Geordi had mentioned that evening that there were in fact other authors besides Sir Arthur Conan Doyle who had written excellent detective stories. And now that it was the ship's night, and everyone who wasn't on watch had gone to bed, Data had sat himself at his computer and had pulled up every detective story in the ship's library.

After devouring all of Poirot, Pim Pandoer, the Famous Five series, the Father Dowling mysteries, Kommissar Rex, Masterdetective Blomkvist, Baantjer, Wahllöö, Sayers, Maigret, and McCall's tales about Mma Ramotswe, he had come half way through the collected works of a prolific British author named Agatha Christie when his doorchime sounded.

"Come," he called without taking his eyes off the screen. But when he noticed it was Tasha entering, he halted the text flow and turned his full attention to her. "Tasha, are you alright? It is 01.51.36 a.m. You should be asleep at this hour."

Tasha grimaced. "You try and tell your daughter that. First she had a lengthy case of the hiccups, and when that finally passed, she decided it was time to practise her karate."

Taking her request literally, Data bent down towards her belly and said in a mildly reproving tone, "Myrna, it is imperative that you let your mother sleep now. She needs her rest. So please, postpone your martial exercises till the morning."

Tasha grinned. "Let's hope she listens better to her Dad than she does to her Mum." She sat down on the only other chair in the room. It wasn't a very comfortable one, since comfort was no issue for Data. But after four sleepless nights in a row on account of the little karate kid in her belly, anything was better than having to suffer through another nocturnal karate session on her own. At least now that Data wasn't on duty, she'd have some company. To help pass the time till little Myrna would tire of her callisthenics.

Data was watching her shirt covered baby-belly with intense interest. "She is still moving around, is she not?"

"You bet." Tasha winced at a particularly fierce kick in her lower ribs. "She's getting too big for it, but she doesn't seem to realize it."

Data's forehead creased to a worried frown. "According to all the medical reference books I have studied, she should have been able to hear us for several weeks now. Do you think there might be something wrong with her hearing?"

"I think she doesn't understand Federation Standard yet," Tasha deadpanned, and couldn't resist a chuckle at Data's relieved, "Ah!" Only to be rewarded another kick in the ribs. "I'd wish she'd stop kicking me in that exact same spot all the time," she groaned as she rubbed the area under attack.

"Perhaps Dr. Crusher can help?" Data suggested.

Tasha shook her head. "She says it's normal. And healthy for the baby to exercise her muscles. But I can't say I'm enjoying it." She straightened her back and shifted in her seat. But she knew full well it wasn't just the chair. It was her steadily growing baby-belly itself that was making it more and more difficult to get comfortable. In any position. And to think that she still had nearly two months to go... "So what were you doing?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"On the computer," Tasha nodded. "When I came in. I hope I didn't disturb you in anything important?"

"Not at all. I was reading detective stories written by different authors, dating from the late 19th till the early 21st century. That period is commonly regarded as the golden age of the detective stories. And it is most intriguing to observe their many similarities, as well as their many differences. For example, did you know..." And with that, Data launched into one of those infamous, detail studded discourses on which he seemed to have patent, and which in Tasha's experience so far had never ended unless someone interrupted him.

She let him talk, but his words went in one ear and out the other. Never having read a detective in her life, she couldn't quite share his enthusiasm for the genre. Nor for reading in general for that matter.

Apart from having been made aware of the meaning of a few lifesaving words and symbols, she hadn't had any proper education on Turkana IV until she had escaped the hellhole on a Starfleet vessel at the age of fifteen. During the long voyage to Earth, some of the ship's crew had taken it upon them to teach her to read and write, as well as basic arythmatics. She still remembered her amazement at the discovery how easy reading actually was once you had mastered the code.

But once she had arrived on Earth, she had been eager to catch up on her formal and social education. She had managed to cram into four years of studies what 'normal' children did in fifteen, with the result that she'd had very little time for a personal exploration of human literature. She knew her obligatory classics alright, but that was about it. And not accustomed to reading merely for pleasure, neither her time at Starfleet Academy, nor her subsequent career in security had been much of an inducement to enrich her scanty knowledge of literature.

She rubbed the top of her belly that little Myrna still had under attack. She hoped, she really wished they'd be able to give the little girl a more balanced education than she had had. And not just that, but a proper childhood, too. If only they'd have some experience to draw on as to how to go about it. With a father who had been 'born' as a grown-up, and a mother who'd been deprived of anything resembling a childhood...

Suddenly another thought struck her, and she sat up with a start and another kick in the ribs. "Data!"

He stopped talking what seemed to be mid-sentence, and immediately she felt bad.

"Yes, Tasha?"

That was the problem with Data: no matter how rude you were to him (be it by intention or entirely by accident, such as now), he never took offence. With the illogical result that you felt even worse. "I'm sorry, Data, I really am. I just thought of something. But I shouldn't have interrupted you like that. It was very rude of me. Sorry."

Data tilted his head a little. "It is of no consequence, Tasha. I was well aware that you were not listening; you were merely being polite."

"You call interrupting you like that polite?"

"No. But there is no need to make yourself uneasy. I was not offended. So what did you want to say?"

Tasha shook her head, still embarrassed by her own rudeness. "Never mind. It can wait."

Data raised his eyebrows. "It seemed important to you 33.623 seconds ago when you interrupted me. I would appreciate it if you would relate to me the particular thought that caused you to do so."

Tasha heaved a sigh (and got yet another kick in the ribs in return). "I was thinking... the baby, where are we going to keep her?"

Data glanced around in confusion. "Did we not agree that my quarters would serve as her home?"

"Yes, but..." She gestured around her. "Look at this place. It's so... so spartan. So bare. Nothing to liven up the place a bit."

Data blinked. "Do you mean my quarters need redecorating to suit her?"

"I think so, yes." Tasha got up and started wandering around in the two room cabin. As the ship's second officer, Data was actually entitled to one of the spacious quarters on deck 8. Instead, he had insisted he had no need for so much room, and seeing that – contrary to so many humans – he was not prone to claustrophobia either, he had been perfectly content with a standard officer's cabin on the inner parts of the saucer, leaving the larger cabin available to an officer's family with children. But apart from his specially advanced computer, two uncomfortable chairs, a small table and his very few personal belongings, it seemed he had done absolutely nothing to decorate the place.

"You don't even have a bed," Tasha continued from the doorway between the two rooms. "Where is she going to sleep? Shouldn't she need a... a crib or something?"

Data furrowed his brow. "You are right. That thought had not occurred to me. Most babies do tend to sleep a lot." He got up and joined her in the adjoining room that most officers used for a bedroom. "This could be her room." He looked around. "Is there anything in particular you wish me to change?"

"Yes: the colours, some child friendly furniture, some pictures on the wall, some toys..." Tasha suddenly got excited by the prospect. "Data, why don't you let me take care of this? I'm bored out of my mind anyway now that I can't work. This looks like a fun project to pass the time. And necessary, too. And I promise: I'll turn this room into the finest nursery you've ever seen!"

Data raised an eyebrow at her exuberance. "That should not prove to be too difficult. You will merely need to surpass the standard of the main nursery here on the Enterprise. It is the only nursery I have ever seen."

Tasha laughed. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you'd finally grasped the concept of humor."

That surprised Data of course. "Was that funny? I was merely stating a fact."

"I know. That's what made it so funny."

Data already opened his mouth to require a more detailed explanation, but Tasha beat him to it. "Please, Data, let me decorate the nursery? Please, please, pretty please?"

"As you wish," was his simple answer. After all, he was to comply with her every wish.

"Good! And there's no time like the present. Where do you keep the catalogue of the ship's store?"

Data handed her his rarely used copy of the store's catalogue padd from one of the shelves behind his computer, and Tasha sat down cross-legged on the floor for her first venture into the unknown world of nursery decorating.

Data watched her for a moment. But she seemed to be so totally engrossed in this new adventure that he thought it safe to return to his detective stories. If she needed his help, surely she would ask.

When it was time for him to begin his shift, he found her peacefully asleep on the floor, still clutching the catalogue padd to her chest.

In the weeks that followed, Tasha practically lived in the ship's store. She occupied one of the store's holocabins for days on end to try out and match every suitable piece of furniture in the catalogue.

When she had finally come to a decision, the question arose what kind of lighting she wanted. Well aware that much of the atmosphere of a standard issue Enterprise cabin was determined by the way it was lit, she spent another few days on trying out all the different effects.

When that was decided upon, there were paintings and pictures to choose, and a thousand things that were apparently indispensable for taking care of an infant. And of course a few stuffed animals, and some brightly coloured baby-toys. ("It will be a while before she gets interested in those," the helpful shopkeeper had warned her, but Tasha just hadn't been able to resist their lure.)

And then she did something she had never thought possible: she spent two whole days choosing the sweetest little baby-outfits for their daughter.

And finally, when everything was beamed over to Data's quarters, she had a delightful day putting everything in place.

When Data returned to his quarters after his shift that evening, he found Tasha waiting for him at the door.

"Hello Tasha," he greeted her.

"Close your eyes," was her response.

He gave her a puzzled frown. "Why do you want me to close my eyes?"

"Because I want to show you something. Now close your eyes."

The frown got deeper. "How can I see what you want to show me when I have to keep my eyes closed?"

Tasha rolled her eyes. "Will you stop being so literal? Just close your eyes and follow me. It's a surprise. I'll tell you when you can look."

Data still didn't see the point, but as he had programmed himself to comply with anything Tasha wished in order to keep her happy, he closed his eyes and let her guide him into his cabin. His directional sensors told him that she manoeuvered him into what soon would serve as their child's nursery – not that this came as a surprise – and that's when she told him to open his eyes.

So he did, and he found the formerly starkly lit room bathed in a pleasant yellow glow. The dominant colours were white, a sunny yellow, and grass green, he noticed. As if she had tried to recreate a sunny day in the countryside of Earth. The crib in the corner was adorned with the same sunny yellow, and a mobile with brightly coloured butterflies gently hovered above it. The oversized teddy bear, the lifesize plush cat and the small rubber bunny looked curiously at home on the grass green sofa. Pictures of sweet little animals and a quiet lake scene adorned the walls, and the closet was absolutely packed with baby-clothes in all the colours of the rainbow (except pink).

"Well? Do you like it?"

Data nodded. "I find the result of your efforts to be aesthetically pleasing. Very much so, I may say."

She beamed at him. "In other words: you like it."

"Yes. I believe that expression would be justified." He picked up the rubber rabbit. "But please explain what is the purpose of these fake animals? And of this specimen in particular. It does not even sport fur, like the real oryctolagus cuniculus."

Tasha squeezed the little thing, and Data nearly jumped at the squeaky scream it gave. "Is it supposed to scare her?"

Tasha snickered. "No, it's just a toy. And since we don't have any animals on the ship, I thought she could get acquainted with them through these."

Data gave the bunny a doubtful glance. "Will she not grow up to assume that rabbits are yellow and bald? And make a horrible squeaking sound?"

Tasha rolled her eyes. "Does everything have to be so bloody realistic? I just wanted her to have something smaller – something she could hold herself. I could have gotten her a plush tribble of course, but I liked this one better. He looks very friendly. And inquisitive. Almost as if he's really got character. And besides, I've heard stories of children who grew so fond of the stuffed animal they had as a baby, that they insisted on having a real live one of that species once they got a bit older. Now would you rather have a tribble or a rabbit for a pet?"

"Rabbits are notorious for their rate of propagation as well," Data pointed out.

Tasha's commbadge chirped. "Dr. Crusher to Lieutenant Yar."

"Not half as bad as tribbles. Rabbits at least need a mate to multiply themselves," Tasha countered before acknowledging the doctor's page.

"Tasha, any chance of you coming down to sickbay for your check-up? I was expecting to see you here nearly ten minutes ago."

"Oh! Sorry doc, I forgot. I'm on my way. Yar out." But first she turned back to Data. "But you really like it? The room, I mean?"

"Yes, I do. As I recall, I already told you so. Although..." Another worried glance at the scorned bunny. "I think I need to contemplate the practical purpose of this particular toy a little more in-depth."

She smiled. "You do that." She took the little bunny from him and put it back with the others on the sofa. "We'll just wait and see how she likes it. And that's what matters most." And with that, she walked out of the cabin to go and report to sickbay.

As she walked towards the nearest turbolift, she pressed her hands against her lower back to relieve the constant strain there for a moment. She glanced down at her belly, and suddenly she realized what she had indeed noticed, but not consciously registered while she had busied herself with the nursery: her baby-belly had grown quite a bit these past weeks, and little Myrna seemed to have gained considerable weight as well. She was lying uncomfortably heavy inside her, and had grown so big that she was pushing up against her mother's lungs now, too.

Tasha stepped into the turbolift, and as it hummed down to its destination, she let her hands trace the bulk of her belly. And she sighed. There really was no denying it anymore: she was really very pregnant now.

Well, there was a positive side to it: at least the kid had had to cut back severely on her acrobatics.

She braced herself for the uncomfortable sensation of the baby suddenly pressing down in her even heavier as the lift braked to a halt. And a moment later she walked into Dr. Crusher's little office. "Sorry, doc. I forgot."

"Oh, it's okay. As long as you don't make a habit of it." Dr. Crusher guided her to the examination table, and Tasha sat down on it.

"Any problems lately?" the doctor asked as she ran the little tricorder scanner over Tasha's round belly.

"Not really." Tasha thought for a moment. She had been so engrossed in her nursery project that she had ignored practically everything else. After all, back on Turkana IV, ignoring aches and pains could mean the difference between making your escape and getting raped, and it was still a bit of a second nature to her to unconsciously refuse to acknowledge minor aches and discomforts. "I have to go to the bathroom quite a lot," she admitted. "It seems like she's lying right on my bladder. And my back is acting up a bit. She's getting heavy. And big."

"Forty-six centimeters, approximately 2,300 grams," Dr. Crusher read from her tricorder. She smiled. "I know it sounds pretty good already, but believe me: if she'd be born now, she'd be skin over bones. Better let her gain another kilo."

Tasha groaned. "Another kilo?"

"Well, no one ever said the last few weeks of pregnancy are easy."

Tasha grimaced. "I guess not."

"So where does it hurt – here?" Dr. Crusher was spot on in placing her hands over the most overtaxed muscles in her back.

"Yes. How could you tell without using the tricorder?"

Dr. Crusher snickered. "There is such a thing as experience, you know." She used some massage on the strained muscles, and they seemed to relax a little under the firm touch of the doctor's hands. "Try and avoid just standing around, that puts a lot of extra strain on them," she advised. "Better sit down, or move around. And generally, I'd..."

Suddenly Tasha nearly fell off the table as she made a poorly controlled turn to face the doctor. "Did you say a few... weeks?"