Author's Note: I can't help myself. This is just a wee drabble showcasing some of the various holiday traditions and cultural festivities that are celebrated by the various crew members on the Enterprise.

This chapter includes spoilers for The Complication series. Proceed at your own risk.

As with my other companion pieces that offer a glimpse of things to come, Shinebug's details are left a bit vague so as not to give away too much.

Thank you for your ongoing support of this series!


Ever since coming aboard the Enterprise, Data had found the posting offered a much richer understanding of the human experience.

It was the largest ship he had ever served on.

And with all of the people, children, and various cultures represented – Data had been able to partake in everything from traditional humanoid customs like birthday parties and weddings to new cultural traditions including the Klingon Rite of Ascension and the Bajoran Gratitude Festival.

Data's personal development had accelerated ever since coming aboard. That rapid advancement was due, in part, to his relationship with Tasha.

She was always ready to answer his questions and was infinitely patient when it came to Data exploring that part of himself.

And he had one other special lady in his life that he was grateful for. Since the birth of his daughter, Data had been able to see the human experience in an entirely new way.

As she grew and learned about the world around her, Data was discovering more and more each day. She was fascinated by the strangest things. Neither Data nor Tasha had ever truly experienced a childhood – at least not one with any normal semblance of the word.

It meant they were keen to offer their girl every possible opportunity to explore, play, and try new things.

As of late, the Enterprise calendar had been packed with a variety of different festivals, holidays, and celebrations as various cultures celebrated a mix of year-end, harvest, and historical festivities.

The night before, Data and Tasha had brought their daughter to the Bajoran festival of Aar Li Boryhas at Ten Forward. She had enjoyed the festival of lights and Data and Tasha had lit their own candles too – one for the late Doctor Soong and another for Tasha's family.

Though they knew so little about their own ancestors, they both felt it was important to make new traditions. Data was still coming to terms regarding his relationship (or lack thereof) with Doctor Soong.

While Data resolved it would take a lifetime to process, he surmised he did owe Soong for one thing. Without Soong, there would be no Shinebug.

In spite of all the tears, sleepless nights, and her proclivity to put anything and everything forbidden in her mouth, she was worth it.

Data thought she was the loveliest thing he had ever created - even if she had sprayed his face with snot following a powerful sneeze while he was slipping on her socks.

Shinebug had tried her first Jumja stick. The way her eyes lit up before attacking the newfound treat was a moment Data had denoted to memory. She'd loved the ceremonial drumming – pounding along as the Bajoran drumline dazzled the crowd.

In fact, over the last few weeks, Shinebug had experienced her first Chinese Mooncake Festival, the Ghanaian Festival of Yams, Oktoberfest, Diwali, and Lohlunat – the Risian Festival of Moons.

Tasha had introduced Shinebug to the best parts of Pumpkin Spice Raktajino season. Meanwhile, Data had taken her to the Arboretum to reap the rewards of their sunflower crop.

Deanna's Intergalactic Chocolate Day had been a big hit. Guinan's 'Cornderful' Harvest celebrating the Orion maize harvest hadn't been nearly as thrilling by comparison. Shinebug had enjoyed the juice, though chewing the knobs on an ear of corn had been a challenge when she only had seven teeth.

It had changed everything when she tried it with butter.

Joining Worf and Alexander for their Yom Kippur break-the-fast feast had been the highlight of the month.

Presently, the Enterprise was gearing up for a night of mischief. Commander Riker had worked with the school to coordinate Halloween festivities. There would be a celebration in the Arboretum with pumpkin carving, paper lanterns, bonfires, and fresh pressed cider.

Even better, there was an adults-only fancy-dress party scheduled for the weekend at Ten Forward.


Bewitched

At 16:00 hours, Data had just concluded his shift on the Bridge. He stepped onto the turbolift when a voice called out to hold the door.

Commander Riker slipped through just before it closed.

"Big plans tonight?" Riker asked.

Data shook his head.

"No, sir," Data answered. "I am simply headed to the nursery to pick up my child."

"Are you taking her to the programme at the school tonight?" Riker inquired. "I'm sure you've come up with a great costume."

"Costume?" Data asked.

"Oh yes, all the kids dress up. Pirates and witches. Characters from fairy stories. It's a fun time!" Riker said.

He flashed Data a grin.

"In fact, Doctor Maartje told me that some of the children are dressing up as their favourite Bridge officer," Riker said, beaming with pride.

Doctor Maartje was the Head Teacher at the Enterprise Primary School.

"I just hope they get the beard right," Riker winked as he scratched his chin.

"Indeed," Data agreed absentmindedly.

His mind was preoccupied.

Have I overlooked a significant cultural experience? Data thought.

There were times his desire to be a good parent became a never-ending spiral of worry that he was failing in some manner.

Every once and while Tasha had to remind him that they had produced a happy, healthy little germ factory. She was alive and that was what mattered.

There is still time before the evening. Data realised.

"So I'll see you down there?" Riker asked.

"Yes, sir," Data nodded.

He stepped off the lift and made a beeline for the nursery.


When Data arrived, Shinebug was on the floor. She had her fingers clenched around a wee pyramid and sphere as she pushed shapes through a sorting box.

Normally Data was keen to kip down and play with her for a while so that she could acclimate to leaving the nursery once she was finished with her task.

But today they were on a time constraint.

"Come my dear," Data said as he scooped her up.

"Ah bab bab bab," she protested as Data extracted the toy from her fingers.

She squirmed, trying to break free from dad's grip. But it was no use. They were already halfway out the door and down the corridor as Data raced off for the nearest lift.


"Will you be attending the festivities tonight?" Worf inquired.

"No, I think we're going to call it an early night," Tasha replied.

She stopped typing and sat back at her desk. All that sugar the night before had wreaked havoc on Shingebug's body.

She had raced around their quarters as fast her chunky little legs could carry her in an effort to burn off all that energy.

And when she had crashed, she'd crashed hard – stopping in the middle of chasing Spot to spew chunks on the carpet. A tummy ache, a blown-out nappy, and an hour of trying to soothe the baby had left Tasha and Data exhausted.

Their daughter had been eating many new foods that were not a part of papa's approved nutrition plan. They tasted wonderful – but they caused some rather uncomfortable bloating, wind, and queasiness.

"I'm looking forward to wearing a nice, quiet dinner of pureed avocado and pumpkin courtesy of my favourite girl," Tasha grinned.

Worf quirked an eyebrow in her direction.

"Would you like to trade?" Worf asked.

"Oh come on, I'm sure you and Alexander are going to have loads of fun tonight," Tasha said.

Worf scowled.

"I do not see the purpose of fancy dress. It is impractical," Worf replied.

Tasha bit back a smirk.

"Well, I'm with you there," Tasha agreed.


Back in his quarters, Data was pacing back and forth as he mentally accessed his internal database. He was skimming through thousands of sources in order to better understand the human custom of guising and its association with the likes of Halloween.

"Num num num num num," his daughter babbled as she played with the strawberries in her feeding chair.

Over the centuries, research indicated that the holiday had become a jumble of various spiritual traditions mixed with antique commercialised interests.

Much like the Enterprise herself, it was a blend of various cultures.

But where to begin? Data pondered.

It seemed that some standards had carried on through the centuries. Pirates, vampires, fairy tale favourites, and animals were all still popular choices for children.

There was very little time before the festivities were due to begin and Data was already short on time.

"Bah bah," Shinebug said as she gestured wildly – flinging strawberry slices to the floor.

Spot rushed over and sniffed at the fruit to investigate. She gave it a sample lick before turning up her tail and trotting off.

A cat? Data thought.

Shinebug was awfully fond of Spot. In fact, there were times Data was concerned that his daughter was becoming too much like a cat.

She crawled around with Spot. They were frequently having to pull Spot's toys out of her mouth. She had a tendency to flop down in Spot's bed as if it were her own.

And Data could swear his child hissed at him when he took away the Jumja stick last night.

Data frowned.

Perhaps it would not be wise to encourage such behaviour? Data considered.

Data opened the door to their family quarters. He stood in the doorway as he watched children rushing by on their way home from school.

He counted three witches, two vampires, a plethora of dinosaurs, and no less than seven princesses. There were gangsters, bats, turtles, lions, ghosts, and one rather uncomfortable snowman that was having trouble keeping up with his friends.

"Wait for me!" he called out, picking himself up from the carpet to chase after the other kids.

Data glanced back at his daughter and sighed.

There was only one thing to do.

"Data to Keiko," he said, tapping his combadge.


"Alright, sweetheart. Come to daddy," Miles encouraged.

"She'll make her own choice because she's a bright girl," Keiko said. "Isn't that right? Yes, you're mummy's clever girl."

Molly glanced back and forth from mum to dad and back again.

She was sitting on the floor across from her parents as they both encouraged her to make a decision. Part of Molly's regular routine included choosing her socks, jumpsuit, and sleep sack.

But she seemed to be confused by the costumes that were laid before her.

"Come on, over here," Miles said, coaxing Molly in his direction. "Daddy's little footballer. Aren't you?"

Miles tapped the costume on the floor. It was an exact replica of the football kit worn by the Finglas Firebrands right down to the wee cleats made in just her size.

"Mummy's beautiful girl, aren't you?" Keiko smiled, pulling Molly's attention back.

Molly glanced down at the floor and blinked at the lamb costume on the floor. Molly reached out and tentatively grabbed for the fluffy, soft woolly costume.

"That's my girl," Keiko grinned.

"Hold on, hold on just a minute!" Miles said. "She's not made a choice. She's just exploring."

Molly sat back and turned her attention to the baby cleats. She picked one up and waved it around a bit as if to determine whether it was sufficient quality for her feet.

"There, see?" Miles said. "My little footballer knows just how to make daddy happy."

But Keiko wasn't going to let him off that easy.

"Careful, Miles. She's just exploring," Keiko smirked, throwing his earlier phrase back at him.

Miles turned to his wife and grumbled.

"Now I know you spent a lot of time making that costume, but we agreed to let Molly make her choice. And that we would honour that," Miles reminded her.

"Exactly," Keiko agreed.

"Then let her make her choice," Miles muttered.

"She has," Keiko said.

Miles glanced down and sighed.

Molly was lying atop Keiko's lamb costume, rolling side to side as she giggled at the soft fabric.

Keiko gave Miles a quick peck on the cheek.

"I have to get down to the Arboretum," Keiko said.

She was already running late as it was.

"I'll see you two down there!" Keiko said.

Resigned that footballer was off the table for the night, Miles scooped up Molly and the costume.

"Mares eat oats and does eat oats and little lambs eat ivy," Miles began to sing as he slipped Molly's feet into the costume.

All of a sudden, the communications system chimed.

"Data to Keiko," Data's voice rang out.

Wrapping a firm hand around Molly's waist to keep her from running off, Miles tapped his communicator to respond.

"She's already left for the Arboretum. Anything I can do for you?" Miles inquired.

"I require the assistance of a human expert," Data confessed.


"And you are certain of this?" Data asked as he watched Molly zip about the room.

The hood on her costume was a bit too big. Because of the ears, it kept flopping in her eyes.

"Oh sure," Miles replied.

He folded his arms across his chest.

"Mums go wild for this sort of thing," Miles assured him.

Shinebug and Molly were ten months apart. Ever since first meeting, they had been fast friends.

"I fear I cannot decide. There are too many possibilities and I lack the cultural experience to adequately prioritise," Data said with a sigh.

"Oh it's easy really," Miles said. "The cuter the better. You know flowers, fluffy animals, princesses. That sort of thing."

He shrugged.

"I dunno, mate. A tiger? A gnome? Really anything you want," Miles said.

Miles could practically hear Data's neural net firing.

"Don't overthink it," Miles said as he clasped Data's shoulder.


Do not overthink it. Data reminded himself.

Checking his internal chronometer, Data realised he had twenty-four minutes and eighteen seconds to get Shinebug changed, dressed, and down to the Arboretum in time for the festivities.

The hour was growing late. Typically, this was Shinebug's time to run about and play. And Data could tell she was itching to be free.

He'd been forced to bribe her with a second snack in order to keep her occupied so that he could stuff her chunky legs into the tights from the replicator.

She wigged and made a noise of protest when Data pulled her tights up.

"Mmmmmmmmm," she whined, kicking her feet against the carpet.

Data paused.

Am I forcing my child to partake in a ritual for my enjoyment? Or hers? Data considered.

Data let Shinebug run off as he attempted to process this latest moral crisis.

Shinebug ran off. She stopped after two metres and squirmed. The tights were, well, tight. They were hot. And they squeezed in all the wrong places.

Shinebug whined and grumbled as she tried to pull on the clingy fabric – they were riding up, causing her nappy to sit at a funny angle.

Data watched as his daughter flopped back onto her bottom and huffed. She reached up to grip her round tummy, confused as to why there was something so tight constricting it.

This will not do. Data realised.

"Computer, replicate pattern S28147. Phthalo green," Data instructed.

Three minutes later, Data breathed a sigh of relief as his child was happy as a clam bustling about the room in her cotton fibre overall-style leggings.

"Come here," Data instructed, waving her over.

She stopped playing with Spot long enough to rush over to dad.

"Arms up," Data said.


Bothered

The minute she tried to step off the lift, Tasha was hit smack in the knees by a crowd of children as they tried to clamour onto the lift.

"Whoa, slow down," Tasha said, squeezing past them.

"Sorry, Miss Tasha," Alexandra Doogan called back.

"Have fun," Tasha said.

Laughing, she shook her head as she heard them chatter with excitement as the lift door closed.

It was another reason Tasha was looking forward to a quiet evening at home with the family. As much as she adored the children on board the Enterprise, there was something comforting in settling down with a baby that was usually fast asleep by 19:00 hours.

Tasha tapped the control panel on the wall. The door to their family quarters slid open and she was surprised to see it was dark.

"Hello?" Tasha asked.

"Meow," Spot said as she stepped out from the shadows.

She brushed up against Tasha's leg for a moment, affectionately showing her appreciation that Tasha was home.

Tasha bent over and scooped up her beloved furry companion.

"Hello you darling," Tasha said.

Spot purred as Tasha showered her with scratches in just the right spot. Carrying Spot in her arms, Tasha headed for the nursery.

Poor thing's probably sick from last night. Tasha thought.

Data probably had their girl snuggled against his shoulder in the rocking chair.

Only the nursery was empty – as were the bedroom, the lavvy, and even the storage unit.

"What would you like tonight?" Tasha asked Spot.

Tasha tapped the replicator and pulled up one of their usual meals for Spot. A small bowl of salmon pâté appeared on the dispenser tray.

Tasha set the bowl and Spot down on the ground.

"Good girl," Tasha said.

She gave her a quick pat on the head before leaving her alone to eat. Spot made even the most persnickety of pets look like a dream.

That meant they made the most of the recipes Spot was willing to eat. More often than not Spot would simply turn up her nose or recoil from the dish.

Spot would simply leave her food abandoned and Data and Tasha had to stay on their toes to keep their child from going for it.

Tasha stood up and frowned.

"Computer, what is the location of Commander Data?" Tasha requested.

"Commander Data is in the Arboretum," the computer responded.

Tasha closed her eyes and took a breath to steady her nerves. She took a step back to remind herself that Data was only trying to do what was best for their child.


"Is T coming?" Miles asked.

He had spied Worf sneak in with Alexander and knew that meant Tasha was done for the day too – only she didn't seem to be present.

"Oh I am certain she will be along once she discovers we are not at home," Data said.

"If I may say so, you don't sound all that thrilled," Miles observed.

Data moved his eyebrows as he watched the two young children play together at their feet.

"I may have taken some liberty in bringing her here tonight," Data said.

"I'm sure she won't mind as soon. Mums go gaga for this sort of thing," Miles said.

He bent over to pull Molly back from eating a gourd.

"Daddy's wee lamb can eat all the candy she wants. But no eating mummy's plants, alright?" Miles said.

Keiko had planned an elaborate scavenger hunt that combined both a series of wonderful treats for the kids along with learning. They had to go section to section, reading all about different species of plant life as they deciphered the clues that would lead them to the next treasure trove of goodies.

For the older kids, there were games and activities including learning to make apple donuts and a holographic haunted corn maze courtesy of Mr Barclay.

Children under three had their own space in a part of the Arboretum affectionately dubbed the pumpkin patch. There really were pumpkins on hand, gourds in all sorts of shapes and sizes, and apple trees where families could partake in picking their own apples.

Beverly and Guinan were having a wicked time at the sensory play station they'd designed. Children could play with slimy spaghetti worms, grape eyeballs, and squishy glow-in-the-dark bean bugs.

Dressed as witches, Guinan lured the children in with the eerie fog at her cauldron while Beverly threw back her head and cackled.

Across the room, the main door to the Arboretum slid open. From the moment she stepped inside, Tasha was overwhelmed by the sound of laughter and shrieks of delight as children raced across the greens in search of treats.

Tasha caught the arm of a familiar looking masked vigilante. Will Riker turned and tipped his black Cordovan hat to her.

"Have you seen Commander Data?" Tasha asked.

"Which one?" Riker teased.

Tasha blinked in confusion. Will gestured to the room. As Tasha scanned the crowd she couldn't help but smirk. There were several children dashing from tree to tree wearing little gold Operations uniforms and white face paint under their signature slicked-back hair.

When Will Riker had first heard that a number of students were planning to attend dressed as their favourite Bridge officer, Riker had naturally assumed it would be him.

It wasn't necessarily ego – but he was a popular fixture at the school both for occasional guest lectures and for his frequent participation in the music programme.

He'd never expected to be greeted by a gaggle of miniature Datas.

"Alright, better question. Have you seen my daughter?" Tasha asked.

Riker jumped out, brandished his sword, and pointed to the corner of the room.

"That way," Riker indicated with a deep bow.

"Thanks," Tasha replied dryly.

On her way over to the pumpkin patch, Tasha was quite literally wrangled by a little cowpoke.

She glanced down to find Alexander wrapped around her left leg.

"Gotcha," Alexander said. "I've wrangled ya know!"

Klingon children seemed to mature a bit faster than their human counterparts. Though not much older than little Molly, Alexander already seemed to be more like a four- or five-year-old child.

And he was absolutely captivated by cowboys, horses, and anything involving the ancient west.

"Alexander," Worf said in a warning tone.

"But I caught 'em pa!" Alexander protested.

"We do not catch people," Worf said.

"You do," Alexander huffed.

Worf was at a loss for words.

Tasha smirked as she saw Worf's getup – complete with chaps, spurs, and a Stetson.

"Come on little cowboy," Worf said as he scooped up his son.

Alexander scrambled onto dad's back.

"Giddy up, father!" Alexander instructed.

Worf grimaced as Alexander kicked his ribs in an effort to spur his imaginary horse into action.

Thank goodness we're not there yet. Tasha mused.


"Good evening, detective," Tasha said as she approached Data and Miles.

"Come on, wee lamb," Miles said. "Let's go find your mum."

He scooped Molly up and quickly made himself scarce.

"Tasha," Data nodded.

He knew he'd been caught.

Tasha glanced around the room before turning back to Data.

"You look dashing," Tasha commented.

"That is not why you have come," Data said, cutting straight to the point.

The corner of Tasha's lip curled upward as she studied her partner's expression. He was like a child, silently pleading for five more minutes of time.

"Isn't this all a bit overwhelming?" Tasha asked.

Data dropped his gaze to the ground where his daughter was running her fingers along the soft, velvety petals of the flowers on the pumpkin vine.

"I thought we agreed that we were going to pace these celebrations out a bit?" Tasha asked. "I mean, I could have taken off early and kept her home if you wanted to-"

"I am afraid that I was concerned she would miss out on this experience," Data said, cutting her off.

"Where is our child?" Tasha asked as she glanced around.

Data reached down and pulled her up from behind the rows of plants that separated them from Tasha.

Holding Shinebug by her hands, she dangled there and blinked up at mum.

Tasha was silent as she stared down at her child.

"Our child is a strawberry," Tasha said.

"Do you like it?" Data asked eagerly.

"You didn't put Spot in a-"

"No," Data quickly assured her.


Bewildered

"She can't even walk properly," Tasha observed.

There was so much padding in Shinebug's costume that she was having great difficulty in staying upright. She'd fallen more than once on their way home.

Even crawling was difficult because of all the extra plump stuffing wrapped 'round her.

By the time they got home, Shinebug was grateful that mummy had slipped off the large, padded strawberry costume.

"You are upset," Data observed.

"I'm not mad," Tasha assured him. "You just couldn't really move, could you sweetheart?"

Shinebug was excited to be free of the suit. But she was less than thrilled as mum picked her up off the floor and locked her into her feeding chair.

Data secured the bib around her neck while Tasha stepped over to the replicator. A moment later, she returned and placed a well-balanced meal in front of her daughter.

Shinebug blinked at the cubed avocado, pureed pumpkin, and beans on her plate. She frowned and glanced up at mummy.

That's it? Shinebug thought.

Tasha grumbled.

"Let me guess, you ate too much down there and now you're not hungry for anything?" Tasha said.

Shinebug was hungry alright. Papa hadn't let her eat any of the food down at the Arboretum. Mindful that he'd agreed with Tasha they needed to curb Shinebug's sugar intake, Data had made sure to avoid the biscuits, cakes, and spooky treats available.

Tasha was also worried that her girl was more than a little overwhelmed by so many people in one setting. All the lights, loud noises, and flashy costumes had been a lot for someone so small.

Shinebug squirmed in her seat, reaching for mum.

Tasha picked her up and opted to try feeding her daughter in her lap instead.

"She was very well behaved down there," Data said. "I believe there was so much sensory input, she preferred sitting in the corner."

They'd spent most of the evening there, settled down in the pumpkin patch away from most of the activity.

Tasha picked up a piece of avocado and offered it to her daughter.

"Here," Tasha said.

But Shinebug pushed it away.

"Jum jum," she said.

Tasha looked up and made a face at Data who was seated across the table.

'Jum jum' was her word for the newly discovered delight that was a Jumja stick.

Tasha was usually the one keen to offer her daughter all sorts of foods and snacks that weren't part of their nutrition plan. But in Tasha's mind there was a world of difference between sampling things like chewy rice and wasabi or uttaberries and all the candy and sweets Shinebug had consumed in the last few days.

The swing between sugar rush and subsequent crash had been a challenge to manage.

It wasn't like Shinebug to refuse food. But as of late, she seemed less than eager to eat her usual meals – and eager for anything sweet. Data and Tasha had never denied her the sweeter side of life.

But the likes of applesauce and strawberries just couldn't compete with chocolate and peanut butter pumpkins and milaberry cakes.

"Perhaps if we let her run around a bit she will eventually return to her plate?" Data suggested.

Tasha let her daughter slip down to the floor. She toddled off to find Spot in her cosy corner while mum and dad had a much-needed conversation.

"You are upset," Data said, repeating his previous observation.

"I just think we need to pace things out a bit," Tasha said.

Data was more than a little disappointed.

"Tasha, I do not want her to miss out on these memories," Data said. "The festival tonight only occurs once a year and-"

"And there will always be festivals and celebrations and holidays," Tasha countered.

A pained expression crossed Data's face.

"I feel like I have failed. Like I am always failing," Data confessed. "Despite my best efforts, I cannot keep up. There are not enough hours in the day, and she is growing so quickly and before we know it she will be-"

He stopped.

Tasha reached across the table and gave Data's hand a gentle squeeze.

The pain in Data's voice must have been evident because Shinebug crawled back over and plopped herself down on the carpet between mum and dad.

"You can't do it all, Data," Tasha said.

"I am not trying to do it all. I am merely attempting to offer our child the best possible learning experience by exposing her to all the various cultures, foods, languages, music, art, and sensory play options afforded us on the Enterprise," Data answered.

He straightened up.

"She must be adequately prepared to start proper nursery school," Data said.

Tasha knew better than both of them just how important it was to help teach her daughter reading, counting, and communication skills.

Tasha herself had struggled through a crash course of learning at age fifteen following her escape from Turkana. It was a miracle she'd been accepted into Starfleet Academy given that she was so far behind her classmates when it came to subjects like calculus and propulsion systems.

"We have plenty of time before that day comes," Tasha said. "She's going to learn at her own pace."

Shinebug sat on the floor, utterly bewildered as she watched mum and dad. Whatever it was they were discussing, she could tell it was serious.

And she could sense it was about her.

Papa was saying something about developmental milestones and a stimulating environment. Mummy sat with her arms crossed as Data explained his reasoning.

When he was finished, mummy started in with her own argument – which Data had been prepared for.

"Her neural activity scans indicate she has remarkable capacity to learn," Data said.

He'd conducted a series of tests shortly after her birth. Data had continued to monitor her progress – tracking every moment with the enthusiasm of a new parent and the meticulous precision of an android.

Data was cautious about how much emphasis he placed on such testing. While there was certainly research to indicate a correlation between genetics and intelligence, Data recognised the importance of environmental factors.

More than that, Data knew that the Soong family had a long, uncomfortable history given its ties to eugenics circles and the fringes of bioengineering.

But the fact remained that his daughter came from that same Soong lineage. And if her early testing results were any indication, she was one clever cookie.

"Tasha, developmentally her neural capacity is more advanced than her peers," Data said. "She could be a brilliant scientist or a gifted musician. She has already shown a basic sense of rhythm with-"

"And maybe she wants to be a maintenance technician? Or a shinty player? Or a bartender? The point is - she's happy and healthy. That's all that matters," Tasha shrugged.

"I am just afraid of failing her," Data said.

"You're not failing her," Tasha said. "And you are nothing like him."

"I do not ever want her to feel as if we… we were not there," Data said.

It was a feeling he'd been grappling with ever since meeting Doctor Noonian Soong. The logs they had discovered on Omicron Theta years earlier had indicated Soong attempted to escape.

But whether he had survived such an attempt was unknown.

Considering that he never made an effort to contact Data or find him had led Data to assume Soong perished while attempting to flee.

After learning of his father's survival, Data had been struck with a mix of uncomfortable emotions. Discovering Soong had done wonders to satisfy Data's curiosity. But it left him with a sense of bitter resentment.

And it was difficult to reconcile those two widely different feelings.

Tasha pulled her daughter up from the floor and stepped over to Data.

Tasha readjusted her grip, holding Shinebug with a firm hand under her body so that she could swing her back and forth.

"Can you give papa kisses?" Tasha said.

"Mmwhaa," Shinebug said.

She blew a kiss to her father as mummy swung her close to Data's face.

Data reached out and took hold of his daughter. She willingly climbed into his lap, eager to pull on his nose and rub a pair of grubby hands all over his face as she giggled at the faces he made.

"She loves you," Tasha whispered against his ear. "Don't ever forget that."


Shinebug laughed.

It was the kind of wholehearted, bubbling laugh that erupted from infants whenever they heard or felt something particularly amusing.

And to Data's delight, it filled the entire room.

As a compromise, Data had agreed to find an activity that would allow Shinebug to partake in a holiday tradition while keeping her home for the evening.

It was a day after their adventure to the Arboretum and it seemed his girl was more than pleased to stay home with papa.

Data smiled as a fresh roar of laughter burst from deep within his daughter's chest.

She clenched and unclenched her fists that were hanging at the sides of her body.

"Almost finished," Data said.

He dipped his paintbrush into the ochre on his palette before turning back to put the final touches on their joint masterpieces.

From the moment the paintbrush made contact with her backside, she giggled again – filling their quarters with the sound of her contagious laughter.

Satisfied with his work, Data set his paintbrush down. He moved to the other side of his workstation and carefully picked up his infant daughter.

"Ok. Now we are going to sit down," Data instructed.

She cocked her head to the side. It was much in the same manner that Data often did when something left him curious.

"Sit down," Data said.

He moved to set his daughter down on the canvas. Only Shinebug showed no interest in bending her legs to sit properly.

"Sit. On your bottom," Data said.

Her legs remained stiff.

Resigned that she was not going to follow direction, Data readjusted his grip – supporting her back with one and taking hold of her feet with another.

He planted her down on the canvas to quite literally stamp it. Next Data pulled her back to study his work.

"Excellent work, my dear," Data said.

Shinebug clapped her hands together with excitement at having received papa's approval.

Data set her down to stand on the floor next to him so that he could grab the towel. It would be important to clean her up before she could make a mess.


Meanwhile, Tasha Yar was just about home for the evening. Her duty shift had just ended, and she was looking forward to sharing a surprise tradition of her own with Data and her daughter.

Their conversation the night before had convinced Tasha that it would be appropriate to introduce them to another Turkanan tradition.

Typically Tasha was guarded about such practices. She was consciously aware that many of the rituals and traditional spiritual beliefs of her people were antiquated by comparison to Earth.

However, Data had always been patient, supportive, and curious. And that made Tasha feel safe enough to open up.

Tasha opened the door to her quarters.

As soon as it slid open a very tiny, very naked body whizzed past.

"Eeeeeeeeeeeeee," her daughter babbled as she ran down the corridor.

Tasha blinked, trying to process what she had just seen.

She glanced into the room and then back down the corridor.

Grab her! Tasha kicked herself internally.

Tasha took after her daughter. She needed to catch her before she got to the lift.

"Eeeeeeeeeeee," Shinebug continued to sing as she zipped along past different personal quarters.

Lieutenant Jeffords watched in astonishment as this tiny menace raced by. He'd been so shocked that he hadn't thought to stop her.

Shinebug was less than a metre away from her destination when the lift doors opened. Pushing all of the energy from her mid-afternoon apricots into her chunky legs, she raced for the lift.

She was inches away when a pair of familiar hands hoisted her off the carpet.

"Hello, Number One," Captain Picard said.


When Tasha rounded the corner, she froze.

Her daughter was in Captain Picard's arms. Shinebug was fumbling with his combadge as the Captain tried to capture her attention.

"Sir, I am so sorry," Tasha stammered.

"Oh it's quite alright," Picard assured her. "I'm sure you have a good explanation why your child is running naked through my ship with paint on her bottom."

Jean-Luc raised an eyebrow.

Tasha's mouth went dry.

"No…um, no I don't, sir," Tasha replied honestly.

Data emerged behind Tasha a moment later.

"Thank goodness," he said, breathing a sign of relief that his girl was safe and sound.

She'd been so quick that she'd slipped right out from under dad's nose. Fortunately, Data had brought along a towel.

"Excellent," Picard said. "I believe this paint is beginning to soak in through my sleeve."

Tasha's face blanched.

Her daughter's face was red, her wee fists clenched as she grunted in the Captain's arms.

"That's not paint," she squeaked.


Thirty minutes later Shinebug was safe and snug in a clean jumpsuit. It was getting late, and their girl was quite hungry, so Tasha had decided to skip her usual evening yoga with baby.

Data emerged from the lavvy and found Tasha had set the table for dinner. On the surface of the workstation, there were a series of lit reeds burning in tall, thin glass jars giving off a warm glow.

While Data settled Shinebug into her feeding chair, Tasha grabbed dinner from the replicator. It was a new recipe she had programmed into the replicator specifically for this meal.

Tasha set a bowl of stew down on the table and dished up bowls for the three of them. She was mindful to keep baby's bowl off the feeding chair.

This would be one meal she couldn't eat with her hands.

Data sniffed at the bowl. Tasha watched as his face remained neutral.

"What is this?" Data asked.

"It's a root vegetable stew. There's no korish root or emmel in the replicator. So I substituted parsnips and fennel instead," Tasha explained.

Data cocked his head to the side.

"This is Turkanan," Data realised.

Tasha nodded as she sat down at the table.

"It's called stobtaingeil," Tasha explained.

She spooned up some of the stew and blew on it until it was at a safe temperature to feed to their daughter. Shinebug leaned forward in her chair, eagerly opening her mouth in anticipation of the meal.

"Tasha, is there something significant about this meal?" Data asked.

Tasha scooped up another spoonful. After ensuring it was cool enough, she fed it to her eager baby.

"Bah," Shinebug said as she waved her arms.

Tasha grinned.

"Do you like that?" Tasha asked as she ran her hand back through her daughter's hair.

Shinebug began to babble excitedly. She started pressing her fingers together.

"More," she asked.

"Tasha?" Data prompted.

"You know we don't celebrate birthdays on Turkana," Tasha said.

"Is today someone-"

"No," Tasha shook her head.

She turned and glanced over at the burning reeds.

"We don't honour birthdays, but we do remember our dead. Those that we've loved and lost," Tasha explained. "About this time of year is when we prepare for the cold season."

The people of Turkana used the moon to tell time. Thirteen moons a year. The Thunder Moon was always a terrifying time of year. Powerful storms would sweep across the land, laying bare anything that wasn't finished before harvest and signalling the start of shorter days.

"The days would start to grow darker. Even in the morning, it would stay dark for hours during the day even when the sun was usually up," Tasha shared. "There were some days it seemed like the sun wouldn't come up at all because the sky was so dark from the rain."

Tasha paused to feed their daughter another spoonful of dinner. It seemed this vegetable stew was quite a hit as Shinebug was rocking back and forth in her seat, mumbling to herself as she ate.

"My grandmother used to come for the harvest. And she would stay with us through the winter," Tasha said.

Data listened patiently. Even in all their years together, there was still so much Data didn't know about Tasha's life on Turkana. But he did know that for all the trauma, abuse, and uncertainty she faced in that life, Tasha's grandmother had been a steady presence – at least in Tasha's early childhood.

Her grandmother had died protecting Tasha and her siblings. And a burned locket was the only thing she had to remember her by.

"You know she wasn't much older than we are," Tasha said.

She paused and took a shaky breath.

It was terrifying enough being a parent of one child on a starship where clean water, modern medicine, and safety were readily available. Food scarcity wasn't a concern. There were no predators stalking the corridors.

Tasha couldn't begin to imagine how her grandmother had always been so cheery and patient while raising children and grandchildren on a place like Turkana.

"I never liked the cold season. It was uncomfortable," Tasha said.

Crammed in their small hovel, her family made do. But the cold season meant The Long Night Moon and the Hunger Moon – both times when food and fuel were lean.

"But my grandmother would make this stew on the last night before the Thunder Moon. We would light reeds to honour the loved ones we'd lost," Tasha went on.

Thinking back to her childhood, Tasha had a vivid memory of rows and rows of lit reeds. There were so many people Tasha never knew.

"You know she used to tell me that even though the days were growing colder and darker, that she would always be there with me," Tasha said.

Tasha glanced over at their daughter. There was a bit of barley clinging to her cheek. Tasha smiled as she thumbed it away.

"I suppose in a way she still is," Tasha said.

Data turned his attention back to the reeds that were burning atop the workstation. He counted them silently, ticking off ones he knew that must represent Tasha's family and Alfie. His curiosity was piqued by the unlit reed at the end of the row.

"May I inquire if the unlit reed is for your sister Ishara?" Data asked.

Tasha shook her head.

After years of not knowing whether Ishara was dead or alive, the two surviving Yar siblings had shared a less than stellar reunion in the months before Shinebug's birth. Much to Tasha's dismay, Ishara had insisted on returning to Turkana.

Ishara firmly believed that barren, poisoned rock was worth fighting for.

And they two sisters had been unable to reconcile their differences on that point.

"It's for Doctor Soong," Tasha explained.

Data blinked, perplexed.

"It is not lit," Data observed.

"That's for you to decide," Tasha answered. "I wasn't sure if you wanted to, well, I'm saying that I understand if you want to."

Data nodded slowly.

This was a symbolic acknowledgement that Tasha was there to support his conflicted feelings of grief even if she didn't share them.

Data couldn't blame her.

The only time Soong and Tasha met was shortly before his death. He'd been cordial. Tasha had been polite for Data's sake. The fact the man was quite literally dying had been the only thing saving him from a stern tongue lashing for his treatment of Data.

Tasha vowed she could never forgive Soong for abandoning Data.

Leaving with him no memory, no insight was unnecessarily cruel in her opinion.

Data had never shared with her the things Soong had said prior to her arrival. Those comments still echoed in his mind.

Turkana's a trash heap, Data. The rubbish bin of the galaxy.

Soong's comments had entertained Lore and irritated Data.

I created you to be the perfect specimen to carry on my progeny. I can't have you turning my bloodline into an irradiated cesspool!

Data had hoped his relationship would please his father. He'd never expected such bitterness and prejudice.

For the love of all things positronic boy. You'll find someone else. I'll not have the Soong line polluted by a piece of Turkanan trash.

Data had put his foot down and requested his father stop saying such things. It seemed to amuse Noonian – though he did stop.

And before his death, Noonian had been afforded to meet that 'piece of Turkanan trash.' She'd offered him first aid, never acknowledging her identity or his hurtful comments as a dying Soong urged Data to find himself a more respectable mate.

In fact, it wasn't until Tasha had defended Data, expressing her displeasure at Soong's characterisation of his son as 'imperfect' that old Noonian had realised just who she was.

You're her. You're not what I expected.

Tasha had made nice for Data's sake. Soong could tell she was frustrated and angry. But an understanding had passed between the two.

Noonian may not have cared for Data's choice, but he'd grown to respect her.

Tasha slid her lighter across the table.

"If you want to, it's there," Tasha said.

Data eyed the lighter on the table. For a split second he was torn. Acknowledging Soong's passing and honouring the man were two radically different notions.

Soong was his father. But that did not mean Data was responsible for honouring that legacy. Nor did Data feel obligated to fulfil Soong's desire to carry forth his progeny.

He may have owed it to Soong for endowing him with the ability to procreate. But his daughter was his own. There was so much Data and Tasha didn't know about their family origins. They were largely at a loss when it came to family traditions.

There was so little they had to pass on in that respect.

Yet Data knew that he loved his two girls. They were the dearest thing to him in the world. While he may not be able to give her recipes for family pies or a pocket watch passed down through the ages, Data promised that he would do anything to make his wee lass happy.

They were not the family Noonian Soong had desired.

But they were exactly the family Data wanted.

Data kept his hands on the top of his legs, unmoving as he lifted his head. Then he reached across the table.

For a moment, Tasha thought Data was reaching for lighter. But his hand passed it. Data reached across the table and took hold of Tasha's hand.

He glanced over at the new painting hanging on the wall – a pumpkin pressed onto canvas courtesy of his daughter's bottom.

Data reached out and stroked his child's hair.

"We make our own tradition," Data declared.


Blessed Samhain!

-Charlie