At five minutes to 0700, Tasha got on the turbolift and headed for the bridge. The car stopped on deck two, and Geordi got on.
"Good morning, Lieutenant," he greeted her.
"Hardly."
"Rough night?" Geordi asked. Tasha nodded. "Same here. Lotta bad dreams."
"Me, too," Tasha said. The doors opened on the bridge, where Data was nearly finished giving the overnight report to Riker. "What kind of bad dreams?"
Geordi paused at her station. "I dreamt that I'd switched places with the clone, and the shuttle left me behind in the snow."
Tasha tsked. "I dreamt about the station, too. And the colony where I grew up – it all kind of blended together."
"I have the bridge," Will said.
Geordi went to take the helm, and Data walked up the ramp to the turbolift. They nodded to each other as they passed.
Tasha stopped Data with a touch at his elbow. "Commander…"
"Yes, Lieutenant?"
Tasha looked around at the fully staffed bridge and dropped her hand. "Good morning," she said lamely.
He looked at her with concern. "Is something troubling you?"
"No, Data." Her eyes blatantly contradicted her words. She made it obvious enough for him to comprehend.
"Shall we talk later?" he asked quietly.
Tasha nodded. He got on the turbolift and turned to face the closing doors.
"Ensign Mehta was troubled by his dreams, too, Geordi," Tasha said.
"Did you have nightmares last night?' Will asked.
"Yes, sir. Some real doozies," Geordi answered.
"Me, too."
"You, Commander?" Tasha asked.
"Yeah." Will hesitated. "I dreamt that you all got back to the shuttle, but you were clones. It got worse from there."
"There must've been something in the air. Seems like we all dreamt about the mission," Geordi said.
"Everyone except Data," Tasha pointed out.
"Yeah," Geordi agreed. "Lucky him."
Tasha went in search of Data during the lunch break. The computer had pinpointed him in holodeck four. The bulkhead doors opened on the woodland program. Tasha crossed a path of boulders through a shallow stream, following the sound of his voice coming out of the trees on the other side.
"'Our revels now are ended. These our actors, as I foretold you, were all spirits, and are melted into air, into thin air.'"
"Data?" She could hear him, but she hadn't yet found him. She brushed low-hanging branches out of the way.
"'And, like the insubstantial pageant faded, leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep.'"
She finally spied him, a dot of yellow high up in the green. "How did you get up there?"
"I climbed," Data answered.
"Well, come down here."
"As you wish. If you would assist me to catch –"
She put her hands out and into them dropped a substantial tome. She watched Data descend as nimbly as a squirrel from his perch in the crook of a walnut tree. He jumped down the last few meters.
"What is this?"
"It is a book." Data took it from her and tucked it under his arm.
"I can see that, Data. Why are you reading from a book?"
"As an experience. It is a gift from Capt. Picard. He suggested that both the contents and the substance of the book present the best, most complete repository of what humanity has to offer."
"Capt. Picard gave you a gift?" Tasha was impressed. "What's the occasion?"
"No occasion," Data replied. "It was apropos of nothing."
"That's the best kind of gift – a gift from the heart." She linked her arm through his, and they strolled down the sun-dappled forest path. "What were you reading?"
"A speech from 'The Tempest'. Capt. Picard recommended that I read aloud to fully appreciate the genius of The Bard."
"The Bard?" Tasha wrinkled her nose. "Sometimes, I'm not sure if we're speaking the same language."
"You had a matter that you wished to discuss?"
"More like a question: will you stay with me tonight?"
"Yes, of course," Data replied.
"Good." She gave his arm a squeeze. "I don't want to be alone."
Data thought this an atypical sentiment from her, but decided not to comment on it. "I work beta shift. I will be off duty at 2300 hours."
"I might be asleep by then – I couldn't get much sleep last night. If I don't answer the intercom, just use your override, okay?"
"Very well."
She gave him another squeeze and let him go. "I've gotta get some chow. See you tonight."
"Until tonight. 'Good night, good night, parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night until it be morrow.'"
Tasha gave him an annoyed look and skipped over the boulders in the stream to the exit. Data placidly turned back to the copse of trees.
The mauves and teals of Counselor Troi's office presented a tranquil, muted backdrop to Tasha's vivid agitation. She wondered what it was about therapy that always made her feel keyed up. Wasn't it supposed to have the opposite effect?
"What do you think it means?" Deanna was asking.
"Well, I don't know – it was so jumbled together – images from the colony mixed with images from Vega Mar VI. I don't know what to think," Tasha replied, jiggling one leg over the other.
"Did it trouble you when Cdr. Data was hurt?"
"Well, yes. And when Cdr. Riker and Geordi were, too. In fact, everyone on the mission was hurt …" A light dawned in Tasha's eyes. "Except me."
"How does that make you feel?" asked Deanna.
"It's my job to protect the crew. I'd gladly sacrifice myself to save any one of them, in a heartbeat."
Deanna's dark eyes were neutral and calm. "What makes you feel that way?"
"It's my duty," Tasha answered immediately.
"If it were to come to that, it is the duty of every member of Starfleet to put the safety of others ahead of our own. But I'm asking you a different question. Do you feel guilty that you escaped unscathed?"
Tasha let out a long sigh. "Survivor's guilt. Maybe that's what triggered the nightmares."
"It could be," Deanna said.
"I guess, sometimes, I still feel like I live on borrowed time, that by all the odds, I never should've made it off that god-forsaken rock. Why did I get the chance to escape?"
"When so many others chose to stay?" Deanna asked.
"They didn't know any better. Even a pit can feel like home, if you sit in it long enough," Tasha said.
"Can you see any other parallels?"
Tasha thought it over. "I've been on more treacherous missions. But I felt like there was something greater than our lives at stake on the outpost. It's as if we were fighting for our souls. The sight of Geordi dying was so horrible…and then, to find out that it wasn't him, that we almost left him behind with those monsters…"
Deanna reached for her hand, and Tasha let her take it. "Was there anyone on the colony that you left behind?"
"It was impossible to have friends on the colony," Tasha answered. "It was every man for himself."
Deanna kept probing. "There was no one you cared for? No one you loved? Not even one person?"
"Loved?" Tasha withdrew her hand from Deanna's. "It didn't exist."
Deanna leveled a look at her. "I can feel that you're holding something back, Tasha. It might help you, if you let it out."
Tasha tried to clear her mind. "I have memories that I don't care to relive, Troi. Memories that can only hurt me."
"We could try hypnosis –"
"No," Tasha said, a little too forcefully. "Some things are meant to stay in the past."
Deanna regarded her steadily. "I can only help you if you let me. Ultimately, you have to decide what you're willing to do to recover completely."
"Is it even possible?" Tasha asked. "Whenever I think my past is truly behind me, something comes up and knocks me on my keister, and I feel like I'm right back where I started."
Deanna gave her a kind smile. "You know that's not true. Look how far you've come – nothing can take that away from you."
"But I'll never get to a point in my life when I feel like everyone else does, will I?"
"Tasha, you say that as if you're the only person on this ship who has any flaws. Everyone has insecurities to overcome. Everyone has goals that seem out of reach. You're not alone in your struggle."
Tasha nodded. Inwardly, she felt terribly alone. Alone with her secrets.
"I'd like for us to meet more frequently for a while, until your symptoms abate. How's next week at this time?" Deanna asked.
"It's fine. Probably a good idea. I'd like to nip this in the bud – I'd feel bad if it affected my work."
"We won't let it get to that point," Deanna assured her.
They both stood. "Will I see you at dinner?" Tasha asked.
"No – too much work to do."
"A few extra patients today?"
Deanna wagged her finger. "You know I can't tell you that."
"Tell Ensign Mehta I said hello. And Geordi?" Tasha smiled, one dimple dotting her cheek.
"Out." Deanna gave her a mock push to the door. "And, Tasha – sweet dreams."
The longing for Ishara was a dull ache in the center of her chest. Tasha missed her so much that it was unbearable. The only thing that numbed the pain was the high. And now that she was coming down, the pain smacked her full force, like the worst gnawing hunger. She needed a fix, and she needed it now.
It was the middle of the night, pitch black outside, with the smoke from the day's mortar fire still blotching out the stars. There were no lights on in the medical clinic. The lock on the door had been broken so many times that it gave way with one solid kick. Tasha slid in and silently shut the door behind her.
She felt her way through the waiting area, past the curtained-off treatment carrels, to the back room where they kept the supplies. She found what seemed to be a large storage cabinet, locked up with keypad access. She bet someone kept the code written down somewhere. She risked turning on a light – she was all the way in the rear of the building, with only one small window to give her away.
Her instincts were good: she only had to turn three drawers over before she found a scrap of paper with a series of crossed-out numbers in rows. She punched in the last set. The closet doors slid open with a soft whirr. Jackpot. She rifled through the rows of vials and boxes, looking for the ones she wanted.
"Decided to cut out the middle man?"
Tasha jumped and spun around. A skinny, brown-skinned man with a broken nose and lank black hair in a ponytail was leaning against the doorway.
Tasha relaxed. "Your prices are too high, Fonso. Sick of paying 'em."
"But I always get you what you want, sweetheart." He straightened up and sauntered into the supply room.
Tasha turned back to the cabinet and started searching the shelves again. "There's more than one way to get what you want."
"How'd you get past the guard, baby? You hide the body?"
"No one was minding the store." She found what she wanted, bottom shelf: ten vials of it. She started shoving the bottles into her jacket. "Too bad."
"I got my guys on the front door now, so why don't you hand over the goods?"
Tasha straightened, her back still to the dealer. There was a row of surgical tools at eye level: hyposprays, autosuturers, laser scalpels… "Why don't you get bent?"
"Can't have you horning in on my business, girly. Hand it over, you get out alive. I'll even give you a discount."
"What, you just gonna use the tip? Won't feel no different, pinprick." She shut the closet doors and turned around with her hands behind her back.
The dealer approached her slowly. His face was pockmarked, and his lips were bisected by a long scar. His eyes were as flat black as a snake's. "You won't talk so big when my guys are holding you down. Now, hand over what you got, baby, or I might get angry."
Tasha backed up to the closet doors as Fonso walked towards her, slow and menacing. She let the fear show in her eyes, let him see her lips tremble. As soon as he reached arm's length, she whipped out the scalpel and powered it on in one smooth motion. In another second, Fonso was facedown on the floor.
Tasha turned him over with the toe of her boot. His eyes were open, and the slash went clean from ear to ear. He wasn't yet bleeding. She stepped over his body and dragged a chair below the small window. She stood up on the chair, unlocked the window sash, and pushed it wide open. It would be a tight fit, but she could make it.
A sound behind her caught her ear. She turned to see gelatinous orange goo oozing out of the gaping wound on Fonso's neck. It pooled on the floor, growing more massive by the second. Deep inside the mass, Fonso's pockmarked face appeared and began to rise to the surface. It emerged from the blob and opened its scarred lips to speak.
"You didn't have to kill me," it said, the face in the blob as ugly as that of the corpse on the floor. "I was only playing. Why'd you have to kill me, Tasha? Why, Tasha? Tasha?"
"Tasha. Tasha." Data's voice finally reached her. She opened her eyes. "I am sorry to awaken you, but you were weeping in your sleep."
Tasha lay still for a second longer, trying to place herself. She was in her bed, on the Enterprise. Data was bent over her, wearing a pair of navy blue pajamas monogrammed with a D on the chest pocket. His forehead was creased with a look of worry.
Tasha wiped the tears from her cheeks. She focused on Data's golden eyes. "I was having the worst dream…"
"You seemed quite distressed. Has your emotional state improved, now that you are awake?"
"I don't know…" She could still see the last frightening scene of her dream. "Would you hold me?"
"Yes, of course." He lay down and folded her in his arms.
Her eyes were open, and she stared at the opalescent shimmer of his pale neck. "Data, do you think I'm a good person?" Tasha whispered.
Her head was on his chest, and she felt his voice as well as heard it. "I do not understand your question. Human beings are neither good nor bad. Those qualifiers are generally used to describe –"
"Just tell me. Do you think doing bad things out of necessity makes me a bad person?"
"I am not aware of any actions you have done that would sully my opinion of you, Tasha."
"Well, what's your opinion of me?"
Data was still puzzled by the question, but attempted to answer it nonetheless. "I do not believe it fair to judge a living being in the context you suggest."
Tasha made an exasperated sound and turned her back to him, taking the blanket with her. "Fine. Never mind."
Data directed a mollifying look at the back of her head. "However, you should know that I hold you in the highest esteem, and that you occupy a special, a unique place in my life."
She hunched her shoulders in response. He moved closer to her and tucked his legs against the back of hers in a manner that he knew she found pleasing. "I would remind you that your actions on Vega Mar VI resulted in the rescue of Ensign Mehta, Lt. La Forge, and myself. One cannot deny that the outcome of the mission was positive, in large part due to your bravery."
He felt her stiff posture relax somewhat. "You were brave, too. You always are."
"As are you." He put an arm around her waist and waited to see if she would shrug him off. When she did not, he pulled her closer. "One of your many good personality traits."
Her hand crept over his. "You think I have a good personality?"
"I find your personality to be endlessly diverting," Data answered.
"Hmmm. Vague. But better than nothing." She turned back around and lay nose to nose with him. "I think you're a good person."
"Thank you, but as I pointed out –"
She put a finger to his lips. "I'm too tired to argue."
He looked at her with a mixture of speculation, innocence, and acuity that was familiar to her. "Do you wish to resume sleeping?"
"I just want you to hold me."
Data obliged, still watching her and processing the information she gave off: the rate of her respiration, her pulse, her temperature. She had pushed her hands under his pajama top, and was running them restlessly over his skin.
"Would it help you to describe the dream aloud?" Data asked.
Her hands froze. "Definitely not."
He began stroking her back, another action he knew she found soothing. "What is it like, to dream?"
"You can't always tell you're dreaming. Sometimes, it feels so real, you don't notice how certain things are out of place, or how you relive something that really happened a different way, so that the outcome changes." She had recommenced feeling the perfectly smooth skin of his back.
"But what is it like?" he asked.
"I don't know. It feels like real life, but at the same time, it doesn't." Her hands were wandering lower.
"I still do not understand."
"It's hard to describe." She was rummaging his pajama bottoms now.
He fixed his gaze on her blue eyes. "Are you certain that your only desire is for me to hold you?"
She pressed him to her with both hands. "What do you think?"
"I think that there is a ninety percent probability that you are interested in more, and a ninety-five percent probability that it would elevate your mood to act on those interests."
"Oh, Data." She kissed him and rubbed her nose against his. "I can always count on you to bring a rational perspective to any situation."
