6.
Four cinnamon muffins sat, untouched, on a plate beside the counselor's steaming tea pot. The small muffins warmed her office with their spicy scent, but seemed to have no such effect on her stern-faced guest.
"I wish to know why my authorization codes have been blocked," Data stated, his normally pleasantly animated voice as flat and cold as his eyes. "Why is the information recorded in these particular logs being withheld from me?"
Deanna sighed and leaned forward to pour fresh tea into her cooling cup.
"The truth is, Data," she said, after taking a slow, calming sip. "Those safeguards were put in place for your protection."
"My protection?" Data repeated. "I do not understand."
Troi regarded him, her dark eyes boring deeply into his.
"What do you remember about your mission to Barkon IV, Data?" she asked him.
"Only what I was told, Counselor," he said. "You were there when I awoke. You know I have no memory of my time on Barkon IV."
"What is the last thing you remember before the memory gap?"
"Only the initial dematerialization sequence here, aboard the Enterprise," he said. "I was standing on the transporter pad with my equipment, and Ensign Cohen was operating the controls. He pressed sequence Alpha—"
"All right, Data, I get the idea," Deanna said. "What do you remember next?"
"Opening my eyes in sickbay," he told her. "Dr. Crusher informed me that I had endured a severe electromagnetic shock while downloading information from the damaged probe. The shock apparently wiped my short term memory files."
"What were you wearing when you woke up in sickbay?"
"My Starfleet uniform, Counselor," Data said, regarding her curiously. "Why?"
Deanna pursed her lips, then stood and strode over to her desk. She picked up a small stack of neatly folded brown, cream, and reddish-brown garments and carried it back to him.
"Do you recognize these, Data?" she asked.
Data took the clothes and inspected them one by one, his expression growing oddly unsettled.
"Where did you get these, Counselor?" he asked.
"Why don't you tell me?" she prompted.
Data shook his head slightly, appearing strangely helpless as he ran his fingers over the hand-spun threads, the woven fabrics…
"I do not know," he whispered. "But, these clothes… They are strongly reminiscent of garments I saw individuals wearing in my recent dreams."
"The dreams about your stranger? The man who lost his memory?"
"That is correct," Data said, lifting the tunic and frowning at a rough, singed hole that pierced through both the front and back of the fabric.
"Data," Troi said gently. "Would it surprise you to learn that this is what you were wearing when we beamed you up from Barkon IV, not your Starfleet uniform?"
"It would, Counselor," Data said, and set the damaged tunic and the other clothes down on the table beside the muffins. "I can see the dimensions correspond with my frame, and there is evidence several of these garments have been strategically tailored to fit those specifications. Yet, I can honestly say I cannot recall ever having seen or worn these clothes before."
Deanna nodded. It was clear he was telling the truth. In fact, if she didn't know better, she'd say the android looked thoroughly spooked.
"You know the Prime Directive better than I do, Data, and the consequences for knowingly and willfully breaking it," she said. "As long as we could prove you had no memory of events on Barkon IV, Starfleet was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt and forego any official hearing on the matter. But, their condition was that all records and logs regarding the mission and your recovery remained sealed."
Data straightened.
"Sealed? Why? What do they think I did?"
Deanna tightened her lips.
"The fact is, you were found buried, damaged and offline, several meters beneath the central square of a Barkonian village. After beaming you back to the ship and repairing the worst of the damage, you were briefly reactivated. Once it was clear you knew nothing, the captain, Dr. Crusher, and I… Well, Data, we decided it would be best for you - for your career - if the mystery of what had happened to you down there just…stayed a mystery."
Data stared, his golden eyes wide with something very like disbelief.
"Did the captain order my memories of Barkon IV wiped?" he demanded.
"Data, it wasn't like that," Deanna assured him. "That probe did damage you very badly. When we recovered you, you had no memory of anything that had happened following the power surge. But, you were wearing these clothes. And it was clear that, although you couldn't remember any details, you did have some significant contact with the Barkonians of that village."
Data's golden eyes flicked to the side, his brow furrowing deeply over his nose.
"Significant contact…" He glanced at her, his expression almost pensive. "Then, it is your belief that I violated the Prime Directive while on Barkon IV? That I am responsible for some manner of cultural contamination substantial enough to affect the development of—"
"Data, I don't know," she broke in. "And neither do you. And, so far, neither does Starfleet. That's the point I'm trying to make."
She sighed, and set her cup down on its saucer.
"Right now, all anyone knows for sure about the incident is that, somehow, one small community of Barkonians was exposed to radiation from fragments of the crashed probe you were sent to recover," she said. "Whether the fragments landed there as the probe fell through the atmosphere, or were carried there from the crash site in the mountains is pure speculation. And, so is the extent of your involvement."
"Judging from the native costume you say I was wearing when I initially awoke in sickbay, I appear to have been quite deeply involved," Data said quietly.
"That's just it, Data," Deanna said, fixing the android with a curious expression he couldn't quite read. "I don't think you were."
Data's head twitched.
"I do not understand."
Deanna took a muffin, sat back in her chair, and crossed one leg over the other.
"I told you yesterday I wanted to hear all about these dreams you've been having," she said conversationally, picking cinnamon crumbs off the muffin's top and popping them in her mouth. "Did you have another one last night?"
"I did, Counselor, but—"
"Tell me about it," she said. "Were you in this dream, Data?"
"No," he said, and frowned. "Not exactly."
"Anyone you know? Your friends from the Enterprise?"
"No," he said. "The dream was again about Jayden."
"Jayden?"
"That is the name the stranger chose to adopt, since he could not recall his own," Data told her. "It was given to him by a young girl. Gia."
An intrigued sparkle lit the counselor's eyes, and she fought to hide a little smile.
"Please, have a muffin," she said, gesturing to the plate. "If the tea is too cold, I can fetch us some more from the replicator."
"Counselor," Data said, "if you know something about these dreams, their meaning or significance, I would appreciate—"
"A theory?" she said, and quirked a dark eyebrow. "Data, are you familiar with the symptoms of retrograde amnesia?"
"Of course," he said. "It is a rather common plot device in many works of serialized fiction. Often, a primary character is hit on the head and, consequentially, loses all memory of his or her identity and purpose until receiving a second, similar blow which then restores the lost memories."
"Yes, well, I'm sure you know that in reality retrograde amnesia is extremely rare," she said. "And it's not caused, or cured, by a bump on the head. With most biological humanoids, the condition results from very serious organic brain trauma, most commonly caused by a tumor or a stroke. The affected individual can no longer remember who they are or what they were, but they can form new memories. They also remain painfully aware of their cognitive defect. They know they have lost something. Something vital. Yet, they cannot grasp what it was."
She regarded him closely.
"Does any of this sound familiar to you, Data? From your dreams, perhaps?"
Data squinted his eyes slightly, working to follow her meaning.
"Are you suggesting, Counselor, that I may have experienced a condition similar to retrograde amnesia while on Barkon IV?"
"I think I'm asking you if it's possible, Data," she said. "Do you believe the damage the probe's overload caused your positronic brain could have provoked symptoms comparable to a human stroke?"
Data's golden eyes shot back and forth as he processed the question. After a moment he stilled, and looked up at her.
"Yes," he said, his voice soft with startled wonder. "I do."
To Be Continued...
Until next time! Your opinions, comments, and reviews are always welcome! :)