A perfect mate



The characters of Star Trek: The Next Generation are the property of Paramount, and the other people they are property of, and they certainly aren't mine. This story is written entirely for amusement and not for profit. No references are intended to any actors portraying these fictional characters or to any other living persons. If you have stuck with me this far, thank you.



Chapter 2: Loot



"You play white this time," said Zsuza, straightening the polished wood pieces on the inlaid board. She liked being able to see her opponent's face properly; even though he maintained a blank, sometimes quizzical expression nearly all the time.

Damn it, he was as good as his ELO rating suggested. For the past three days, Zsuza had officially been deep in analysing some ancient twentieth and twenty-first century documentation, but since most of it was very boring, she was able to think out a whole series of chess games as she worked.

Data, on the other hand, had been working double shifts - there was some kind of nasty business going on involving parasitic crab-like beings that were taking over the top brass at Starfleet HQ, and the whole shebang had required the ship to return to Earth briefly. Zsuza was not very interested, but while Captain Picard was saving the universe, she had been able to take advantage of the stopover not only to hone up some dead sneaky ploys with which to ensnare the third officer's unsuspecting queen, but also to beam in a rather special something she had spotted in an antiquarian catalogue.

There was nowhere to put her new acquisition, as far as she could see, except in her cabin, which was not one of the larger ones on board - but she just couldn't say no to the chance to have it with her. And her cup of happiness was complete when, as the ship turned away from Earth, her toughest chess opponent on board had signalled that he had time for another game – more than one, if she so wished.

For the first game Zsuza had planned a completely different attack from her previous attempt, but it turned out to be one with which Data was very familiar, and after 36 moves Zsuza sighed, knocked over her king, forced a grin and stuck out her hand to meet the white-gold one for the second time. This time the slim, strong white-gold hand belonged to the victor, and the small pink one with bitten fingernails belonged to the vanquished.

"How long will you be with us, Dr Androva?" asked the android, as Zsuza began tracing back the endgame to see where she could have saved her game.

 "About a month, I think. It depends. (Pawn H4 here, don't you think? Rather than the old Kasparov variation I was using. No wait a minute. With that pin looming I could have tried H5 and then…..Bishop to H8!!) Yes, we've been looking at late twentieth century records and my university department thinks there might be some yummy loot for me out there. I do hope so. I am getting very bored of sifting through old stock exchange records looking for clues to economic development."

Data gave her one of his extra quizzical looks, tilting his chin and opening his gold-coloured eyes a little wider. It was impossible not to notice the smooth line of his throat when he did that- not to mention that tip-tilted nose.

Zsuza laughed.

"By 'loot' I just mean what you would call space junk, you know. For academics, a piece of space junk is the most wonderful treasure imaginable. (Now were you planning to castle on the Queen's side then? No, later. I see.) Actually I gave in to temptation while we were orbiting Earth the other day, and I got permission to beam up some things I've been longing to get my hands on. And as a chess player, it should interest you, too."

Data sat up alertly. "Doctor, I would very much like to see your…loot. Was that not a Speelman fork there? No, back three moves. There."

 "No, no, Commander. That's a standard Karpov twist."

"So it was. I was looking at it upside down."

Zsuza put down the chess pieces, which she had been moving round the board with expert speed, and looked sternly at him. Her auburn hair was, as usual after a chess game, escaping from the face-framing shape which was supposed to flatter her, and instead was falling persistently into her eyes.

"Commander Data. You have total visual recall, more even than most chess players. You don't worry about seeing things 'upside down'."

"I do not, Doctor?" Was there the faintest hint of amusement in the cheerful, even voice?

"And blindfold chess is no disadvantage for you."

 "It is not, Doctor?"

 "Lt Commander, why do you keep pulling your punches for me? And - do you mind calling me Zsuza?."

 The android gave a funny, little, twisty, rueful grin.

 "Zsuza. It is a curious question you ask. Yes, as I admitted before, I have been tempted to experiment with little handicaps to my capabilities, simply to present a more….sporting chance. "

Zsuza was furious.

 "I am a brilliant club player. I could go professional any time I want, if my parents didn't go on at me about having a respectable career. I don't need you to handicap yourself. Commander Data, I must ask you to play chess with me properly."

 "I am confused. When I lost, you accused me of throwing the game. Now I have won, and you say I am not playing you properly."

 "Only in one game; and it took 36 moves. We continue."

 The fierce young woman sat down, pushed her hair back out of her eyes for the umpteenth time and began setting up the board again. Data watched her with enormous interest.

 "What about your offer to let me see your 'loot', Zsuza? I have to go back to the bridge in five hours."

"OK, let's play blitz this time. Fifteen minutes each. You are playing black."

 The android looked as near delighted as she had ever seen him. As Zsuza set the chess clock ticking, he leaned forward over the board gracefully; Zsuza had never seen his face so animated, so bright and unclouded, as the pieces swished around the board. This was pure chess: no computers, no artificial piece-moving apparatus - just two minds, a polished wood set and board and a two-faced clock.

 Half an hour later (Data won) they agreed that they could not possibly leave things there, so they played another game. This time Zsuza won. Data insisted that they play again and he won, but only on time. It was gloriously close. As Zsuza's flag fell, Data very nearly looked delighted.

 "Another game," Zsuza said immediately and began setting up the chess pieces.

 "Do you not become tired by competing with me?"

 "Commander Data, as a student I played blitz chess through the night many times. This is nothing to me - absolutely nothing."

 Data looked curiously at Zsuza and suddenly gave a start as his social programming kicked in. "I trust you do not feel you need to continue calling me by my rank. At least, not when we are playing chess."

 "OK, Data. One more game and then I really must take you to my cabin. I can't wait for you to see what I've got in there….you are going to just love it. But one more game first."

 "Would you not prefer to take a break?"

"Play."

 A look almost of disappointment crossed the android's face and Zsuza secretly congratulated herself on discovering his weakness: his vaunting curiosity. She won the next game and by a long way. Data quickly found himself skewered.

 "That is curious," said Data. "I cannot see why I lost that game. But may I see what you have in your cabin now? I still have a few hours before I am due on the main bridge."

 Almost laughing with triumph, Zsuza swept her chess set into its inlaid box and led the way to the turbolift. Never in her life did she feel so good as when she had won a game against a worthy opponent.

 As they stood in the turbolift waiting to arrive at her deck, she felt herself very bold, very brave and carefree. She leant across to the android and planted a light kiss on his white-gold cheek.

 "Thanks for the match," she said.

 He looked blankly at her, considered her for a moment and then planted a kiss of precisely the same duress on her pink cheek.

 "It was a pleasure," he answered evenly.

 Zsuza smiled, blushed furiously, looked down at her feet and back at Data, and hoped the sound of her thudding heart was not too audible. Did the android have superhuman hearing? She hoped not.

 As the lift doors opened, Data said, "Inquiry. Is a kiss on the cheek that the traditional way to end a chess match on your planet?"

Zsuza laughed out loud at the thought of the hairy, rarely-washed chess fanatics of her university team exchanging kisses instead of their usual curt handshakes.

"No, it's just a way of being friendly. Ta-da!" she cried as she opened her cabin door with a flourish, then felt foolish as Data peered in with his usual deadpan expression.

 "Ah, you have made a mistake, Zsuza. This is clearly a storeroom of some kind. It is full of storage boxes piled right up to the door. This room is not adapted for human accommodation. You have perhaps forgotten on which deck you are quartered."

 "No, it really is my quarters, believe me. My bed and stuff are behind the boxes, and what I want to show you is inside the boxes."

Data looked doubtfully at the excited young woman.

"Inquiry. How do you get in and out of your accommodation?"

 "It's quite easy really. You just sort of squeeze past round this pile here." Handing him the chess set and taking a deep breath, Zsuza edged sideways round the three-crate-high stack of tuf-pak crates which blocked the doorway and began to squeeze herself through the gap between them and the wall. It was indeed a tight fit, especially as Zsuza was blessed with rather large breasts.

 "Stop!" said Data sharply. "You are in danger of hurting yourself! It is painful for a woman to have her breasts compressed in that fashion! Zsuza, if I push these crates forward and away from the door, will they damage anything on the other side?"

 Zsuza halted her wriggling progress, startled, her breasts flattened uncomfortably against the dusty packing case. "There's about thirty centimetres clearance between them and my bed," she said breathlessly.

 Without hesitating, Data put his shoulder to the topmost crate, his hip to the middle one in the pile and his foot to the bottom-most. As though pushing a well-oiled door, he slid the whole pile across the floor for ten centimetres.

 "It is against Starfleet regulations to have large objects blocking the door of your accommodation," he said a little sternly. "In the event of an emergency you could be seriously delayed. You could even get….stuck!"

 There really was very little left to see of the room besides the crates. The ugly grey boxes took up nearly all the available floor space between the bed and the door. To make more room, Zsuza had even thrown out the chairs, leaving a mere narrow tunnel round the edge of the room, and there was absolutely nowhere to sit but the bed.

 "By 'large objects' do you mean my breasts or my packing crates?" said Zsuza brightly as they squeezed sideways through the tunnel, narrowly avoiding tearing Data's exquisitely tailored uniform on the edge of a crate.

It occurred to Data (though he was far too polite to vocalise the thought) that this procedure, repeated several times daily, probably explained Zsuza's usually dishevelled appearance. Her costume, which, by the dictates of that year's fashion on Europa 4, was a tight-fitting calf-length sheath dress in a deep blue, fastened by old-fashioned criss-cross lacing from the low neckline to the hem, was covered in dust and twisted around her body like a corkscrew by the time she emerged into the space near the bed.

He gave her a blank look. "The crates, of course. Your breasts are indeed larger than average; a 80D* cup, I would estimate. But they are not large enough to…"

"I'm sorry, Data, that was my feeble attempt at a joke. Now, you sit here."

 "On the bed?"

 "That's right. Well, there isn't anywhere else, is there? Now just take a look at this!"

As Zsuza excited opened the nearest crate, Data sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. His eyes fell on Deanna's silk chiffon scarf, which Zsuza had - typically - left lying on the floor, and a thoughtful expression passed over his gentle face.

 "Extraordinary," he said, quietly. "That scarf, a bed, a woman. Again."

"Sorry?" But without waiting for an answer, Zsuza extracted from her crate what she had been searching for and plonked it on Data's lap. He looked warily at the object.

"This is a book," he announced. "The wood-pulp based form in which literature, novels, poetry, history and indeed all transferable human knowledge was stored from around the second century CE when the bound manuscript form superseded the roll or scroll; written by hand until the invention of the printing press by Johannes Gutenberg (c1397-1468) and the most common form of knowledge storage until the end of the twenty-first century."

"Not just that." Zsuza's voice was trembling with excitement as she turned over the fragile pages of the dog-eared volume which was already depositing a thin layer of white-grey dust over Data's flawless uniform. "These crates contain the entire library of a twenty- first century European grandmaster called Alexei Zubinov."

 "The man responsible for banning artificial intelligence from competitive chess," said Data quickly, like the child who has his hand first up to answer the teacher's question.

 "That's the guy. I'm so glad you know about him. He wasn't really such a great player but he was an intellectual hub and of course a very significant influence in the whole chess world at that very important point in chess history….look at this, Data! It's fabulous! Secrets of the Russian Grandmasters. Kasparov v Deep Blue - that was the first major battle between a human and a computer, you know, long before computers were banned from professional competitive chess."

 "Inquiry. If I wished to play top-level competitive chess - and I am speaking hypothetically - do you consider, as a semi-professional player yourself, would I be permitted to play against humans?"

 "I wouldn't like to say, Data. There is a very strong belief in chess that letting machines play humans is like entering a fork-lift truck in a weight- lifting contest, as one 21st century grandmaster famously put it. And I have to say it makes sense. Professional competitive chess is now almost a physical experience as much as a mental one – two organic sentients meeting face to face in tournament conditions with no back-up, no computer – just their own mental capacities. So….well, it depends on how you are classified, frankly."

 "I am a Starfleet officer; however it is true that my status as a sentient being has never been tested in a court of law. As yet."

 Data stood up, automatically dusting down the front of his uniform, and Zsuza could not help noticing as he did so that his body appeared - at least, as far as she could tell through the olive and black fabric - to be formed exactly like a normal man, including an intriguing bulge at the front of his trousers; she also noticed that his nipples must be sensitive to the slightly cooler temperature of her room, as they were standing erect under the uniform. Why would an android need nipples?

 "Well, Data, I'd certainly speak up for your being classified as a man," she said softly.

 He joined her in peering into the open crate and took out a couple more volumes, reading out the titles. "Winning Endgames. Capablanca's Finest Games. What is in the other crates?"

 "Books. Just books. I said this was the guy's whole chess library."

 Data looked astonished. "You mean that just one person's books would take up all this space? How would he have stored it all?"

 "They used shelves around their homes, kilometres of shelves sometimes. You can see them in the background of old "photographs". Storing books was notoriously dusty and space-consuming," explained Zsuza.

 "I can see how convenient our system is now," said Data, shaking his head. "All works of literature, art, history, philosophy, everything right down to Lieutenant d'Sora's collection of extremely simplistic and predictable romantic novels, are stored in the ship's computer."

 "But," said Zsuza gently, "Those works are not annotated, are they?"

 She leaned closer to Data and opened the book in his hand, flicking the pages and pointing at irregular marks made with a pressure instrument. "D'you see these marks? The underlinings? And look, these marginal notes. Nearly every book I have been able to examine so far has some kind of annotation in it. Others have hand-written - hand-written, Data - dedications at the beginning from some of the biggest names in chess of that time. There are even games written down on scraps of paper tucked into some of the books. They just fall out into your lap as you open them. Data, it's like Christmas."

 Data's face lit up. "So….what we have here….it is essentially a record of Lubinov's chess-playing life. And it is in such - such a chaotic condition that it would take hours to read through the whole collection and put it in order!"

 "Hours and hours!" cried Zsuza, clapping her hands. He had seen the point at once. "And it has to be collated, and set in chronological sequence!"

 Data grew even more enthusiastic. "And all the games should be analysed against Lubinov's own games so that a complete record of his chess development can be made….and then analysed again in comparison with all the games of all his contemporary grandmasters!"

 "Isn't it beautiful, Data?"

 "It is," he breathed in wonderment. "This whole collection - it has the beauty of raw history. So much here that I do not know about! So much to discover!"

 Zsuza was startled by the fervour of his words, and they gazed into each other's eyes with pure rapture for a moment.

 "But why," Data said suddenly, "is this opportunity comparable with an ancient Earth religious festival?"

 "Oh, never mind. It's an expression." Data looked crestfallen.

 "Zsuza," he said after a pause, brightening, "I would feel privileged to be allowed to help you with the work, at least for the time you are here on the Enterprise. May I?"

 "Be my guest," said Zsuza proudly, and together the two chess players dived into a packing crate - "It's like a lucky dip," said Zsuza - and settled back side by side on the cushions of Zsuza's rather small bed to examine their finds.

 There was barely room on the bed for the two of them, let alone for many of the books, which rapidly began to pile up around their feet. Pages were turned, mysterious scribbles pored over, curious documents discovered by accident when they fell out onto the coverlet; and elbows, then knees, then thighs, and especially Zsuza's breasts, brushed against each other more and more often in the narrow space of the absurdly overcrowded cabin.

 Sometimes Zsuza curled her feet up beside her and leaned further towards the android's body; sometimes he leaned back against the cushions with a book in his pale hand and a squirrelly-keen expression, his golden eyes darting back and forth, scanning every page and committing it to memory with the expectation of using it for a later revelation with which to astound Zsuza.

 At first, operating within his normal parameters of social conformity, he apologised every time his body touched hers. But after a while he stopped the apologies, perhaps because he noticed, or part of his positronic brain noticed, that she did not say "sorry" when her breast brushed against his sleeve, as it did rather often when she reached into the crate for another book, or when her auburn hair fell onto the page in front of his yellow eyes; and that part of his brain which was ever ready to imitate the behaviour of humans in its continual quest to be like them, told him that body contact was becoming acceptable in this particular, unusual, intimate situation.

 And as both android and woman became immersed in the codes and puzzles of the books, their mass of pencil and pen marginalia (what was the significance of pencil? What of pen? they debated furiously), their layers of history; and as they talked and exchanged observations, and pounced greedily on each other's discoveries, they moved closer together, and Zsuza felt the warmth of his body, as warm as hers, and the yielding firmness of the artificial flesh of his arm as he reached behind her to pick up a book; she felt the resonance of his voice, gentle and melodious but undeniably male, close to her ear. And sitting beside him, she had a perfect view of that slightly comical, tilted nose.

 "My goodness," she thought as he pointed out the notation of a particularly famous game besides which Lubinov had scrawled the one angry word "Patzer!!!!". "My goodness me, he is so darling. I think I really fancy him. I actually fancy the android."

Almost without thinking what she was doing, Zsuza put out a finger and stroked the tip of Data's nose. Data suddenly broke off what he had been saying and turned to gaze solemnly into her eyes.

"Is there something on my nose?" he asked.

"No, I – never mind." She suddenly felt embarrassed and foolish.

"The Games of Robert J Fischer," Data read a book title aloud. "Intriguing. A great player but one of the most mysterious figures of twentieth century chess."

"The ultimate loner," said Zsuza, taking the book from him. As she grasped it, she let her hand rest on top of his for a little longer than she needed to, and opened it, trying hard to take in the contents. The little act of touching his hand, in such a confined space, when their minds had been working so closely and so happily together, sent a shudder of desire through her body.

But how to convey that desire to an android? He must need some kind of trigger. But what?

"Your hands are trembling," said Data softly. "Your skin is flushed, and I notice other physical signs of agitation." His eyes flickered down to her breasts, then away; her nipples, Zsuza realised, were so hard they almost ached, and must have looked as though ready to burst from her dress. "Are you unwell?"

"I feel fine," said Zsuza. "Absolutely fine."

He turned away, and bent down to pick up the silk scarf from where it still lay on the floor.

 "Zsuza," said Data seriously, running the scarf through his fingers and looking down at it as he spoke, "why is this scarf here?"

"Counsellor Troi let me keep it," she said. Did he think she had stolen it, or something? "Is that – is that a problem?"

"No, not at all. It has a curious…association for me."

Zsuza put down the book she was holding. The scarf, of course, had been the one he wore over his eyes when he lost his blindfold chess game to her; Zsuza was torn between an urge to discover if the scarf was connected with a potential weakness in his game….and an urge to pull him down onto her bed and wrap her legs around him.

"Are you able to tell me about it?" she said.

There was a long silence while Data continued to play with the scarf, sometimes running it through his fingers and sometimes opening its folds and shaking them out like a butterfly's wing. He sat on the side of Zsuza's bed and she sat down next to him.

"I was requested to be sure that…" his voice trailed away as he realised how poor his syntax was. He tried again, with the active rather than the passive voice (always a good idea in a tight spot).

"Someone was wearing something very like this. It was not this one. It was a scarf she had obtained from the ship's stores. She chose it because it was like something Counsellor Troi might wear. That is what she told me. She was not feeling 'herself'."

"What else did she tell you, Data?" His expression was so woebegone that Zsuza simply had to put her arms round him; there was nothing else a woman could do.

"She told me that it never happened. But it did. I know it did because I remember it."

"What never happened, Data?" Zsuza felt the way you do when you walk into someone's basement, say it has marvellous potential, turn around and realise that the three-metre drop down into the coal-hole was just behind your feet all the time. She hoped desperately that some horrible revelation – murder? Rape? Starfleet treason? – was not about to pop out, as she would then be obliged to tell Captain Picard.

"She – I mean, the someone – asked me to access my sexuality program. So I did."

Zsuza almost visibly sagged with relief. That was all! The coal-hole became a short well-lit flight of steps to a soft landing.

"She said it never happened. But I know it did," he repeated, half to himself.

"Data, to be perfectly honest I don't really know what your sexuality program entails," whispered Zsuza, her heart beating so hard she was sure it was audible. "But I would very much like you to – to access it, again, for me."

The android's face immediately assumed a blank, introspective expression for a moment, as though seeking out a long-hidden file from far back in his astounding memory.

This was, indeed, precisely what he was doing. Data normally kept his sexuality program in a special backstairs archive for skills he did not expect to need while serving on the Enterprise. A 0.002 second search brought it to light, sandwiched between "sewing" and "sgrafito".

After making a mental note to dig out "sgrafito" when he and Geordi next had some time together to devote to Art, Data let the scarf fall from his hands and then, very slowly, he bent his head towards Zsuza and pressed his lips lightly against hers in a cool, at first tentative but then exploring kiss.

 As she kissed him back and closed her eyes, she felt his hand steal around her to encircle her waist. Drawing him closer to her by the shoulders, an inexpressible excitement rose up in her as she felt the kiss grow stronger; the android's tongue, as moist and warm as a human's (it was in fact quite devoid of tastebuds, being mainly used in forming speech - and for the purpose to which Data was now putting it) searched her mouth and they sank back onto the cushions together.

 With his body pressed down onto hers, his thigh seeking the space between her thighs and setting off a pleasant, anticipatory tingle between her legs, he began a series of slow, light kisses around her throat and neck, briefly exploring her ear in a warm, moist effusion of breath. (So he really breathed!)

 The sense of his body on top of hers was delicious, warm and solid. Here was a man who could not possibly hurt her. He could not love her, she knew that; but neither could he hate her, tire of her or tell her she was out of his league. He was not interested in bragging to his friends, branding her a slut or proving anything to himself. If he told her she looked like shit he might mean it honestly, but he would not mean it to hurt. He simply wanted to give her pleasure. And to play chess with her. It was the safest, snuggest feeling Zsuza had ever known.

 "Tell me something," the android whispered. "How did I lose that last game of blitz chess? I feel my concentration was imperfect but I cannot analyse why."

 "It's very simple," she said, breathlessly, as he began to undo the laces of her costume, nuzzling her cleavage with his lips and loosening the bodice to release her breasts, whose nipples he began to kiss and lick as she spoke, "I conducted a little experiment. I theorised that if your over-riding sense of curiosity were stimulated, then there was a chance – aaahh, that's…so nice - that your chess-playing might be slightly .impaired. In other words, you were distracted by the thought of what I had to show you in my cabin."

 "Speaking of which." said the android, cupping one breast thoughtfully in his hand and examining it, "did I guess your bra size correctly?" She giggled, and wriggled delightedly in his arms.

 "You guessed absolutely right and I would say I am the only 80D cup on board this ship."

 "I would say that was not accurate. But you are right to assume that it is an unusual measurement."

 "Now you tell me, where did you learn to estimate the size of a woman's breasts so perfectly?"

 "I recall every fact I am exposed to."

 "That's not an answer, Data. (Oh I love that…)"

"Very well, if you must know, while at Starfleet Academy I had a vacation job in a ladies' lingerie department. Sometimes I keep in practice by privately estimating the bra size of the women around me. It is useful to discover that I have not lost my touch."

 Zsuza burst into more giggles; aware that he had said something amusing, Data decided that his sexuality program must be functioning properly and felt encouraged to continue with the next phase of it. The talking stopped and the kissing began again in earnest.

 Although Data had used his sexuality program before, he observed that with a different woman, the experience was different enough to be intriguing. (He wondered how many times a man had to make love to a woman before it stopped being interesting.)

 On that strange day, when the late Tasha Yar had led him into her bedroom, she had been half naked, distracted and desperate; but today Zsuza was fully clothed, so the unfamiliar lacing of the woman's dress was fascinating.

There are not many knots on board starships, so the act of undoing the long, trailing ribbons gave him a sense of quiet boy-scout-like satisfaction, and awoke intriguing memories of unknotting a coloured chiffon scarf from around Tasha's neat, athletic breasts – yet this time it was so different.

Furthermore the woman on the bed with him this time seemed to be healthy and happy, and the delighted squirming of her body close to his own was stimulating something that he knew to be an erection.

 Just as Data, having undone the lacing down as far as Zsuza's waist, was running his hand lightly, but not too lightly, up Zsuza's thigh to discover something else about this year's Europa 4 fashions - "Are these not stockings? Am I correct? And this is a ….suspender belt?" and as his fingers, after tracing a few lazy circles on her inner thigh, were finding their way underneath the elastic edge of her knickers, while Zsuza began to undo his trousers with a view to releasing the firm penis that was fighting for freedom, his commbadge uttered its perky squawk.

Captain Picard.

 "Commander Data, to the bridge, please," came the Captain's upper-crust basso profundo. "I'm sorry to break into your off-time, but we've just found something floating in space that needs your attention."

 Then the half-broken voice of young Acting Ensign Wesley Crusher, brilliant child prodigy and one of Data's regular companions, cut in excitedly. "Data! You have to see this! We've found another android! And Data, it's - it's kind of a - a lady android! And Data, she's got hardly any clothes on!"

(End of chapter 2)


* For the benefit of American readers: this measurement is in centimetres, not inches.