know it's somewhere between eighty-seven and a thousand Terran standard years. "Thank you for taking the time." She leans forward so we can exchange cheek to cheek air kisses, and I try not to choke on the cloud of her perfume. Nothing so refined as my Nonna's Chanel. This woman is wearing something called Taboo.
"This is my partner," I say, using the word in public for the first time, "Lt. Commander Data."
"Data, bubbula, it's good to meet you in person. Do you always wear your uniform to brunch? Never mind, it's perfect. Very upstanding. Very hot." She is pumping his hand with both of hers the entire time she speaks. "Okay. Let's do this. Harby's waiting at our table."
She turns on her four-inch heels and leads us on a brisk walk through the restaurant to the table in question.
Harb Culkin is, indeed, waiting for us, and he's as dapper today in the sunlight streaming in from the ocean-side windows of The Cliff House as he was when I first met him over a week ago. He rises to greet us exchanging air kisses first with Bernie, then with me, and extending his hand to Data for a crisp shake. "Zoe, Data – is it alright if I use your name?" He waits the briefest moment for my boyfriend's nod, and then continues, "Thank you for coming. Shall we order first?"
Over coffee and omelets, home fries and fresh fruit – Data and I share and Bernie insists on getting a picture of us – we begin to discuss how an interview would go.
"I'd want to start with just Zoe," Harb says. "She's the one who will benefit from publicity, while we have to ensure that Data isn't harmed by it." Bernie is punctuating the reporter's words by nodding. It's clear they have a good working relationship.
"We'd talk about your childhood," he continues. "Mention your father, your uncle, your family's work in music and social justice. My research says your grandmother, Irene Harris, started the first farm collective on Centaurus, and that your family farm is still essentially self-sustaining?"
"I don't know the details, but, yeah, that was always her goal. I think she finally had a replicator put in, but it's mostly because heating water for single cups of tea isn't energy-efficient."
The dark-eyed man cracks a smile. "Not energy-efficient. I love that." He swallows some of his coffee, grimaces, and gestures for a server. "Would you bring me a fresh cup of coffee, please? This one's gone cold." The server is happy to do so, and the reporter turns back to me. "Then we'll talk about your community theatre experiences on Centaurus, and on the Enterprise, leading into your time with ACT last summer – that is how Lachlan Meade found you, isn't it?"
"It is," I confirm.
"Then we bring Data on, after we mention that you've become a story in the tabloids. We talk about the beginning of your time together as teacher and student, we stress that your parents sanctioned your friendship, Zo' and that nothing improper ever happened, we let the two of you sit there together and hold hands, and let people see the connection you obviously share. We talk about Data being a decorated officer above reproach. We spin it not as love at first sight, but as a relationship that evolved organically."
"I assume you understand the irony of using that term?" Data asks drily, breaking into the conversation for the first time, though, of course, he has been following, and creating a perfect memory record of, every word.
"I understand that you don't have human emotions, sir," Harb says, erring on the side of formality despite their earlier agreement to be informal. "It's never been made clear to me whether or not you might have your own kind, and whether or not you do, it's obvious to me, just from watching the pair of you eat, that there is something very real, and very strong, between you and Zoe. Let me show the public just a taste of that, and you won't be a tabloid story. Zoe will be the Federation's sweetheart and you, sir… you'll be the dashing hero who complements her strengths and balances her weaknesses."
Data and I share a look. I don't know if he's experiencing trepidation, or merely perceiving mine, but I know we're both vacillating about doing the interview.
Bernie's voice cuts into our silent communion. "Look, kiddoes, it's a lot to take in. Neither of you expected your relationship to be in the media at all, and no one expected Zoe to be getting the attention she's getting. Data, hon, if you don't want your life this public, you can still make that call, and then people will whisper about 'that Harris girl's mysterious beau.' But people are stupid, sweetie, and when they hear android they think bad science fiction and killer robots. Showing them that you're not – that you're just this lovely man with golden skin – you have the chance to change the way people perceive ALL AI beings, not just you."
She pauses, shovels several bits of omelet into her red-lipsticked mouth, and then continues before anyone else has managed to form words. "Of course, this is the entertainment industry, so you could do nothing. For all I know, you'll be broken up before Zoe even finishes this tour, and no one would find that surprising, but… I don't think so. I don't think you two are having a fling. I think… my gut thinks… that you are one of those rare couples who finds each other and sticks with each other, and if that's true, establishing that now? It only makes both of you play better. The public is stupid, but they're also suckers for true love."
Not one person at our table seems a bit surprised when Data and I meet each other's eyes, hold a brief, silent conversation, and then answer in tandem. "We'll do it," I say, as he answers, "Very well, Bernie, we will do the interview."
We schedule it for Thursday afternoon, just before my call for the last preview performance of Songs for a New World.
(=A=)
Dear Shoney – Dating Advice by Shonev Ch'Shoques
Syndicated by Alpha Quadrant Weekly
Tuesday, 1 October, 2368
The Actress and the Android – Interspecies Dating Gone Digital?
Dear Shoney,
Waiting in line at the local replimat, I was shocked by a story from The Probe – a story that, I am sure, has also caught your attention. It was a depiction of perversion that made me fear for the safety of all our children: Zoe Harris, a girl no older than my own daughter, was standing in open air, allowing herself to be… to be mauled by a machine!
This is disgusting! This is an atrocity that makes me fear for the future of all humanoid races! If a machine can be allowed to molest innocent children with no one blinking an eye, then what does that say about our society? How am I even to understand it?
I am writing this in the hope that you, as a respected journalist able to reach thousands upon thousands upon thousands of people, will shed light on the horrible truth: Machines our [sic] taking control of our lives! Not one of our children or loved ones is likely to be spared in their mission to overtake us all!
Now, I don't want you to think I'm one of those scary people who belong to the Keep Earth Human League. I understand that humanoid life comes in many shapes and colors. But surely we can all agree that if nothing else, humanoid life is… organic.
Kindest regards,
P. Ashworth
Friends of Humanity
(* * *)
Dear P. Ashworth (and Friends),
Thank you so much for writing.
While I certainly understand your concern for Ms. Harris's well-being, and I, myself, find it regretful that such a bright and talented young woman has chosen an unfeeling machine as her romantic partner, I would advise that you refrain from slandering people.
I think we can both agree that The Probe is hardly the Federation's most… reliable… news source, though it is rather difficult to avoid. Therefore, you may have missed some salient facts:
First, Ms. Harris and Lt. Commander Data (the 'machine' in question) are in a consensual relationship, and I have it on good authority that the young actress is well aware of the potential consequences of her choice.
Second, while she is indeed young, Ms. Harris is over the legal age of consent, and it is my understanding that she has also been legally emancipated, a step she was required to take in order to accept her current position with the Idyllwild Theatre Troupe.
Finally, it may ease your mind to know that Lt. Commander Data is the only sentient android known to exist within the Federation, so while I do share your concern that machines are taking over our lives, I do not think you need be overly concerned with an army of androids in romantic pursuit of your daughters… or sons.
Instead, be concerned about the number of children who no longer lift so much as a drinking glass, because we have machines to do that for them. Be worried about the fact that hand-eye coordination is suffering throughout the Federation, because we rely on computers for so much of our educational and recreational experience that we no longer know the pleasure of coloring with wax sticks on sheets of pulped plant material, or spending time in the fresh air (or in the case of my homeworld, Andor, of the larger tunnels) throwing balls back and forth or hitting them against walls or over nets.
On a more personal note, I would remind you that this is a column on dating advice, and not a political platform.
I hope I was able to help you in some way.
Yours,
Shonev "Shoney" Ch'Shoques
Be sure to check out my column on Thursday when I answer the question: My fiancé's co-spouses are demanding that I sign a pre-nup; what do I do?
-30-
As the flitter flies, Half Moon Bay is only a few minutes away from San Francisco, but it feels like a completely different world. It's a small coastal village, and the rough water and steep cliffs above the beaches only make it seem less like part of our normal world, and more like something from the past.
From the start, Mom and Ed have planned an intimate wedding. Data and I come the shortest distance, but we are the last of the family – blood-relatives anyway - to arrive, partly because of my schedule, and partly because we spent three days alternately packing my apartment (how could I have acquired so much stuff in only four months?) and practicing the duet - a Celtic-inspired piece called Galician Waltz – that we are presenting as a joint gift. I'm not in love with the borrowed instrument I've been using, but I hadn't expected to be playing again until I got home to the ship in December.
My mother comes out the side door of the rented house where the wedding is taking place – and where everyone is staying – and I drop my bag on the ground and run to meet her. Because she is my mother, and we think the same way a lot of the time, she also starts running, until we meet in a joyous crushing hug half way down the walkway.
"Oh, Zoificus, I've missed you," my mother gushes. She smooths back my hair, kisses my forehead, and then holds me at arms' length. "Well," she says, after a long moment. "You look very grown up."
"I feel about a million years older than I did when I left," I confess. "But Data's been amazing these last few weeks, and when the travel part of tour starts on Monday, I think things will even out some." Or at least, I won't have time to care, I don't add.
"I'm so proud of you," my mother shares. Then she lifts her voice to call out, "Data, I'm taking my daughter inside. I'll send out minions to help you carry in luggage."
I hear my partner's acknowledgement as my mother wraps her arm around me, and we walk into the house hip to hip, smiling matching smiles. "We have minions?" I ask, as we ascend the three steps to the kitchen door.
"No, darling," my mother corrects. "I have minions. You have the most wonderful mother in the world."
We are greeted by camera flash, and for a moment I'm convinced that some reporter has managed to wrangle their way into the house, but it's only a young boy who looks a lot like Ed.
"Remy, go get your brother and help Commander Data carry his and Zoe's things to their room, my mother says. "You can meet your soon-to-be step-sister after she's had a chance to get settled in." The boy favors me with a shy smile, but scampers off to do as he was asked.
"Are you getting along with the boys?" I ask.
"Well, Remy's a hard child to read, but I think he's on board with everything," Mom tells me. "And Michel says he's happy his father is happy. Now, come through the kitchen, and we'll sneak up the back stairs, so you won't have to see everyone right away, and we can have more mother-daughter time."
"I knew there was an ulterior motive," I accuse, teasing her. She knew I wasn't shy about spending time with people I already knew, and this was a family party, even if half the 'family' were technically close colleagues. "You really gave Data and me a room together?"
"Your grandmother said young love should not be parted," Mom said, leading me up the two flights of the spiral staircase. "And Deanna and Beverly reminded me that you already technically live together. Besides, you'll be separated again soon enough. I don't want to add to it."
(=A=)
After four months of being surrounded by theatre people, it takes me a bit to find the rhythm of Starfleet people again, and there's the added - not tension, exactly – but heightened emotion, I guess, because it's a wedding, but also because Data and I had never really done much more than hold hands in public before I left the ship, but now we're sharing one of the love-seats in the great room of this houses. His arm is around me, and I've got my legs folded behind me and am resting against his body, half-listening to the cross-conversations.
I feel someone touch the shoulder that isn't touching Data, and I turn my head to see Counselor Troi. "Don't get up," she insists before I even think about doing so. "I just wanted to say hello and check in with you."
I reach for her hand with my free one, pressing hers and then letting go. "I'm good," I say, because in spite of all the hassle with the press over the last weeks, I really am. "It's good to see everyone."
"But a little bit weird?" she guesses, grinning.
I match her grin with my own, and add a soft, slightly rueful, chuckle. "More than a little." I shrug. "But it's not a bad sort of weird, just… an adjustment."
"For all of us, I think," she agrees. "Seeing you and Data so comfortable and so open in your relationship with each other is both heartwarming and jarring. It's new behavior for him."
I open my mouth to respond, but before I can, Data says, "One moment," to Ed – the two have been discussing literature – and turns his head to tell Deanna. "It is an adjustment for all of us, but once the tabloids made our relationship a story, Zoe and I chose to 'steer into the wind.' We have nothing to hide."
"Data, that's wonderful!" the counselor's grin widens, and her eyes light up. "I'm glad to see you both so happy."
I expect him to contradict her, but he surprises us both, and merely says, "Thank you, Counselor," before turning back to his previous conversation."
(=A=)
Friday is the day of the wedding rehearsal, and I remember (with Data's help) to wear the shoes I'll be wearing the next day, so I can break them in. They are strappy, and gold, and the heels are high enough that for a change Data and I are nearly at eye level to each other.
After the walk-through, Nonna and Papa pull me away from my boyfriend to gush over how much they like him. "And he's tall," Nonna says. "It's good that he's tall."
"Delia," Papa chides her affectionately. "It doesn't matter that Commander Data is tall. It matters that he cares for our granddaughter."
He's right of course, but I'm glad that they approve.
Remy, on the other hand, is not so sure what to make of Data, and even less sure what – if any – relationship to claim with either of us.
"You're going to be my stepsister," he announces as the wedding party and the Enterprise contingent adjourn to a local restaurant for the rehearsal dinner. "Are you going to boss me around?"
"I don't know," I answer, teasing him the way I would have teased Charlie Simmons or the Potts boys. "Do you need bossing around?"
"Not usually."
"Mmm. Good to know."
"Anyway, you're not the boss of me."
"Well, that's a relief," I breeze. "I mean, I have enough to do without having to be the boss of anyone. Bossing people is way too time consuming. Besides, you're what? Twelve?"
"Almost thirteen." He stretches himself upward, as if too look taller.
"Well, almost thirteen-year-olds don't really need more people bossing them around, but sometimes… just sometimes… they could use allies. Friends, even. People who know all the tricks about cadging extra sodas, or where the good cookies are hidden, or how to pick the perfect wave for surfing."
"You surf?"
"Yep."
"Are you good."
I think about it. "I'm a little rusty," I say. "I haven't had a lot of time for surfing lately. But I definitely don't suck."
"I like to surf."
I might have learned that from his father, but I pretend it's the first time I'm hearing it. "Really? Have you ever done," I lower my voice, make it sound mysterious, "night surfing?"
"Dad said I can't go without an escort, and Michel doesn't like night surfing."
"Well, I heard that you and Michel will be on the Enterprise for Christmas, and if that's true, I promise to take you night surfing on the holodeck if you do something for me?"
"What's that?"
"I don't want to be your stepsister. I hate that word. We're all one family. No steps or halves. No real Mom vs. step-mom. If you don't want to find your own name for my mother, just call her Emily, the way I call your father Ed." I hold out my hand to him, as if we've never met, "Hi. I'm Zoe Lauren Harris. I'll be your big sister tomorrow."
Remy grins at me. "Hi," he responds. "I'm Remy Gerard Benoit. I'll be your… younger… brother tomorrow." We both grin, and then the boy asks the question I can tell he's been holding in for a day and a half. "Is Commander Data your boyfriend?"
"Yes," I say, "he is."
"Do I have to call him 'Commander?'"
I laugh. "You? No. Not at all. He's family. Think of him as…" I glance at Data, who is chatting with Will Riker and Captain Picard, but is close enough that I know he can hear us. "… as a sort of unofficial older brother."
Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpse the man I love react to his newfound status with the merest up-quirk of the corner of his mouth.
(=A=)
The staff at Mezza Luna have outdone themselves with the decorations for this wedding. Their event room is bright and airy, and has been decorated with flowers and candles in the colors Mom and Ed chose: peach, ivory, and sage.
Guests are mingling in the cliffside courtyard, where Data is ensuring that everyone is introduced to Elaine Benoit – Ed's mother, a graceful woman with a wicked sense of humor who has monopolized Captain Picard, I suspect, because she can speak her native French to him – and my grandparents.
Ed and his sons are having some quiet time in the groom's shed – the staff call it that – which really means they're playing video games to kill time.
My mother and I are in the bride's dressing room, just the two of us. Deanna and Beverly were with us until about five minutes ago, but she ushered them out, so we could have some mother-daughter time, but I've just glimpsed Data in his formal dress uniform and my heart feels like it's racing.
"You okay, kiddo?" my mother asks, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror where she's been putting the final touches on her hair and makeup.
"I'm okay it's just… does that squishy-fluttery feeling ever go away?"
"Squishy-fluttery feeling?"
"You know. The one that feels like Sychoran firedancers have taken up residence in your belly and are beating all their wings at once?"
"I'd have said butterflies... And no. Not if you're really in love with the person who causes the feeling in the first place."
"Butterflies are too tame for what I feel when I look at Data," I confess, and then I blush and wrinkle my nose. "Here I am making this all about me when I shouldn't be. This is supposed to be your day, Mom."
My mother just shakes her head at me. "Oh, Zoificus." She sets her lipstick down on the dressing table, and pushes her chair backward. Rising, she moves toward the low couch under the open window, catching my hand as she passes, and drawing me with her. "Come sit with me."
"Mom?" But I join her, sitting at a diagonal on the plush couch so I can see her face.
My mother's expression is soft, reflective. "You're really not a little girl anymore," she muses. It's been a frequent refrain over this past year, but somehow, this time, she really means it. "Of course it's firedancers for you. Data is your soulmate. With Ed and I… it's different, sweetie. This is our second time around. Passion gets tempered a little when you're older."
"You are not that old," I insist. "You're not even forty. Ed's barely into his fifties."
"I said older, not old," Mom points out. "Still, though, it's different. We've both been through this before. We love each other, and that love is strong, but we're also more cautious."
I peer at the woman with the more mature version of my face, the slightly darker hair. "You're not having second thoughts?" I feel obligated to ask.
"About marrying Ed? Not in the slightest. But I feel like I'm stepping away from you when you need me most, Zoe. You've gone through so much this last year, and I'm not sure I've been enough of a support." She pauses, and adds, "You've been leaning on Data, more than me, for some time now."
"He's my…" I don't want her to read too much into my choice of words, but it's the most accurate word to use. "He's my partner," I say, beginning afresh. "Aren't I supposed to be turning to him?"
"I suppose you are," she says, and we laugh together, and then the laughter turns to tears, but I'm not sure either of us knows why, or even what's going on, except that we're holding each other so tightly.
We stay that way for several minutes, and then my mother gives me a gentle shove. She stands up, adjusts her fascinator (she didn't want a veil), checks her lipstick, and marches toward the door. "I'm getting married today, daughter-of-mine. Want to come along? I hear there's gonna be a hell of a party, after."
(=A=)
The ceremony is simple and short. Mom's dress, like mine, is vintage and tea-length, but it suits her, setting off her collar bone, and the simple gold chain that is her something new – provided by Ed just this morning.
Each of them speaks their own vows. A justice of the peace performs the legal part of the ceremony, but a friend of Mom's who is an Anglican priest leads a blessing and a prayer of praise before and after the legal requirements.
Data and I play our duet as the recessional.
The party is lighthearted. Ed dances with Nonna and his own mother and me. Mom dances with Papa and Michel and Remy. Ed steals me for a dance while Mom dances with me, and then I dance with my new brother, Michel while Data dances with Elaine.
My boyfriend returns to my side with an odd look on his pale-gold face. "Data?"
"Elaine has just informed me that my French accent is both 'abominable' and 'atrocious,'" he tells me. "Do you believe she is correct?"
"I believe," I tell him, inwardly amused that my android lover can sometimes need his feathers smoothed, so to speak, "that she is an old woman who is not the center of attention, and it is therefore her obligation to find fault in everything."
"Your grandmother did not behave in such a fashion."
"That's because she is the center of my grandfather's attention."
"Ah."
"If you speak French to me while we dance, I promise not to pick on your accent," I coax, and Data takes the bait, leading me back to the dance floor.
"Je te suis éternellement dévoué, ma Zoe," Data whispers as we dance. We're not using any fancy footwork, only moving slowly to the music.
"Eternally, huh?" I ask.
"Eternally," he confirms, and bends his head to kiss me.
When we break apart, the song has ended, and the captain is asking if I would mind, terribly, dancing with an old man… to make him feel less left out. I laugh, and accept his self-deprecating offer, while Data leaves the floor for a bit. I see him during the next song, partnering Counselor Troi, but by then I'm dancing with Commander Riker, and when I look up again, my boyfriend is dancing with Nonna.
Data, I note, is way more graceful.
And dancing with Will is like dancing with my father.
I feel the air change behind me, as Data returns to my side, just as they're wheeling the cake out to the center of the floor. He steps into my personal space and slips his arm around my waist, drawing me backwards against his body.
"It was sweet of you to dance with my grandmother," I tell him.
"She informed me that I should call her Nonna, and asked when we would be 'making things official,'" Data replies.
"Please tell me you didn't give her a date?"
"No," he affirms. "I would not do so when you and I have only just begun speaking of marriage as an eventual likelihood."
"Does it take any pressure off you," I wondered aloud, "when you pretty much know what my answer will be?"
But he doesn't answer, because Mom and Ed are making their ceremonial slice, and then Data is escorting me back to the head table.
(=A=)
The party goes on, until, just before they are ready to disappear for the evening – they've rented a room at the hotel in town, even though they'll be back for a farewell brunch – Ed signals for silence. "My wife and I would love it if you stayed and enjoyed the food and drink until the venue closes at two in the morning," he says, beaming, "but first there is an important ritual she must complete. Emily?"
My mother steps to the center of the room. "Alright, I hope someone catches this thing," she says. She flashes me her special gushy-mom-look, and then turns her back to the assembled guests, holds her bouquet high over her head, and sends it sailing directly at me.
I am, of course, both delighted, and mortified in equal measures.
(=A=)
Society Page
Dateline: San Francisco, Earth, 7 October 2368
Claudia Singletary, reporting
From Bridesmaid to Bride-to-Be?
Edouard Benoit and Lt. Commander Emily Morelli Harris exchanged vows on Saturday in an intimate wedding at Mezza Luna in the coastal resort-town of Half Moon Bay. The bride wore a vintage tea-length dress in cream silk, and a fascinator made of heirloom Brussels lace. This was a second marriage for both parties.
Attending the groom were his two sons, Michel and Remy Benoit. Attending the bride was her daughter, Zoe Harris, who has gained some notoriety as this season's resident ingénue in the Idyllwild Theatre Troupe. Ms. Harris, who also chose to wear a vintage gown, albeit in peach and sage, caught the bouquet.
[A short, silent video of Zoe, bouquet-in-hand, laughing and then momentarily leaning her head against Data's chest airs here.]
Ms. Harris was escorted to the wedding by Lt. Commander Data, the same officer who has been linked with her in the press for much of the summer. Could there be a wedding in this couple's future?
Among the other notable guests of the Benoits' (we are told that the bride will be taking her new husband's last name) several members of the crew of Starfleet's flagship, the U.S.S. Enterprise, including her commanding officer, Captain Jean-Luc Picard, who hails from the same hometown as the groom.
The captain has never married.
-30-
Notes: The opening definition is modified from an entry at ArtopiumDOTcom. Harb Culkin is an homage to the character of Harb Tanzer who serves as morale officer on the original Enterprise in the TOS novels. Special thanks to Javanyet and Lacrimula Falsafor writing the pieces from The Probe and Alpha Quadrant Weekly, respectively (and for not feeling slighted when I had to tweak them a little, to fit.). The Cliff House is a San Francisco institution. The food isn't always the best (though their brunches are fabulous) but the view is to die for. Half Moon Bay is my favorite village on the Northern California coast. Mezza Luna is a restaurant, but not a wedding venue. None of the tabloids mentioned are real. The song Data and Zoe played is real, but I don't have a link for you. Sychoran firedancers are my own invention. I understand French when it's spoken to me, and I can get the gist of it when I'm reading it, but I don't actually speak the language (though I was once complimented on my accent when I was vacationing in France – true story), so I used Google translate for Data's line to Zoe, which should be, "I am eternally devoted to you, my Zoe." (Update: thanks to CptJaneway who gave me a more idiomatic translation of the line.) Finally, I'm very sorry it's taken me so long to post this chapter. The universe has been challenging me rather a lot recently (although I did kind of get sidetracked by that Lore one-shot, "Nightly News" and the fluffy one-shot "Cake").
