Year: 2380

Stardate: 57243.4

"I spy with my little eye something that begins with the letter S." Quimby stated.

T'Mera groaned softly, continuing her work.

"Is it space?" B-4 asked.

"No."

Data guessed, "Is it a star?"

"No." Quimby waited for more guesses, and when none were forthcoming, she said, "Sphere."

T'Mera unbuckled her harness and scrambled out of her seat at the science station, "What?!" She bumped B-4's body as she flung herself into the front port seat at ops and looked out the viewport. She slumped in relief, "Not a Borg sphere, thank goodness. What is that thing?" She tapped the console, "Huh… It's a Dyson Sphere."

Data spoke up, "A common misnomer. It is more properly termed a Dyson Shell, although both names are inaccurate for the structure that Dyson postulated. His initial idea was for it to be a permeable megastructure consisting of satellite energy collectors around a star or a sun, which would then collect all of the energy for use by a civilization. In that initial state, it would have seemed more like rings, rather than a solid-" He stopped himself mid-sentence, then said, "Hmm. Most humans stop me from rambling this long, T'Mera."

T'Mera smirked, then said, "I don't like to interrupt unless it's necessary. Also, I've gotten quite accustomed to the sound of your voice, due to the logs. I find it… soothing." She added, "Even with the synth box you're using now."

Data replied, "My voice is based on that of Doctor Soong."

"Well, I never met him." T'Mera returned to the science station, "So, I suppose I might have found him soothing, as well."

"I spy with my little eye something that begins with the letter S."

"Quimby!" T'Mera snorted, "Give it a rest. I think a day is long enough to play that game. You just pilot now."

"Aye aye, Cap'n." Quimby replied, before falling silent.

After a moment of silence, Data spoke again, "I am glad you like my voice, T'Mera. I wish we had been able to meet years ago at the conferences."

T'Mera tapped on the science console, watching some text scroll on the display, "Instead, we meet at the crossroads of desperation."

"If I might ask," Data paused in the inquiry, "What is the Chipman Test that Doctor Vanzanen spoke of?"

"Ah." T'Mera turned to look at the android, "There was so much debate as to what constitutes a person for the sake of rights that I wrote up a paper that outlines what I consider to be indicators of a conscious and sentient being. It was received well, and Starfleet JAG offices are supposed to be adopting it for any sentience hearings."

"Please elaborate?" Data asked.

"Very well." T'Mera leaned back in the chair, "They show an interest in their own destiny, are capable of forming friendships and close relationships, have developed hobbies and interests that are unrelated to their intended function, are capable of overriding their programming, capable of choosing to sacrifice their existence for another, and, finally, capable of arbitrary preference in equilateral decision-making without breaking down."

Data remained quiet for a moment, then said, "That does seem to be a fairly comprehensive way of testing."

T'Mera grumbled, "Well, knowing how most of my research papers are interpreted, someone's probably going to figure a way to pervert my test into something evil."

"I must disagree with your assessment of your research." Data replied, "While the predicament of the EMH is regrettable, the holograms are not evil, nor am I aware of anything else you have done resulting in something I would term to be evil."

T'Mera turned back to the console, as a beep announced an incoming file transfer, "I suppose you're right, Data." She tapped the screen to open the files, "Something from the Enterprise, and another from a crewmate who was on the Trieste with you. The files from the Enterprise are what I needed. Recordings of you in performances or social situations."

"I am curious…" Data inquired, "What you need those for."

T'Mera scrolled through the list, "They'll help me figure out how much of you is distributed where and when within each neural subprocessor. Without the indexes, I have to map each subprocessor and reconstruct you, line by line, neuron by neuron, manually. I've decided to order them chronologically, since your memories all contain the timestamp of when you experienced them."

Data was silent for a moment, then said, "That is a nearly insurmountable task. You are correct. It will take a few years for that."

T'Mera chuckled, "One thing's for sure. They don't call you 'Data' for nothing. I'd considered trying to toss out the part of you that's a walking encyclopedia, but then thought better of it, since you might have something important attached to those."

Data told her, "I do enjoy amassing knowledge, and as far as my name, Doctor Soong tended towards whimsical ones."

As she perused the new files, T'Mera said, "I wouldn't have chosen an extremely common informational term for you, though. I would have tried to give you a name that was both meaningful for a computer, yet would double as a human name."

Data asked, "What would you have named me?"

T'Mera rubbed her chin, then replied, "How about Chip?"

"I see your point." Data's voice remained even, due to the vocal box. "What did someone from the Trieste send you?"

"Nothing all that important." T'Mera answered. "I can use it as a verification for timestamps. It's an image taken of you in a skant."

"I remember that day." Data told her. "My modesty subroutine kept sending me alert prompts, so I changed back to the jumpsuit. Have you ever tried it?"

"I was never in Starfleet, myself, so I never wore the uniforms." T'Mera kept up the conversation as she worked, "I'm used to seeing the uniforms, though. I was born on the Wellington. The classic Starfleet brat."

Data's vision became obscured when B-4 picked up an isolinear chip to study. "Curious. Why did you never join Starfleet, if both of your parents served?"

T'Mera stopped her work for a moment, "I didn't want to deal with the discipline and uniforms and having to go wherever I was sent. I wanted to go whereI want to go."

"Speaking of that, I notice that you have your own ship, and that it is not registered to the Federation." Data began his next line of inquiries, "How did you get this ship? I also noticed it has what could be considered a cloak, which would be against the Treaty of Algeron, had it been a Federation vessel."

"It's not a true cloak, really. It's more like a chameleon. Anyway, I do some business outside of the Federation, in which currency is exchanged." T'Mera explained, as she resumed the work, "My holosuite programs tended to be successful, especially with the Ferengi. That's why this is a Ferengi ship. I do like it, since they're never at war with anyone, meaning I can travel fairly safely outside of Federation space. I doubt anyone goes into red alert at seeing it. It also has very good defense capabilities, in addition to speed."

"What about weapons?" Data checked his memory and tried to recall if he had seen any on the vessel.

"Well…" T'Mera bit her lip as she studied one of the files, "I have something I call the Mosquito Phaser, but the Ghost really hasn't got any weapons, unless you count the change I had made to the deflector arrays."

"What did you have changed?" Data recalled seeing the deflectors, albeit faintly.

T'Mera checked the neural monitor display, "In a bad situation, it can be a reflector array. It'll bounce an attack right back at whoever shot at me. I haven't had to use it, so I honestly have no clue if it works, or if I got taken."

Data replied, "Most intriguing." He was about to attempt small talk, when T'Mera let out a strangled cry, and there was a thud loud enough to attract B-4's attention. The android swiveled in the chair to face the science section.

T'Mera had fallen from her chair and clutched her left leg with both hands, as the skin around her ankle began to move as if something beneath it were boiling. Metal spikes shot out from the area, then expanded and stabbed back into her epidermis. Despite the expression of pain on her face, she used her arms to drag herself towards the emergency supplies.

"B-4! Get us out of this harness!" Data commanded, "Press the button in the middle!" The prototype complied, and the straps retracted into the chair. "We have to help T'Mera." He noticed the medkit on a shelf, "We need to get that grey box." Taking care to not step on T'Mera, B-4 leaped over to the shelf, then reached for the box.

"Here, B-4… bring the box to me…" T'Mera's pain was audible in her voice as a few tears coursed down her cheeks.

B-4 ran back to kneel by T'Mera, holding the box out to her, "Here is the box."

T'Mera took it from the android's hands, "Thank you." then opened it. She reached for the hypospray and grabbed at a vial labelled 'triptacedrine'. Once the vial was inserted into the medical device, she pressed it just above where the Borg implants were bursting out from her calf. A moment later, her right hand went limp and she dropped the hypospray and lay on the floor, panting heavily.

Worried yellow eyes stared down at the fallen woman, then B-4's attention turned to the shiny metal protrusions in her leg.

T'Mera closed her eyes, "I'm all right. Go back to your seat."

Data countered, "I can find no correlation between what just happened to you and the term "all right". I therefore conclude that you are not all right, and are, in fact, the exact opposite of that state."

T'Mera shook her head, "The medicine will work quickly, and I'll get back up."

"Perhaps." Data admonished, "However, I believe that you should ingest some sort of sustenance and then experience a full sleep cycle, once you get back up."

"You're right." T'Mera picked up the hypospray and replaced it in the empty space in the medkit, "We'll be at the Briar Patch tomorrow, and I'll be the one who has to pilot through that. Bit of trivia…" she added, as she closed the medkit, "According to legend, the first person to call Klach D'Kel Brakt the Briar Patch was Arik Soong."

"Hmm. I suppose it could be true. He is supposed to have been a progenitor of my father. Perhaps a great-grandfather." Data replied. "How are you feeling, now?"

"Better." T'Mera answered, as she slowly got to her feet. She looked down at her left leg, where the implants had wrapped around her calf and ankle, "The pain is dulled. Once those things are done growing, it won't hurt as much." She replaced the medkit on the shelf, then limped to the replicator, "Mushroom barley soup, ninety-three degrees in a sourdough bread bowl." The food materialized and she took the tray to the seat at the science station.

"Edible food container. Fascinating." Data mused, as B-4 sat down in his own seat.

"You're sure you don't need food, Data?" T'Mera asked in between mouthfuls.

"I am certain." Data's voice replied, "Although I occasionally ingest a semi-organic nutrient suspension in a silicone-based liquid medium in order to lubricate my biofunctions, it seems as if B-4 does not yet need to do so. Any eating or drinking that I used to do was purely in a social context, and I see no reason for that, at the moment."

T'Mera wiped her mouth, "Just let me know if and when you need anything of the sort."

Data replied, "I will be certain to do so." B-4 managed to figure out how to put his harness on, and then the android was secured into the chair.

T'Mera finished her soup, returned the tray to the replicator, then checked the android's harness. "Good work on buckling. I'll be right back."

Data and B-4 watched as she entered the small room that held the head, and waited patiently for her to return. When she emerged, Data reminded her, "You should be ready for your sleep cycle, now."

T'Mera pushed the science station chair into the flat position, "Look, I'm getting into my bunk. You don't need to nag me." She buckled herself into the harness, "Computer, sleeping mode." She closed her eyes as she began to float in the zero gravity.

Data listened to the holographer's breathing throughout her restless sleep.