Chapter Seven
At this very moment, Natasha Yar is fifteen years, two months, eighteen days and four hours old – and her life is about to change, forever.
A Starfleet vessel has come to Turkana IV. This ship represents the first contact the failed colony has had with the Federation since the Turkana government fell to civil war and police powers were granted to – some might say 'taken by' – the battling factions.
The city above is nothing now but charred ruin and smoking rubble; in the tunnels below the people live packed together, scrounging and scuffling like frightened rats. There, the leaders of the two largest factions, the Alliance and the Coalition, continue their war over resources and territory in the manner of urban street gangs: terrorizing, assaulting and murdering those who refuse to pay tribute for their 'protection.'
Lured by the bait of a rather well-acted distress call, the Starfleet ship beamed down a five officer away team – which was promptly jumped by fifteen Alliance thugs eager to take their energy weapons.
"This is bad," Tasha says to her younger sister, Ishara, who is busy checking the rabbit traps Tasha had set at the mouth of their swampy old duct the night before. To the girl's dismay, all are, once again, empty.
"Yeah," Ishara mutters. "My stomach hurts."
"Not your stomach, idiot, that firefight out there!"
Tasha stares from the shadowed duct out into the desert-like brightness of the above-ground world, her sharp eyes fixed on the offworld officers: their lithe movements and the bright colors of their uniforms.
The dark-skinned woman is clearly in command. Standing under the sun in her gold and black uniform, she is everything young Tasha has ever wanted to be. Tall and strong, powerful and commanding, she directs the fierce firefight with confidence and competent skill. The male officers beside her don't hesitate to follow her orders. Tasha can see in their faces, each one of them is willing to fight and die for the others.
"We gotta help 'em," Tasha says, a rush of adrenaline making her heartbeat pound in her ears.
"How?" Ishara says, bitterly angry at the prospect of another day of half-rancid tunnel scraps and hunger pains. "The Alliance's got 'em pinned. They're dog meat."
"I have this," Tasha says, digging into her battered old pack and pulling out—
"A 'splosive canster?" Ishara gasps, wide-eyed. "How long have you had that?"
"I've been savin' it," Tasha says, hefting the heavy grenade in her hand. "Damn rape gangs ain't gonna touch us!"
"Keep savin' it, then," Ishara says. "What do you care 'bout a bunch of Starfleet quislins?"
"They ain't either quislins, they're trapped," Tasha protests. "If I help 'em, maybe they can help us."
"We wouldn't need no help if you got us in the cadre," Ishara mutters, and Tasha slaps her. Hard.
"I told you 'bout them cadres!" she snaps. "They're the flesh eaters, 'Shara, worse than lice and maggots! They're the reason our folks got dead!"
"Our folks got dead 'cause they was too quislin' scared to fight!" Ishara snarls. "Everyone knows, only way to be someone on this go to hell planet is to join a cadre. I'm gonna be someone, sis. An' you can be too if you weren't too yella to face the haze tests!"
Tasha glares, her expression growing uncomfortably tight.
"I'm going," she says. "You can help me or you can go to hell. Your choice."
"I ain't gettin' dead for no quislin' offworlders," Ishara snaps. "Go save 'em yourself, you quislin' traitor!"
"Damnit, 'Shara! Don't you understand nothin' important?" Tasha cries. "If them Alliance bums get through, they'll have those officers hostage. They'll get the Feds to send more weapons! Then, the fightin'll only get worse."
"Not if I tell the Coalition what they're schemin'," Ishara says, her eyes dark with icy challenge.
Tasha can only stare, her nostrils flaring with fury.
"You wanna be a Coalition sheep?" she snaps. "You wanna face the hazers?"
"I ain't scared," Ishara states. "Not like you!"
Tasha spits, and holds her explosive close to her chest.
"You wanna see a coward, sis?" she says. "You wanna see a quislin' spy? Look in a puddle on your way to your precious cadre!"
"I can see things," Ishara retorts. "Better than you. Informin' this Alliance trick is a surefire ticket into the Coalition! That means food, Tasha. Real food an' clothes an' respect! If you ain't smart enough to see that—"
"All false," Tasha says. "All lies! Everythin' them stinkin' cadres have, they snatched from us an' our kind, an' they hoard it to keep us scared an' small. I'm smart enough to see that. An', to take a real chance when I see it!"
"Stupid," Ishara grunts. "Them Feds ain't gonna take you nowhere, even if they do get away. I'm outta here."
"'Shara, no!" Tasha shouts, but her sister is already making her way back down the slippery duct, and moving fast.
Tasha grits her teeth in frustration, momentarily torn. She slides her foot in the direction Ishara has gone, then turns and lobs the explosive as hard as she can out of the mouth of the duct, scrambling out herself a moment later. The bulb-like canister hurls unnoticed over cracked brick walls and protruding rebar, bouncing several times before coming to rest in the sand, well behind the Alliance fighters.
The ensuing explosion is nothing massive, but it's enough to scatter the gang, giving the three surviving officers time to reach cover…and for Tasha to reach them…
It is some twenty years later, and Tasha Yar finds herself standing on a different threshold, facing another door...
She has come a long way from the grimy, barely literate urchin the grateful Starfleet away team rescued from the tunnels of Turkana IV. Twelve years of crammed education and Starfleet service have tempered the angry, neglected teen she had been, taught her to look beyond her own needs, encouraged her to become the courageous, caring leader she had admired from afar that fateful morning, so long ago. Tasha Yar had followed that determined girl's dreams of worthwhile achievement to the death, and beyond…
And now, even though she knows she could choose to walk away, to forge a new life, a new identity, the same determination that had pushed her to leave Turkana IV and try her chances offworld now pushes her to reclaim the life she lost, the career she battled so long to achieve…and the Starfleet family she desperately wanted back…
Lt. Commander Data had attended many dinners over the course of his career. As the flagship of the Federation's Starfleet, the Enterprise had been called upon to host many high-powered diplomatic functions; from meet-and-greets with prospective Federation applicants, to tense negotiations over valued natural resources, to more personal wedding and engagement parties. Data had even attended a few private meals with his friends and coworkers.
This dinner he was sharing at the home of Ariana, Wendie, Teddy, and Sly Greene was different from any other in his experience. The dynamic banter, the comfortable informality of the conversation, the energy and exuberance displayed by the children…
He observed it all and decided that he liked it. He liked it very much.
"Well, this looks good," Wendie said reaching for the salad bowl. He had come home while the dinner was being made but, despite the twins' invitations to pitch in, he and Geordi had opted instead to set the table and wait there for the meal to be served.
"Yeah," Teddy said through his mouthful. "Uncle Data made that!"
Wendie set the bowl back down and frowned at his wife.
"You had the…" He cleared his throat. "…our guest…make the dinner?"
"Only the salad, hun—" Ariana started.
"It was my pleasure," Data said, and smiled. "And, I appreciated the opportunity, I assure you. I have never cooked anything before."
Sly snickered.
"You still haven't," he said. "You don't cook salad!"
"I did season the croutons and toast them in a pan on the stove," Data pointed out. "Surely that qualifies as 'cooking'."
Teddy joined his brother's snickers.
"Look at the cheese," he said. "It's, like, these perfect little cubes!"
Sly held up his salad fork.
"The lettuce is all exactly the same size!"
Data's forehead wrinkled over his nose as he glanced from one twin to the other.
"Did I do it wrong?" he asked, and the boys burst out laughing.
Data turned his utterly befuddled glance to Geordi, who very purposefully scooped more salad onto his plate.
"I think it's great, Data," he said, and took a bite.
"The salad is fine, Mr. Data," Ariana said, shooting a rather cold glare at her husband, who still hadn't touched a leaf. "We just generally tend to do things a little more…homestyle…around here."
Data nodded, his forehead still wrinkled.
"I believe I understand…" he said, taking a bite from his own bowl and tilting his head while he analyzed it.
"It's cool," Teddy said. "I like how thin you made the carrots."
"And the croutons really crunch!" Sly pointed out, providing an enthusiastic, open-mouthed demonstration.
"Sly!" Wendie admonished sharply, and the boys giggled.
Data smiled, just slightly.
"Thank you both," he said. "Perhaps I—"
A chime sounded near the front of the house, and Sly and Teddy jumped to their feet.
"Doorbell!" they chorused. "I'll get it!"
"Sit back down and hold your horses," Ariana ordered, pushing back her own chair. "You boys don't get to tackle every person who comes to this house."
"Horses…?" Data queried quietly, turning his puzzled eyes to Geordi as Ariana left the room.
"It just means 'hold still,'" Geordi said, just as quietly, as they all listened to hear what Ariana was saying to whoever was at the door.
"Yes, Geordi La Forge is here," came her faint voice. "I'm his sister, Ariana Greene."
"Well, could I speak to him, please?" the newcomer said, and Data's eyes widened dramatically.
"Geordi—" he started, but Ariana was already coming back the dining room, looking a little irritable.
"Geordi," she said, "there's a blonde woman at the door, says she knows you. I could tell her to come back after dinner—"
"No, no, I'll go," he said, wiping his mouth on a napkin, then getting up. "You too, Data. Time to get to the bottom of this."
"But, Geordi, that voice…" Data said, following after his friend. "The acoustics match—"
"It's not her, OK!" the engineer exclaimed. "It can't be."
"Can't be who?" Teddy asked curiously.
"Never mind," Geordi grunted, and headed for the living room. "Come on, Data, you'll see. There's no way this woman could be—"
"…Tasha…"
Geordi had never heard his friend's voice sound like that before, or seen such awe shining on his face. The woman at the door wore a similar expression, her eyes locked so firmly on the android that Geordi caught himself wondering if he'd suddenly become invisible.
"Hello, Data…" the woman said, her lips stuttering into an awkward smile. "Guess it's been a while…"
"It has been seven years," the android managed to whisper, shuffling toward her like a zombie. "Seven months, three weeks, six days…"
"What, no hours?" she teased, and the two were suddenly in each other's arms, burning tears they couldn't hold back trailing down their faces.
"Tasha…" he whispered into her short-cropped hair. "Tasha, Tasha… How can this be possible? Everything about you is the same. Your face, your form, the scent of your skin…"
He frowned, and pulled back just slightly, his golden eyes regarding her rather more closely than she liked.
"Actually, your scent is not quite the same," he said. "There is something different…a faint, peculiar sweetness, almost like…"
He sniffed deeply, his frown growing deeper.
"…decay…?"
Geordi shivered despite himself.
"This is impossible," he snapped, pushing his way between them. "What's is it Holmes said, Data: 'It is a capital mistake to theorize in advance of the facts'?"
"That is correct, Geordi," Data said.
"Well, it's time for some facts," the engineer said, turning his VISORed glare on the newcomer. "Just who the hell are you, and why have you been following us?"
The woman stared at him as if he'd just sprouted a second head.
"What do you mean, Geordi?" she asked.
Geordi crossed his arms.
"You're going to tell me you weren't at the JAG offices this morning?"
"I was there," the woman said. "That's how I found out about the Enterprise, and the court martial. Geordi, Data, I'm so sorry. I wish I could have been there when—"
"Look, just stop it, OK?" Geordi said. "I'm not buying this. Tasha Yar is dead. Data, you were there – you know this better than anyone!"
"I was dead!" Tasha exclaimed. "I can't really explain what happened, or why, but if you want the whole story—"
"Is everything OK out there?" Ariana asked, peering at the trio from the kitchen doorway.
"We're fine, Ari," Geordi said grimly. "You guys should just go on eating without us, OK?"
Ariana frowned, but left them alone.
Geordi raised an arm to herd Data and the newcomer out the door.
"Come on," he said, "let's take this out on the porch."
To Be Continued…
References Include – TNG: Liasons; Dark Page; Menage a Troi; The Price; Force of Nature; Data's Day; Haven; Manhunt; In Theory; Time Squared; Legacy; Skin of Evil; Where No One Has Gone Before; Encounter at Farpoint; The Return of Sherlock Holmes: The Second Stain; Pushing Daisies: Smell of Success.
Thanks so very much for your reviews! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! :D