***
He *wasn't* going to give up. After sitting for three hours in his Depression-inducing program, Data had yet to feel the slightest twinge of upset. If he had to, he was going to sit there all night long (Note: It's not like he needs to *sleep* or anything...).
Every half-an-hour, on the dot, Data would make a minute adjustment to the Holo-program. If there was no effect on him after another half-an-hour, he would repeat the process. While making his sixth such adjustment to the program, Data began to wonder about his determination to see this project through. Why should he be so focused on this one idea? Answering his own question, the android spoke aloud into the chill air:
"I have nothing else on my 'palette' at the moment. I ceased my activity in art because I found myself lacking 'inspiration,'" he told the wall. "My writing has been found to be, by many people, 'terrible.' I have played every violin piece in the data banks of the ship. My crewmembers are all increasingly 'stressed-out' with their jobs, as they say, and can find no time to spend with me." He cocked his head, blinking. "I can no longer observe Spot on a daily basis, as she is going through one of her 'phases,' and seems to prefer no company to mine." He stopped, and looked blankly at the corner for a few seconds. "Who am I speaking to?" He asked the room.
"Sensors indicate that there is currently only one occupant of the Holodeck," replied the Computer. "Further analysis will require a-"
"Thank you, Computer." The Computer gave off a soft beep in response, and Data sat down to continue his attempt at becoming depressed. "Activate changes in Holodeck program."
***
"Alexander, I will *not* tolerate this behavior!" Worf was furious. The last time Alexander had acted this badly was when he had tried to join the cheerleading squad for his on-ship school's soccer team. "Klingons do *not* sing in musicals!"
"But Da-ad..." Alexander was whining, as usual. "It's The Pirates of Penzance! I'd be playing Frederick! Miss Jones says she can't put on the play without me!"
"Who is this 'Frederick' character?" Worf growled. "Is he a - a *pansy* who falls in love, like last time?!" Last time had been the school's production of West Side Story. "Is he the pirates' *assistant*?!"
"No! Well, sort of." Worf glared down at his son. "I mean! He's a pirate in the beginning!" This time Worf let out a low rumble of a growl. "But then he quits and falls in love and-"
"I won't allow it!"
"Please, Dad? Miss Jones said I would be perfect for the part, and I-"
"No! I do not care what Miss Jones said, you will *not* be perfect for the part! Now - now go to your room and think about this!" Alexander burst into tears.
"You're the worst Dad ever! I hate you! You never let me do *anything*!" He took off, whining and crying all the way. If it had been possible for him to slam the door to his room, he probably would have. Unfortunately, he couldn't, but the doors closed with a ferocious-sounding hiss anyway.
Worf punched the wall as the doors closed. Alexander could be so frustrating! It was almost like he didn't want to act like a proper Klingon! From experience, Worf knew exactly what to do in this situation. He had to call for help. But not just anyone's help. He needed the help of someone who was quite possibly the best person to deal with the situation. He needed the help of Counselor Troi.
Tapping his commbadge, Worf barked out: "Lieutenant Worf to Counselor Troi."
"Yeah, what is it this time, Worf? Can't deal with your own problems?" Worf hesitated for a moment, unsure if he had actually *heard* the Counselor insulting him.
"Counselor," he rumbled. "I am going to pretend I did not hear that. In fact, if you were any other person, I would kill you where you stand."
"Ha!" Came the reply. "Shows what you know, I'm sitting!"
Once again, Worf ignored it. "Counselor, I am having a problem with Alexander. He is being...difficult."
He could hear the Counselor sigh on the other end of the link. "Worf, you are such a goddamn homophobe," he could hear her saying softly. More loudly this time, she said, "Worf, I have an idea. How about this: you shut your stupid trap about your problems and go...go take a bubble bath!"
"Counselor, I am not sure what you-"
"You heard me! Go run yourself a bubble bath! 'Cause I'm sick and tired of hearing about all *your* stuff!" Troi burst into tears on the line. "What about *my* problems?! Nobody *likes* me anymore! I'm not even a competent Counselor!" She took a few minutes to collect herself. "Troi out," she sniffled. The commlink terminated.
Lost for words, Worf merely sputtered in anger for a few moments, then considered what to do. The Counselor always gave him sound advice in these areas, but she had seemed so...well, perturbed. Unless...well, perhaps this was some sort of test. Yes, that was it. A test. To see if Worf could handle people crying. Well, Worf was up to any test. He was a Klingon! He had pride!
He knew what he had to do. Treading softly so Alexander wouldn't hear him, Worf headed towards the bathroom to draw himself a bubble bath.
***
Lieutenant Barclay was having the happiest day of his life. _In fact,_ he thought to himself. _I'm practically skipping for joy!_ After waking up and having his favorite meal for breakfast (Boiled chicken, just like Mom used to make!), he headed back down to Engineering and proceeded to do the best duty-shift of work he had ever done! Throughout the day, engineers were warmed by his cheerful smile, and clapped him on the back as he worked. Of course, a few of them *had* seemed a little depressed, but why should he care? He wouldn't let them rain on *his* parade!
Near the end of his shift, Barclay noticed that the Chief of Engineering seemed a little stressed.
"Hey, what's wrong, Geordi? You seem a little down," Barclay said, his smile as bright as ever.
"Oh, it's nothing, Reg, I'm just stressed out. First there was something wrong with the Atmospheric Regulators yesterday, and now there's something up with the spacial-gravometric readings outside the ship. It's throwing our distance-time telemetry readings out of line. That's all."
"Well, sir, maybe you should take a little break," Barclay suggested. "Try the Holodeck! You know, that program that you sent me to yesterday. What was that, anyway?"
"You know, I really don't know. But I think I'll try that. Thanks, Reg."
"Oh, it's no problem, sir! Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'll get to work on that distance-time telemetry problem." Barclay didn't even notice the look that Geordi was giving him as he walked back to his work station. It was one of supreme confusion.
***
Huzzah! I'm back! Now...review! No flames! :D
He *wasn't* going to give up. After sitting for three hours in his Depression-inducing program, Data had yet to feel the slightest twinge of upset. If he had to, he was going to sit there all night long (Note: It's not like he needs to *sleep* or anything...).
Every half-an-hour, on the dot, Data would make a minute adjustment to the Holo-program. If there was no effect on him after another half-an-hour, he would repeat the process. While making his sixth such adjustment to the program, Data began to wonder about his determination to see this project through. Why should he be so focused on this one idea? Answering his own question, the android spoke aloud into the chill air:
"I have nothing else on my 'palette' at the moment. I ceased my activity in art because I found myself lacking 'inspiration,'" he told the wall. "My writing has been found to be, by many people, 'terrible.' I have played every violin piece in the data banks of the ship. My crewmembers are all increasingly 'stressed-out' with their jobs, as they say, and can find no time to spend with me." He cocked his head, blinking. "I can no longer observe Spot on a daily basis, as she is going through one of her 'phases,' and seems to prefer no company to mine." He stopped, and looked blankly at the corner for a few seconds. "Who am I speaking to?" He asked the room.
"Sensors indicate that there is currently only one occupant of the Holodeck," replied the Computer. "Further analysis will require a-"
"Thank you, Computer." The Computer gave off a soft beep in response, and Data sat down to continue his attempt at becoming depressed. "Activate changes in Holodeck program."
***
"Alexander, I will *not* tolerate this behavior!" Worf was furious. The last time Alexander had acted this badly was when he had tried to join the cheerleading squad for his on-ship school's soccer team. "Klingons do *not* sing in musicals!"
"But Da-ad..." Alexander was whining, as usual. "It's The Pirates of Penzance! I'd be playing Frederick! Miss Jones says she can't put on the play without me!"
"Who is this 'Frederick' character?" Worf growled. "Is he a - a *pansy* who falls in love, like last time?!" Last time had been the school's production of West Side Story. "Is he the pirates' *assistant*?!"
"No! Well, sort of." Worf glared down at his son. "I mean! He's a pirate in the beginning!" This time Worf let out a low rumble of a growl. "But then he quits and falls in love and-"
"I won't allow it!"
"Please, Dad? Miss Jones said I would be perfect for the part, and I-"
"No! I do not care what Miss Jones said, you will *not* be perfect for the part! Now - now go to your room and think about this!" Alexander burst into tears.
"You're the worst Dad ever! I hate you! You never let me do *anything*!" He took off, whining and crying all the way. If it had been possible for him to slam the door to his room, he probably would have. Unfortunately, he couldn't, but the doors closed with a ferocious-sounding hiss anyway.
Worf punched the wall as the doors closed. Alexander could be so frustrating! It was almost like he didn't want to act like a proper Klingon! From experience, Worf knew exactly what to do in this situation. He had to call for help. But not just anyone's help. He needed the help of someone who was quite possibly the best person to deal with the situation. He needed the help of Counselor Troi.
Tapping his commbadge, Worf barked out: "Lieutenant Worf to Counselor Troi."
"Yeah, what is it this time, Worf? Can't deal with your own problems?" Worf hesitated for a moment, unsure if he had actually *heard* the Counselor insulting him.
"Counselor," he rumbled. "I am going to pretend I did not hear that. In fact, if you were any other person, I would kill you where you stand."
"Ha!" Came the reply. "Shows what you know, I'm sitting!"
Once again, Worf ignored it. "Counselor, I am having a problem with Alexander. He is being...difficult."
He could hear the Counselor sigh on the other end of the link. "Worf, you are such a goddamn homophobe," he could hear her saying softly. More loudly this time, she said, "Worf, I have an idea. How about this: you shut your stupid trap about your problems and go...go take a bubble bath!"
"Counselor, I am not sure what you-"
"You heard me! Go run yourself a bubble bath! 'Cause I'm sick and tired of hearing about all *your* stuff!" Troi burst into tears on the line. "What about *my* problems?! Nobody *likes* me anymore! I'm not even a competent Counselor!" She took a few minutes to collect herself. "Troi out," she sniffled. The commlink terminated.
Lost for words, Worf merely sputtered in anger for a few moments, then considered what to do. The Counselor always gave him sound advice in these areas, but she had seemed so...well, perturbed. Unless...well, perhaps this was some sort of test. Yes, that was it. A test. To see if Worf could handle people crying. Well, Worf was up to any test. He was a Klingon! He had pride!
He knew what he had to do. Treading softly so Alexander wouldn't hear him, Worf headed towards the bathroom to draw himself a bubble bath.
***
Lieutenant Barclay was having the happiest day of his life. _In fact,_ he thought to himself. _I'm practically skipping for joy!_ After waking up and having his favorite meal for breakfast (Boiled chicken, just like Mom used to make!), he headed back down to Engineering and proceeded to do the best duty-shift of work he had ever done! Throughout the day, engineers were warmed by his cheerful smile, and clapped him on the back as he worked. Of course, a few of them *had* seemed a little depressed, but why should he care? He wouldn't let them rain on *his* parade!
Near the end of his shift, Barclay noticed that the Chief of Engineering seemed a little stressed.
"Hey, what's wrong, Geordi? You seem a little down," Barclay said, his smile as bright as ever.
"Oh, it's nothing, Reg, I'm just stressed out. First there was something wrong with the Atmospheric Regulators yesterday, and now there's something up with the spacial-gravometric readings outside the ship. It's throwing our distance-time telemetry readings out of line. That's all."
"Well, sir, maybe you should take a little break," Barclay suggested. "Try the Holodeck! You know, that program that you sent me to yesterday. What was that, anyway?"
"You know, I really don't know. But I think I'll try that. Thanks, Reg."
"Oh, it's no problem, sir! Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'll get to work on that distance-time telemetry problem." Barclay didn't even notice the look that Geordi was giving him as he walked back to his work station. It was one of supreme confusion.
***
Huzzah! I'm back! Now...review! No flames! :D