Chapter Thirteen

Rain was pouring down in sheets when the automatic taxi arrived at the racetrack. Ducking and shielding their heads with their arms, Tasha and Ned dashed for cover under the broad wooden awning that sheltered the doors to the main building.

"Ugh, I'm drenched!" Tasha grumbled, trying unsuccessfully to squeeze and shake the water from her hair and clothes. "I thought Earth was supposed to have the best weather control system in the quadrant. But look at this – the rain's bouncing off the ground so hard it's like it's falling up as well as down!"

"Weather control doesn't mean sunshine and flowers all year round," Ned said, courteously keeping his distance as he shook the rain off his jacket. "Plants and animals need rain too – even ice and snow in some places. The weather control system is there to help make sure conditions don't get too extreme."

"No major hurricanes, droughts, tornadoes, wildfires – I know. I spent four years on this planet, studying at Starfleet Academy," Tasha snapped. "I'm just annoyed, OK? I don't mean to take it out on you."

"A case of weather reflecting mood, is it?" Ned teased.

"What?" Tasha narrowed her eyes in confusion. "No. I don't know. What are you talking about?"

"You were pretty harsh with the android back there," Ned said softly. "I know it's probably not my place to say, but it looked like you really hurt him."

Tasha turned her eyes away and scowled.

"Data needs to get a clue," she said, roughly pushing her dripping hair back from her forehead. "One stupid intoxicated date does not make us life partners. God, it wasn't even a date! It was nothing!"

"If that's the way you really feel, then maybe you two need to talk," Ned said. "Unfinished business can—"

"Maybe you need to let this drop," Tasha countered, glaring the taller man down.

"All right, all right," Ned said, willingly backing away. "I get it, we're here for a reason. It's just…"

Tasha waited to see if he'd finish the thought, then frowned at him. "What?"

Ned pursed his lips and lowered his head.

"You see a lot of things, running a restaurant. And…you know…" He winced awkwardly and held up his gloved finger. "You get to learn a lot about people. About the regrets they carry around with them, even after they…"

He cleared his throat, then clasped his hands behind his back.

"I know your real problem isn't with Data, and so do you. But instead of facing up to whatever is really bothering you, you let him think—"

"I told him he's not my commanding officer anymore," Tasha snapped. "As long as Starfleet still thinks I'm dead, neither of them – him or Geordi – have any place giving me orders or telling me what I can and can't do. Why do you care anyway? None of this is your business!"

"You're dodging again," Ned said in his quiet way. "I get it. People in your situation often carry a lot of anger. The time you've lost. The experiences you've missed. The way the world and the people you knew seem to have moved on just fine without you there. It hurts, I know. It can even feel like a betrayal. But if you don't face up to—"

"Enough!" Tasha glared, then closed her eyes and took a calming breath. "Look, I'm not dodging anything," she said. "Starfleet trains its security officers to face all challenges head on." She frowned and glanced at her reflection in the glass door…the makeup concealing the dark mark left when that hateful Armus blob attacked her… "That's what gets us killed…"

Shaking away the memories, she turned and slapped the touchpad on the wall.

Due to inclement weather, all afternoon races have been rescheduled—, an automated voice began to recite through the comm unit. Tasha hit the talk icon and spoke right over it.

"Yar and Tompkins," she said. "We made an appointment to talk with the manager."

The doors slid open and she strode into the building without glancing back to see if Ned was following...

...or notice a second taxi pull up to idle in the rain, the figure in the back peering at them from under the wide, black brim of his hat...

"The Flagship was lost. Starfleet and civilian lives endangered. Recklessly, some would argue. But there are other words buzzing around the news circuits. Words this tribunal is certain to bring up. Sloppiness. Arrogance. Negligence."

Captain Bryce stood and strode around his desk to look the seated android straight in the eye.

"I have to warn you, Lt. Commander," the lawyer said somberly, "the optics here are not in our favor. The prosecution isn't about to pull their punches, so neither can I. Not now, and certainly not in court. And, given this whole 'emotion chip' situation, I can't overemphasize how much your bearing in court is going to matter. When you're called to the stand, stay calm. Dead calm. Answer the questions directly and concisely. Keep your gaze up and steady, keep your hands folded in front of you, and don't twiddle your thumbs!"

Data glanced down and noticed his fidgeting fingers, his white-gold face seeming to flush a deeper yellow as he quickly forced them to stop.

The mood in the JAG office had been grim and subdued when Data and Geordi arrived – an atmosphere that seemed even less promising once the two officers discovered their trial prep appointments with Bryce had been scheduled to directly follow those of Captain Picard and Commander Riker, both of whom had already been escorted out. Aides had similarly appeared to escort Data and Geordi the moment they'd checked in, taking Data straight to Captain Bryce's office while leading Geordi to the waiting room to pace and fidget as he awaited his turn on the grill.

"Let's recap the situation, shall we," Bryce said to Data, snatching up his padd as he moved to sit back behind his desk. "A state-of-the-art Galaxy class starship in tip-top shape encounters an eighty-plus-year-old Klingon mercenary wreck with defective plasma coils while orbiting the uninhabited M class planet Veridian III. Yes?"

Data eyed the JAG officer warily. "That is essentially correct, sir," he allowed.

Bryce grunted.

"A handful of shots are fired," he continued, "and – what do you know – within a few short minutes both ships are destroyed. In other words, and as the Klingon media delight in spinning it, the scrappy Klingon rust-bucket successfully felled the Federation's legendary flagship, sending it helplessly flaming into the Veridian sky. Do I have this right so far?"

Data frowned angrily. "Sir, your sarcastic intonation and severely truncated account seem intended to mitigate or overlook a number of key details that—"

"Don't get defensive," Bryce ordered so sharply, Data blinked. "Not only Starfleet, but the entire UFP is standing in public with egg on its face thanks to this debacle. The political ramifications are only getting started, and if the media should catch wind of you and your shipmates spouting self-serving excuses in court instead of direct answers, the effects will be quicker and more intense than pouring hot fat on a raging fire. I'm here to prevent that from happening. In other words, it's my job to defend you and your shipmates from the broader consequences of your actions that day, whether you appreciate it or not. Do you understand me, Lt. Commander?"

Data's head twitched and his golden eyes shifted to the side. "I believe I do, Captain," he said, much more quietly.

"I hope so," Bryce said, sliding his finger over his padd's square screen. "Because this is the Klingons' favorite part. The extra juicy bit the Klingons, Cardassians, Ferengi, Orions, and you guessed it, even the Romulans particularly enjoy spreading around the subspace networks. Of course, you remember how Captain Kirk's Enterprise was lost—"

"The ship was destroyed as part of a ploy to stop the threat posed by the Klingon Commander Kruge—" Data started, but Bryce quickly waved his arms.

"I was being rhetorical," he snapped, frowning. "I want you to remember this, Lt. Commander: never volunteer information on the stand. I know you know the history. My point is that numerous parties hostile to the interests of the Federation have been publicly drawing unfavorable comparisons between the destruction of your ship and that of its vaunted predecessor. A point that our opponent at the tribunal is certain to emphasize and that we must be ready to confront. Especially given the fact that Captain Kirk himself lost his life while fighting alongside Captain Picard on the surface of Veridian III - yet another layer of this kerfuffle pie we've all been forced to swallow."

Data shifted agitatedly in his chair. Fighting back the angry urge to retort, he set his jaw and squeezed his folded fingers even tighter in his lap.

"Now, please correct me if I'm wrong here," Bryce continued, "but it does appear that, unlike the circumstances surrounding the loss of Kirk's Enterprise, the thorough and unsalvageable destruction of the Enterprise-D was not an aspect of some larger trick or strategy on the part of your Commander Riker to foil his opponents. No, this crash was a direct result of a series of direct hits to the Enterprise stardrive section scored by the Klingon mercenaries' clapped-out ship during the brief…oh, let's be generous and call it a 'firefight'. And, to make matters worse, your captain was not aboard the Enterprise at the time this 'firefight' broke out. Was he?"

"Captain Picard had beamed to the surface of Veridian III in an attempt to prevent the El-Aurian scientist Dr. Tolian Soran from destroying the Veridian star," Data said flatly. "Soran planned to—"

"Irrelevant," Bryce snapped. "The correct response to this sort of question is a simple 'No, sir'."

Data pursed his lips together, but nodded. "No, sir."

"That's better," Bryce said. "I think you're starting to get the idea of how things work here. So, Lt. Commander, when Commander Riker realized your ship was vulnerable to attack by the Klingon mercenaries' energy weapons, did he initiate emergency procedures?"

"The Klingons had somehow managed to adjust the frequency of their photon torpedoes to match the modulation of our shields," Data said. "They fired without warning, their torpedoes hit our stardrive section close range at full force—"

"Lt. Commander Data," Captain Bryce said sharply. "Please confine yourself to short answers that directly address the given question. When the Duras sisters attacked the Enterprise near Veridian III and you realized the Enterprise shields were vulnerable to the Klingon ship's energy weapons, did Commander Riker – or any other member of the bridge crew – move to initiate standard emergency procedures? Yes or no?"

"Not exactly, sir," Data admitted. "We responded as if our shields had failed."

"Even though they were still functional?" Bryce pressed.

"Functional, yes, but ineffective in this immediate circumstance," Data attempted to clarify. "The commander's focus at the time was to find a way to subvert the Klingons' shields as they had subverted ours."

"Subverted." Bryce snorted. "But your shields hadn't failed, had they," he said. "The Klingons had merely aligned their energy weapons to match your shield modulation, thereby gaining the ability to penetrate your ship's protective energy field."

"Yes, sir."

"Did you consider altering the frequency and modulation of your shields to block the Klingon weapons?"

Data blinked.

"I initiated an ionic pulse, sir, at Commander Riker's command," he said. "As anticipated, the pulse reset the Klingon ship's defective plasma coils and triggered their cloaking device, automatically forcing their shields to drop. Commader Riker gave the immediate order to fire, and the Klingon ship was destroyed."

Bryce glared.

"Lt. Commander, you did not answer my question. I asked if you considered remodulating the Enterprise shields."

"At the time, sir, we did not know how the Klingons had managed—" Data started, but Bryce cut him off.

"What did I say about excuses?" he said. "The shields had been breached. According to your own log entries, Lt. Commander, since Stardate 44502.7, shortly following the Enterprise-D's rough encounter with an unstable wormhole, standard emergency procedure aboard your ship has included setting the shields to randomly shift their frequency and modulation in the event of penetration or attempted penetration. Is this true or false?"

"It is true, sir," Data acknowledged. "But, if I may add—"

"You may not," Bryce said. "To your knowledge, did anyone on the bridge or in Engineering attempt to remodulate your shields to block the enemy's attack?"

"The attack had come unexpectedly. We responded as quickly as—"

"Lt. Commander Data," Bryce said coldly. "Do your repeated attempts to deflect my questions imply that, in those brief, heated moments between initial shield penetration and the destruction of the attacking ship, there was no attempt made to determine how this rusty Klingon relic had managed to pierce the shields of the Federation flagship? Or to correct the apparent failure of the shields to block the hostile's energy weapons?"

"Again, sir," Data tried, feeling his voice grow oddly tight, "the focus at the time was to find a weakness in the Klingon ship we could exploit to—"

"If I'm not mistaken," Bryce interrupted, "the Duras sisters were essentially mercenaries for hire - hired, in this case, by Dr. Tolian Soran to serve as transport and muscle. They led small, pathetic operation in an outdated ship known for its defective plasma coils. In a situation like this, where two ships and crews are so obviously mismatched, is the standard objective to obliterate or subdue the hostile?"

"Subdue…" Data said cautiously, "but, sir, you cannot ignore the circumstance—"

"Then, why destroy the Duras sisters and their crew rather than take them and their ship into custody?" Bryce demanded. "Once you knew your ionic pulse had been effective, that the hostile's shields were down, your transporters could have—"

"Sir," Data said, his head twitching as he worked to cancel the sudden swell of what-if scenarios the captain's questions had prompted to flood through his positronic brain, "the threat the Klingon mercenaries posed to our ship and crew was immediate and direct. Commander Riker—"

"Evasive maneuvers were impossible?" Bryce pressed.

"A great deal of damage had already been inflicted on the ship's systems," Data told him. "Our navigation officer was injured, Counselor Troi had been ordered to replace her at the helm, and—"

"Then, you would argue Commander Riker's decision to employ deadly force was justified, given the circumstances?"

"Given the circumstances…" Data took a steadying breath and met Captain Bryce's gaze directly. "I would support the commander's decision."

"Lt. Commander Data," Bryce said, leaning forward. "Is it appropriate conduct for a senior Starfleet officer to cheer when an enemy vessel is destroyed with all hands?"

Data blinked, swallowing back a sudden strange chill.

"I…"

"That's all for now, Lt. Commander," Bryce said coldly, peering down at his padd. "There will be an official prep session before the tribunal starts. I will recall you here should I require further information before that. In the meantime, you are dismissed. Remember, you are not to leave the city."

"Sir," Data acknowledged, then stood and walked stiffly out of the room.

Only when he reached the main desk did the android realize his hands were shaking, his breathing had quickened, and he could feel his pulse pounding in his ears...

To Be Continued...

References Include - TNG: Sub Rosa, The Naked Now, Skin of Evil, Clues, Conundrum, The Drumhead; Star Trek: Generations; Star Trek III: The Search for Spock; Pushing Daisies (TV series); Paths of Glory (Kubrick, 1957).

Sorry for the long delay - I got really stuck on the Captain Bryce character and how mean to make him. After rewatching "The Drumhead," Kubrick's "Paths of Glory," and about a metric ton of "Law & Order," I ultimately settled on 'quite mean indeed'. But now I finally pried this sticky chapter out of my head, the next one shouldn't take so long. In fact, another chapter for this story, Often Wrong, and Mind the Gap are in the works, and Alternative Data and Skin Deep III are in line for updates too, coming soon! Thanks so much for reading! Stay tuned for more, and please let me know what you think! :D