The Complication

by CharlieFenwick

Data struggles to reconcile the discrepancies between Tasha's verbal and nonverbal communication during and after the events of Ligon II. "Am I the 'complication?" Data asked. Data begins to develop emotions. Tasha/Data fluff & angst. Data/Geordi friendship. Covers the events of TNG season 1 with- missing scenes, original adventures, and some mild AU retelling of events.

51. The Big Goodbye

Data's holodeck experience resurfaces some of his insecurities. When Commander Riker has a moment of self-doubt, Tasha rises to the occasion.

Author's Note: You all are simply the best! Each read, comment, and dm on twitter brings a smile to my face.

We're finally to The Big Goodbye which means we get another holodeck adventure and some fun for Captain Picard, Data, and Doctor Crusher.

It's another long one. I just couldn't bear to cut any of it. We're exploring Data's emotions in this chapter. And there are some important events that lay the groundwork for things in the future with Tasha.

While it's mostly focused on Data, I did want to touch a little on something that's bothered me since the original episode – during the middle of highly tense diplomatic situation in which Captain Picard cannot be retrieved from the holodeck, Riker gets up and leaves Tasha in command to join Geordi at the holodeck. Yes. That really happens in the episode (and it's a shame we didn't get to see her in command).

Not to throw Riker under the bus, but this is such an odd and bothersome move and I wanted to address it and I think it speaks to one of the underlying themes of his character development.

Notes:

Money: We know replicators cannot replicate things like precious metals or latinum. However, in our story antiquated paper money that is no longer of any value is something the replicator can fashion.

Language: As we know from DS9, universal translator technology is eventually able to pick up on and decipher new languages. However, it requires those languages to be spoken enough in order for the translator to identify and understand.

In this headcanon, there are several reasons why the universal translator has still not deciphered it. Tasha is the only Turkanan in Starfleet. She rarely uses the language. In addition, even on Turkana it is not frequently used (the Alliance and the Coalition having spent years trying to stamp it out). The other Turkanans that have fled typically use more common languages that the universal translator can decipher as they have no use for the language anywhere else.

---

Second Officer's personal log. Stardate 41736.5. We have just completed a brief stop at Starbase Coleman to drop off the Stargazer. She will undergo an assessment and evaluation before being retired to a shipyard.

The Enterprise is back underway on our mission to make diplomatic contact with the Jaradan people. I am eager to meet the Jarada. They are an insect-like people known for their idiosyncratic attitude toward protocol.

Mission preparations are on track, and I anticipate an eighty-three-point nine percent chance of success.

As part of our assignment, Captain Picard must deliver a precise greeting in the unusually complex Jaradan language. Even the slightest mispronunciation is regarded as an insult.

Despite his recent ordeal, Captain Picard seems more determined than ever to push on toward our mission. I find that-

Data paused as he heard the door to his quarters slide open.

Tasha stepped inside with a pair of boxing gloves slung over her shoulder.

She was sporting a cut above her left eye.

"Hey," she grinned.

"I take it your training session with Worf was not as successful as you would have hoped?" Data inquired.

"It was great," she replied as she pulled off her headband.

Tasha hissed as she pressed her fingers to the cut above her eye.

"He's getting much better," Tasha explained as she hung her gloves up on a hook near the door. "But we're going back to Taekwondo next week. I still need to nail that reverse hook kick, or I'll never advance past Lieutenant Quinn."

Data cocked his head to the side.

"I was not aware that the tournament bracket had been determined yet," Data commented. "Are the later rounds not decided based upon the outcome of the first round?"

They were still eight weeks out from the Enterprise's annual sparring tournament. Tasha was the reigning champion and not keen to lose her title.

She pulled her foot back to stretch her quad as she balanced on one foot.

"I'm up against Lieutenant Olivet in the first round. I'm not worried about her," Tasha commented. "Quinn's first match is against Ensign Baker. He's not going to have a problem advancing to the next round."

"Ah! Probabilities," Data responded.

Data was captivated with the human compulsion for activities that involved gambling and risk. Poker was a particular favourite amongst the senior officers and their weekly game was one of Data's best opportunities to study human behaviour.

He had never participated in the sparring tournament – even with self-imposed restraints, his reflexes and abilities were far too great to present any kind of fair match.

But Data had participated in the ship's betting pool.

"I feel it is only fair to inform you that I placed my bet on you sweeping the tournament," Data informed her. "Although, had I bet against you and should you be eliminated, the payout would be much greater."

Tasha stopped stretching and turned back to look at him.

"Of course, that is an unlikely scenario," Data added quickly.

Tasha grinned.

"I'm going to take a shower," Tasha said.

"I will be leaving in seven minutes to join Captain Picard for our weekly chess game," Data announced.

Data always looked forward to his weekly chess game with the Captain. They would share wine and discuss a piece of literature over a casual game. When Data had first joined the Enterprise, the Captain had been pleasantly surprised to learn of Data's fondness for the written word.

Both men found solace in their discussions on theory, philosophy, and character study. They had worked their way through the complete works of the likes of Shakespeare, Steinbeck, Voltaire, and the Klingon romantic poets.

As of late, they had been focused on one of the Captain's personal favourites.

"Then I guess I'll see you later," she replied.

Tasha stepped over to his workstation and gave him a peck on the cheek.

On her way to the shower, Tasha stopped by the replicator and ordered a topical menthol gel for her sore arms.

As soon as the door closed, Data resumed his log.

Human resiliency is a most fascinating trait.

"Computer, save log," Data instructed.

---

Data moved his knight to E7 and captured the Captain's pawn. Data removed the captured piece and added it to his growing collection on the side of the board.

"This Dixon Hill is a most puzzling character," Data said.

The Captain looked up from the board expectantly.

"His proclivity toward violence and detached demeanour make it seem unusual that he would choose a career such as private detective when he does not enjoy interacting with people," Data commented.

Captain Picard laughed.

"He's a bit of a crusty old scoundrel," Picard replied.

There was no denying that Dixon Hill lacked the attributes of a typical hero.

He was about to move his bishop when he spied Data's queen and thought better of it.

"That's the beauty of Dixon Hill. The stories are so gritty. They capture the essence of the era," Picard explained. "It was a time before Earth had solved the problems of plague and hunger, a world filled with political upheaval and economic crisis on the brink of the Second World War."

The Captain had a strange twinkle in his eye as he let his mind wander.

History and archaeology had always been the Captain's favourite pastime – and Dixon Hill held a special place in his heart. There was something alluring about mid-century Earth in particular that Captain Picard had always been drawn to since his days at the Academy.

"The Spanish Civil War, the Satyagraha movement, the ecological devastation of North America's farmland," Picard went on. "It was an era of famine and poverty."

"And you believe Dixon Hill captures the human compulsion to survive," Data postulated. "The character's cynical attitude is a façade designed to endure the harsh conditions of his reality although his inner dialogue indicates he is, in fact, motivated by an ethical compulsion."

Captain Picard was stunned.

"It is a motif of hope even in the darkest of times," Data added.

"Yes!" Picard said excitedly.

He sat back in his chair and looked quite pleased.

None of his other comrades had quite appreciated the Dixon Hill stories like that before. Jean-Luc had introduced Beverly to them ages ago. While she had found them entertaining, she didn't exactly share the Captain's deep philosophical admiration for the ancient pulp novels.

"Have I said something wrong, sir?" Data inquired.

"No, no," Picard assured him. "It's just a rare treat to find someone else that shares my regard for the character."

Data relaxed.

"It is your move, sir," Data reminded him.

Captain Picard chewed on the inside of his lip as weighed his next action. In the end Captain Picard decided to go with making an attempt to capture Data's rook using his remaining bishop. Data saw through the plan and quickly captured the piece.

"How far have you gotten?" Picard asked.

There were a total of forty-three Dixon Hill stories that had been published between the 1930s and 1960s. They were mostly pulp novels churned out by a long-defunct publishing company that was infamous for cheap romantic thrills, dark gangster stories, and western novellas.

"I started with The Long Dark Tunnel," Data answered.

It was the first of the Dixon Hill stories. He had found them to be a deviation from the typical mystery stories he had analysed. It was certainly a departure from the likes of his beloved Sherlock Holmes.

Thus far, Data had read through eight of the Dixon Hill stories.

"I have just completed The Fog Settles. I found the ending to be anticlimactic," Data paused.

A pained look crossed his face.

"Did I miss something in that story?" Data asked honestly.

When had completed the story, he was left wondering why it had ended on such a disappointing note.

There had been no grand reveal.

No plot twist.

The initial suspect – a hooligan employed in seedy gambling operation – had been the murderer. His motives were straightforward, and he had been sloppy in covering his tracks.

"That was the point of the story," Picard assured him. "For me, it demonstrates the sad futility of someone attempting to escape poverty when all the world was pitted against him. It's a tale of tragedy, of senseless violence, and Hill's dissatisfaction with having to accept such circumstances in order to survive himself."

"Indeed," Data said as realisation struck. "Thank you, sir."

He glanced down at the board and moved his queen.

"Checkmate," Data announced.

Captain Picard glanced down and realised that Data had once again beat him.

"To your victory," Picard said as he raised his glass to the android.

Data nodded politely and joined the toast.

"You know I can't wait for this Jaradan mission to be over," Picard shared.

"Your rehearsal on the holodeck showed remarkable improvement," Data said.

Data, Deanna, and Commander Riker had joined Captain Picard for a series of practice runs on the holodeck in preparation for their greeting to the Jarada.

"You know the holodeck has a number of Dixon Hill stories available as holonovels," Data advised.

One of his favourite recreational activities was to join Geordi and Chief O'Brien for a variety of holodeck programmes. They did everything from kayaking and adventures on the high seas to gladiator battles and historic exploration recreations.

Data had never seen the Captain utilise the holodeck for personnel use and suspected he had been unaware of the presence of the Dixon Hill programmes.

"Really?" Picard asked.

He was intrigued.

Jean-Luc couldn't recall the last time he had been so drawn to the idea of trying something new.

Should I? He contemplated internally.

He had never done such a thing. Jean-Luc had certainly used the holodeck for educational purposes and trainings. But he wasn't sure it was seemly for a Captain to be seen flitting about the ship in costume on his way to a holonovel.

Data noticed a shift in the Captain's behaviour.

His knowledge of the Captain's personality led him to one conclusion.

"Sir, if you are concerned about the appearance of a senior officer using a holonovel, consider that Lieutenant La Forge, Chief O'Brien, and I use it for such purposes once a week. Worf has numerous fitness programmes. Commander Riker frequently enjoys holodeck trips to the Tendian salt baths of Orion," Data said.

Indeed. Picard mused to himself.

He'd certainly seen Commander Riker coming back from his time at those Tendian salt baths and though there were times his First Officer had enjoyed them a little too much.

But Jean-Luc had to admit that Data had a point.

"You know, Data, I think you may be right," Jean-Luc said.

It certainly wasn't outside the realm of possibility for the Captain to take on the personae of a 1930s gumshoe. It was a far cry from what he knew a fair number of his crew were using the holodecks for.

"I think once this Jaradan mission is complete, I'm going to try it out," Captain Picard said.

"You will have the opportunity to interact with characters from the stories as Dixon Hill himself," Data explained.

The world of Dixon Hill was filled with a plethora of intriguing stock character archetypes – villainous mobsters that oversaw vast criminal enterprises of underground smuggling, money laundering, and gambling. There were femme fatales intent on tricking Hill, seducing him to distract from his case. Ancient police officers like McNary – Dix's friend on the inside that was torn between wanting to solve the case by any means necessary but trapped working inside the lines of the law.

"Rex's bar. McNary. Madeline," Picard said fondly.

Madeline was Dixon Hill's long-suffering secretary that ran his office. She was a street-smart modern woman for the era and handled Hill's affairs with ease – chasing down new cases and keeping Dix on track.

"And Carlos," Data added.

"The gentleman thief?" Picard asked to clarify.

"I find him a most captivating associate of Mr Hill," Data shared.

"I'm not quite sure 'associate' is the right word for it," Picard teased.

A sometimes rival and occasionally reluctant ally, Carlos was a character shrouded in mystery. His precise origins were unknown other than he was from somewhere in South America. The character featured a seemingly endless toolkit of stealthy skills and even greyer morals than Dixon Hill himself.

Carlos Salazar was a fan favourite among Dixon Hill buffs, and it didn't surprise the Captain in the least that Data had found himself drawn to the character.

Captain Picard got up from his desk and stepped over to the cabinet where he kept his wine.

"Would you like another glass?" Picard inquired.

"I am afraid I must decline," Data replied.

It was already after 21:00 hours and Data was itching to get back to his rooms. It had been seven days since Data had caught Tasha attempting to hide something on her PADD device in his quarters. He had felt awful when she'd confessed it was a surprise for him.

With each passing day, his curiosity had only grown. But despite his best sleuthing attempts, Data could not figure out what she had up her sleeve.

"Of course," Picard said in understanding. "I have no wish to delay you from your evening."

"Thank you, sir," Data said.

He nodded politely and then stood to leave.

"Data," Picard said, stopping him just before he reached the door.

"Yes, Captain?" he asked as he turned around.

"I wanted to apologise for what I said to you the other day," Picard said.

Jean-Luc knew his statement had been uncalled for. Yet under the influence of the Ferengi device, Jean-Luc had struggled to contain his irritability.

Data cocked his head to the side. He didn't follow.

"I made a series of disparaging remarks about you and Lieutenant Yar," Captain Picard reminded him. "I accused you of failing to separate your personal relationship from your professional responsibilities."

"It is quite alright, sir," Data assured him.

"I'll make my amends with Lieutenant Yar personally," Picard said.

He knew how seriously the two of them took their duty to Starfleet.

"You were gatit i faibre afari," Data shrugged.

"What?" Captain Picard asked.

He had never heard this strange phrase before.

"Forgive me, it is a phrase Lieutenant Yar uses. It means the clay pot of your mind has boiled out," Data explained.

Captain Picard quirked an eyebrow at Data.

"Perhaps there is something lost in the translation," Data surmised.

"Translation?" Picard asked.

"The universal translator does not understand the Turkanan language," Data informed him.

Jean-Luc smirked.

"You're learning her language?" he asked, charmed by the notion of it.

"Yes, sir," Data replied.

Captain Picard gave Data a small smile.

"Is something amusing, sir?" Data asked.

He didn't quite understand the Captain's reaction.

"I'm glad you have one another, Data," Picard replied.

---

By the time he reached Tasha's quarters, Data was practically giddy.

He stepped inside and found the lights were off.

"Tasha?" he asked.

There was no response.

He could not hear the sound of her breathing which meant she wasn't hiding somewhere. He also could not hear the sound of the tap which meant she wasn't in the shower.

In fact, he could hear nothing aside from the gentle hum of the life support system.

"Tasha?" Data asked as he stepped through the door to the bedroom.

The room was abandoned.

Data stepped back out into the main room of her quarters. He was about to hail her with his combadge when his eyes fell on an object on the coffee table.

It was an envelope.

Underneath the envelope was his calabash pipe.

A mystery! Data realised. And this must be a clue!

Data opened the envelope and read the first clue.

Love is constant, just like my light. At the back of the ship I power our flight

Data popped his pipe into his mouth and set off into the night.

---

When he reached the view window in the aft section of deck seven, Data found the area was deserted just as Tasha's quarters had been.

There was a small lounge area that was rarely utilised by the crew.

It overlooked the nacelles below.

On a chair next to the window was another envelope. Beside it sat a bottle of whisky.

Inside was a second clue.

Love is a story. A journey that must be took. For the treasure you seek, you know where to look.

Data frowned.

With the bottle of whisky in tow, he set off for his next destination.

From the clue, he knew precisely where to find the second clue. But he would need to have a discussion with Tasha on the subject of grammar.

---

The Library onboard the Enterprise was an interesting place. It featured a number of study facilities for students and crew alike. There was electronic media available via the ship's computer and a replicator dedicated strictly for producing replicated books, sheet music, and study materials.

There was even a book reprocessor for whenever someone wanted to recycle a physical book they had completed.

It was a place Data and Tasha visited frequently to select new titles. Data also found the atmosphere to be conducive to working. In a way, it reminded him of his time at the Academy.

There were a few people mingling about the Library. A team from the Stellar Cartography department was in the corner pouring over an ancient Vulcan star chart for fun. The Engineering team book club was meeting around one of the larger tables to discuss their latest read. And Wesley Crusher was seated at one of the desks as he typed vigorously on his PADD to complete his Exochemistry homework.

There were literally hundreds of books throughout the Library, but Data had an inkling that he knew where to find his next clue.

There was only one location that made sense.

Data pulled a copy of The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes off the shelf that housed Terran fictional classics. He flipped it open to the first Holmes story, A Scandal in Bohemia.

There was a third envelope tucked inside the story.

Love is fluid and surrounds us with its warm embrace. Now find your way home so I can-

Data slammed the book shut and glanced around to ensure there was no one nearby.

He slipped the note out of the book and was grateful that androids couldn't blush.

With the third clue firmly in hand, Data turned and set out for his quarters.

"You'll be needing this," Wes said as he tossed a bag at Data.

Data caught the pouch with ease. He opened it to discover there was some kind of finely ground material inside. Sniffing it, he identified the substance as ground Andorian moon salt.

Bath salts. Data mused to himself as he made for the nearest turbolift.

---

When he reached his quarters, Data found that the lights were off in the main room. He heard a familiar sound as Tasha pulled her hand out of the water in the bath.

Data stripped off his uniform and tossed it into the garment reprocessor. He reached into the wardrobe to retrieve his dressing gown and found it was missing.

He frowned and turned to the door that led to the lavvy.

Data tapped the controls and it slid open. Tasha grinned and bit her lip, resting her chin on top of her folded arms on the edge of the tub.

"Hi," she said.

She motioned with her eyes to his dressing gown, hanging on a hook along the wall.

"You didn't bring the book," Tasha commented.

"My dear, I do not require the book," Data assured her.

There were two empty glasses on the counter – each with one large round ice chip waiting for a dram of whisky to free the water from its frozen state.

"Data, I-" Tasha started to say.

Data put a finger to his lips to signify silence and then turned to the glasses on the counter.

"To Sherlock Holmes she is always the woman," Data recited.

He opened the bottle and poured two glasses, filling them with the amber liquid that they shared an affinity for.

"In his eyes she eclipses and predominates the whole of her sex," Data continued, reciting the text.

He knelt down next to the tub and handed her a glass.

"Watson said that Holmes could not feel emotion for her. He claimed that all emotion was contrary to what he described as Holmes's cold and balanced mind," Data went on.

It wasn't merely Holmes's methodology that drew Data to the fictional sleuth. The idea of a character with a brain that couldn't shut off, someone who also struggled to connect socially, and a person that didn't function in the same way as other people but was still beloved was a welcome thought to Data.

He raised his glass to her.

"And yet, there is but only one woman to him," Data concluded.

Tasha's grin grew wider, and she raised her glass to him before taking a sip.

Data slipped into the opposite side of the tub. He didn't quite experience it the same way humans did. Nonetheless, he could appreciate being surrounded by warm water and pleasant aromas. There was a certain relaxing quality to the atmosphere that he found serene.

"Taken," Data said suddenly.

"What?" Tasha asked, perplexed by the odd comment.

"The word is 'taken.' Journey to be taken," Data clarified. "Not 'took'."

"I'm not terribly good at rhyming," Tasha confessed.

She smirked.

"But you'll find that I am rather taken with you, Mr Data," Tasha said knowingly.

Data's bioplast was incapable of changing colour. But it was evident he was feeling shy.

"Tasha, anyone could have found that note," Data said bashfully.

He looked down at the water and then back up to her. Data's breath hitched.

She took the glass from his hand and set it on the floor next to the tub. Then, Tasha crawled toward Data with a predatory gleam in her eyes.

---

Second Officer's personal log. Supplemental. Stardate 41736.7. I frequently find myself at a loss for words to describe Lieutenant Natasha Yar. She is both my colleague and fellow officer, a lover, and a friend. Before our recent trip to Earth, we agreed on using the term 'partner' to label the nature of our relationship.

But I am constantly reminded that she is so much more than that.

And what we share cannot, perhaps, be properly conveyed in words.

At times, she is so affectionate that I find myself taken aback that anyone could view me as desirable. But I know her intentions are genuine, and I can only describe the feeling as one of pleasure at the confidence it instils in me. When I need it most, she is my most devoted supporter – encouraging me and reminding me to assert myself when needed.

I am often left wondering what I have done to deserve such compassion and how I can ever thank her.

Though, she expects nothing from me. She has often made similar remarks that she feels, as she says, lucky to have me.

So many of the stories we read together are on the subject of the universe being a cold and cruel place. But I believe the gentleness with which we choose to love one another is evidence to the contrary.

Data ended his log and instructed the computer to save it. He'd been speaking in a tone so low it was too soft for human ears to perceive.

He glanced down at Tasha. She was asleep, curled up against him and resting her head in the crook of his arm.

"Goodnight," Data whispered before pressing a soft kiss on the top of her head.

---

"Unless it's followed by?" Captain Picard trailed off as he paced across the floor of the Observation Lounge.

"The double bars indicate an elongated 's' sound," Deanna reminded him.

"And the inverted 't' means to hold the 'zed'?" Picard asked to clarify.

"Unless?" Deanna prompted.

Captain Picard abruptly stopped pacing and turned to the table.

"Unless it's followed by three wavy lines, in which case the 'zed' becomes a 'b'!" he finished brightly.

The Captain sighed.

"What a language," he remarked.

He sat down at the end of the conference table and rubbed his temples.

"But you spell 'knife' with a 'k'," Deanna pointed out.

"I spell 'knife' with an 'n.' But then, I never could spell," Picard quipped in response.

"The Jaradan language is unique compared to most other peoples known to the Federation," Data said. "But given that they are one of the only known insect-like minds that we have encountered, it is possible such language anomalies are, in fact, commonplace for them."

"My mind is barely working," Picard lamented.

They'd been at it for hours in the Observation Lounge – running and rerunning his speech in preparation for the meeting with the Jarada.

They were less than twenty-four hours out from the historic mission and Deanna was beginning to suspect that the Captain needed to step away rather than continue.

"Why don't you take a break?" Deanna suggested.

"No, no," Picard dismissed. "I want to go over this again."

"Sir, you are over-preparing," Deanna said bluntly. "You have time. Captain, you need a diversion."

"Dixon Hill," Picard said suddenly as he snapped his fingers.

"The programme is installed and waiting, sir," Data reminded him.

---

Thirty minutes later, Jean-Luc Picard was back in the Observation Lounge with his senior staff.

He had come straight from the holodeck.

The experience had exceeded his expectations in every possible way.

The streets of 1930s San Francisco had been everything he could have imagined and more. People bustling about with their suits and hats. Taxis beeping to one another. Newspaper men hawking stories on the corner.

Madeline had been just as feisty as her character in the books. The illusion was simply flawless. Jean-Luc was delighted. Although the characters he had met were all holographic, they had seemed so real and lifelike.

His one mistake was failing to enter properly attired.

Jean-Luc had paused the programme and stepped back into reality. He was planning to return to his quarters to replicate period appropriate attire.

But first, he needed to warn his crew that he would be incommunicado for the remainder of the afternoon.

"And when I looked down into the street, I actually saw automobiles!" Picard shared.

"Automobiles?" Worf asked in confusion.

"An ancient Earth device used primarily for transportation," Data explained.

"Ah," Worf replied.

"Also seen as a source of status and virility," Data added. "Often featured as a motif in contemporary entertainment and a prime ingredient in mating rituals."

Will Riker smirked.

"From that window, I could see an entire, ehr-" Picard snapped his finger as he tried to think of the word that was on the tip of his tongue.

"City block," Data finished for him.

"That's right!" Picard agreed. "This sounds. The smells!"

It was just the horns and trolley cars that had seasoned the experience – there was an odd conglomeration of odours as the delicious scent of vendors selling knishes, pickles, and oysters from push carts mixed with the acrid, choking smell of petrol from the cars.

"You make it sound so real," Beverly said.

"That's how it felt," Picard replied.

"Incredible," Beverly said in astonishment as she stood up to wipe the lipstick off his face.

Jean-Luc felt slightly embarrassed. He had been so enthusiastic about the experience, he had nearly forgotten about the kiss from the mysterious Jessica Bradley that had been waiting in his office.

"I'm going to go again," Picard announced. "That's why I've asked you all here. I'd like to spend the afternoon in the programme and take my mind off things for a while."

He was relieved that the crew was supportive of this idea.

In fact, they were all grateful that Captain Picard had finally decided to give himself a wee break.

"Why not come with me?" Jean-Luc suggested to Beverly. "I'm going to dress the part. We could make a day of it?"

She enjoyed the Dixon Hill stories – not exactly with the same depth of appreciation, but she was a fan, nonetheless.

"I'd like that," Beverly responded.

An afternoon alone on the holodeck sounded like a wonderful idea.

She grinned at the Captain.

She was giving him that look.

What have I gotten myself into? Jean-Luc panicked internally.

He realised that an afternoon alone with Beverly out of uniform might not be the best way to maintain a proper professional distance.

"I want to take that twentieth century historian," Jean-Luc added quickly.

"Whalen," Beverly answered, feeling slightly dejected.

"Yes, Whalen!" Picard said as he clasped his hands together triumphantly.

With a third person along for the journey, it meant he would have ample cover to avoid saying or doing anything he shouldn't.

"Shall I notify him, sir?" Data inquired.

As the Chief Science Officer, Whalen fell under Data's department.

"Invite him, Mr Data!" Picard encouraged. "This is simply a recreational activity."

Data tapped his PADD and sent off a quick message to Whalen with the Captain's invitation.

"The sense of reality was simply incredible. When that woman kissed me, it was so-" Captain Picard trailed off, suddenly embarrassed that he had crossed a professional line.

"Exciting?" Deanna prompted with a smirk.

"Real?" Geordi teased.

"Electrifying?" Riker added.

"Long-time coming?" Beverly quipped.

Captain Picard cleared his throat to signal the end of the jokes about his personal life.

"Alright, alright," Picard said. "Shall we meet on the holodeck in twenty minutes?"

"It's a date," Beverly responded with no intention of subtlety.

"Sir? May I request permission to join?" Data inquired.

"Of course!" Picard said as he slapped Data on the shoulder.

He dismissed the team. Contrary to his usual manner, Picard was the first to leave.

He had a date with 1930s San Francisco and was eager not to miss another second.

"Someone's in a good mood," Geordi observed.

"Clearly, he let it go four whole comments before clearing his throat," Tasha added.

"Indeed," Worf concurred.

"I'm just glad he's taking a break," Deanna said.

---

"So you're going to step onto the holodeck with the Captain?" Geordi asked as he and Data made their way down the corridor.

"Dixon Hill is an intriguing character," Data responded.

"More so than your beloved Sherlock Holmes?" Geordi pressed.

It wasn't just to be polite. Tasha had shot Geordi a look during the briefing and he took the hint. They'd already spent months of work researching and writing a Sherlock Holmes holodeck programme for Data. They were only about halfway complete.

If Dixon Hill was suddenly his newfound fixation, they didn't want to have to change course part way through. While there were wonderfully immersive Dixon Hill programmes, they couldn't hold a candle to what Geordi and Tasha had planned for Data and his Sherlock Holmes programme.

"I do not believe anything will ever quite top my appreciation for Holmes," Data assured him.

Geordi breathed a sigh of relief.

"But I do find Hill intriguing," Data explained.

"So you're off to do whatever it is you do as a private eye?" Geordi teased.

"I have got to make tracks to get to the holodeck in time," Data responded.

He was keen to use some of the period slang he was familiar with from the stories.

"That way we can put kibosh on whatever scheme the goons are up to," Data went on. "Hopefully we can gift them a nice pair of iron bracelets and a trip to the big house so Dix and I can get lousy with the giggle juice and a dame or two."

Geordi stopped and bit back a grin.

"Data, I don't understand a word of what you just said," Geordi admitted. "But I sure hope you have a good time."

"I was attempting to employ a variety of colloquialisms from the era. Did you find them convincing?" Data asked, eager for feedback.

"Indubitably, my dear Data. Indubitably," Geordi grinned.

---

Right on time, Data joined Captain Picard and Lieutenant Whalen outside of the holodeck. He was especially pleased with his ensemble. He had selected the pinstripe suit himself along with a wide tie. Even his undershirt had been carefully chosen. It had small gold pinstripes, nearly invisible against the white, but Data thought it brought out his eyes.

As a last-minute decision, he'd selected a white Panama hat as an homage to his favourite character – Carlos.

Both Captain Picard and Lieutenant Whalen were dressed in similar suits.

Albeit no pinstripes.

Over his suit, Captain Picard was wearing Dixon Hill's signature trench coat and fedora.

"Ready for San Francisco, lads?" Picard asked.

"More than ready," Whalen responded.

"I think it is the bee's knees so to speak," Data commented. "Will Sawbones be joining us on this outing?"

Captain Picard looked at Data for an explanation.

"I am attempting to utilise appropriate slang as I am totally verse in the genre of the period," Data said.

"Sawbones?" Picard questioned.

"Doctor Crusher," Data clarified.

"She'll be along in a while. She said to start without her," Picard informed them.

The arch slid open to reveal the city of San Francisco – people milling about, steam rising from a sewer vent, and an endless chorus of car horns as they fought to make it through the traffic jam.

It had rained recently as was evident from the wet pavement.

"Extra! Extra! Read all about it!" a vendor shouted.

Captain Picard waved them across the street to the newsstand. It seemed as good a place as any to gather information about the story. His previous encounter with Ms Jessica Bradley hadn't given him much to go on. She was a minor character in a handful of the Hill novels and Picard couldn't remember the exact details of her case.

"Hey Dix! How's Trix?" the Vendor asked.

"Oh, she's fine," Picard responded.

"He actually thinks you're Dixon Hill," Whalen whispered in awe.

Captain Picard smiled.

"Say, Mac. I would like to buy a newspaper too, but I don't have any money on me," Picard said.

He would need to remember to research and replicate period appropriate paper money for his next trip inside.

"Catch me next time, Dix," the vendor replied as he passed Captain Picard a copy of the morning paper.

"Thank you," Picard responded.

He opened the paper and scanned through the headlines.

"Hitler on the move. Roosevelt presses Congress for British aid. Dee-maa-gee-oh streak reaches thirty-seven?" Picard trailed off.

"DiMaggio, sir. Jolting Joe. The Yankee Clipper," Data explained.

"You been living under a rock, Dix?" the Vendor asked.

"Oh! Baseball," Whalen said, catching on. "It was a national obsession at the time."

"It seems this is rather big news," Picard commented.

It clearly must have been as it had taken such a prominent place on the front page of the morning paper.

"What do you know about it, Mr Whalen?" Picard inquired.

"Don't look at me. My speciality is labour history," Whalen explained.

"The streak they refer to will eventually reach fifty-six games and be snapped by a pair of journey hurlers for the Cleveland Indians," Data recited.

The newspaper vendor chuckled.

"Cleveland?" he claimed. "Ha! They ain't got no pitchers! They never got no pitchers. What are you, fresh from the funny farm or something?"

"The record will stand until the year 2026, when a shortstop for the London Kings-" Data tried to say.

"Dix, what gives with this guy?" the Vendor questioned as he turned to Picard. "He's not from around here, is he?"

Data stopped talking immediately.

He was used to people talking about him rather than with him. But he hadn't expected such a response from a holographic character.

It was a cruel reminder of his synthetic nature.

He had carefully selected his costume and worked so hard to blend in with the holograms – yet even they could see he was different.

Is this bitterness? Data thought to himself.

Whatever it was, it didn't feel good.

"Erh, no," Picard said.

He glanced back at Data and could see his Second Officer's face fall at the Vendor's comment.

"He's from South America," Picard said. "This is my, um, associate Carlos."

Data's breath hitched.

Captain Picard sighed in relief. It was his hope that introducing Data as Carlos would lift his spirits. From the way Data's eyes lit up, it appeared to have worked.

"Yeah. He's got a nice tan," the Vendor said under his breath.

Data overheard the comment. He glanced down at his dark pinstripe suit and wondered if a lighter colour would have been more appropriate. It certainly would have made him appear less pale.

"Sir," Data said as a lightbulb went off in his mind. "If DiMaggio's streak just reached thirty-seven games, then that would make today the twenty-fourth day of the Earth month of June. 1941."

"Very good, Mr Data," Picard remarked as he checked the date on the corner of the paper.

"That would also mean this is The Big Goodbye," Data added.

Captain Picard stopped reading and glanced around as realisation hit.

The Big Goodbye was one of the most infamous Dixon Hill novels.

The author had originally intended the story to end with that instalment. Several minor recurring characters like Jessica Bradley had met their end in one manner or another. The infamous mobster Cyrus Redblock escaped Hill's trap only to be killed in the end by a heart attack. Meanwhile, Redblock's henchman Mr Leech fled to Switzerland.

While those stories were wrapped up, the fate of Dixon Hill was left as a cliff-hanger. Having been shot by Mr Leech the ending was left ambiguous whether he survives or not.

After years of pushback from fans, the author relented and resumed the series. But there was nearly a decade-long gap. The Big Goodbye wasn't just merely another story – it signified a shift in the tone and direction of Dixon Hill as a character.

"It makes Redblock the Big Cheese, and your fate is unknown," Data added.

Captain Picard flipped through the pages of the paper until he stopped on one of the inside headlines.

"Wealthy Socialite Murdered," Picard read aloud. "I should have listened to her. She told me someone was trying to kill her."

For a moment, Captain Picard forget that they were holograms. He felt awful. She had sat in his office and begged for his help.

"She came to me for help, and I dismissed her," Picard lamented.

Data could see the Captain was bothered by this plot point. Reading the stories was one thing – living them was an entirely different experience.

Data surmised that given his recent experience with the Ferengi, Captain Picard was likely struggling with the notion of failing to save someone.

"Sir, you could not have changed the outcome," Data advised. "It is, after all, a holonovel."

"Captain, she's a page from a book," Whalen added. "That's all she ever was."

"I'm getting quite caught up in this," Picard said as he took a breath to steady himself.

"Well, well, look what the cat dragged in," a gravelly voice said. "You sure seem nervous, Dix. And I'd say with good reason."

Data glanced around by their feet in search of a stray feline.

"Cat?" Data asked.

The two men in suits who had approached the trio looked Data up and down.

"Where the hell did he come from?" the older one asked.

"South America," the newspaper vendor chimed in.

The older man stepped forward and leaned in close, just a few inches away from Data's face.

"Wherever you're from, while you're in my town, you keep your nose clean," he threatened.

Data cocked his head to the side. He fetched his handkerchief from his suit coat pocket and wiped the top of his nose. His bioplast had certainly not registered any debris or filth on his face.

"It's a phrase, sir," Whalen whispered.

"Oh, thank you," Data responded.

Data accessed his internal informational database on human idioms and deciphered the meaning of the phrase. If these two men were encouraging him to abide by the law it likely meant they were officers of the law.

Coppers. Data thought as he recalled the slang of the era.

His suspicion was confirmed when one man pulled a pair of handcuffs out.

"Well, tough guy, this time you've really done it!" the older man said. "Your goose is cooked but good."

"I'm sorry about this, Dix," the younger man apologised as he cuffed the Captain.

"Don't apologise to him. Where were you last night between ten and midnight?" the man demanded.

"That would be a tad bit difficult to explain," Picard answered honestly.

He could not recall the specifics from the story in regard to where Hill had been the night of the murder.

"Uh, Carlos?" Picard asked.

Surely, Data would have the answer.

"If today is the twenty-fourth then that must make you gentleman Detectives Bell and McNary," Data said as he walked through the story. "Which means you are being arrested for the murder of Jessica Bradley."

"And just how would you know about Ms Bradley's murder?" Bell demanded.

"It was in the paper," Data replied simply.

Captain Picard chuckled at Data's response.

"You've got nothing to laugh about, Hill," Bell barked.

"It doesn't look good, Dix," McNary advised.

"The alibi, Carlos," Picard said.

"But sir, in the text Mr Hill has no alibi on the night in question," Data responded.

The older detective laughed now.

"Some attorney you've got," he quipped.

Data frowned.

"I am not Mr Hill's attorney," Data said, correcting the detective. "I am Carlos Salazar, the internationally renowned art and jewel thief. Wanted in forty-eight countries. It is suspected that my crimes are motivated out of a desire for the thrill of it rather than any financial need. My heists are typically – what are you doing?"

Data glanced down as McNary slapped a second pair of cuffs on him.

"Congratulations. You've earned a free ride down to my office," Bell informed him. "Let's take chatterbox here downtown along with Mr Hill."

"Sometimes, Mr Data, there is such a thing as too much honesty," Picard said.

"Anything you want to confess to?" Bell asked as he turned to Whalen.

"Oh, I'm just along for the ride," Whalen smiled nervously.

---

Meanwhile on the Bridge, Tasha noticed an odd sensor reading.

"We're being probed, sir," Tasha advised.

"Status report," Riker ordered.

"The Jarada?" Deanna suggested.

"Most likely," Tasha advised. "But it's long range. Further than our sensors can detect. I can't be certain of the origin point, but it is within the direction of the Jaradan Sector."

Without warning, the ship suddenly began to shake as a powerful energy pulse from the probe passed through the vessel. The controls on the Bridge flickered and it caused several systems to briefly malfunction – turbolift doors opening and closing, a terminal in stellar cartography crashed, and the replicators in the canteen briefly spat out liquid polymer before resetting.

"One could get the feeling they don't exactly trust us," Riker grumbled.

"Commander, we're receiving a subspace message from the Jarada," Tasha reported.

"That's not part of the plan," Riker thought aloud.

All of a sudden, the tension on the Bridge jumped to an eleven. Everyone was high alert. The idea that something might be going off-book with the Jarada had all of the Bridge crew on edge.

"They're sending another message, sir," Tasha advised. "Audio only."

Riker knew he had to make a decision and fast. There wouldn't be time to consult with Captain Picard.

"Pipe it through," Riker ordered.

"En-ter-prise," the transmission began.

The Jarada voices were strange. They sounded slightly higher pitched than typical humanoid voices. It was almost as if somewhere were toying with the playback speed of an audio recording, albeit it was simply the vocal element that was distorted and not the tempo.

"We speak to you in your language," the Jarada announced. "The time has come to honour us in ours."

Riker turned around and looked to Deanna, Tasha, and Worf.

He clipped his hand across his neck to signal for Tasha to cut the transmission.

She cut the channel to ensure nothing they said was transmitted back. Tasha nodded to Riker to signify it was safe to speak.

"What are they doing here?" Riker demanded. "The rendezvous isn't for another twenty-four hours."

"Shall I notify the Captain?" Tasha asked.

"Get him up here, quick," Riker ordered.

"They are early," Worf growled in disapproval.

"So are we," Deanna countered.

She sat forward and folded her hands on her lap.

"Perhaps the Jarada also wished to be early as we did," Deanna suggested. "From all the available information, they consider this meeting to be just as important as we do."

"Sir, I can't raise the Captain," Tasha advised.

She had made four attempts. While the Computer registered he was on the holodeck, it could not establish an audio channel to Captain Picard.

"I've tried Data and Mr Whalen too," Tasha explained. "No response."

"Of all the days for holodeck malfunction. I thought we had those fixed?" Riker bellowed.

He tapped his combadge.

"Riker to Engineering," he said.

"La Forge here," Geordi responded a second later.

"Geordi, I want you to get over to holodeck three and find Captain Picard," Riker commanded. "Something's gone wrong and we've lost communication inside the holodeck."

"Aye, sir," Geordi responded.

Tasha's Tactical console was blinking again.

"Sir, the Jarada are demanding a response," Tasha reported.

"Alright, open a channel," Riker said, deciding the risk of delay was greater than the risk of responding poorly.

He tugged his shirt down and straightened his posture.

"This is Commander Riker, First Officer of the Enterprise," Riker replied.

"You are not Captain Jean-Luc Picard," the Jarada said.

It was difficult to tell from their voice if this news had angered them.

"No, I am not," Riker admitted. "We were not expecting you until tomorrow. At the moment, our Captain is not available. However, as soon as he is-"

"You offend us!" the Jarada snapped. "We will not speak with a mere subordinate! We will await your Captain's greeting with growing unrest."

The situation had quickly derailed.

"We apologise for the offense," Riker said in a calm voice. "We were not anticipating communication this early and-"

"Jsharhan eeebwault, jasarhaark nkeltozzz, eeis wan jasharhrim," the Jarada said.

Riker turned to Deanna. She had worked closely with Captain Picard and had the most experience with the Jaradan language.

"What are they saying?" Riker asked desperately.

He needed to know how to respond.

Deanna put her finger and grabbed her PADD as she scanned through her notes to help decipher the message.

"Deanna," Riker pressed.

"They've cut transmission, sir," Tasha advised.

Riker turned to Deanna.

"They said if you are early you are on time and if-" Deanna began to translate.

"And if you're on time you're late," Riker finished for her.

He said down in the Command Chair and scratched his chin.

"Why do I get the feeling we're meeting with the pernickety Professor of an 07:00 class everyone at the Academy dreads?" Riker asked rhetorically.

---

Down on the holodeck, Beverly straightened the seams of her stockings as the arch opened.

"Enter when ready," the computer advised.

Beverly moved to step through the arch, but the doors began to close.

On instinct, she stepped back

The doors stopped and opened.

"When ready," the computer said.

Beverly tried again, only for the same thing to reoccur.

"When ready, when ready," the computer repeated as Beverly stepped through the arch.

She wobbled slightly on her stiletto heels as she stepped inside the programme and found herself standing in an ancient police station.

In the corner, she spied a woman that was dressed in a similar fashion to her own costume. The woman sat down in a nearby chair and then pulled her skirt up a little to flash her leg at the thug sitting across from her.

"C'mon toots," one of the officer's said as she was escorted to his desk for questioning.

Beverly stopped just in front of the desk sergeant and pulled out a small compact mirror to powder her nose.

Unbeknownst to her, the desk sergeant behind her was enjoying the view.

Beverly spied him a moment later in the mirror.

"Something on your mind?" she asked as she applied a fresh coat of matte powder.

In the mirror, she could see him grin behind her.

"Yeah, but I'm not sure it can be repeated in mixed company," he said.

Beverly closed her compact quickly and returned it to her purse.

She turned to tell him off and he offered her a stick of gum.

"Sorry," he apologised. "It's just, well, you're a pretty hep looking broad and um-"

He swallowed hard.

"Is that a good thing?" Beverly inquired.

She suspected it was. But the sergeant was clearly nervous, and Beverly was having fun toying with him.

"It ain't bad," the sergeant said in a bashful voice.

Beverly took the stick of gum and popped it into her mouth. Chewing gum was something that had fallen out of fashion nearly two centuries ago and she had not anticipated the unique flavour. Beverly couldn't quite put her finger on it – somewhat fruity, lightly sweet, and certainly artificial.

It tasted pink.

Although pink was a colour and not a flavour, Beverly couldn't think of any other word to adequately describe it.

"You like Tommy Dorsey?" the sergeant asked.

It was a name Beverly was familiar with. Her background in dance meant she knew all the classics.

She nodded honestly.

"I got two tickets for the dance hall tomorrow night where Tommy Dorsey and his orchestra is playing," the sergeant said. "That is, if you's the kind of broad that can dance. You sure got the gams for it."

Beverly swallowed her gum.

"Doctor," Whalen said with a small wave as he approached her.

"Mr Whalen," she smiled. "You know I had some trouble getting through. Everything alright in here?"

"No problems so far," Whalen answered.

All around them were people bustling about – hired thugs waiting to be booked, officers working at their desks, and two men fresh from a fight.

"Where's Captain Picard? What happened to Data?" she asked.

"They're being interrogated for murder," Whalen said.

Beverly got a shiver of excitement at the thought.

"For me, I'm having a blast just people watching. They may be holographic, but it's a pleasure to speak with these characters, to hear the world of 1941 in their own voices," Whalen shared.

Whalen glanced around the station with a broad smile. For a historian, this trip to the holodeck was a dream come true.

"Why aren't we all being interrogated?" Beverly asked.

"The Captain is having the time of his life," Whalen assured her. "And Data, well, let's just say I don't think they fully understood what they were getting into. C'mon."

Whalen took her hand and guided her through a set of doors as they snuck back to watch the interrogations.

---

Beverly and Lieutenant Whalen watched from one end of the specialised two-way glass mirror that allowed them to observe.

"It's astounding," Whalen commented. "You know this technology was available at the start of the twentieth century, but not commonly employed for such purposes until much later."

"It is fiction," Beverly reminded him.

On the other side of the mirror, the detectives were growing weary of Captain Picard. True to Whalen's assessment, Jean-Luc seemed to be enjoying himself.

"Spill it!" Bell demanded as he slammed his hands down on the table.

Captain Picard looked up slowly.

"I've already told you everything I know," Jean-Luc replied in an even tone.

Bell glowered down at the Captain who was sitting comfortably at the opposite end of the table.

"Well, you'll just have to tell us again," Bell snarled. "From the top!"

"Oh very good!" Picard responded with amusement. "You see I've read all this before, you know. It's absolutely as it should be."

They had gone through Picard's story again and again in an effort to try and suss out any deviation in the tale from the fictional Hill. Now that he had some time to reflect, Jean-Luc recalled the details of the story.

He also recalled that the character of Detective Bell was a real blowhard – and that the two often found themselves at odds with Hill taking great delight in teasing Bell with his easy-going manner.

"Spill it, Hill!" Bell demanded. "This time, we've got you good! We found your business card in Jessica Bradley's purse. Did you leave it as a calling card? Certainly seems your style."

---

Across the corridor, two other detectives were having a heyday listening to Data.

"Upon a secondary search of the Bradley Estate you will find that the glass on the first-floor window was, in fact, broken from the inside indicating that it was merely a ruse to mislead the authorities into believing it was a break-in," Data explained. "Ms Bradley knew her attacker and likely let him in herself."

The officer across the table was writing furiously in his notepad.

"Furthermore, the blunt object with which Ms Bradley was murdered was also an attempt to cover up the small bullet hole where she was shot at close range in the back of the head," Data continued. "The coroner should discover that during his examination of the body later today."

Having been fully versed in the details of the plot, Data was keen to try and help the authorities.

"Such bloodless carnage was a common trope in the era," Data went on. "When in fact, any wound from a projectile would have actually resulted in far more obvious trauma to surrounding tissue."

"And you know this how?" the detective asked.

Data was happy to explain.

Only, Data completely misunderstood the question.

"As I have said, my name is Carlos Salazar. While I predominately engage in crimes of intrigue like nonviolent jewellery heists, it is heavily implied that I participated in Augusta Cesar Sandino's rebellion in Nicaragua, was a member of the January Junta in Chili in 1925, and escaped from Buenos Aires in 1931 before I could be executed alongside other Argentinian anarchists," Data said.

The detective blinked in bewilderment.

"Such roles have provided my character with significant knowledge on the subjects of stealth, conspiracy, and forensics," Data explained.

The detective sighed and closed his small spiral notepad.

"Alright Mr Salazar," the detective said. "You just sit tight."

---

Outside the holodeck, Geordi arrived with his toolkit and set to work.

His initial showed the computer was running Dixon Hill Holonovel - File 18 . There was no obvious sign of any issue or communication problem.

Geordi tapped his combadge and attempted to hail the team on the holodeck. After a few moments with no answer, Geordi conducted a level-three scan of the holodeck computer.

There was no obvious answer.

The programme was running with no errors or unusual power surges.

As a precaution, Geordi checked the surrounding area for any possible explanations to the communication blockage but came up empty-handed.

When he attempted to open the holodeck manually, the computer did not comply.

"Computer, end programme," Geordi ordered.

He repeated the command, but there was no response from the computer.

It was impossible to tell if this was simply an error within the programme itself, or an issue with the computer's communication interface.

Geordi reached into his tool kit and extracted a sonic driver.

"Alright, if that's how you want to do it," Geordi shrugged.

He opened a secondary access console and began to disconnect the programme interface. He got as far as the secondary backstop when he noticed there had still been no change.

Geordi stopped and took a step back.

The final remaining circuit would wipe all matter on the holodeck. It was typically only employed when there were severely corrupted holodeck files that needed to be manually terminated.

Geordi activated his communicator.

"Barclay, I need you to meet me at the holodeck. Bring a hyperspanner and portable power control unit," Geordi advised.

Geordi detached his VISOR and rubbed his forehead for a moment. The situation was beginning to give him a headache.

If he wasn't careful, he could permanently erase the energy pattern of the Captain and everyone else on the holodeck – including Data.

If things weren't already bad enough with the Jarada. Geordi thought bitterly.

Geordi reattached his VISOR and then shook his arms and shoulders.

Stay cool, La Forge. Geordi encouraged himself.

Commander Riker was counting on him.

Hell, everyone was counting on him.

"No pressure," he said aloud as he hooked up his tricorder to analyse all recent holodeck activity.

"Geordi, do you have the Captain?" Riker's voice rang out from his combadge.

"Sir, I'm at the holodeck but something has gone wrong," Geordi replied. "I can't enter the holodeck or shut it down."

"What are you saying?" Riker demanded.

"There's no communication and I can't access the programme. I can't even open the arch," Geordi informed him.

There was a pause on the other end as Commander Riker tried to collect his thoughts.

"ETA?" Riker asked after a few seconds.

They needed to stay focused on a solution.

"I can't give you an answer on that, sir," Geordi replied honestly. "I've got a diagnostic engineer on his way up to assist me, but without knowing the cause it's hard to pinpoint a timeframe for fixing it."

---

Inside the holodeck, the crew shared in Commander Riker's frustration.

While Captain Picard had enjoyed toying with Detective Bell, he was starting to grow restless. He had been in the interrogation room for nearly forty-five minutes, and they were going over the same material time and again.

"And you claim you never met Ms Bradley before she came to hire you?" Bell inquired.

"I've already told you that several times," Picard replied in agitation.

"Yeah? Well, you're going to have to go over it again," Bell snapped.

Captain Picard sighed and leaned forward.

"Look, fellas, this is no longer amusing," Picard confessed.

He was beginning to regret being so tricky with Bell given that it hadn't done much to endear him to the staunch detective. Bell knew Dixon Hill couldn't be sincere.

Having reached the boiling point, Bell lunged at Captain Picard.

"Whoa! Easy," McNary said, stopping him.

"You think you're tough, Hill, but you're nothing! Nothing!" Bell shouted as McNary pushed him toward the door.

Bell slammed the door on his way out.

Just around the corner, Beverly and Lieutenant Whalen pretended to be choosing a soda from a nearby antique machine. Bell glared at them as he strolled past.

"Don't take him too seriously, Dix. He just needs to blow off some steam. His old lady's been giving him a hard time. You know how it is," McNary said in a soothing voice.

Though more soft-spoken than Bell, McNary was often the voice of reason among the pair.

"Actually, I really should be getting out of here," Picard said.

In the original story, Hill was interrogated by the pair for suspicion of the murder of Jessica Bradley. But he was quickly released for lack of evidence.

Captain Picard was ready to get on with the story.

"I think they're going to let you go soon," McNary advised.

He sat down on the edge of the table and motioned to the door with his head.

"Seems your friend Carlos is singing like a songbird in interrogation room three," McNary advised.

Captain Picard's eyes widened.

Data. He thought.

"He's got a theory on how Ms Bradley was murdered. So, we had the medical examiner check into it," McNary said. "Now either your friend is some kind of psychic, or he was in that house."

Captain Picard took a deep breath.

Data was an unknown element in the story. Carlos wasn't even supposed to make an appearance in this particular Dixon Hill instalment.

"Your buddy's telling Greene and Hawthorne all about sneaking some jewels out of the country right under the nose of the krauts," McNary said. "Every time we ask him a question, he's got three more confessions for us. It's like the guy doesn't know he's digging his own grave!"

I've created a monster. Picard thought with alarm.

He had to find a way to get Data out. It wouldn't be fair to leave him in the interrogation room. That was no way to spend a holodeck afternoon.

Before Jean-Luc could formulate a plan, there was a knock on the window.

"Okay, Dix. That's the signal. We're cutting you loose," McNary explained.

"That's welcome news," Picard grinned as he smiled.

Jean-Luc pulled his jacket off the back of the chair and slung it over his shoulders. McNary handed him his hat off the hook on the wall. Jean-Luc put it back on head and adjusted the angle for just the right look.

"I wouldn't leave town if I was you. Dix, look. We know you've had some dealings with Redblock lately," McNary said quietly. "Take it from a friend, it doesn't help your case."

Redblock.

Cyrus Redblock to be particular.

Or, as Data called him, 'the big cheese.'

Redblock was a career mobster that oversaw a vast criminal enterprise. He ran San Francisco's seediest underground operations. Those that crossed him had a nasty habit of disappearing in the bottom of the bay courtesy of a pair of cement shoes.

McNary opened a silver cigarette case. He popped one into his mouth and offered a second one to the Captain. Jean-Luc had never partaken in such a hobby. Although his native France was one of the last remain bastions where people like his brother still clutched onto the ancient practice, it had fallen out of fashion centuries earlier.

Curious, Jean-Luc grabbed one of the cigarettes and popped it in his mouth in imitation of McNary.

"Thanks, Mac," Picard said as McNary offered him a light.

Jean-Luc took a deep breath and inhaled the burnt tobacco. It was somehow both aromatic and acrid.

He coughed as it burned his throat.

McNary frowned. It wasn't like Dixon Hill to choke on a cigarette.

"Say, Dix, when are you coming over for supper? The kids would love to see you. And you know how much you love Sharon's cooking. It's a helluva step up from the gut-rot you usually eat," McNary teased. "Why don't you stop by tonight?"

"I'd love to, Mac, but I've got another engagement this evening," Picard responded.

He slipped into his trench coat and tied the waist.

"Is she blonde or brunette?" McNary joked.

Captain Picard chuckled.

Dixon Hill did have quite a reputation as a ladies' man. It was such a stark departure from the Jean-Luc Picard his staff knew.

Oh Jean-Luc had experienced his own fair share of those days in his youth, but since taking command of a starship, they were long past.

"She's a lady alright," Picard replied with a knowing grin.

It was such a joy to pretend.

"And her name is Enterprise," Picard finished.

McNary's brow wrinkled as he took a long drag from his cigarette. He'd never heard of a name like that and could only think of one possible explanation.

"Sounds like a working girl to me," McNary commented.

"She works like nothing you've ever seen," Picard replied.

A concerned look crossed McNary's face.

"Sounds like a one-way trip to a year of mercury injections," McNary said darkly. "You know better than to be seeing them working girls, Dix."

"She's one of a kind!" Picard said enthusiastically.

He laughed. McNary couldn't begin to comprehend the Captain's joke, but it was highly amusing for Jean-Luc.

"And you've been seeing this broad?" McNary inquired.

He couldn't remember the last time Dixon Hill had gotten serious with a woman. He had plenty of ex's and had been on the receiving end of his fair share of slaps to the face for his rogue ways.

"I spend every night inside her," Picard said with a jaunty smile.

McNary was shocked.

"I'll stop by the office with a bottle of whisky, and you can tell me all about her," McNary quipped as he opened the door to the corridor.

Captain Picard stepped out of the interrogation room and stopped.

Beverly had joined them.

And she looked simply radiant.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

"Have a good time?" Beverly asked.

"I don't know," Jean-Luc responded. "It all seems so real. I must say, you wear it well."

She was wearing pink. She never wore pink.

He took a shaky breath as they held one another's gaze.

"I'm glad you could make it," Picard shared.

"Thank you, Mr Hill," Beverly replied with a grin.

Captain Picard nodded slowly.

"Maybe we should be getting back to the Enterprise?" Picard whispered.

"We're on the Enterprise," Beverly reminded him.

"Enterprise?" McNary asked, breaking their moment of wordless intimacy.

Captain Picard physically took a step back as he suddenly felt far too close to Beverly.

McNary looked the doctor up and down and then flashed Captain Picard a subtle thumbs up.

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance miss Enterprise," McNary said.

Well, Hill certainly wasn't lying when he didn't respond to his question about her being a blonde or brunette.

"This is your lady, then? The one you," McNary paused and cleared his throat.

Captain Picard blanched.

He had not anticipated this nor had it been his intention to put Beverly in such an awkward position.

Picard glanced from McNary to Whalen, unable to even think of looking at Beverly.

For his part, Whalen bit back a smile.

"Every night?" McNary whispered in amazement as he leaned in close to Jean-Luc.

Only McNary wasn't nearly as subtle as he thought he had been.

Jean-Luc opened his mouth to correct the situation, but Beverly beat him to it. She had a fair inkling that there had been a misunderstanding.

"Oh Mr Hill is quite generous with his time," Beverly said as she stepped forward and put her hand on the Captain's chest.

Jean-Luc froze.

"One could say he's the best Dick in San Francisco," Beverly added.

Captain Picard's face was hot. She could be vicious when she wanted to be.

'Dick' was a slang word used during the era to refer to detectives. It was frequently employed throughout the Dixon Hill stories.

But everyone in the corridor knew that hadn't been her intention.

"Say, McNary," Picard said, desperately feeling the need to shift the conversation. "There's something you should know about my associate, Carlos."

On the other side of the glass, Data was babbling on about the similarities between this case and another one of Hill's previous entanglements.

"If you test the ballistics from Ms Bradley's murder you will find that the bullet came from a Colt 1911 pistol," Data explained. "It is the same single-action, magazine-fed, recoil-operated pistol that was used when Ginger Galloway was murdered in 1938."

That had been the Dixon Hill novella The Midnight Liaison. Both cases featured similar motifs with an attractive, but lonely socialite iced by Redblock's associate Mr Leech.

"You see, Mr Salazar has an alibi for last night," Picard explained. "He was, well-"

Captain Picard trailed off as he tried to work up the nerve to say what needed to be said in order to break Data out of custody.

"Ask him about his relationship to Enterprise," Picard said.

McNary gave the Captain a sceptical look. He knocked on the door. The detective that had been taking notes paused and poked his head out.

McNary and the detective whispered something to one another. After a short conversation, the detective stepped back into the room and sat down across from Data.

"Enterprise," he said. "What do you know about her?"

Data sat back and blinked.

"I serve her, and she is my home," Data replied simply.

"And you were there last night?" the detective asked.

Data frowned.

"Of course," Data answered, confused. "But how do you know about the Enterprise?"

Out in the corridor, McNary glanced over to the Captain.

"And you were there too, Dix?" McNary asked.

Hill had claimed he was there every night.

"It was a busy night," Beverly said as she traced the buttons on the Captain's trench coat.

McNary nodded quickly and stepped into the interrogation room.

"Doctor," Jean-Luc said under his breath.

"Why should you be the only one that gets to have fun?" Beverly whispered in response.

---

Ten minutes later, the four of them were free to leave but under instruction not to leave town.

If I leave town, town goes with me. Picard mused to himself.

"Hiya, Doc! What is cooking?" Data greeted.

He stepped out of the back of the station and adjusted his tie in a nearby mirror.

"Hello, Carlos," Beverly replied.

"That was really something to be put on ice like that," Data commented.

"Pardon?" Beverly asked.

"Being grilled," Data clarified.

Beverly bit back a grin.

"What are you, a fish?" she teased.

Jean-Luc was right. Data really had thrown himself into the part.

"Well, we still have the afternoon ahead of us and a mystery to solve," Picard announced. "If I'm not mistaken, our next stop is with the late Ms Bradley's husband."

Jean-Luc offered his arm to Doctor Crusher and the four of them set off down the street.

---

Up on the Bridge, the tension was reaching a critical level.

Geordi and Lieutenant Barclay were no closer to identifying the problem with the holodeck and the Jarada were growing increasingly angry.

They had hailed the Enterprise again and were demanding to know Captain Picard's ETA.

"Dammit we need to tell them something," Riker barked.

He stood up and began to pace across the Bridge.

"What if we were to pull back our position, leave the area?" Riker suggested.

"I don't recommend that course of action," Deanna advised. "They could take it as an insult or worse, think that we did not prepare."

"In any case, the Jarada are a match for our speed," Tasha added. "They could close in on us in a second and we're no match for their weapons systems."

Riker stopped pacing and scratched his chin as he considered their options.

"It's a helluva time to be at the top," he sighed.

"Your orders, sir?" Wesley asked from his position at the helm.

A beat passed.

"Maintain all stop," Riker ordered. "And let's pray Geordi has a stroke of luck."

There was nothing Will Riker loathed more than waiting around.

He sat down in the Command Chair and rapped his fingers on the arm rest in irritation.

Behind him, Tasha tensed as the Tactical console began to blink again.

"Sir, the Jarada are hailing us again," Tasha reported.

Commander Riker closed his eyes and took a slow breath.

Deanna could sense just how agitated he was by the situation. There was nothing worse than playing the waiting game.

Riker leapt out of his chair.

"Tasha, take over. I'm going to holodeck three," Riker said as he strolled toward the turbolift.

Tasha's throat grew tight.

She had been in command before and served on Night Watch once a week. Tasha had no qualms about sitting in the big chair – but this seemed hardly the time or place.

"Commander, respectfully," Tasha said. "Your place is on the Bridge."

"I can't sit around any longer and wait for news from the holodeck," Riker replied.

"Then I will go, sir," Worf offered.

He agreed that Commander Riker needed to remain on the Bridge.

"Sir, Geordi doesn't need us down there in his way," Tasha cautioned.

She shared his frustration, but she understood how important it was to let Geordi work. He didn't need Commander Riker down there hovering over him.

The Tactical console beeped again signalling the Jarada were still waiting.

But Commander Riker needed to get off the Bridge.

"Will?" Deanna questioned in shock.

"Commander?" Worf barked.

He was horrified that Riker could not see what he was doing. An acting Captain had no place leaving during the middle of a crisis.

"Sir, the Jarada-" Tasha protested.

"You've got a way of diffusing situations," Riker assured her. "You two can handle this."

Deanna and Tasha looked at one another in disbelief.

"Hell, probably better than I can," Riker quipped awkwardly before jumping onto the lift.

As soon as the doors closed, he breathed a sigh of relief as it carried him down and away from the Jarada mess.

On the Bridge, the Jaradan hail was still awaiting a response.

Tasha felt immobilised by fear of making a grave error.

She couldn't shake the thought of what had occurred during the last incident between a Starfleet vessel and the Jarada. Briefly, she could empathise with Riker's desire to focus on the holodeck problem.

Tasha tapped the screen.

"Enterprise, what is the delay?" the Jarada demanded.

"We apologise, it is not our intention to offend you," Tasha said in a steady voice.

"You are not Captain Jean-Luc Picard," the Jarada observed in disgust.

"No," Tasha replied. "We are experiencing an issue with our communication systems and-"

She hoped that the Jarada, though offended, would appreciate honesty.

"I'm Lieutenant Natasha Yar," she said, introducing herself.

There was a pause.

A dark look crossed Deanna's face.

"We have been further downgraded to speak with a lower subordinate?" the Jaradan delegation hissed. "Are we unworthy of your Captain's time?"

Tasha looked to Deanna for advice on how to respond. She needed help in finding a response that was least likely to trigger a violent response.

"You are most certainly worthy of our Captain's time, and he will be most honoured to greet you," Tasha said.

There was no response.

They needed to buy time for Geordi.

Worf silently stepped over to take over the Tactical console as he shooed Tasha to take her place in the big chair.

She didn't need to worry about the sensors at a time like this.

"I-I'm Lieutenant Yar, our Chief Security and Tactical Officer. It would be a great honour if I could speak with my counterpart on your vessel," Tasha said without breaking eye contact with Deanna.

Deanna nodded and motioned with her hands, showing her support for this plan.

It played right into the Jaradan sense of superiority.

"I would very much like to speak with your Tactical Officer," Tasha searched her mind for the right name. "In preparation of such a historic moment."

She had read it dozens of times in various reports.

"Siiiandaebisu!" Tasha finished triumphantly.

Everyone on the Bridge held their breath as they awaited to see if the Jaradan response would be friendly or violent.

"We will arrange a meeting in one hour," the Jarada announced.

Deanna and Tasha couldn't contain their excitement.

Tasha pumped her fist in the air and Deana shouted in triumph.

"Wait, is the channel closed?" Tasha asked in alarm.

She couldn't live with herself if she had just embarrassed the entire Enterprise to the Jarada.

"They cut the channel on their end immediately after finishing their statement," Wesley assured her.

Tasha exhaled heavily as Deanna gripped her shoulder.

"They are maintaining position, no change in course or speed, weapons remain offline," Worf reported. "Well done."

"At least we've averted disaster for the moment," Deanna grinned.

"And bought Geordi some time," Tasha said nodded.

Surveying the room, she knew that everyone was on edge – it wasn't just the Jaradan situation or the holodeck malfunction anymore. Commander Riker's choice to leave the Bridge had sent a wave of unease through the crew that were present.

Tasha knew she needed to project confidence.

She ordered them to maintain all stop and assured them of a job well done in staying cool. A part of her wanted to order the other officers to take a short fifteen-minute break to allow them to step away for a moment and grab a cuppa or stretch.

But she didn't want word of what had happened with Commander Riker to get around the ship. Things like that were how rumours got started. And right now, it was important for everyone to keep working free of the knowledge that the First Officer had essentially bolted under pressure.

"Now we wait," Tasha declared as she sat down in the Command chair and eyed the Jaradan ship on the viewscreen.

---

Their meeting with the late Jessica Bradley's husband had gone about as productive as Data had expected. In the original story, Arthur Clinton Bradley was not a friendly character.

The widower had every possible motive to want his wife dead – a healthy insurance policy, a troubled marriage, and rampant jealousy of his outgoing wife's numerous admirers.

"So he's nothing but a red herring?" Beverly asked.

The four of them were walking down on the pavement on one of the streets that led back toward the centre of the city.

It was beginning to get late and the gas lamps that lined the street began to come on. Fog had settled and was hanging low, clinging to the city as if to suffocate it.

This was the San Francisco of Dixon Hill.

The city where the likes of Felix Leech and Jimmy 'the Butcher' Kuzo waited in dark alleys to complete their dirty deeds before using the fog to slip away.

Captain Picard pulled up the collar on his trench coat.

"Yes, Doctor," Picard answered. "He's part of the mystery and certainly contributed to the untimely demise of his wife. But Mr Bradley did not pull the trigger."

"Shame, he's such a creep," Beverly remarked.

"Indeed," Data said in agreement. "Given their obvious dislike for one another, it makes one wonder how they ever could have fallen in love."

Mismatched marriages were a recurring theme in the Dixon Hill stories. While they made for excellent storytelling, Data had a hard time understanding the practicality of such arrangements.

"You see, Bradley orchestrated the theft of the item, but then Jessica found out," Whalen began to explain.

Whalen was moderately familiar with the plot of the original story.

"And this item is why she was killed?" Beverly inquired.

"Jessica Bradley discovered the stolen item and recognised the item's importance," Data said. "Suspecting that her death was eminent, Jessica Bradley mailed the item to Dixon Hill just before her murder."

"What is it?" Beverly asked eagerly.

"That's the real mystery," Picard answered. "No one knows."

Beverly looked to Data for clarification.

"The true nature of the item is never revealed in the story. It arrives by mail after the Dixon Hill character is gravely wounded," Data informed her. "The courier sent to deliver the package is the individual that discovers Hill has been shot."

"When I initiated the programme, I did not realise this was The Big Goodbye," Picard confessed. "I believe we'll all enjoy it more if we exit and then launch a different Hill story. Perhaps The Crystal Spectre ?"

"You do not wish to complete this story?" Data surmised aloud.

"No, Mr Data. I do not," Picard said.

The idea of being shot on the holodeck wasn't quite the adventure Jean-Luc had been looking for. The Big Goodbye itself was such a dreary mystery. Captain Picard had been hoping for some excitement, a real brain-stimulator.

All of a sudden he stopped walking.

"Sir?" Whalen inquired.

"I just remembered The Crystal Spectre is no good. Carlos is in that story," Picard said as he snapped his fingers. "We can't have two of you."

"It is quite alright, sir," Data assured him. "I had fun while it lasted. I do not need to-"

"No! No!" Picard said, cutting him off. "We're going to find one. I just need a moment to think about it."

Jean-Luc crossed his arms and began to tap his foot.

After a few seconds, he growled to himself in frustration.

His mood wasn't the only thing growling – it had been several hours since he'd had anything to eat or drink. And it was hard to think on an empty stomach.

"Why don't we head to Ten Forward, grab a late lunch, and decide on a new mystery?" Picard suggested.

Beverly checked the wristwatch that was part of her costume.

"I'm afraid I do need to be back to Sickbay in ninety minutes," Beverly said. "But I'd still love to join you all for lunch. Do we have time to see your office before we leave?"

She had been hoping to spend a little time on their own.

"Yes, of course. Why not?" Picard smiled as he offered her his arm.

"Mind if I join you?" Whalen inquired.

"Yeah, me too, boss!" Data said. "I would love to take a gander."

Beverly rolled her eyes. It seemed they were not going to get a moment alone.

---

When he reached the holodeck, Commander Riker found Geordi and Reg Barclay hard at work.

There were tools spread out across the floor, pieces of console panels and isolinear chips strewn about.

"Have you tried the intercom system?" Riker asked.

Geordi stopped working on one of the pathways he was attempting to test and turned to look at Commander Riker in surprise.

"Sir, what are you doing here?" Geordi asked, shocked by his appearance.

"Have you tried the intercom?" Riker repeated, ignoring Geordi's question.

"Yes," Geordi assured him.

It was the very first thing he had tried.

Riker paid no mind to Geordi's answer and tapped the button to activate the intercom.

"Riker to holodeck. Riker to holodeck," he called out.

Geordi watched as Commander Riker attempted to make contact with the Captain. He was utterly confused by Riker's presence and odd behaviour.

"Sir, the intercom is not functioning," Geordi said. "We have already ruled that out."

Commander Riker released the button for the intercom and then turned to the circuit board that Lieutenant Barclay had.

Geordi and Reg had been combing through each pathway to identify where there was a breakdown.

"What about these relays?" Riker asked.

Reg made a face.

"Sir, those have already been tested and are functioning correctly," Barclay informed him.

"Why don't I take a look and you can work on something else?" Riker suggested.

"Stop," Geordi ordered.

Riker stiffened.

"Commander, please," Geordi said in a softer voice.

"What can I do?" Riker asked.

He was desperate to be assigned a task.

"Not a thing," Geordi explained. "Sir, no offense, but this problem requires advanced Engineering expertise. That's not exactly your forte."

It was a risky statement.

Geordi could see that Commander Riker was in quite a mood. He was desperate for a distraction, something to help.

At heart, Will Riker was a First Officer. And a First Officer's duty was to protect the Captain.

"The Captain is on that holodeck," Riker said as he pointed at the arch.

"So is my best friend," Geordi said.

"We have to get this fixed," Riker protested.

"Sir, we have to go through this millimetre by millimetre," Geordi sighed.

He put his hand on Commander Riker's shoulder.

"Right now, your duty is on the Bridge, sir," Geordi told him.

Geordi's combadge pinged.

"Bridge to La Forge," Tasha's voice rang out.

"La Forge here," Geordi responded.

"Geordi, we bought you another hour," Tasha advised. "But I'm not sure if we can delay beyond that."

An hour wasn't nearly enough time – but it was a small sliver of relief.

"Understood," Geordi acknowledged.

"Also, I'm sending acting Ensign Crusher down to assist you. He's got a theory that the Jaradan probe we encountered could have corrupted the Holodeck memory files," Tasha said.

---

Captain Picard, Data, Doctor Crusher, and Lieutenant Whalen stopped in front of the antique wooden and glass door that housed Dixon Hill's office.

His name was printed on the fogged glass in bold, thick lettering.

"The holodeck makes excellent use of finite space," Picard said as he opened the door and ushered them inside.

Data was fascinated by the reception area. Madeline's desk was off in the corner. There was an antique radio recapping the daily news. A calendar from a local feed store hung on the wall behind it.

"And through here is my office," Picard said, motioning them on.

He flipped the clicker on a standing lamp by the doorway and the light came on.

"Ah, Mr Hill," a sickeningly sweet voice said. "You have been avoiding me."

He didn't need to introduce himself. Data knew instantly who it was.

"Felix Leech," Data said aloud.

Leech appeared surprised that Data recognised him.

"You know me?" Leech inquired.

"I have read-" Data began to say, but Captain Picard cut him off.

"I'm very sorry, Mr Leech, but we have to be going," Picard announced.

He did not want to re-enact the big reveal scene where Leech shoots Hill – especially not when he was in the shoes of the title character.

"Please call again tomorrow," Picard said.

He motioned for the rest of the crew to leave with him. They could go back into the corridor and call for the arch.

Leech stepped forward to stop Picard from closing the door.

"You are being quite rude, Mr Hill," Leech said. "You haven't even introduced me to your charming companions."

Leech flashed Beverly a grotesque smile.

"Tomorrow," Picard said. "Freeze programme."

Nothing happened.

"I said we have business," Leech insisted, pulling a gun out from his suit coat. "Urgent business."

Everyone stopped moving. Captain Picard put his hands up. Beverly, Data, and Whalen all followed his lead.

"You are not going anywhere. Not until we have a wee chat," Leech said in a menacing tone.

It was as if he enjoyed terrorising them.

He motioned with the gun for them to move away from the door. The four of them backed away toward the desk.

"I am not a man to be toyed with, Mr Hill. I know she mailed you the object. Now, I demand to know what you have done with it," Leech said.

The object. Data thought with dismay.

For all of the possible stories they could have wound up in, it had to be the one with the mysterious object. Dixon Hill fans had spent centuries theorising what the object could have been, but there was no clear answer.

"I'm afraid I cannot help you, Mr Leech," Picard apologised. "I do not have the object. The game is over."

We're not that far along in the plot. Picard mused.

Mr Whalen decided it would be the perfect opportunity to flex his historical re-enacting chops.

"Take it from me, Leech. You'll never find it," Whalen said as he stepped forward. "Now, give me the gun. We've got you outnumbered."

There was a small 'pop' and Whalen stumbled. He glanced down at the wound on his chest, baffled by the pain. Suddenly, Whalen fell onto his back.

Beverly applauded. It was an excellent scene.

"But they're not real. The, the safety-" Whalen gasped.

He touched the wound and then held up his hand to examine the blood on his fingers.

All of a sudden, Beverly realised this was not a performance for their benefit.

She jumped down off the desk and was at Whalen's side in a flash.

"Massive internal bleeding caused by a projectile weapon," Beverly said. "We have to get him to Sickbay."

"How could this happen?" Picard demanded as he looked to Data for an answer.

They had not disabled the safety parameters. Whalen should not have been injured.

Captain Picard fought a shudder as he realised that according to the plot, he was next.

"It will happen again if you do not cooperate," Leech warned.

Wordlessly, Captain Picard conveyed his orders to Data.

Simultaneously, Data and the Captain sprang forward to disarm Leech. Data grabbed the gun while Captain Picard popped him on the nose for good measure.

"You struck me!" Leech shouted as he held his broken nose. "How dare you!"

That was not a part of the script.

Data took hold of Leech by his suit coat and tossed him out of the office. Leech scrambled to his feet and ran off.

Captain Picard shut the door behind him.

"Computer, arch," Picard ordered.

Data and the Captain glanced around, but no arch appeared.

"Computer, exit!" Picard said tersely.

Nothing happened.

"Data to Bridge," Data said, attempting audio communication.

There was only silence.

"If we don't get him to Sickbay, he's going to die," Beverly warned.

The Captain turned to Data. Before he could verbalise his order, Data nodded and set out to search the immediate area. His internal proximity sensors would allow him to detect the presence of the arch even if it were not visible.

As she applied pressure to Whalen's wound, Beverly could only hope that Data would find it in time.

---

By the time Wesley arrived, Commander Riker was still hovering.

Geordi was glad Wes had voiced his theories to Tasha – and that she had listened.

From his previous position on the Bridge, Wes had seen the probe come through and the strange electrical pattern that had passed through every system in the ship. It was advanced technology and there was no telling just what kind of damage it may have done.

However, Wesley had observed that the probe's energy signature operated on a frequency that was similar to the energy-matter controls of the holodeck.

"If these patterns are this similar, it is possible that when the probe passed through, it may have assumed that these were command input codes coming from the holodeck controls," Geordi theorised. "That could have affected the bi-converter interface."

"Translation?" Riker asked.

"The computer thinks it's received instructions to alter the holodeck settings," Geordi clarified.

"So we just need to input a new command?" Riker inquired.

Geordi shook his head.

"It's not that simple," Geordi said.

The difference in the real energy signal and the one from the Jarada probe were only slightly different – however, that small difference had damaged the bi-converted interface. They would need to comb through all of the previous command codes to isolate when the change had occurred before resetting the programme.

"If it's not done correctly, the programme could abort. It would erase all of the energy patterns currently on the holodeck," Wesley explained.

"Including Captain Picard," Riker said as he now understood the problem.

"My mother," Wesley added glumly.

"And Data," Geordi added.

---

Data returned several moments later having scanned the length and width of the holodeck's size and finding no trace of the arch.

Captain Picard stepped into the reception room and closed the door so that they could speak privately.

"There is some kind of programming malfunction. The computer cannot identify the exits and the arch is unable to materialise," Data reported.

"Doctor Crusher isn't exactly sure how long Whalen has," Picard said. "Is there any way out of here?"

Data was at a loss for an explanation. He informed Captain Picard that all communication to the outside world was inoperable. He had theorised eighteen possible causes for the error, but there was nothing he was capable of doing from inside the holodeck to fix it.

"Sir, we have no means to communicate the problem to the Bridge," Data said. "And it is unlikely that they are aware of our predicament."

Sixteen of the possible explanations Data had devised would mean that the outside world could not contact them or scan their vitals.

"Doctor Crusher is the only one of us that had any appointments this afternoon. She mentioned she was due back in ninety minutes. That was seventeen minutes ago," Data said as he checked his internal chronometer. "It will be at least another seventy-three minutes before her absence is noted."

"Dammit, Data," Picard snapped.

"Sir, Franklin Hospital was a real San Francisco hospital located on the corner of 14th and Noe," Data advised. "It was featured in several Dixon Hill stories. If this holodeck map is based on the real city, then it would only be a ten-minute walk from this location."

Data could easily carry Lieutenant Whalen that distance.

The hospital had been used in a number of Dixon Hill stories and there was a strong possibility it was included in the programme.

If it was present, there would be rudimentary equipment available to treat Mr Whalen. It would be holographic in nature but could provide the necessary treatments to keep him alive until they could get Whalen to Sickbay.

"Sir, your blood type is O negative. Mr Whalen has a blood type of B negative," Data explained. "Using the holographic equipment, you could serve as a donor providing real blood."

It was an ingenious plan.

Moments like this reminded Captain Picard just how much he appreciated his Second Officer.

Despite Jean-Luc's own short fuse, Data was never phased by it. He was always at the ready with a plan, idea, or suggestion to move forward.

It was like times like this when Jean-Luc felt like he didn't deserve such a good crew.

"Thank you, Data," Picard said.

They stepped back into the other room where Doctor Crusher was desperately trying to keep Whalen alert.

"I could use some light," Beverly called out.

Data grabbed the standing lamp by the door and hauled it across the room. He was nearly to the Doctor when the light gave out. He set down the lamp and looked under the shade to try and determine why the illumination had suddenly gone out.

Data flipped the clicker, but there was no change.

Captain Picard noticed the plug had come out of the wall and quickly reattached it to a different outlet behind the desk.

"Ah!" Data said with a small smile as the lamp resumed functioning.

"Doctor, there's a hospital nearby," Picard explained. "Data has a theory that we could take Mr Whalen there and even though it would be rather primitive medicine we could-"

"Good day, Mr Hill," a gruff voice said from behind.

Captain Picard glanced up to see Mr Leech had returned with a large, intimidating man in tow. Leech and his accomplice seemed unphased by the scene before them.

He introduced himself as Cyrus Redblock.

"I hope you don't mind us dropping in," he drawled.

"It would seem I have no choice," Captain Picard responded.

Both Leech and Redblock had their guns aimed at the crew.

"Life is an endless stream of choice. Unfortunately, you have chosen to make my life more difficult, Mr Hill," Redblock said. "I don't suppose you'd be foolish enough to hide the item here."

"I don't suppose so," Picard retorted.

Captain Picard hated that Redblock was simply a character playing out a role. He didn't have the knowledge that Jean-Luc and the others did – the knowledge that the item hadn't yet been delivered.

"I'm sure you won't mind if we take a look around?" Redblock asked.

"I wish you'd just stop asking since it's obvious you're going to do it anyway," Beverly fumed.

The Captain could empathise with her frustration. Mr Whalen was fading fast. Without her equipment, she was powerless to help.

"Good manners, Madam, are never a waste of time," Redblock grinned. "Civility. Always civility."

Beverly was appalled.

Redblock may have been nothing more than a hologram, but like Leech, he seemed to relish in the misery of others.

"Leech, get the stiff outta here," Redblock ordered.

"He's not dead!" Beverly snapped as she put her arm over Whalen defensively.

"I hate to break it to you, toots," Redblock chuckled. "But he's on his way out the door."

As crude as Redblock's comment had been, Beverly knew it was the truth.

"Don't touch him," Picard ordered as Leech made a move toward Whalen.

"Is this the one that struck you?" Redblock demanded.

"Yeah, boss," Leech answered.

Redblock nodded.

Before he could react, Leech stuck Captain Picard across the jaw with his pistol.

Data leapt forward into action, ready to defend the Captain.

Leech attempted the same on Data, but Data caught his arm and forced him drop the weapon. Data kicked the gun away, out of Leech's grasp.

He was about to turn on Redblock when a voice made him stop.

"Data, wait," Picard ordered.

In the confusion, Redblock had grabbed Doctor Crusher. His gun was aimed directly at her.

"For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction," Redblock said.

He sneered at Captain Picard.

"Now, about the item," Redblock began.

"Hey, Dix? You in there?" a voice called out.

Detective McNary came around the corner with a bottle of whisky in hand. He stopped dead in his tracks, a foot inside the door.

"I saw your light and figured you were working late," McNary said as he eyed Redblock and Leech. "Guess I was right. Nice company you're keeping, Dix. You forget to take the trash out this morning."

Having recovered his gun, Leech popped McNary on the nose with it.

"Show some respect," Redblock remarked.

"Your devotion to etiquette is highly admirable, sir. However, your methods leave much to be desired," Data said.

He didn't mean to ramble, but he found Redblock's attitude puzzling and ineffective. Data surmised it couldn't be the character's fault – after all he had been written as a classic villain. He required such faults so that Hill could defeat him.

"I don't recall asking for your opinion," Redblock growled.

"He looks like a ghost," Leech said.

"He talks funny," Redblock added. "What, may I ask, is your story?"

Redblock took several steps toward Data while and eyed him curiously. It was a look Data had seen before and one that unsettled him.

Months of progress from working with Deanna to process the trauma of being objectified and dehumanised evaporated under Redblock's gaze.

Data temporarily forgot that Redblock was nothing more than a hologram.

Leech and Redblock were just the latest in a string of holographic characters that had found his appearance and mannerisms odd. The detectives at the police station and even the newspaper vendor had picked up on the same thing.

Despite Data's attempt to blend in with an accurate costume and immersion into the slang and culture, they could easily see he was different.

Data felt like a failure.

He could wear the costume. He could say all the same words.

But it wasn't enough.

He wasn't good enough.

Even his best effort hadn't been sufficient to overcome who he truly was.

A mechanical, synthetic being forever incapable of passing as human. Data thought bitterly.

"Where were you hatched, anyway?" Leech laughed.

Leech's words stung.

"I was created on a planet-" Data began to say.

"Data," Picard barked.

"South America," Data answered in a surprisingly terse voice for the ever-poised android.

Redblock scoffed.

"I've been all over this world and I've never seen anything like you," Redblock said in awe.

He reached up to touch the tip of Data's nose, but Data had reached his breaking point.

Data did not like to be touched without his consent as if he were some mere curiosity for Redblock's amusement.

Data gripped Redblock's hand harder than intended.

"Argh!" Redblock cried out in pain.

Redblock's eyes went wide.

"What the hell are you?" Redblock said in terror.

Data felt like a monster.

"Data!" Picard said, urging him to release Redblock.

Jean-Luc knew he had to do something. Whalen was bleeding out and it was imperative that they get him to hospital.

"He's not from this world!" Picard said suddenly.

Data released his hand. Redblock breathed a sigh of relief and massaged his hand as he backed away from Data.

"He's not from this world," Picard repeated. "None of us are."

Whalen was out of time and Jean-Luc was out of options.

He figured it couldn't hurt to try a little honesty.

"We're from another world and right now we can't get back there," Picard explained. "But this man is dying. We need to get him to hospital."

The holograms did not appear convinced.

"I am not Dixon Hill," Picard said, attempting to sway them. "I just look like Dixon Hill."

"He speaks the truth. From your point of view, he is only a facsimile, a knock-off, a cheap imitation," Data trailed off.

He realised that his statement could be perceived as offensive to the Captain.

"I apologise, sir. That did not quite come out the way I intended," Data added.

"Thank you, Mr Data," Picard said, slightly annoyed.

Leech broke down in laughter.

"That is ridiculous!" he snickered. "Get a load of this guy. Let me guess, you came in some fantastic rocket from Mars?"

"He's right, Dix," McNary commented. "That's pretty weak stuff. I wouldn't even buy that line."

Cyrus Redblock clapped slowly.

"Very good. What wonderful fiction. I'm entertained, Dix. But I'm afraid I just don't have the patience for story time," Redblock said.

I should have known better than to attempt to reason with a hologram. Picard thought.

"But fiction is what this is," Data said. "You are not real, sir. You are an imaginary character derived from a work of fiction."

"I don't want to hear any more of this. You're making my brain hurt," Leech complained. "Let me shoot him."

Leech looked to Redblock for permission.

"Perhaps we should test this theory by killing one of them," Redblock pondered aloud.

"You've already done that! This man is dying!" Beverly said in exasperation. "Please, let us take him to hospital and then you can have your item."

Redblock gave Leech a short nod and Leech fired a round into Data's chest.

Data looked down at the wound and then back up at the two men.

The bullet had penetrated through his bioplast and was embedded in a secondary shielding that protected the main processors and power core housed in his torso.

"Frankenstein's monster," Leech sneered.

His comment hurt Data deeper than any projectile could.

"Kill the woman," Redblock ordered.

Leech turned his gun on Beverly, and she braced herself for the unthinkable.

"Wait!" Picard said. "I have the item."

"Don't make any deals with this slime!" McNary urged.

Redblock popped McNary on the side of the hide with his gun. McNary slumped to the ground.

He turned back to the Captain and grinned.

"Choose your next words carefully," Redblock warned. "Because I don't have to tell you that your lovely lady friend's life depends upon it."

Jean-Luc locked eyes with Beverly as he attempted to wordlessly convey that he needed her trust.

"There is a price," Jean-Luc said, keeping his voice steady.

"By God! I knew you would drive a hard bargain," Redblock smirked, amused by the thought of Dixon Hill attempting to negotiate when he was so obviously down.

"Mr Whalen's life. You must help us to save him," Picard explained. "Permit them to leave so that they may take him to hospital."

"Captain, you cannot," Data said.

They would soon learn that Captain Picard did not possess the item.

Thus, the story would end in the same way as the novel – Captain Picard would be shot and left for dead.

With the safety parameters malfunctioning, it meant the shot really would be fatal.

"I will remain," Data offered.

Once the humans were out of the room, Data would be able to easily disarm them. If for some reason he couldn't, Data knew that the weapons would not harm him in the same manner as Captain Picard.

Data's body could handle the bullets. The structural makeup of his skeletal system and shielding meant they could not penetrate into anything important. Geordi would easily be able to repair the damage and he could produce new bioplast.

"Data, I need you to carry Whalen," Picard said.

Data was the only one of them that could carry Whalen such a distance in time.

"Gentlemen, please," Redblock said. "I hate to break up this touching moment, but I don't have time for this. Give me the item and I'll let you go."

---

Up on the Bridge, things were not going much better.

Tasha was doing her best to stall for time, but Deanna could sense the Jarada were growing frustrated. Deanna didn't know how much longer they could delay.

"That is fascinating," Tasha said, feigning enthusiasm.

The Jaradan Tactical Officer was discussing how their extra appendages made it easier to subdue and eliminate threats. It was the third time that he had reminded them that the Jarada possessed a physiological superiority to humans.

"How much longer do we need to listen to this?" Worf grumbled under his breath.

"They're anxious to meet with the Captain," Deanna whispered back.

"Would it be possible to arrange a demonstration of this technique?" Tasha requested.

"Why?" the Jarada demanded. "You do not have the physiology required to utilise such practices."

They were right – without an extra set of arms, there was no possible way humans could employ such a move.

However, Tasha knew this would be her best hope to stall them. The Jarada's strict adherence to protocol had caused significant delays during the initial scheduling of the mission. She was hoping that even arranging a small demonstration would drag out this meeting to buy Geordi more time.

"We have holodecks that may be of use for such a purpose," Tasha suggested.

To Tasha's delight, the Jaradan Tactical Chief agreed and requested that she send over the schematics so that they might begin negotiating the details of the demonstration.

Tasha nodded to Worf to communicate this to Geordi.

Using his console, Worf typed a message to silently notify Geordi via his PADD that the Jarada were still occupied for the moment.

---

Geordi saw the message come in.

"There's an update from the Bridge," Geordi announced. "We've got a little more time. But they can't stall them indefinitely."

"The Jarada are not going to be satisfied with anyone other than the Captain," Riker commented.

"Sir, I believe I've located the memory file that was initially corrupted," Wesley advised.

"Great, then let's clear it and get them out of there," Riker responded.

Wesley stopped and looked toward Geordi.

Commander Riker didn't quite understand his hesitation but knew there had to be a reason for it.

"I don't know if I should," Wesley confessed.

"I'll take over, Wes," Geordi offered.

Wesley handed him the diagnostic tool and Geordi wiped his brow.

"What's the hold up?" Riker inquired.

He was surprised that Geordi was also concerned.

"There's a small possibility that could erase everything in the programme," Geordi explained. "Including the energy patterns of those inside."

"Do you need more time to study it?" Riker asked.

Riker didn't know how much more time they could buy, but he was nervous about doing anything that could result in the deaths of four crew members.

"Whether we do it now or later, the risk is the same," Wesley advised.

Commander Riker did not hesitate.

"Do it," he ordered.

---

"We can save him, but you need to let them go," Picard insisted.

"Enough!" Leech shouted. "Let me kill him. He's really beginning to irritate me."

All of a sudden, the holodeck settings changed. The programme flashed and gave out for a moment before the team suddenly found themselves surrounded by a snowstorm.

"Data?" Picard shouted.

"I do not know, sir!" Data replied.

It was possible the system was attempting to correct itself.

A second later, the holodeck restored the Dixon Hill programme and they found themselves back in the fictional detective's office.

"Captain, the arch," Beverly said as it appeared along the wall.

She wanted to grab Whalen and make a run for it, but Redblock and Leech still had their weapons trained on them.

"That's it. The way into our world," Picard explained.

Redblock let go of Beverly and stepped toward the orange arch.

"Remarkable," he said as he surveyed it. "Is this a two-way passage? Can one enter your world and return to this one?"

Data answered 'yes' at the same time that Captain Picard said 'no.'

Redblock looked between the two.

Captain Picard was about to explain that while he would be able to leave and return, it would not be possible for the holograms to leave the confines of the holodeck.

However, Data realised this was their opportunity to disarm Leech and Redblock.

"We have stored the item through that arch," Data said.

He was hoping to tempt the two criminals into stepping through.

Their energy patterns would be dematerialised and reabsorbed by the holodeck.

Leech made a beeline for the arch, but Redblock threw out his hand to stop him.

"You really are a scamp, aren't you?" he laughed as he looked to Data. "You think that I'd buy that line? What kind of trap is this?"

Unfortunately, the holographic character of Cyrus Redblock was smarter than he appeared.

"Allow me to demonstrate," Data said politely.

He put his hands up to signify that he meant no harm and stepped forward slowly.

Data put his hand through the arch and pulled it back, showing that there was no harm in crossing it.

"See?" Data said.

Redblock and Leech looked at one another.

"The item is stored just down the corridor," Data lied.

"Go, I'll watch them," Redblock said, ordering Leech to step through.

Leech looked at the arch and then tentatively back to Redblock.

"Boss?" he asked.

"I said, go," Redblock hissed impatiently.

"Perhaps I may be of assistance?" Data said.

In a flash, he grabbed Leech and Redblock and tossed them toward the arch.

They hit the barrier of the holodeck and disappeared – but not before Redblock's gun discharged.

The bullet grazed past Data and lodged itself in Captain Picard's shoulder.

Jean-Luc stumbled backward into a file cabinet, clutching his shoulder where he had been hit.

Data cocked his head to the side and adjusted his suit jacket.

"Data, pick up Whalen. Get him to Sickbay," Picard ordered.

"And you, sir?" Data asked.

"I'll follow. Go!" Picard commanded.

Data scooped up Lieutenant Whalen and headed for the nearest turbolift. Beverly was right behind him.

---

Rounding the corridor, they ran into Geordi's team.

"Data!" Geordi cried out.

"What happened?" Riker demanded.

"We need to get to Sickbay. There is a problem with our communicators," Data advised.

"It was a probe from the Jarada," Geordi explained.

Commander Riker tapped his combadge.

"Riker to Transporter Chief, lock on to Doctor Crusher's signal. Three to beam to Sickbay now," Riker instructed.

"Stand by," Miles responded.

"The Captain?' Riker asked just before the dematerialised.

"On the holodeck. He needs medical attention too," Beverly answered.

---

With his weight against the file cabinet, Captain Picard attempted to pull himself up to his feet.

Out of nowhere, he felt someone help pull him up.

"Here we go," McNary said as he offered the Captain assistance.

"McNary," Picard said in astonishment.

He had temporarily forgotten the detective was still there.

"So, you're really from another world?" McNary asked.

"I wish I could take you with me," Picard replied.

He truly meant it. Although he had only physically seen McNary for a few hours, he felt like he knew him. With all the years he had spent reading the Dixon Hill stories, Jean-Luc truly felt like he was talking with a friend.

"I have to go," Picard said.

It felt awkward to apologise to a hologram for ending the programme – in particular a hologram that was now aware of his own existence.

"So this is the big goodbye?" McNary laughed bitterly.

Jean-Luc wished there was something he could say or do to reassure McNary, but he also didn't want to lie.

"Tell me something, Dix. When you've gone, will this world still exist?" McNary asked.

Existential dread gripped the holographic detective as he grappled with the notion that he was nothing more than a fantasy.

"Will my wife and kids still be waiting for me at home?" McNary inquired.

The thought of disappearing without saying goodbye was horrifying.

Jean-Luc was at a loss for words.

All of sudden, there was a knock at the door.

"I've got a delivery here for a Dixon Hill," a young courier said as he stepped into the office.

The item! Jean-Luc thought.

After all of these years, Jean-Luc would finally know the mystery of what the item really was.

"That would be me!" Captain Picard said.

"Hey man, you look like you need a doctor," the courier remarked as Captain Picard signed for the package.

Jean-Luc thanked the courier and then set the package down on the desk.

He was about to open it when McNary gripped his good arm.

"Dix, my wife and kids. I gotta know," McNary said desperately.

"Captain!" Riker said as he emerged from the corridor.

Jean-Luc reached for the package and pulled on the twine to unwrap the box. Curiosity had overwhelmed him, and all other concerns were secondary.

"Captain, we've got a situation with-" Riker began to say.

"In a moment, Number One," Picard said without tearing his eyes away from the box.

He pulled back the brown paper wrapping, his mind fixated on what lay beneath.

"Dix!" McNary said, nearly in tears. "My family."

Swallowing down the pain in his shoulder to open the box, Jean-Luc reached for the corner.

The box disappeared right from underneath his hands as the programme ended.

"All clear!" Wesley called out.

Jean-Luc stared in shock at the empty space where his desk had sat just a moment earlier.

"Sir, we've got a problem with the Jarada," Riker advised.

Jean-Luc's shoulders slumped as he sighed in disappointment.

"The Jarada," Riker prompted.

"Right," Captain Picard said.

He stopped just shy of the exit and turned back to look at the empty holodeck.

"Goodbye my friend," Picard said to the now deactivated McNary.

---

To the Bridge crew's dismay, planning a demonstration of the Jaradan Security techniques did not take nearly as long as they had hoped.

Just my luck. We get stuck with the one efficient Jaradan. Tasha thought.

"Then we shall commence the demonstration in sixty-hours and nineteen minutes aboard your vessel," the Jaradan Tactical Chief agreed.

"Excellent," Tasha said.

The door to the turbolift opened and Data stepped onto the Bridge.

Tasha gave him a look as she took in his costume attire and the bullet hole on his chest.

Wordlessly, Data conveyed that he was alright.

Before she could inquire further, the Jarada sent a message.

"Enterprise, we are required to attend our evening sustenance ritual in thirteen minutes twenty-one seconds, can we expect your Captain's greeting, or have you come unprepared?" the Jarada delegation requested.

"I'm sorry, if we just touch base again on the transporter arrangements?" Tasha asked.

It was a weak attempt to stall. They had already covered the transporter arrangements – twice. But there was still no word from Geordi.

"Enterprise, we demand to speak with your Captain!" the Jarada demanded.

"Captain," Tasha said uneasily.

The turbolift slid open.

"Captain!" Tasha said in shock.

She was surprised by both his presence and appearance. He was sporting a shoulder wound, but otherwise looked no worse for wear.

"Are you ready, sir?" Riker asked.

"Ready as I'll ever be," Picard said as he loosened his tie.

He cleared his throat.

"This is Jean-Luc Picard, Captain of the USS Enterprise ," Picard announced. "Aaard klaxon leeeesss blag blan ar'nik ka'nik. Aaaard krasulaaa. Rasss trass trasulaaaah."

Everyone on the Bridge held their breath.

"You have honoured us with your words of greeting. A new day dawns between us," the Jarada responded. "We look forward to the start of formal negotiations in sixteen hours thirty-eight minutes."

"They have ended their transmission," Worf announced from his position at the Tactical console.

Applause broke out from the crew.

"Captain, you're bleeding," Deanna said.

"I'll be alright," Captain Picard responded. "How long were we in there?"

It hadn't felt like a day – but it was hard to tell when inside the holodeck.

"The Jarada arrived early," Riker explained.

"Is there anything I should be aware of immediately? Otherwise I trust your reports will highlight anything noteworthy," Picard inquired.

Riker remained silent, expecting the crew to note his absence.

"No, sir," Tasha answered, speaking for the team. "Everything went fine. I think the Jarada are a bit ruffled but no diplomatic incidents so far."

It wasn't a lie.

But she had covered for Commander Riker when she didn't have to – and that made Will Riker feel even worse.

On cue, Beverly paged the Bridge to remind Captain Picard to get down to Sickbay so that she could take care of his shoulder. Whalen would need to remain for a few days until he was back up on his feet, but he would survive.

"Well, I suppose I had better step on it," Picard said before excusing himself. "Number One, you have the Bridge."

"Yes, sir," Riker said.

Captain Picard stopped a metre before the lift door and turned back to the crew.

"And, Data," Picard said.

"Yes, sir?" Data inquired.

"I want you to know how much I appreciate your efforts today. But don't ever put yourself in danger simply because you are not organic," Picard ordered.

As soon as Captain Picard was gone, Riker turned to Tasha, Deanna, and Worf.

He didn't know what to say. Riker also knew that it wasn't the time for apologies.

"We've maintained our position at all stop. All decks reporting no issues from the Jaradan probe. It seems it was limited to the holodecks," Tasha reported.

Short and professional, it was the standard report anytime another officer relieved one of Command. Without another word, she resumed her position at Tactical.

Worf gave Commander Riker a dark look as he stepped back to his own position.

There was only about thirty minutes left in their shift and then the Beta shift would come on to relieve them. Deanna thought it couldn't come soon enough.

While the tension from the Jaradan situation had decreased, Deanna was experiencing a multitude of emotions radiating off her colleagues.

Worf was enraged and Deanna suspected it was because of Commander Riker's actions. Riker was feeling a mixture of guilt, shame, and inadequacy.

And then there was Data.

Deanna wasn't sure what happened on the holodeck, but whatever it was, it had left Data feeling deeply insecure.

---

As soon as their shift was complete, Data and Tasha caught the lift together.

"Computer, halt," Tasha ordered.

"I am fine," Data assured her as she turned toward him.

Her face was full of worry.

It wasn't just the bullet hole in his shirt that had Tasha concerned – she could sense there was something bothering him emotionally.

Tasha reached up and removed his hat.

"Data?" Tasha pressed as she tucked an errant strand of hair behind his ear.

"I am functioning within normal parameters," Data answered.

Tasha delicately traced her fingers over his wound as if to be mindful of hurting him.

"There is no pain," Data assured her.

Well, there was no pain in the same sense that humans experienced it. Data had certainly felt the impact.

He would not describe the sensation as pleasant – nor was it something he was keen to repeat.

"This is from a projectile weapon," Tasha observed.

"An ancient Earth weapon," Data advised. "A Colt 1911. Also known as an M1911. Designed by John Browning and was a standard-issue sidearm service pistol for-"

"Data, you've been shot!" Tasha said heatedly, cutting him off.

He was info dumping, distracting himself with facts in order to avoid thinking about his own emotions.

And Tasha recognised it.

"The recoil operated-" Data went on.

"Data!" Tasha repeated as she squeezed his hand, forcing him to redirect his thoughts.

Data could see this was an argument that he was not going to win. He would have to confront what happened sooner or later.

"The holodeck was not entirely what I had expected. But I will be alright," Data said.

Before Tasha could ask anymore questions, Data spoke again.

"I need to begin repairs and it will be faster if I do so alone," Data informed her.

"Are you sure? Is there anything I can get you? Or do to help?" Tasha asked.

"Come see me later?" Data asked hopefully.

Tasha relaxed.

"Of course I will," she smiled. "You know that."

The corner of Data's mouth curled upward ever so slightly. He was relieved Tasha had agreed to stop by his quarters.

Tasha was pleased to see some of his tension melt away – but she was concerned regardless. With the exception of their Night Watch shifts, they spent every night together.

They had done so for months.

Tasha was baffled that Data would suddenly ask her to stop by as if they were back to the start of their relationship.

For Data's part, he was feeling terribly insecure. He couldn't help but feel the need to reassure that she would join him later. While they had a usual evening routine, Data needed confirmation.

He was rattled.

His experience on the holodeck had left him wondering in what other ways he had overestimated his ability to emulate human behaviour.

"I'm just going to pop into the Security office and then I'll swing by. I need to find some volunteers willing to get tossed around by an insect," Tasha said.

Data cocked his head to the side in confusion.

"It's a long story," Tasha said.

The turbolift wasn't the time or place to dive into the Jarada problem – especially when it was evident Data was going through a problem of his own.

There would be time to discuss it later.

"Data, are you sure you're alright?" Tasha asked. "What happened on the holodeck?"

Her eyes were sympathetic.

But there were things Data needed to sort through on his own before discussing it with Tasha.

"It is a long story," Data responded.

Tasha put his hat back on, setting it at just the right angle.

"Then I'll see you later, handsome," she smiled.

---

When Data reached his quarters, he took off his Panama hat. He left it on the table while he went to his workstation.

Data opened the first drawer and pulled out a toolkit that he used for minor self-repairs.

Next he queued up his computer and submitted the proper requisition request to obtain the supplies necessary for constructing more bioplast. He would also require additional materials for repairs to the structure of his subdermal bioplast protective shielding.

It was a minor wound, but it would take several days for him to construct the bioplast in his lab. Once completed, he would then be able to graft it on.

Using a pair of needle-nosed pliers, Data carefully extracted the bullet that had lodged itself into his chest cavity.

He held it up in the light and examined the round, turning it over between his fingers.

Had he been a humanoid, such a thing would have caused considerable injury if not death.

But I am not human. Data reminded himself.

It was a strange sensation to feel simultaneously relieved that he was not damaged and yet disheartened by it.

The very construction that had saved him was also the reason that he was not human.

Data set down the bullet in front of him. He sat back in his chair, lost in thought.

Months of personal development and growth were suddenly in question.

Years of research and practice seemed futile.

If holographic characters designed to seamlessly perceive people as characters themselves could spot that Data was a phony, it made him question every one of his interactions in the real world.

Therefore, I must be inadequate. Data concluded.

Data had worked so hard to precisely mimic the physicality and movement of humans. He had made a substantial effort to understand the cultural expectations of behaviour.

He had practiced routinely in order to replicate their speech patterns.

Their speech patterns!

Data sat upright. His head twitched to the left.

He had been struck by an idea.

"Computer, load the speech pattern analysis programme written by Lieutenant La Forge and Commander Data," Data instructed.

---

Over in Sickbay, Beverly was just finishing up on the Captain's arm.

He would need to wear a sling for the next forty-eight hours to keep it immobile until Beverly had completed treatment on the tendons in his shoulder, but he was in good spirits.

"There," Beverly said as she secured the sling. "I'll stop by in the morning to check on you."

"You were brilliant back there," Picard remarked. "You know, under pressure."

"You weren't so bad yourself," Beverly said before flashing him a smile.

They held one another's gaze a few seconds later than was necessary.

Beverly detached the sensor that was attached to his temple and turned away to put it back in place at the machine along the wall.

The day may not have gone according to plan, but Jean-Luc had enjoyed their time together.

He felt compelled to say something.

There had been too many missed chances, lost opportunities, and feelings left unsaid.

This was one moment Jean-Luc didn't want to let pass.

"Aside from the way it ended, I had a delightful time with you today," Picard confessed. "I'm sorry we had to end things early. I wish we could have had longer."

"That's alright," Beverly responded with a casual shrug. "Some things just aren't meant to be."

Beverly froze.

"Jean-Luc, I didn't mean that-" Beverly said quickly as she whipped around.

Jean-Luc smiled, but Beverly could see just that her comment had struck a sore note.

Beverly kicked herself internally. It had not been her intention to imply that the prospect of something more between them wasn't meant to be.

Doctor Crusher didn't know if it was the recent Stargazer situation or seeing Data and Tasha's happiness, but something had changed within Captain Picard.

He was beginning to open up more.

And Beverly had just unintentionally shot it down.

"It's quite alright," Jean-Luc assured her.

He hopped off the exam table and pulled his suit coat over his injured shoulder.

"Thank you, Doctor," he said brightly before showing himself the door.

Beverly threw her head back, closed her eyes, and sighed.

---

On deck 9, things weren't going much better for Will Riker.

No one had said a word about his earlier behaviour after his return to the Bridge, but he knew it was on everyone's minds.

The entire rest of the shift, Riker had felt like Worf's eyes were on him – and not just watching him but watching him with disgust.

The ever jovial First Officer had let down the crew.

And for Will Riker, that was a more mortifying thought than being blasted to oblivion by the Jarada.

He wanted something to take his mind off things, but he didn't feel like leaving the safety of his quarters. No, leaving meant having to face they eyes of his fellow crew members.

At the moment, that wasn't something Will Riker had it in him to do.

"It happens, Will," Deanna said.

She had accompanied him back to his quarters, knowing that he shouldn't be alone.

"But it doesn't happen to me," Riker argued.

He got up from his sofa and began to pace around the room.

She could sense that he was feeling stuck in place.

"Why don't we walk through what happened?" Deanna suggested.

"I don't need a counsellor," Riker snapped.

"I am not here as your counsellor," Deanna assured him. "I'm here as your friend."

Will Riker had always had high expectations for himself. From a young age, he had placed a heavy burden of unrealistic expectations on his own shoulders – including being a starship Captain by the age of thirty-five.

These lofty goals had proven to be a stressor.

While he had the qualifications and training necessary to serve his post effectively, Will occasionally felt unqualified and unprepared. There were times where he mistrusted his own abilities, and the fear of failure became overwhelming.

As much as he wanted to be a starship Captain, the reality of such a goal hit him hard.

Riker suddenly stopped pacing.

"I'm not afraid of the big chair," Riker said defensively. "I'm not."

Deanna was sitting in the chair by the window. She nodded politely.

"But things are different when you're in that position. One false step could have resulted in the deaths of over a thousand people," Riker shared. "And it's not just Starfleet officers that we're talking about! We've got civilian researchers. Families."

"You're right," Deanna said.

"You don't understand," Riker said as he turned to face her. "You've never been in command. You can't possibly begin to know what it's like to have that kind of pressure riding on you."

"I know that you care deeply for everyone onboard," Deanna responded.

He was finally airing his feelings and Deanna didn't want to shut down that line of communication by drawing attention to his comment.

Of course Deanna understood – in a way better than even Captain Picard could. Deanna could intimately feel his inner turmoil.

"Obviously I care," Riker said in an annoyed voice.

He plopped down on the sofa across from her.

"You were worried about having to make a decision that could put everyone onboard the Enterprise in jeopardy," Deanna commented. "And when you realised that you were paralysed in your decision making, you put that decision on someone else."

"Tasha handled it better than I could," Riker said dismissively.

He crossed his arms and turned his attention to the window.

"But that's not the point," Deanna countered.

She kept her voice calm, but it was time for Riker to confront the matter.

"There are plenty of qualified Bridge officers on this ship including you," Deanna went on. "This is bigger than today. Something is holding you back from the big chair."

"I told you, I'm not afraid of it," Riker insisted.

He clenched and unclenched his fists.

"I just don't want to make a mistake that results in the deaths of everyone onboard this ship!" Riker confessed. "I don't want to be responsible for causing a diplomatic incident. I don't want history to remember Will T. Riker as the starship Captain that caused another twenty-year rift with the Jarada!"

He stopped and took a heavy breath.

"That is the big chair, Will," Deanna said softly. "That's what it means to sit in it. To wear the rank of Captain. Making those decisions and living with the consequences of them comes with the territory."

Will knew she was right.

"And until you learn to trust in your own abilities, you will remain a First Officer," Deanna explained.

Riker sat forward, resting his head in his hands.

"What am I even doing here?" he asked.

He rubbed his chin and shook his head.

"Data wouldn't have walked away. Hell, he would have had eighteen different plans in a matter of seconds," Riker lamented. "Tasha handled it just fine! Nothing rattles her. Worf wouldn't have even broken a sweat."

"I disagree," Deanna said. "I can tell you, because I was right there, Tasha was just as afraid of making the wrong decision as you were. We all were worried."

The only difference was that Tasha hadn't let fear stop her from making a decision.

"Do you want to be here? Do you want to be the First Officer?" Deanna asked.

"Yes!" Riker insisted.

"Then don't let fear stop you from being who you are," Deanna said with a warm smile. "You're a man of action. A risk-taker. A leader."

He always had been a natural leader.

"You still possess those skills. You have them in abundance. Only now you have the experience and wisdom that comes with age and more time serving on the flagship," Deanna said.

In the last eighteen months, Deanna had seen remarkable personal growth from Commander Riker.

"You're right," Riker said. "You're always right."

He knew what he needed to do.

"I'll speak with the Captain and explain my actions," Riker said.

Captain Picard needed to be made aware.

"And I'll apologise to the Bridge crew," Riker explained. "Most importantly, I won't fail you again."

Deanna reached across the coffee table and gave his hand a squeeze of reassurance.

Before they could continue, the chime to Riker's quarters sounded.

"Enter," Riker called out.

Worf stepped through the door.

"Commander, Counsellor," Worf acknowledged in a polite but stiff tone.

"Worf, I'd like to talk with you about what happened today," Riker said. "Why don't you take a seat?"

"I would prefer to stand," Worf answered. "I shall not be remaining long."

Deanna could sense that Worf was feeling a sense of betrayal.

"I merely stopped by because I feel a duty to inform you that I must speak with the Captain about the situation on the Bridge," Worf explained. "I have a responsibility to report the occurrence. However, as your friend, I felt it was only right to notify you."

"Worf-" Deanna began to say.

"No, let him go," Riker said.

"You abandoned your post," Worf said bluntly.

He was angry and Commander Riker understood that it was essential to let Worf air his grievances.

"If I may speak freely, I fear that I have misplaced my trust in you, sir," Worf vented. "I consider you a friend and good man. But you neglected your duty!"

Worf inhaled sharply as he collected his thoughts.

"You quit when things got tough. You are a better man than that, Commander. At least, I thought you were," Worf growled angrily. "A First Officer's most important responsibility is to take on the burden of command should it become necessary. You failed your primary duty!"

To Worf, it wasn't merely a personal human failing. He shared that he saw it as an affront to Starfleet, a metaphorical slap in the face to all of those who had put their faith in Commander Riker.

"Worf, your feelings are certainly valid, and Commander Riker is-" Deanna said, stepping in.

"No, no. I deserved that," Riker said.

Commander Riker got up from his position on the sofa. He offered Worf his hand.

"I let you down," Riker acknowledged. "I can't promise you that I'll never make a mistake or that you'll agree with all of my decisions. But I can promise that I'll never freeze up like that again."

Worf broke into a rare Klingon smile.

"Qapla'," he said as they shook hands.

---

Having made things right with Worf, Commander Riker paged Captain Picard to ask if he could stop by to speak with the Captain.

"What fortuitous timing, I was just about to contact you," Picard responded. "By all means, please join me in the Ready Room."

"Good luck," Deanna said before he took off.

"Thank you," Riker responded.

And he meant it.

She had been there for him, accompanying him back to his quarters to listen to his concerns and to build up his confidence once more.

And she would be there for him when he returned from his conversation with the Captain.

When he reached Ready Room, Riker was feeling the same sense of trepidation that he had earlier that day on the Bridge.

Stopping just shy of the door, he paused to take a series of slow breaths.

The fear of letting the Captain down gripped him.

Only this time, Riker wasn't going to allow it to stop him from moving forward. Squaring his shoulders, Will pressed the chime.

"Come!" Picard called out.

Riker stepped inside to find Captain Picard standing by the window.

"Take a seat," he offered as he turned around. "Can I get you anything?"

Polite. Professional.

Jean-Luc had meant to set Riker at ease. Instead, it made him more on edge.

"No, thank you, sir," Riker replied.

Best to get straight to the point. Riker told himself.

"Sir, I wanted to talk to you about a grave error I made today," Riker admitted.

"You're certainly not the first," Picard assured him. "And I appreciate you coming to me."

"Well, I should have done it sooner," Riker acknowledged. "It just didn't seem like the right time on the Bridge."

"You're right," Picard said.

It would have done no good to derail the situation with the Jarada in order to address a personnel matter.

"I'm sure you can imagine my curiosity when I noticed there had been a change of command in the daily log report," Picard said.

He had been glancing through the log. While it was a routine part of his daily duty, Jean-Luc had been especially keen to know details of what occurred with the Jarada in order to prepare for the start of formal negotiations tomorrow.

"I've been meaning to talk with Lieutenant Yar. I owe her an apology," Riker said. "I wanted to speak with you first."

"She has not approached me," Picard explained.

In fact, Jean-Luc was slightly miffed that Tasha had failed to mention it to him. Technically, she had recorded the change in command as was required. She had followed all procedures to the letter.

But the fact that she hadn't come to speak with Captain Picard left him wondering why she hadn't drawn attention to it.

"Sir, I should note that Lieutenant Yar did make an effort to remind me of my duty before I left the Bridge," Riker said.

He owed her that.

After Tasha had covered for him – including doing so in a manner to minimise the fallout of such a choice, Riker didn't want to see her get in trouble for failing to notify the Captain directly.

"I think you appreciate the seriousness of what occurred," Picard said. "And you no doubt are aware of what could have happened."

Riker nodded.

"Not that Lieutenant Yar is incompetent, but I'm left wondering why my First Officer chose to step away," Picard shared.

He sat down on the edge of his desk.

"And it draws into question whether you feel capable of continuing in this role," Picard said. "I chose you for this role because you're a damn fine officer."

It was difficult for Will Riker to listen to praise at a time like this. He didn't feel worthy of it.

"And I want to make it clear that you have my utmost confidence in your abilities," Picard assured him. "The question is, do you? I leave this in your hands, Will."

Riker could appreciate Captain Picard's choice of how to handle the situation. It was the kind of leadership that Will Riker hoped to exemplify one day.

"It needs to be said, your place was on the Bridge," Picard continued. "But I will add that I empathise with the difficulty of the position in which you found yourself."

No one could have predicted that there would be a holodeck malfunction at such a time nor that the Jarada would arrive early.

"The hardest part of command is delegation," Picard went on. "There is nothing more frustrating than feeling like your hands are tied. But you need to trust your people just as I had to trust that you all would get us out of the holodeck in time. And that the medical team would save Mr Whalen."

Will Riker understood the distinction. Everyone had a role on the Enterprise. And while it could seem frustrating, someone had to be responsible for putting out all the metaphorical fires, overseeing everything, and making the command decisions.

"Are you my First Officer?" Picard asked.

"Yes, sir," Riker responded.

---

When she stepped into Data's quarters where she found him sitting at his workstation. He was completely motionless, unblinking.

Tasha stopped just inside the door as she heard him talking.

Only, she didn't quite understand what she was hearing.

It was Data's voice, but he was repeating the phrase 'thank you' over and over again.

Tasha panicked.

Had his injury on the holodeck left him damaged?

Had something gone wrong with his repair?

"Data?" she asked in alarm as she rushed over to him.

"Hello," Data greeted her, moving for the first time since she had entered.

Tasha realised the sound of his voice was coming from the computer.

"Computer, cease playback," Data ordered.

"Are you alright?" she asked as she picked up the bullet that was sitting on top of his desk.

Data understood the meaning behind her question.

"The audio is unrelated to the damage I sustained on the holodeck," Data clarified.

Tasha's brow wrinkled.

Data realised she wouldn't be satisfied without an explanation.

"I am using the programme Geordi and I developed to analyse Captain Picard's logs from the Stargazer to study my own speech pattern," Data said.

Tasha set the bullet back down and studied Data.

"Why?" Tasha asked.

"For analysis," Data replied simply, avoiding the question.

"Why?" Tasha repeated.

The programme was designed to identify the difference between natural and synthetic speech – and they both knew it.

"I am merely studying my own audio output," Data answered. "The programme is capable of identifying when the intonation, volume, and inflection are synthetically generated as, unlike natural speech, those things do not alter with repeated usage when they are synthetically generated."

Data paused.

Tasha was still frowning.

"It can determine what is real and what is not," Data concluded.

"I know what it's for, Data," Tasha said, her voice full of sympathy for his position. "Why do you feel it's necessary to listen to yourself?"

Data turned his eyes to the surface of his desk.

"The holodeck is designed to allow people to integrate themselves seamlessly into another world, to assume a character and experience life from their eyes. One is supposed to be able to interact with that fictional world as if they were a part of it," Data said.

"What happened?" Tasha asked.

Data shrugged slowly.

"I failed to do so. They holographic characters were able to identify that I did not belong," Data confessed. "I do not understand how to fix this problem. I say the same words as them, I wear the same clothing. And yet, it is not enough."

Tasha was hit with a wave of emotions. She was enraged that Data had been made to feel this way – even if it had been at the hands of holograms.

Her heart ached for him, knowing just how much he cherished the dream of being human.

"Data, I am so sorry that you had to experience that," she said as she reached for his hand.

She pulled it onto her lap and held it between her own.

To her disappointment, Data pulled his hand away.

"I am analysing my vocal pattern to determine where I can improve in an effort to correct this problem," Data said. "As is evident from the recordings of my engrams, I have much work to do."

Tasha knew this was the result of years of being treated as an outsider and being conditioned to believe he was nothing more than a machine.

"You will note that human speech has natural variations as emotion drives much of the inflection," Data went on. "My synthesised voice does not. However, I believe with further study I may be able to write a programme to correct this inadequacy."

"It's not an error," Tasha said sharply as she gripped his chin and forced him to meet her eyes.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

"There is nothing wrong with you!" she said emphatically.

"But because I lack emotion in my voice, I fail to-" Data began to protest.

Tasha shushed him as she climbed onto his lap.

"I know you speak with emotion because I can hear it in your voice," Tasha said.

She looped her fingers through his own and rested her forehead against his.

"I hear it every time you get excited when you figure something out with Geordi," Tasha described. "Or whenever you talk about a piece of music."

He may not have been able to hear it in himself, but those around him could.

"And when you get more than a little testy with me for overdoing it on the holodeck," she added with a sly grin.

"I appreciate your effort to lift my spirits, but I fear that I find myself at a personal crossroads," Data admitted. "I am uncertain if my dream of becoming human is even worth further effort given that I will never be able to achieve it."

Tasha opened her mouth to counter that, but Data cut her off.

"While I could employ the use of a chemical compound to alter the pigmentation of my bioplast, undergo treatment with an optical hue adaptor, and write a programme to provide vocal variations, I must confess the efforts would be futile as there are still errors in my construction that would be evident," Data said.

He could change the way looked, but Data felt it would never truly be enough. He couldn't sneeze. He was incapable of speaking in contractions. He had a tendency to incorrectly predict human behaviour.

Tasha sat back, horrified that he would consider such extreme measures.

Data stared back at her innocently.

"I merely wish to-" Data attempted to explain.

Data was caught off guard as Tasha pulled him into a tight embrace.

She felt that there were no words to sufficiently offer reassurance.

No, this was something much deeper than they could address in one evening.

But for the moment, she wanted him to know that he didn't need to alter himself. Tasha wanted him to comprehend just how much he was loved.

She heard the sound of a muffled protest against her chest, but she wasn't ready to let go.

It was a good thing Data didn't have a physical need to breathe otherwise her grip could be considered restricting.

"You don't need to change who you are," Tasha whispered as she held him. "You're wonderful. And everyone around you can see it. And I'm so sorry that all of the people who hurt you have made it hard for you to see that in yourself."

Data clutched the back of her uniform, signalling that her words had made an impact.

Tasha squeezed him tighter.

"I won't stand in your way if that's what you really want," she said. "But you don't have to change. I need you to understand that you don't have to."

Tasha sniffled.

She had been doing her best to keep her voice steady, but the thought that Data was struggling with such doubt was all too much to hold back.

Data closed his eyes and relaxed against her.

Tasha was right.

The people that had hurt him, the Bruce Maddox's of the world, had conditioned him to think that the very characteristics that made him unique were somehow an error.

He had learned to regard himself as problematic.

They sat there in silence for a few moments as Data considered this.

He had many friends.

His skills and determination had earned him an exceptional career as a Starfleet officer – during which time he had been awarded numerous commendations for valour, efficiency, and leadership.

Data was an accomplished botanist, musician, and artist.

It would seem I excel at everything I attempt – with the exception of being human. He thought to himself.

Data's neural pathways sparked as he was struck with a train of thought about what it truly meant to be human.

The concept of humanity ran deeper than the pigmentation of his bioplast or the colour of his eyes.

It was something more than catching the meaning of a joke – even Worf and Tasha often missed the meaning behind the cultural references made by most of the crew.

Artificial construction components were not enough to disqualify him. After all, Captain Picard had an artificially constructed heart, Geordi utilised a VISOR, there were dozens of crew members with artificial joints and organs.

Data was capable of independent thought. He could contemplate the past, present, and future. He shared the human notion of desires and dreams.

I am an individual. Data affirmed to himself.

While they sat in silence, Tasha made a mental note to herself. She would need to speak with Geordi. The Sherlock Holmes holodeck programme they were building for Data would need to be built to ensure that the characters would not repeat the problem he had encountered in the Dixon Hill story.

Tasha resolved this could never happen again.

According to Data's chronometer, it had only been two minutes and seventeen seconds. But for an android, it had been more than enough time to have a serious internal dialogue with himself.

Tasha released her grip and Data sat back in his chair.

"Sometimes I think you're more human that all of us," Tasha said. "And if you really are the only one of your kind, there's something significant in that. You're beautiful, Data. And I don't want to see you lose who you are simply because people can be cruel."

Data's posture softened.

He knew so little about his own origins. Her words tapped into his natural inclination to appreciating the beauty in all forms of life.

Data certainly hoped to find more of his kind someday. But if was the only one in existence – or the only one left, then he did feel an obligation to continue and appreciate his own existence.

For all he knew, Data was the last survivor of a civilisation that was long-gone. It was equally possible that he had been constructed to carry forward the knowledge database of people that no longer existed.

Data had a strong sense that there were memories and information he could not access. It was there, just under the surface and out of reach.

"Sometimes I do not know what I would do without your constant support," Data said.

"We all feel like that from time to time," Tasha replied. "It's only human."

She traced her finger across his torso, mindful to avoid the hole in his shirt.

Data caught Tasha's hand and pulled her close to plant a slow kiss on her lips.

Data released her hand in favour of snaking his arms under Tasha's so that he could rest them on the small of her back.

"Have I told you that I love you?" Tasha asked as they broke apart.

She grinned and sighed contentedly, hovering just an inch from his face.

Tasha nuzzled her nose against his before planting a chaste, tender kiss against Data's lips.

"I believe you have mentioned it before," Data replied.

It was a good sign that he was doing better.

Data suddenly tightened his grip as he heard the door to his quarters open unexpectedly.

"Ah good! You're both together," Captain Picard said.

He had been so eager to speak with them that Jean-Luc had simply walked right in without alerting them to his presence or pressing the chime.

Tasha froze as she heard the Captain's voice behind her.

Coming to her senses, she scrambled to move.

"No, no! Don't get up," Picard said. "I don't wish to disturb your evening."

A bit late for that. Tasha thought as her face flushed.

"Sir, we weren't-" Tasha began to say.

She made a second attempt to extract herself from Data's lap. But Data, who had taken Captain Picard's instruction not to get up to heart, did not release his hold on her.

"Sir, we were just talking," Tasha insisted awkwardly. She cleared her throat. "We weren't, I mean we aren't-"

"Please, don't get up. I won't be long," Picard assured them.

Tasha swallowed hard. She was staring at the wall, utterly embarrassed to have been found in such a position.

"How is your shoulder, sir?" Data inquired as if he weren't sitting in a compromising position with a fellow officer.

"Fine, fine. I apologise for intruding, but I wanted to commend you, Tasha, for your performance on the Bridge today and your success in maintaining peace with the Jarada," Picard explained.

Data cocked his head to the side, perplexed as to what the Captain was referring to.

Data was aware that the Jarada had arrived early. He knew there had been an effort to appease them during the holodeck malfunction, but he was not aware that Tasha had been responsible.

"I've spoken with Commander Riker and I'm aware of what occurred," Picard began. "Commander Riker and I-"

Captain Picard suddenly trailed off.

"Commander Riker," Picard said in surprise as the door to Data's quarters opened.

This is not happening. Tasha thought.

It was like one of her worst nightmares had become a horrifying reality.

"I stopped by to speak with Lieutenant Yar," Riker explained. "Tasha, I wanted to apologise for what I did to you earlier on the Bridge."

Data looked back and forth from the Captain, to Riker, to Tasha.

"I was not aware that there was an incident," Data said as his brow furrowed.

Tasha was in disbelief.

It was as if the three men in the room were completely oblivious to the uncomfortable circumstances they had walked in on as they carried on their conversation.

"Look, Tasha. You were calm when confronted, cool in a crisis. I wish I could have been half as adept as you were today," Riker said. "I also want to promise that I will never do that to you again."

Data's curiosity was in overdrive.

"Now you've taken the Bridge Officer exam," Riker said.

"And you are one of the only Department heads that does not hold the rank of Lieutenant Commander or higher," Captain Picard continued.

"So we were thinking that it was high time we evaluated your position," Riker went on.

"And submit your name for consideration in the next round of promotions," Captain Picard finished.

Data observed as Tasha's face registered the weight of what they were saying.

Field promotion above the rank of Lieutenant was not permitted. It was something that Captain Picard lacked the authority to do on his own. However, Commander Riker and Captain Picard had both felt it was high time to put in a recommendation to Starfleet Command for Tasha's promotion to the rank of Lieutenant Commander.

She had taken the Bridge officer exam – and passed with flying colours – years earlier.

"And you're already doing the work of a Lieutenant Commander," Riker added. "Today only highlighted how ready you are for that promotion."

"Um, thank you," Tasha said, unsure of what the proper response should be.

"I'm the one that should be thanking you," Riker responded.

"As I said, we did not mean to interrupt your evening. I merely wanted to express my gratitude and inform you of the news," Picard explained. "Thank you for indulging me, I'll let you get back to-"

Captain Picard stopped and cleared his throat.

For the first time since entering, Jean-Luc actually took the time to process the scene in front of him.

"I am so sorry," Captain Picard said quickly as he turned around.

Riker couldn't help but grin.

"Let's go, sir. I'm sure you two want to be left alone," Riker said.

"Sir, we were just-" Tasha tried to explain.

"Goodnight," Riker said as he ushered the Captain out of Data's quarters.

Tasha closed her eyes and let her head fall back.

She should have been overjoyed at the news, but she couldn't help feeling embarrassed about the manner in which the Captain and Commander Riker had found them.

"What happened?" Data asked.

He was feeling selfish for not knowing about the incident on the Bridge. It seemed that he wasn't the only one to have experienced something significant earlier in the day.

Tasha opened her eyes.

"Commander Riker had a moment of, well, I guess you could say he experienced a lack of confidence in himself. After the Jarada contacted us, Commander Riker turned over command to me and left the Bridge," Tasha explained.

Data's head twitched as he processed this.

"He delegated command to you during the incident?" Data asked to clarify.

Tasha nodded.

"It is not that I distrust your abilities, but that is-" Data was struggling to convey his concern.

But he wanted Tasha to understand he had faith in her capabilities as the officer on duty.

"I know," Tasha assured him. "It left everyone feeling rattled."

Tasha held no ill will toward Commander Riker. In fact, she understood it better than probably anyone. That kind of self-doubt had a nasty way of infecting the minds of seasoned officers. No one was immune.

Tasha had seen it in some of Starfleet's finest. Working in Security, she had been exposed to it more than most. And her training in trauma response enabled her to understand that Will Riker's actions weren't cowardice or selfishness.

She would stop by tomorrow and have a chat with him.

"Lieutenant Commander," Data said softly as he cupped Tasha's face.

"Nothing is official yet. Remember Starfleet only assigns that rank to two hundred officers a year," Tasha reminded him. "There are tens of thousands of applicants. Less than one percent actually manage to earn a promotion."

Tasha knew these figures only too well.

It certainly wasn't the first time she had been up for promotion.

Captain Picard had submitted recommendations twice – once when Tasha had joined his crew on the Atraides and again when they had transferred to the Enterprise-D.

In fact, Tasha had been up for the promotion several times prior to her service under Captain Picard dating all the way back to her service days on the USS Dunkirk. Her Commanding Officer at the time, Lee Davies had submitted her name for consideration as had the Captain of the USS Crazy Horse.

Tasha's promotion had been declined every time.

She didn't take it personally. There were plenty of qualified officers and only so many slots available.

It was typical for officers to go their entire career without ever making it past Lieutenant. It was a fact Tasha had come to terms with long ago.

"If it happens, it happens," she said. "But best not to focus on it."

Tasha could be infuriatingly practical at times.

She got up from his lap and Data did not stop her.

Tasha strolled across the room, desperate for anything to distract from talking about her possible promotion. It would be months before Starfleet would issue the next round.

Her eyes fell on the hat sitting atop the table.

"Tell me something you enjoyed today," Tasha requested as she slipped it on.

Data rose from his spot behind the workstation and joined her in the main room of his quarters.

"I had the opportunity to portray the role of Carlos Salazar," Data said.

"Who's Carlos Salazar?" Tasha asked.

"A character from the Dixon Hill mystery series," Data said.

Tasha made a face.

"I deduced that much, Sherlock," she teased.

Data pulled his hat off of her and slipped it on himself.

"I am Carlos Salazar," he said. "The gentleman thief from South America."

"Thief?" Tasha said as she raised an eyebrow.

"His heists are heroic, his ruses remarkable, his mischief is considered nothing short of miraculous," Data explained, reciting a line from one of the stories. "No one is quite certain of Carlos's origins. There seems to be conflicting information as to whether he is from Argentina, Chili, or Uruguay."

"Oh? I see," Tasha remarked. "Sort of a man of mystery?"

She loosened his tie and then carefully slipped it off, depositing it on the table behind her.

"He is considered a man of many unusual talents," Data said.

"Sounds like someone I know," Tasha teased as she turned her attention to the buttons on his pinstripe shirt.

"But there is no debate that Carlos is an expert tango dancer," Data said.

Suddenly, he gripped her waist and captured her hand with his own.

"Data, do you know how to tango?" Tasha asked.

"No," Data confessed, immediately dropping his act.

Tasha smiled nervously.

"Good," she confessed. "Because I don't either."

Data's hand that was resting on the small of her back stiffened and he closed the distance between them.

"Doll, with those gams you do not need to know how to tango," Data said, imitating his 1940s mid-Atlantic accent.

Tasha made a small choking noise. Her face contorted.

She couldn't hold it back any longer, Tasha was laughing.

"That was meant to be alluring," Data said.

"I'm sorry, I just can't with the accent," Tasha admitted.

She felt bad for laughing, but it was all so absurd.

Data decided to lean into it. He loved to make her laugh – it was one of the only times he felt comfortable enough to experiment with humour.

"Angel face, if you do not cut out the giggle fit-" Data went on.

"Stop!" Tasha insisted.

Her sides hurt.

"When a man's squeeze laughs at him like this, it cuts straight to my ego," Data pleaded, feigning insult. "Right through my heart."

He pointed to the bullet hole in chest.

Tasha felt her knees give. Data caught her as she fell over in a fit of laughter.

"I'm-I'm sorry," she managed to choke out.

Data flashed her a genuine smile.

---

After dinner, they settled into bed. It had been a long day and tomorrow would mark the start of their important diplomatic mission with the Jarada.

Tasha was looking forward to an early night.

"Would it be alright if we didn't read tonight?" Tasha asked.

She was knackered and just wanted to hit her pillow.

"How about I read to you for a change?" Data offered. "A chance to unwind."

"That sounds lovely," Tasha said as she snuggled up against him.

Data knew precisely which story he wanted to read.

He ordered the computer to dim the lights and then proceeded with the story.

"It was raining in the city by the bay. A hard rain. Hard enough to wash the slime off the pavement," Data began.

---

Second Officer's personal log. Supplemental. Stardate 41737.8. Once again I am reminded that in moments when I find myself questioning my very being, I discover that my humanity is, in some ways, greater than I realise. I am also reminded of the importance of friendship. For when I fail to recongise these traits in myself, those that love me so fondly nudge me in the right direction. I take solace in knowing that no one - myself included - gets through life alone. While some may find such a sentiment unsettling, I am comforted by the notion that I share such a connection to other beings.