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.

62. The Priority

Author's Note: Thank you all so much for your ongoing support with this story!

This is quickly ballooning into one of the longest Trek fics on the internet (not there yet but getting close) and IMHO Data & Tasha deserve nothing less!

I apologise for the delayed update. I needed to step back for bit and write something else just to keep the creative juice flowing. My newest story is a collaboration with Lady_Lore that focuses on Worf/Tasha with a DaForge secondary subplot. Chapter one of Steadfast Tin Soldiers is posted now if you want to dip your toes in the water of those ships.

Our roadmap for the next couple chapters is an arc that sets the stage for Measure of a Man. It includes:

Home Soil

When the Bough Breaks

The Appendix

Haven

Keep the Home Fires Burning (A Data/Geordi friendship chapter)

Requiem for a Butterfly (A Tasha/Worf friendship chapter)

---

Captain's log. Stardate 41310.2. We are just under eight hours out from Mordan. I've been summoned by Doctor Crusher for an early morning meeting in Sickbay. What began with an incident, has quickly devolved into a health crisis.

I fear what impact Admiral Jameson's failing health will mean for our upcoming diplomatic mission.

In further consultation with Karnas, he has made clear that the terrorists will not accept a substitute for Jameson at this point. Once I have a status update on Admiral Jameson's condition, I will relay the information on to Starfleet Command.

---

"His red cell count is running riot," Beverly said with a frown. "The cellular structure of his body is radically changing."

Captain Picard and Doctor Crusher were in her office in Sickbay. Beverly was seated at her desk and Captain Picard was standing behind her.

She tapped the screen on her computer to display three different images.

"These were the samples I took immediately after his collapse," she said, pointing to the image on the far left. "These were two hours later. And these were taken an hour ago."

Captain Picard wasn't precisely sure what he was looking at – but he knew there had been a significant change between the three images.

"What do you mean changing? Is this some sort of infection?" Picard questioned.

Beverly shook her head.

"I don't know what it is," Beverly answered. "I have never seen anything like this."

"Doctor, please," Picard implored her.

"His cells are undergoing a rapid de-aging process. He's getting younger. He even looks younger," Beverly said.

There was no explanation for such a dramatic shift in the Admiral's cellular structure – at least not one that Beverly had ever seen before.

"Jean-Luc, there are absolutely no traces of Iverson's Disease in his system," Beverly shared.

She had checked her work twice.

"But you said there was no cure for Iverson's," Picard replied.

"None that we know of," Beverly shrugged as she stared at the screen. "He claims its part of a new treatment. But whatever this new treatment is, it's some kind of secret substance. Admiral Jameson stopped his treatment with Starfleet medical six weeks ago."

Beverly closed the file and spun around in her chair.

"So we're back to genetic engineering," Picard said darkly.

Beverly rocked her head back and forth.

"What is it?" Picard demanded.

"Not necessarily. Genetic engineering couldn't have been completed in that timeframe," Beverly explained. "This has all happened so quickly, I'd be more inclined to suspect a virus or substance as the cause."

Captain Picard scratched his chin as he pondered this revelation.

"The Admiral has spent considerable time exploring parts of the quadrant that remain largely unknown," Picard surmised aloud.

"And he's keeping this close to the chest," Beverly added.

---

"The terrorists have given you six Earth days to bring him here or the hostages will die," Karnas's voice rang out from the video monitor.

Admiral Jameson's eyes narrowed. He tapped his fingers on the desk in his guest quarters for a moment before tapping to pause the video message.

There was something about it that bothered Mark Jameson – though he was having trouble putting his finger on it.

Years of diplomatic negotiations had left him with a keen sense of perception. He knew Karnas was withholding information.

Yet Karnas's motivation remained a mystery.

You know why. A small voice in the back of Admiral Jameson's head said.

He pushed away the thought as quickly as it came.

After all, it was preposterous to think that after forty years such a mistake would come back to haunt him.

Too much time had passed.

Mordan was now stable.

Karnas was in power.

But at what cost? Jameson pondered.

His eyes glazed over as he allowed his thoughts to wander down a path of self-reflection that was both uncomfortable and necessary.

Jameson closed his eyes and reminded himself that peace came at a cost. It always came at cost.

He reassured himself that perfect could not become the enemy of good.

And in dealing with terrorists, sometimes shades of grey were necessary for the sake of the greater good.

"I don't know how much more information you think you can get from that tape," Anne Jameson said as she went about setting up some breakfast for the two of them.

At 07:00 hours, there had been no further medical reason for Doctor Crusher to keep Admiral Jameson detained.

His cellular regeneration didn't appear to be any risk to himself or others.

Having no alternative, Doctor Crusher had been forced to release him.

The Admiral had returned to his quarters. And much to the dismay of his wife, his work.

"You need to eat, Mark," Anne said.

To her surprise, he hopped up out of his chair.

"My god! What?" Anne trailed off in disbelief.

She had been informed of his condition, but it seemed he was become younger with each passing moment.

"I told you. It's this new therapy. It's working, Annie," Mark said as he approached her. "I'm cured."

He wrapped his arms around his wife and nuzzled against her shoulder.

"Mark," Anne commented, surprised by the sudden affection.

"Mmm," he said as he pressed a kiss to the side of her face. "I just needed to get back into space."

Anne stiffened.

While she was grateful that he had more energy and seemed happy, she disliked the notion that – once again – it all came back to his work.

"Annie?" Mark asked.

She turned in his arms and studied his face.

"You even look younger," she said with a frown.

It was concerning.

"What is this new therapy?" Anne questioned.

Mark smiled and gave her hands a small squeeze of reassurance.

"The answer to everything we've ever wanted," Mark replied cryptically.

He moved in for another kiss, but Anne pulled back.

"I'm worried about you," Anne confessed.

She looked at her husband pleadingly.

"Please come with me to Sickbay. Let's talk with Doctor Crusher about this therapy," Annie urged.

His condition had changed so rapidly in the last twenty-four hours that she was concerned. It seemed too good to be true. And she knew Mark was a risk taker.

Mark shook his head.

"I can't sweetheart," Mark said.

To his frustration, Anne stepped away and resumed setting the table.

Mark Jameson recognised that he would have to offer her a better explanation. His upcoming mission was a dangerous one and he owed her that at least.

"I've been planning this for a long time," Mark shared. "Ever since I learned of my diagnosis."

Anne paused. She glanced down at the table but did not turn around.

"Don't you see? I'm cured! I'm back! No more retirement," Jameson exclaimed.

"So that's what this was all for?" Anne asked bitterly.

She fought the urge to cry. Anne understood how important his career was. And she knew that he would always be married to it first.

But it felt like having the rug pulled out from under her. Decades of patiently waiting for the day when he would finally retire – only to have him find some miracle cure that put him back in the saddle.

"I did this for both of us," Mark assured her.

"You did this for yourself," Anne countered as she turned around to face him.

His smile faltered as he saw the pained expression on his wife's face.

Mark closed the distance between them and cupped her face.

"There's a planet in the Cerebus system. The people there have a process that rejuvenates the body. A fountain of youth, Anne," Jameson informed her.

"I've heard the myth," Anne responded as she rolled her eyes.

"It's not a myth," Jameson said in a serious tone.

Rather than a look of wonder, Anne looked afraid.

"I'm the proof that it works. It's very dangerous. And they do not share it with outsiders," Mark warned. "But I'm Admiral Mark Jameson. And I managed to procure enough for both of us."

Anne was horrified.

"Mark, what have you done?" she recoiled.

"Both of us, Annie. Together. A whole new life," Mark responded. "I had to test it on myself first. I couldn't risk harming you."

She made to move away, but Mark held fast.

"My sweet Annie," Mark said fondly. "In all our years together you have asked for so little. You've been so patient with me. Don't you see? Now I can give you that time back."

Anne slipped away and turned to the replicator, desperate for anything to take her mind off the current topic. She keyed in the command to replicate a pot of tea. She began to bustle about setting up the saucers.

"Say something, darling," Mark encouraged.

Anne stopped and sighed in exasperation.

"How could you do this?" Anne asked.

She was so utterly frustrated.

"You're upset?" Mark pondered aloud.

He couldn't fathom that she would have reacted in such a way. He was offering her such a rare gift. So many died in the quest to reclaim their youth, he didn't understand why anyone would hesitate.

"Upset?" she asked. "I'm furious!"

She slammed the saucers down a bit harder then necessary.

"Do you even know what this treatment entails? Or what the long-term side effects are? Did you even consider my feelings?" Anne asked, hurt. "Or did you just charge into because it's one more job for Admiral Jameson? One more chance at the history books."

She stopped and sniffled.

"Annie, I can be your husband again," Mark said with a reassuring smile.

"You never stopped being my husband," Anne snapped. "Why can't you comprehend that? I don't care about your wrinkles. Or your chair. I care about you."

Mark picked up a nearby napkin and stepped in to wipe her eyes.

"This is for us. And once this mission is complete, you and I can do all the things we wanted to do," Mark assured her. "A second chance. A second honeymoon."

Anne averted her gaze to the wall.

There was so much to consider. Her mind was reeling. And she still had no guarantee what this treatment precisely entailed or if it was safe to use.

"I need time to think about this," Anne said softly.

"Of course," Jameson said as he kissed the top of her head. "Take as long as you need. In any case, it will probably take me another year to negotiate for another dose."

Once more, Anne stiffed.

She was a wickedly intuitive woman.

Anne glanced at her husband for an explanation.

Wordlessly, he got the message.

"I originally got enough for both of us. But with this mission, I couldn't risk failing. I need to be at my peak, Annie," Jameson explained. "The dosage usually takes six months. I didn't have time to wait, so I took both doses simultaneously."

Anne was at loss for words.

That was just the kind of reckless disregard that she expected from him.

"Did you even think about us? About me at all?" Anne demanded.

"It was killing you having to be burdened with me care," Jameson protested.

Ever since his diagnosis, his wife had been his faithful caregiver. She relished the time together.

"Because I love you. Because I made a vow to care for you," Anne replied. "Did you ever think that maybe I enjoy the chance to be together with you? Maybe I like doing it because it means with you?"

"Annie-" Jameson began to say.

She stepped back.

"I did all of this for us," Jameson repeated.

Anne shook her head.

"I'm sure you believe that. But what you can't see is that once you had a chance to head up another mission, to command again, you threw us aside for your work," Annie said sadly. "You may look younger, but some things never change.

Anne took a shaky breath and turned away.

"Why don't we head to the bedroom and patch things up like we used to, hmm?" Mark said as he caressed her arm.

"No," Anne replied.

Without another word, she left to take a stroll to clear her head.

---

"How's that flying knee?" Lieutenant Olivet asked as they stepped off the lift.

"You'll know it when you feel it," Worf replied in a stiff voice.

"Oh, it wasn't that bad," Tasha smirked. "In any case, you've got a few more weeks to work on countering it."

The three of them were returning from a briefing. They were headed back to the Security Office and chatting about the ship's upcoming sparring tournament.

Tasha was the reigning champion, but her recent broken femur during the incident with the glass had put her behind in her training.

In an effort to compensate, Tasha had been working to master one of the most advanced Muay Thai techniques she knew. It was a powerful blow – but risky. In order to pull off such a move, it left her vulnerable to counter attacks.

But as one of the smallest fighters in the tournament, Tasha was relying on its substantial knockout power in order to give her an edge against the likes of opponents the size of Worf.

And if the last week of their training was any indication, it seemed increasingly likely that Tasha and Worf were going to wind up facing off in the final match.

He'd perfected his Ruu'baq reverse neck hold – and he had a wingspan long enough that it was devastating. Tasha was hard to catch, but Worf had a number of advantages aside from just his size.

Much to Tasha's frustration, Worf had an uncanny ability to accurately anticipate her next move.

"Sir, would it be alright if I took my break before we get underway?" Olivet requested. "I'd like to check in with Jack's teacher."

"Yeah. I hope everything works out," Tasha replied.

"Thank you," Olivet replied before scurrying off.

Olivet had a three-year-old son that had recently been struggling with separation anxiety after formally starting nursery school.

There had been more than a few meltdowns in recent weeks, and it was only complicated by the fact that her wife was currently away for three months on temporary assignment aboard the USS Bonchune.

Situations like that weren't uncommon when one or both parents were in Starfleet.

It was one of the things that made Tasha a wee bit hesitant about having kids anytime soon. Her and Data's lives were already busy enough without the prospect of a teething, tantrums, and toilet training.

In the last week alone, Olivet had shared that Jack had experienced a complete emotion meltdown when the imaginary door on his imaginary shuttle wouldn't open and he thought he was stuck inside – only hours after an incident in which her toddler had been overwhelmed with tears after sneezed and was upset that 'all his boogies were gone' as he'd intended to 'save them for later.'

Tasha shuddered internally.

"Hey, you wanna grab a Raktajino before we start?" Tasha suggested.

"Feeling tired?" Worf teased.

"Not even close," Tasha replied as she tapped to call the lift back.

They both threw up their hands and snapped in a defensive position, carefully throwing a few playful punches back and one another as they waited for the lift to return.

All of a sudden, Tasha caught sight of someone over by the window further down the corridor.

Not just someone – Mrs Jameson.

"You're no match for me, but I expected a bit more resistance," Worf taunted.

"I'll catch you later," Tasha said in a faraway voice.

Worf followed her line of sight and nodded in understanding.

"I'll bring you back a Raktajino," Worf replied.

"Thanks," Tasha grinned.

They exchanged a quick one-two punch before the lift opened.

"Mrs Jameson?" Tasha asked softly as she approached her.

"Anne, please," Anne insisted.

"Anne," Tasha repeated. "Are you alright?"

Mrs Jameson cleared her throat and wiped her eyes, desperate to compose herself.

"I'm fine," she replied. "Just out for a walk. I didn't realise how big this ship was until I began to wander."

"Would you like me to show you back to your quarters?" Tasha offered.

"No," Mrs Jameson replied quickly.

Tasha could see she was obviously bothered by something. However, Tasha also understood that they would need to relocate.

The current deck they were on was off limits to guests without permission from the Captain.

"Would you like to take a walk? Somewhere a little nicer than this?" Tasha suggested.

---

"I've never seen anything like this," Anne Jameson said in awe.

They were on the holodeck walking through one of Tasha's running programmes.

"Everything on this ship is just so different. So overwhelming," Anne confessed.

"I'm sorry," Tasha replied.

"No, no. I don't mean it's bad. I think it's quite wonderful," Anne clarified. "The amenities. These holodecks. The way Starfleet's transformed to be more welcoming to families."

There was a hint of sadness in her voice.

"Even Klingons on board," Anne shrugged. "I never would have thought it possible thirty years ago."

"Lieutenant Worf is an outstanding officer, ma'am," Tasha said, doing her best to keep her voice even.

She didn't want to offend Mrs Jameson, but Tasha was quite defensive about Worf.

But Anne was a perceptive woman, and she could pick up on it.

"It's really none of my business but take it from an old woman that spent far too many years alone," Anne began to say. "Don't get so caught up on duty that you forget about yourself."

"You're talking about the Admiral?" Tasha wagered.

"No dear, a word of advice for you," Anne said. "He seems nice. Very handsome. How long have the two of you been-"

She trailed off as Tasha paused walking.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry," Anne apologised.

"No," Tasha laughed awkwardly. "It's just Lieutenant Worf and I aren't, well, we're very good friends. And we're just good friends."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Anne responded, feeling awkward.

"It's alright," Tasha assured her.

It certainly wasn't the first time someone had made that error.

The two resumed walking.

"I guess I've just been so caught up in thinking about what might have been. The road not travelled. I love my husband, but I often think of how our lives could have been," Anne trailed off. "Should have been different."

There were so many promises broken – dreams put off for another day because there was a diplomatic crisis, intergalactic emergency, or day-saving needed to be done.

"Find someone or something to share your life with. There's so much more than Starfleet," Anne said longingly.

From the way she was talking, Tasha wondered if there was more going on with the Admiral's health than the team had been led to believe, if his condition were worse than what he'd led on.

"Your husband's health is his business, ma'am. But I do know that our Doctor Crusher is a good physician, and she will do everything she can to help him," Tasha assured her.

She didn't want to promise Mrs Jameson that he would be alright. Tasha had never been one keen to make a promise she couldn't guarantee – particularly when it came to situations like this.

Well, she'd never been in a situation quite like this.

But she'd seen plenty of worried spouses or partners struggling in the wake of a tragic accident or missing in action report.

"You see the thing is, he doesn't need her help," Anne laughed.

Tasha's brow furrowed in confusion.

"He's healthier than he's ever been. Or at least, he will be soon," Anne announced.

She dropped her head and glanced over to Tasha.

"I'm sorry. You must be terribly confused," she acknowledged.

"Just a wee bit," Tasha admitted.

Mrs Jameson stopped to take in the view of a pristine glacial lake below.

"It would seem in all his travelling and wheeling and dealing, Admiral Jameson managed to procure a real fountain of youth for himself," Anne shared.

Tasha blinked in disbelief.

"Some kind of substance that's cured his Iverson's disease. It's regenerating his cells. Reversing the aging process," Anne explained.

Reverse aging? Tasha thought with alarm.

Her instinct was to immediately dismiss this as a hoax. Tasha's second thought was that if it were real, it would have to come at a high price.

"It's very painful," Anne said.

There's always a catch. Tasha mused.

"But he's happy. He's excited. I haven't seen him this happy since before his diagnosis," Anne went on.

Tasha had no doubt that was true. During their briefing with the Admiral, he hadn't been shy about his opinions on living with Iverson's disease.

"I should feel happy for him. But I don't," Anne admitted aloud.

Not only was Mrs Jameson feeling betrayed – she felt guilty that she couldn't find it within herself to share in the Admiral's joy.

"He's already making plans for the second life he'll get to live over," Anne huffed. "He's going to do it all over again. Pour himself into his work. He can't even see it."

She paused and took a breath to steady her nerves.

"He claims he's going to procure a second dose for me but," she shook her head.

Based on his description, the initial does had been a miracle. Anne knew it was unlikely that he would be able to retain more. Beyond that, she wasn't sure if she wanted to even take it.

"He's going to get the chance to do it all over again. And I'm going to grow even older. I get to spend my final years watching and worrying as he makes the same mistakes all over again," she laughed bitterly.

Tasha's throat grew tight, and she exhaled slowly. Their conversation had grown uncomfortably close to things she was desperately trying not to focus on.

"And then I'll die. And he'll be alone. Not that he'll even notice," Anne added.

She sniffled and dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief.

"Mrs Jameson, I don't know how to say-" Tasha began slowly.

"It's so sweet of you to listen. But I don't expect you to have the words. No one understands how I feel. Nor should they have to," she said with a sad smile.

Tasha pulled her arms across her chest as she chewed on her lip.

"The other night you met our Second Officer, Commander Data," Tasha began.

"The Android," Mrs Jameson nodded.

She fondly recalled her encounter with Data. It was the first time she had ever met such a lifeform – and she had been pleasantly surprised.

"Never in all my years have I ever seen anything like it. Yellow eyes. Unnatural looking but so well designed, it seemed almost like a person," Mrs Jameson recounted.

"He is a person, ma'am," Tasha politely protested.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Anna apologised, sensing she had touched a nerve.

"He's a person," Tasha shrugged casually. "And because of his synthetic physiology, he's going to live for thousands – maybe tens of thousands – of years."

Mrs Jameson watched with curiosity as Tasha's whole demeaner seemed to change.

"He might really, truly live to see the end of time," Tasha said.

It was still a fact that left her reeling with a mix of awe and loneliness.

"And I think that sounds so terribly lonely and unfair," Tasha confessed.

Mrs Jameson nodded in understanding.

She had similar concerns for Mark – what would he do after all his friends were gone? After she was gone?

"Does he have more of his kind? Someone to care for him? Share that time with?" Mrs Jameson asked.

"Like a family?" Tasha suggested.

"Like a family," Mrs Jameson agreed.

"Not yet," Tasha replied with a shy smile.

There was a soft gasp from Mrs Jameson as realisation hit.

"You mean to say?" Anne asked.

"I know exactly how you feel, Mrs Jameson. You aren't alone," Tasha sighed. "He's ageless. And I'll never be."

It was a notion tried to avoid thinking about.

But in a strange way, there was a sense of relief knowing that she wasn't alone.

---

The turbolift doors opened and Admiral Jameson stepped off onto the Bridge.

"Admiral on deck," Worf announced.

Everyone leapt up to attention.

"At ease," Jameson ordered.

"Admiral, what a surprise," Picard said with a small nod.

He had to fight the urge to say, 'you are looking younger and younger each time we meet.'

The Admiral's once white hair and grown darker – there were still whisps of grey and white. But he looked nearly forty years younger than the last time Picard had seen him.

"Picard, I want you to send a transmission to Karnas. Inform him that we will be twelve hours late. Tell him we are behind schedule due to engine cooling requirements," the Admiral ordered.

Captain Picard raised his eyebrows, signalling that he hoped the Admiral would elaborate on his plan.

"It will throw Karnas off balance," Jameson explained.

"And potentially exacerbate the hostage situation," Picard interjected.

The situation on Mordan was a powder keg. The last thing Captain Picard wanted to do was throw a match on the metaphorical tinderbox.

"I don't want to slow our pace. We continue at our current course and speed. I only want Karnas to think we're arriving late," Jameson said.

"Why don't you trust Karnas?" Picard asked directly.

It was a question Admiral Jameson wasn't ready to answer.

"Lieutenant Worf, please open the channel. Picard, I want you to transmit the message," Jameson ordered.

It was an intentional choice. Jameson wanted Karnas to feel like he was being pushed off as a lesser priority. Having Picard transmit the message rather than Jameson himself would certainly be a great insult to a proud man like Karnas.

Worf hesitated.

It was clear Captain Picard was not on board with this plan. And Worf's loyalties were with Picard.

"Lieutenant-" Admiral Jameson said in a warning tone.

Jean-Luc knew he had to intervene.

"Admiral, while it's not my place to question your strategy, I can't help but wonder why-" Picard started to protest.

"You're right. It's not your place," Admiral Jameson replied in a terse voice.

The level of the tension on the Bridge was hitting a critical juncture.

"Need I remind you that I am the senior mission officer?" Jameson cautioned.

"Of course. But I have a responsibility to ensure the safety of everyone on this ship," Picard argued.

It was a point on which he was ready to stand his ground.

Jameson had a reputation for being reckless – and it was in full force today. Such brash diplomacy was a hallmark of a bygone era.

Risk was a constant for any Starfleet assignment. But the Starfleet of old was gone. The Enterprise-D carried families and civilians.

Data spun around in his seat at Operations.

"What if Karnas suspects or detects our deception?" Data inquired.

"Pish," Admiral Jameson said as he waved his hand to dismay Data's question.

A dark look passed between Data and Captain Picard.

"Karnas doesn't have the ability to detect our approach," Jameson assured them. "I want to evaluate his behaviour."

Jameson shared with the Bridge team that they were now close enough to intercept diplomatic subspace channels that Karnas used to communicate with his allies.

Admiral Jameson wanted to monitor these channels to see how Karnas would respond following their fake delay.

"Very well," Picard agreed reluctantly.

---

Commander Riker was drumming quietly on the surface of the table.

Deanna was sitting upright as she glanced around the room.

Tasha's hands were folded neatly in her lap as she and Worf (who was brooding) were silently communicating their concerns to one another.

Data was simultaneously thinking about their upcoming mission, running a statistical evaluation on the likelihood of the situation escalating, and analysing Prokofiev's Piano Concerto #3.

They senior officers were sitting in the Observation Lounge just waiting for Captain Picard to return from a private meeting with Admiral Jameson.

The other officers had snuck in one-by-one in order to keep the meeting a secret.

"Has it occurred to anyone that this could be considered mutiny?" Miles asked the group.

No one responded.

"I'm not saying I disagree. Just wonderin'," Miles added as he put his hands up.

Sometimes it was disturbing how nonchalant Miles could be in these situations.

It was a skill that they all admired.

"Captain Picard wouldn't have called this meeting without good reason," Geordi said.

"Quite right, Mr La Forge," Picard said as he swept into the room. "But I thank you for the vote of confidence."

Jean-Luc sat down at the head of the table and wasted no time.

"I think it's obvious to all of us that Admiral Jameson has been hiding information from us," Picard said.

"I take it your meeting did not go well then, sir?" Data commented.

"I would like us to be prepared for any possibility," Picard advised.

Tasha's body stiffened.

Any possibility meant hostages.

She had been hoping to get through this mission without the use of her phaser – a prospect that became less and less likely with each passing lightyear.

---

"You want to do what?" Picard snapped.

The rest of the Bridge officers held their breath.

Tensions between the Captain and the Admiral had reached a fever pitch. They were due to arrive at Mordan in less than thirty minutes.

Their impending arrival had been met with an unusual and last-minute order from Admiral Jameson.

"Most of Mordan's principal city was devastated during the war. But there's a large network of underground tunnels that should still be intact," Jameson informed them. "It's a rat's maze. When they rebuilt the city, they simply buried them."

"Forgive me, sir," Data inquired. "But is there any evidence such a location would be used by the dissidents?"

Admiral Jameson tapped his fingers on the armrest of his chair.

"There are no dissidents," Jameson declared.

Directly behind them, Worf and Tasha turned to one another in agitation.

"With all due respect, what the hell is going on?" Riker demanded.

Jameson didn't respond, his vision was fixated on the viewscreen.

"I believe my First Officer asked you a legitimate question," Picard pressed.

His tone was polite, but firm.

Such an order was dangerous – especially given how little time the team had been given to prepare.

"The tunnels are the key. It is where Karnas took his hostages the first time," Jameson said.

Data's neural pathways began to surge as he pieced together the information.

"This was your plan," Data said as he looked back at them.

It was said as a statement rather than a fact.

The Admiral was practically giddy, and it only sought to infuriate the rest of the crew. His attitude seemed so inappropriate given the seriousness of their mission.

"Admiral, is this a personal vendetta between Karnas and yourself?" Data asked.

"You really are quite brilliant," Jameson grinned.

Jameson sat back in his chair as he was struck with a sudden rush of adrenaline. This was where he belonged – in command, leading the charge.

He was always itching for a fight. He lived for the thrill of it. And the chance to finally settle the score with Karnas was exactly what he needed to kick off this second chance at life.

"I want two eight man security strike teams. I'll lead them both," the Admiral ordered.

"Sir, if you could please provide some specifics on the size and layout of these tunnels-" Tasha began to request.

Urban conflict was a whole other field of training. Less than half of her team was skilled for such an assignment on short notice.

"You have nothing to fear, Lieutenant," Jameson promised.

Worf bit back a smirk as he watched Tasha react physically to the Admiral's flippant attitude.

"Sir, we don't know if there's any lighting, sensors, or if these tunnels are even structurally stable," Tasha said.

She was using her security voice – the one that was designed to make her point without angering others. Everyone on the Bridge could hear it.

"Lieutenant Yar raised a valid point," Picard chimed in.

He was proud of his team for pushing back against these dangerous orders.

"I've been down in those tunnels dozens of times," Jameson assured them.

"Which means our most recent reconnaissance is more than four decades old," Data reminded him.

For once, Data was grateful for his Android nature. It meant his comment landed as being a cold, mechanical analysis rather than as a challenge to the Admiral's authority.

"I'd like to take a small team in first with two or three people to evaluate before we go in with anyone else," Tasha suggested.

"Karnas will kill the hostages as soon as you arrive. No, we need to go in with phasers drawn," Jameson asserted.

Captain Picard put his hands on his hips. He couldn't fathom that the Admiral could be so obtuse, so uninterested in the danger.

"Then you see an armed raid as the only option?" Picard asked.

"You don't?" Jameson scoffed. "Starfleet has given me command of the mission."

Admiral Jameson was finished with this line of questioning. He was the ranking officer. And he was not used to having his authority questioned in such a manner.

"With respect, Admiral, I would point out that no one else has heard Karnas's demands. Starfleet believes this is a radically different situation. Starfleet Command might view this differently were it made aware of these recent developments," Picard countered.

Admiral Jameson turned his head and gave Captain Picard a hard look.

"Starfleet gave me command of the away team. And I intend to use them as I see fit," Jameson proclaimed.

---

Tasha and Data shared a brief, uneasy glance across the transporter pad.

There was no telling what kind of conditions they would face once they rematerialised in the tunnels.

"You lot be careful down there," Miles said.

In the end, Admiral Jameson had been unwilling to compromise on the plan for his mission. There would be two eight-man strike teams beaming down to the planet.

They would beam down in groups of four to stagger their arrival.

Data, Tasha, Admiral Jameson and Worf would be the first time. Geordi, Commander Riker, Lieutenant Jae, and Ensign Jeffords would compose the second team.

There were seven more members of Tasha's security team and Doctor Selar standing by to beam in after that.

"Prepare to energise," Jameson ordered.

"Belay that order," Picard said as he stepped through the door.

Data observed Admiral Jameson bristle as Picard entered.

"I will remind you once more, Picard," Jameson fumed. "I am the senior mission officer!"

"Yes," Jean-Luc said innocently.

Tasha repressed the urge to grin as Captain Picard stepped up to join them on the pad.

"But as Captain of this ship, I retain the right to accompany you," Picard reminded him.

Jean-Luc was concerned about his team. The Admiral's negligence was liable to cause casualties. Picard trusted his team to speak up – they had already demonstrated that.

But Jean-Luc felt it was his duty to join the team that was beaming down.

He had left Riker in command of the Enterprise and was planning to watch Jameson like a hawk.

---

The team materialised in a dimly lit tunnel.

"This is the M4 tunnel," Jameson said as he reached out and ran his hand along the wall.

It was the very place that had launched his career.

This had been it.

While many credited his speech on the floor of Mordan's Parliament after ending the hostage situation, this had been Jameson's true moment of glory.

Admiral Jameson could hear the blood pounding in his ears. There was so much adrenaline coursing through his system as he relished in the feeling of being back in command.

He was so caught up in the memory of the past that he couldn't hear Captain Picard.

Jean-Luc's hand on the Admiral's shoulder brought him back to the present.

"I said, what are your orders, sir?" Picard asked loudly.

Captain Picard could see the Admiral was struggling to focus. Another shot from a blaster sounded. Jean-Luc pulled the Admiral back tight against the wall and out of the line of fire.

Tasha, Data, and Worf immediately dropped into a defensive stance and began to return fire.

Hugging the wall, they headed back until they found a perpendicular tunnel that provided more cover.

Unfortunately, the tunnel was a dead end. They had less than two metres of space.

"Sir?" Data asked.

"Admiral," Picard barked. "Your orders!"

Suddenly, Captain Picard realised it wasn't just memories of the past that were occupying the Admiral's cognitive functioning. He was clutching his side in pain and sweating profusely.

"We need to ah-," Admiral Jameson grimaced.

---

"Our anniversary is next week. Sixty years," Anne said.

She poured tea for Beverly, Deanna, and herself before sitting down.

After her conversation with Mrs Jameson, Tasha had suggested she speak with Deanna.

What Tasha didn't know is that Deanna had already been approached by Beverly for a related, but different reason.

A pleasant earthy, floral aroma filled the room.

"Edosian lavender and rose blossom," Mrs Jameson explained. "I fell in love with it when Mark was stationed there during his early career. He's always made sure to get some for me."

"He still cares for you, despite these physical changes," Deanna assured her.

"Sometimes I wonder about that. I think he cares in his own way. But it's not the way I want. It never will be," Anne shared, reflecting on decades of playing second fiddle to his work.

It felt good to finally admit that aloud.

But it didn't change her circumstances.

"And now I fear it's too late. I'm ninety. I can't start over. I just didn't want to spend my final years like this," Anne confessed.

"Mrs Jameson, we asked you to join us for tea because there's something you need to be aware of," Deanna explained.

"What?" Anne asked as she was gripped with a sudden, cold feeling.

Beverly paused. It was the kind of news she hated to deliver. Even after all her years in medicine, Beverly still hadn't decided if getting the news of a spouse's death hurt more before or after the fact.

She had wanted to tell the Admiral first, but he was already down on the planet.

"Mrs Jameson, he's not stabilising," Beverly announced. "He may not have that life to live over."

---

Above the sound of phasers and blasters, the familiar shimmering sound of a new inbound team echoed through the tunnel.

Tasha dove across the tunnel and tackled Geordi and Ensign Creed into the small adjacent alcove on the opposite side.

"Thanks," Geordi said.

"Don't mention it," Tasha replied as she pulled Jeffords back.

The rest of the team ducked back for a moment as another wave of blaster fire came from the end of the tunnel.

They popped out low and quick to return fire and maintain their position.

"Admiral?" Picard repeated.

The Admiral's breathing was laboured.

It was evident the Admiral was in no condition to continue leading the team.

And it wasn't just the memories of the past. He was clutching his side in pain and sweating profusely. Admiral Jameson collapsed back against the wall and sunk down to the floor.

Picard glanced up at Data.

He didn't need to speak his orders aloud. His team knew what needed to happen.

"Data to Enterprise, do not beam down any additional personnel," Data ordered. "I repeat. Do not beam down any additional personnel."

Worf hissed as he took a blaster shot to the thigh.

Bracing himself with the wall, Worf gritted his teeth and resumed returning fire.

"This position cannot be held," Worf growled.

"I agree with that assessment," Data said.

"Geordi, can you see a way out of here?" Tasha asked as she returned fire.

"It looks like these tunnels have been sealed off," Geordi advised. "And I'd say by the looks of it, it's been fairly recently done. The tripolymer substrate on this section shows far less decay than those around it."

"Can you get a read on any thermal signatures, Lieutenant?" Picard inquired.

Geordi scanned the area.

"I'm reading about a dozen life signs dead ahead but none of them look like hostages," Geordi replied.

Based on their posture and position, it was a safe guess they were the terrorists.

"Can we cut through with our phasers?" Picard asked.

"Negative, sir!" Geordi shouted across the gunfire. "This is steelpast!"

"I've got microcharges," Tasha offered.

She always carried microcharges. There was no telling when one would need to burrow through somewhere.

If you can't go through a bulkhead – go around! Tasha often mused.

"I would advise against that," Data weighed in. "It could cause a collapse."

Captain Picard didn't need to hear any more.

"Enterprise. Lock onto our signals and beam us out of here," he ordered.

---

"We'll meet in the Observation Lounge for a briefing immediately," Admiral Jameson announced.

The team was in shock.

They had just beamed back from a dangerous mission – leaving under fire. Worf and Lieutenant Jae had both taken a hit. They had expected resistance, but it seemed these terrorists were well-armed.

"Those were Mordanian blasters," Worf commented.

He bit back a groan as Tasha and Geordi helped him to his feet.

"In the briefing," the Admiral replied as he dismissed him with a wave of the hand.

"I think Sickbay is in order, Admiral," Picard advised.

"Nonsense!" Jameson snapped.

"Hardly," Picard said in a stern tone.

He was done giving leeway to Admiral Jameson.

"They're deeper in the tunnels. We just need to go back," Jameson argued. "No more strike teams. I want to send in an entire company in."

Everyone froze.

"Lieutenant Yar, start preparing your officers," the Admiral ordered. "Type Three phasers. Heavy ordinance. We'll take them by force."

Tasha looked to Captain Picard.

"I'm not sure there's space in the tunnels for an entire company," Tasha admitted.

"We aren't going back to the tunnels. The hostages are likely being held too deep," Jameson replied. "No, we're going to the Praetoriate."

A dark look crossed Data's face.

"Sir, that is the primary building that houses all government offices on Mordan," Data advised. "The Parliament. The office of Karnas."

"We're going to march in and overtake Karnas. We'll install a new leader. I have allies there that will be more reasonable to work with. Allies that may have more pull with the terrorists. Guenheid. Kelton. Perhaps we could even convince Istrok," Jameson announced.

He had a wild look in his eye as he ranted about his plans.

The team was aghast.

"You are proposing a Starfleet backed coup d'état," Picard gasped.

"I'm doing what needs to be done to ensure peace!" Jameson countered.

Over the course of forty years, he had convinced himself that maintaining the illusion of his victory on Mordan was necessary in order to keep the peace. Jameson had sold himself on his own lie so completely that his priority was in protecting that.

"That building will be heavily armed," Worf said.

"And full of civilians," Tasha added.

"Such an act would be a violation of dozens of Starfleet and Federation protocols," Data warned.

"Not to mention a violation of the Prime Directive," Picard barked.

But Jameson had closed his mind to any other path.

"You have your orders. Mr Data, I'd like you to fly the Calypso in as backup for our ground forces," the Admiral ordered. "Lieutenant Yar, prepare your team for a ground assault."

Data watched as she blinked twice and then fall back on a tactic she had learned long ago. She slumped her shoulders and dropped her gaze, avoiding eye contact with the Admiral.

"Sir, we will need time to prepare such a force. Perhaps the threat of such force – coming from you in a direct appeal to Karnas would be enough to release the hostages?" Tasha suggested.

She wanted to seem as nonconfrontational and complementary as possible.

Data could tell her own end game couldn't be further from the truth.

Inside, Tasha wanted to smack Admiral Jameson. The notion of sending in an entire company was not only a foolish plan – it would mean escalating the conflict.

It was one thing to send an away team or even a strike team.

A company was an entirely different matter.

They would be heavily armed and that would mean putting over sixty members of her security team at risk.

There was no telling what explosives, chemical agents, or firepower they would face once down there.

Someone needed to talk the Admiral down. Since he shut down every time he was challenged, Tasha decided to try the most nonthreatening approach she could stomach.

"Prepare your team, Lieutenant. You have one hour. And this better be the last time I have to give you an order twice," Jameson commanded.

"Aye, sir," Tasha nodded stiffly.

The Admiral was rattled by the encounter in the tunnels. It had been his goal to put Karnas on edge – and in turn, Jameson was the one that had been left shaken.

"Captain, I need to see you right away," Beverly's voice rang out.

"In a moment, Doctor," Picard responded as he tapped his badge.

"No, now," Beverly insisted.

A split second later, Mrs Jameson appeared in the doorway with Deanna.

"Mark, we need to talk," she said.

"I don't have time right now, Annie," the Admiral responded.

He moved to go around her, but Anne stepped into his path.

"Then make the time," Anne said firmly.

Her eyes were ablaze with anger.

"After the mission," Jameson said.

He pushed past his wife and out into the corridor.

"Now, Mark," Anne persisted. "For once in your life, don't walk away from me!"

She followed after him.

"There won't be an after the mission," Anne called after him.

Admiral Jameson stopped.

He turned around slowly.

"How did you know?" he asked.

---

"Well, at the very least it's bought us some time," Captain Picard said as swept into Sickbay.

"They're still arguing?" Worf asked.

He winced from the heat as Beverly ran a dermal regenerator over his wound.

"You can't blame her," Beverly said hotly.

"We still have hostages down there," Tasha reminded the team.

"And the Admiral seems determined to escalate the situation," Data said.

"Enough," Worf snapped.

Beverly put her hands up in the sign of surrender and turned to grab her tricorder for one last scan.

"Is it just me or does the Admiral seem hellbent on going out in a blaze of glory?" Tasha proposed to the group.

She crossed her arms and scanned the faces of her colleagues.

"A warrior's last song," Worf commented.

"His reaction to Mrs Jameson's concerns seemed to indicate that he was already aware his time is limited," Data had observed.

"As is ours," Captain Picard reminded them.

He had left Commander Riker in charge on the Bridge with strict orders that no one had permission to beam down to the planet.

Admiral and Anne Jameson were having a private, heated conversation in the Observation Lounge.

Tasha could buy them some additional time. Officially, she had ordered a phaser reattunement and armour check prior to gear-up. Unofficially, she had ordered her team to take their sweet time in completing that task.

Additionally, Beverly had bought them another half hour. She had insisted all of the security company members be proactively treated with a dose of Hepdonenzitite. The drug was designed to help alleviate the body's reaction to several common airborne distribution crowd control chemicals.

It was a long shot.

While once a common fixture in the early days of the Mordan Civil War, such chemicals had not been employed in over thirty years. All of their intelligence pointed to their supplies being depleted.

However, it was a harmless hypospray and it would take time to ensure all members of the company received it.

"He's requesting to speak with you, Data," Picard informed him.

The Admiral had specifically requested Data to discuss strategy for his plan to overthrow Karnas and install a new leader.

"Data, I don't think I need to tell you this. But please, do what you do best. Leave no thought unexplored. No theory dismissed. I want you to tell the Admiral every possible detail you can think of," Picard requested.

Data cocked his head to the side in confusion.

"Sir?" Data asked.

"Babble, Data," Picard said as he gave his shoulder a squeeze.

---

The door to the Observation Lounge slid open. Data found Admiral Jameson standing in front of the window, gazing down at Mordan from orbit and lost in deep thought.

At this distance, even the most violent of planets looked beautiful in a way.

"I gave the most important part of who I am to secure peace on that world. And it proved costlier than expected," Jameson remarked.

"At this time-" Data began to say.

Admiral Jameson laughed.

"Time," he said as he shook his head.

He took a long breath and kept his attention fixated on their orbit.

"From up here, it all seems so insignificant. I have to wonder if anyone will remember what happened down there," Jameson went on. "Fifty years from now? Five hundred years from now? What was it all for?"

Jameson glanced down at his hands.

He turned them over as he examined them. The lines and wrinkles had faded. The age spots were gone. He could contract and retract them without pain.

There was no trace left of the ravages of time on his body.

At least not physically. He thought.

The toll of carrying around such a dark secret for so long had left a significant mental scar.

Admiral Jameson felt like he had paid for success with a piece of his soul – and he didn't know if he would ever get it back.

"Do you understand what it means to leave a legacy?" Jameson asked as he turned to look at Data.

"If you are referring to the humanoid compulsion to judge their own value based on accomplishments during one's life, then yes, I do comprehend such a notion," Data answered.

Admiral Jameson smirked.

It was evident he didn't quite buy Data's explanation.

"Your programming probably interprets it as ego," Jameson said.

"On the contrary, I understand and…feel the desire to assign meaning and worth to my own existence," Data shared.

The Admiral's eyebrows went up.

"Tell me, what does an immortal android desire?" Jameson inquired. "What is it that you hope to accomplish?"

Data tilted his head to the left and broke eye contact.

"To be human. And to have a family, a sense of belonging," Data confessed.

His answer seemed to amuse the Admiral.

In Jameson's eyes they seemed so mismatched. Data would give anything to be human. Jameson wanted nothing more than the opportunity to keep exploring.

"You could go anywhere. Be anything," the Admiral said as the corner of his mouth curved upward. "What I wouldn't give for such a gift."

"While I admit the prospect of such a lengthy existence has benefits, I would not classify it as a gift. Nor would I discount the disadvantages of such a lifespan," Data replied.

The Admiral chuckled.

"I suppose you've thought long hard about it. After all, you've got all the time in the world," Jameson said.

He turned back to the window and sighed.

"Don't waste that gift, Data," Jameson continued. "Though I suppose in your case it doesn't really matter. You've got the time. You can waste it if you choose and if it doesn't work, you can do something different in a hundred years."

Data frowned.

"No. No I cannot," Data replied.

He did not want to give Admiral Jameson a false impression.

"While I may have unlimited time, my friends and those I love do not," Data said simply.

It was a cold truth.

"If I may be candid, I have come to learn that the value of time is not in its length, but rather those whom you share it with," Data said.

The Admiral fell silent.

Based on the Admiral's body language, Data speculated that he had struck a chord.

"Sir, if we were to implement an armed assault against Karnas, it would put many lives at risk. Unnecessary risk," Data asserted. "I have calculated that casualties would likely be twenty-four to twenty-six percent."

Jameson grimaced as his body was rocked with another wave of pain.

"I believe our team is capable of coming up with alternative options to safely recover the hostages," Data said.

Jameson clutched the sill of the window.

"There are no hostages," he managed to say through gritted teeth.

Data's mind took a 0.051 second pause to process this revelation.

"Sir?" Data inquired.

"There are," he paused and hissed. "No hostages."

Admiral Jameson doubled over. Data was there in a flash to support him and helped the Admiral reach a nearby chair.

Jameson closed his eyes and shook his head.

"I lied," Jameson confessed.

"Sir?" Data pressed.

"I lied. I deceived Starfleet. The Federation. Everyone. I didn't broker a loose peace on Mordan. I started the war," Jameson said.

It felt good to finally get that off his chest – even if it was now just hanging out in the open waiting to land.

Data did not immediately react. He sat up straight in his chair. His head twitched twice as he blinked rapidly. To anyone else it may have simply looked as if he were trying to comprehend the weight of the Admiral's statement.

However, internally, Data was reviewing all available information on Mordan and the situation from forty years earlier.

"Before the war, Karnas's father was assassinated," Jameson explained. "So Karnas took hostages. Demanded the Starfleet provide him with weapons to defeat the opposition."

"Starfleet sent in two negotiators. Both were killed by Karnas after they refused to arm his movement," Data finished for him. "But you managed to negotiate an agreement to have the hostages released."

"That's the official record," Jameson said.

"Are you saying that is not the truth?" Data asked.

"It wasn't my golden tongue that saved the day," Jameson confessed.

Jameson paused as he watched them pass by the main continent in orbit. Nearly half of the fighting had taken place there – wiping out nearly all life on the western portion.

"I gave him the weapons. I armed Karnas," Jameson said. "I didn't negotiate. I gave him everything he wanted."

Blasters and explosive ordinances from the New Ungarians, land assault vehicles from the Kalderans, even a secret deal work out with Kriosian rebels to supply Karnas with crude nuclear weapons.

"I didn't just arm Karnas. I gave exactly the same weapons to the rival faction. My own personal interpretation on the Prime Directive," Jameson rationalised. "I thought they could solve their disagreement on equal footing."

"Which plunged Mordan in decades of civil war," Data said. "Devastating the planet."

"A fact that Karnas has never forgotten. He's king of his particular hill. But the hill is ruined," Jameson concluded. "And he holds me personally responsible for the destruction on Mordan."

The Admiral shook his head sadly.

"I thought it would be a minor war. A ceasefire in a month. Formal peace negotiations a year later. I never envisioned the conflict would be sustainable," Jameson admitted. "I falsified the records to Starfleet. I lied."

Jameson had carried the burden of that secret on his soul for far too long.

"Sixty-three people were saved. But over three million people died. And I bear the weight of each one of those deaths. I can feel them," Jameson went on. "Being back here again. It's even stronger."

"Tha luchd-rionnagleanaidh, thu thior anam-rion," Data said.

Jameson looked to Data for an explanation.

"Loosely translated it means that those who achieve success pay for it with a part of their soul," Data informed him.

It was a Turkanan phrase he had heard Tasha utter more than once.

Apparently, it was a profound basis for most of the Turkana ancient beliefs – everything had a price. And the higher the success, the greater the sacrifice.

"With that said, Karnas could have worked for peace during those years. He chose to continue the fighting," Data reminded the Admiral.

"And I chose to continue a career built on a lie. I should have set things right a long time ago. Worked for peace. Returned and helped broker an arrangement," Jameson lamented.

He doubled over in agony as another sharp pain gripped his body. His internal organs were beginning to fail.

"I have very little time left," Jameson said in a strained voice.

"What do you intend to do with it, sir?" Data inquired.

Jameson straightened up his posture. He was determined not to waste another moment.

"It's time to set things right," Jameson announced.

He put his hand on Data's shoulder.

"I may have enough time to make one, maybe two things right with your help," Jameson said.

---

"Any word yet on the Admiral?" Riker whispered.

"Not good," Worf answered.

"Not good is a galactic understatement," Picard muttered under his breath.

They were seconds away from opening a channel on the viewscreen with Karnas.

He had demanded a check in call after the failed attempt to rescue the hostages in the tunnels.

"Karnas is hailing us again," Tasha reported from the Tactical console.

"I suppose we can't put him off any longer," Picard surmised.

Captain Picard stood up and tugged on the top of his uniform in order to straighten it.

"On screen," Picard ordered.

The viewscreen came to life. Karnas was sitting on top of his desk. He was infuriated to see Jameson was not present.

"How long does Jameson expect to keep me waiting?" Karnas fumed. "I demand to speak with Jameson!"

"As you have been made aware, Admiral Jameson has suffered from a series of medical setbacks recently," Picard advised.

"Then rig a communication channel to your Sickbay! These delays are unacceptable!" Karnas said with a sneer.

Captain Picard tapped his combadge.

"What is your status, Mr Data?" Picard inquired.

"On my way," Data responded.

"Any moment," Picard said with a tight smile as he turned back to the viewscreen.

Karnas was far from satisfied.

"Has there been any movement or communication from the terrorists since our last check in? Are the hostages safe?" Picard asked.

"The hostages are irrelevant," Karnas snarled.

He began to pace in front of his desk in agitation. He wasn't sure if Jameson truly were ill or if this was all some elaborate ploy to get him to break.

Either way, it served to make Karnas anxious.

The door to the Bridge slid open and Data stepped off the turbolift.

Alone.

Data and Tasha shared a brief look as she tried to get a read on his body language.

"Admiral Jameson died at 15:41 hours," Data announced.

---

The door to her guest quarters chimed.

Anne Jameson got up from her spot at the window and strolled over to open the door.

"Mark," Anne said in surprise.

He looked embarrassed, almost shy, standing at her doorway with a jar of fireflies and a bouquet of daisies – not unlike how he used to come by her dormitory during their days in San Francisco.

In fact, looking exactly like he had during those days.

"I have no right to ask you, Annie," Mark began. "But will you go out with me tonight?"

Mrs Jameson was at a loss for words.

"You should be in bed," she finally managed to say. "You're in pain."

"And dying," he laughed softly. "And I don't have a lot of time left. But the time I do have, is yours."

---

"This smells of a plot!" Karnas shouted on the viewscreen. "I demand Jameson beam down immediately!"

"I assure you that the Admiral is no longer with us," Data responded.

Technically it wasn't a lie.

"But he did ask that I pass along a message," Data went on. "Admiral Jameson acknowledged his responsibility in arming you and your rival faction in a misguided attempt to bring about peace."

Captain Picard visibly recoiled at this information – it certainly explained why the Admiral had been so reluctant to discuss details.

"Admiral Jameson also asked that I file a report with Starfleet Command and request an official apology and reparations for your people and the damage his actions caused your planet," Data went on.

Karnas stopped pacing and sat back on his desk.

"I don't want his pity! I want his head," Karnas roared.

"That will not be possible. However, the Admiral suspected you would react as such. He asked that I share with you a phrase he reflected upon," Data said.

"So he expects to get the last word?" Karnas snapped.

"Tha luchd-rionnagleanaidh, thu thior anam-rion," Data said.

"I don't speak gibberish," Karnas replied in a terse voice.

"Those who achieve success pay for it with a part of their soul," Data informed him. "The Admiral said it was his hope that you will someday find the same peace that he has now found."

Karnas's shoulders slumped. A pained look crossed his face.

He had spent so much time and effort planning his revenge.

Jameson was dead.

And it had all been for nothing.

"I'm sorry this news must come as a shock," Picard began. "But we need to find a way forward to ensure it does not impact the safety of the hostages."

Karnas was lost in the haze of his own thoughts.

"No, no," Karnas said strangely.

"Governor Karnas, would it be amendable for us to beam aboard yourself and a delegation from the terrorists to discuss this aboard our ship?" Picard offered.

"NO!" Karnas shouted as he slammed his fist down on the surface of the desk.

Karnas was so angry he was shaking.

"There will be no negotiating. I plan to execute the hostages. And I will have my state media inform everyone on Mordan that the Federation did this!" Karnas vowed.

I plan to execute the hostages.

"There are no terrorists," Picard realised.

"Of course not! Do you think I would let such a group go unchecked?" Karnas scoffed.

"This was all a ploy to extract revenge on Admiral Jameson," Picard said.

Karnas nodded.

"I had planned to make him a prisoner of the state. He would stand trial and then a public execution for starting the civil war," Karnas explained. "My people need someone to blame."

"I believe they already have someone," Picard countered.

Karnas shook his head in denial.

"Jameson may have armed you. But you gave the orders to carry out such devastation," Picard reminded him. "You are both culpable."

"Sir, the hostages," Riker whispered.

There would be time to assign blame later. Their priority needed to be the successful recovery of the hostages.

"Right. Karnas, I am ready and willing to negotiate with you for the release of-" Picard began to say.

All of a sudden, the doors to Karnas's office flew open. A stream of armed guards swarmed in.

"There he is!" one of them shouted.

Karnas put his hands up in the sign of surrender.

"Get him!" another one shouted.

"Traitor!" a third one cried.

"Lieutenant, lock onto Karnas and beam him out of there!" Picard ordered.

Tasha keyed in the proper command and locked onto the signal.

A moment later, Karnas materialised on the Bridge.

"What is the meaning-" Karnas began to protest.

"Be quiet," Picard said, cutting him off.

Worf stepped down from the back of the Bridge and kept his phaser trained on Karnas.

"We demand Karnas!" one of the armed men said as he stepped forward.

"Who are you?" Picard inquired.

Based on their attire and military insignia, Data theorised these people were all part of Karnas's personal guard.

"Riagar," he announced.

"Supreme Commander of the Mordanian military, sir," Data advised.

He had read about Riagar in his research. He was considered one of Karnas's top people and his most trusted ally.

It seemed Karnas had been so consumed with his revenge plot against Jameson that he had failed to see a coup coming.

His people, tired of the poor living conditions and the continued arms proliferation, had decided to take matters into their own hands.

Raigor and his rebellion had no inkling of the hostages. But they saw the opportunity for a bargaining chip.

"Return Karnas to us to stand trial and we will release your hostages," Riagar said. "We have no quarrel with you and no desire to harm them."

Karnas turned from Picard to the viewscreen and back again.

"You can't do this!" Karnas cried. "I can't be put on trial!"

"For war crimes. For profiting off our devastation. And for treason," Riagar explained.

Karnas clutched his chest and began to back away.

"Return Karnas and we will release the hostages immediately," Riagar promised.

"Done," Picard replied simply.

Jean-Luc turned and nodded to Tasha.

She understood and beamed Karnas back down to his office.

He was detained and drug away screaming by two of his former personal guards.

"We're receiving an encoded message from the surface, sir. It's coordinates," Tasha reported.

"The location of your hostages. As promised," Riagar notified them.

The team sprung into action.

"Set a course for those coordinates, Mr Crusher," Picard instructed.

He resumed his seat in the Command Chair.

"Number One, head to the Transporter room and debrief Ambassador Hawkins. Take a medical team with you," Picard said.

"Aye, sir," Riker responded before stepping off the Bridge.

"Data, see to Admiral Jameson. Lieutenant Yar, go with him and make sure Mrs Jameson is not left alone," Picard said.

Oh she's already been alone for sixty years. Tasha thought bitterly.

With a short nod, they both climbed on the lift.

---

"Deck nine," Data ordered.

Tasha frowned.

"Would you like to get a Raktajino?" Data asked.

Tasha blinked in confusion.

"Data, I don't think that's a good idea," Tasha said slowly.

She couldn't fathom why he was casually asking her to coffee when they were on their way to recover the Admiral's body and tend to his window.

"Tea?" Data inquired. "Or those slush ice lime drinks Wesley enjoys?"

"This is hardly the time," Tasha replied.

"Geordi has often recommended the Lisbon fog," Data went on. "It has elements of tea, chocolate, steamed milk, and chili powder."

Tasha glanced over at him in shock.

"We have orders," Tasha reminded him.

"I am following orders," Data responded simply.

"Computer halt," Tasha ordered.

She turned to face Data. Her eyes were full of concern.

"Are you alright? Has something happened?" Tasha asked.

It was so unusual for Data to behave like this.

To Tasha's surprise, Data moved in close.

Instinctively, she backed toward the wall.

Data captured her lips in a soft kiss.

It wasn't that such a kiss was unwelcome – but they never did this kind of thing while on duty. They were on a turbolift, stopped between two decks, and actively delaying carrying out their orders.

Data felt Tasha tense as he rested his hand on the small of her back.

He pulled away.

"I am sorry," Data apologised.

"We have orders," Tasha said softly.

"I am following orders," Data repeated.

He tilted his head and moved in for a second tender kiss.

Tasha melted back against the wall.

When he pulled away the second time, Data watched her reaction. It was only a few moments, but he never got tired of seeing her like that – eyes closed, lips slightly parted, the corner of her mouth curved ever so slightly.

"We have to recover the Admiral's body," Tasha whispered.

"When it is time," Data replied.

"Are you saying the Admiral isn't dead yet?" Tasha asked in astonishment.

Data didn't respond verbally. He took hold of her hands and gave them a gentle squeeze.

"Right now, I have orders," Data said.

Tasha shrugged, looking for an explanation.

"Admiral Jameson has ordered me to spend this time with someone I love," Data informed her.

He reached up to tuck Tasha's bangs back behind her ear.

"Mrs Jameson will radio when it is time. Doctor Crusher and Counsellor Troi are standing by. But for the moment, my time is yours. And I know you like a coffee in the afternoon," Data said.

---

"What is this place?" Jameson asked.

He and his wife were standing just inside an arched doorway. He glanced around at the strange black and yellow grid-like walls that surrounded every available surface.

"These holodecks are capable of producing the most wonderful fantasies," Anne explained. "Whatever you can imagine."

Admiral Jameson had heard of such technology – but he had retired before the technology had been rolled out.

"We can go anywhere," Anne said.

"Where do you want to go?" Mark asked his wife.

"Computer, please take us to the Esterelle Gardens on Alpha Centauri VI," Anne requested.

Admiral Jameson gasped with wonder as the neon grid was replaced by a familiar lush terrain.

Early in their careers, they had both been stationed on the planet - Mark as a young Ensign and Anne as a research fellow.

"It looks the same," Mark commented. "We used to come here. Walk through gardens. Picnic by the lake."

Arm-in-arm, they walked the same cobblestone path they had taken daily sixty years before.

They rounded the garden and turned down toward the lake and headed for a large willow tree that hung over the water's edge.

"This is where I asked you to marry me," Mark recalled. "Sometimes I still wonder how you were foolish enough to say yes."

Despite his pain, Admiral Jameson helped his wife down so that they could sit together by the water.

"You were so brilliant, Annie," he said honestly.

He reached up to stroke her hair.

"You gave up so much for me," Jameson went on. "And I never appreciated it like I should have."

It was true. But their time was limited, and Anne didn't want to spend it lamenting what could or should have been.

"When we were here together, that was the happiest time of my life," she confessed.

She reached down and cupped his face.

"And I gave up my career because it meant being together," Anne replied. "That was all I ever really wanted, Mark. You were more important."

"Do you think it's possible for two people to go back in time?" Mark inquired. "It's too late for me. But I could get you the treatment, Annie. You could do anything you want with-"

"No, Mark," Anne answered. "I don't think it's possible for two people to go back in time."

Admiral Jameson's throat grew tight.

"And they shouldn't," Anne added softly. "All I ever wanted was to be together. And we were. For sixty years. It may not have been as often as I'd have liked. But we were together."

Mark hissed and shuddered as another flash of pain radiated out from his abdomen.

Anne pulled him down to rest his head in her lap.

"And I wouldn't change that for anything, Mark," she assured him.

They sat there watching the sunset together as it sank down below the horizon across the lake. As the red-orange hue of the dying sun blazed in its final moments, there was both so much and so little to say.

There were many things left unsaid.

Yet, most of it seemed immaterial now.

The Admiral was in great physical pain, but he felt at peace.

As the sky began to dim, the first twinkle of the Alpha Centauri star system began to appear in the night's sky. Alpha Centauri VI was considered one of the most beautiful planets in Federation space – and it's purple twilight was no exception.

The fireflies in the jar next to them began to dance in the afterglow.

"Do you remember the first time we came here?" Mark asked. "You made those little ginger biscuits."

"And I forgot the sandwiches," Anne smiled.

"I brought that awfully cheap bottle of wine," Jameson choked out.

They both laughed.

"It was terrible," Anne said.

Mark felt something wet fall on his face.

Despite the laughter, Anne was in tears – weeping in silence just as she had for the last sixty years.

Mark squeezed his wife's hand, offering wordless assurance that he was still there with her.

"What do you want to do?" Mark asked suddenly.

"What?" Anne asked.

"What do you want to do, well, after…after I'm gone. Tell me about it, Annie," he requested. "I want to know. Please, tell me about it."

"I don't know," Anne confessed. "I've always wanted to go to Ile Alba."

"Describe it for me," Jameson asked.

"You've been there," Anna reminded him. "You brought me back the most lovely sea glass. That's why I wanted to go."

"I know, Annie. Describe it for me. Please," Jameson said.

---

"So if he's not really dead, what's going on?" Tasha asked.

"You feel uncomfortable," Data observed.

They were sitting together in one of the smaller lounges near the canteen. It was off the beaten path and so Data and Tasha had the place to themselves.

The two were seated across from one another at a small table near one of the windows.

"It just feels weird being here and not following the Captain's orders," Tasha confessed.

On Data's suggestion, she had skipped the Raktajino in favour of something new.

But she hadn't touched the lime green slushie in front of her.

"It is sour," Data said as he took a sip through his own straw.

Tasha leaned forward and took a small sip.

She sat back and realised Data was watching her intently.

"Is it pleasing?" Data asked eagerly.

"Yeah," Tasha replied with a shy grin.

Data's eyes lit up.

"There are a great many things I would like to experience with you," Data confessed.

Tasha glanced back and forth to ensure they were still alone. This hardly seemed like the setting for such a conversation.

"Like trying new things," Data clarified as he reached under the table and found her hand.

"Me too," Tasha replied.

"I know that we both made a promise when we initiated this relationship that our duty would come first," Data said. "But am I correct in believing that the nature of our relationship has changed?"

"Yeah," Tasha nodded.

When they had first acknowledged their feelings and begun their relationship, neither of them had ever anticipated that it would blossom into something deeper.

They loved each other. They were making plans together.

They had gone so far as to agree to joint counselling sessions to work through everything with the goal of it leading to a lifetime commitment.

"I want to finalise our plan, Tasha," Data said.

Tasha froze.

Data could see the slight, almost imperceptible, widening of her eyes as Tasha braced herself for what felt like an incredibly awkward proposal.

She wasn't ready to approach that subject yet – and she had good reason.

It wasn't that she was afraid of commitment or unwilling to take that step with Data. But the concept of marriage on Turkana was so different from traditional Terran customs. And a part of Tasha was stuck on the fact that accepting Data's proposal left her with a deep, superstitious fear that she would lose Data just like she had lost Alfie.

It was irrational.

Tasha knew it was irrational.

But she couldn't shake it.

For years she had wrestled with guilt over accepting Alfie's proposal. It wasn't that she regretted making a commitment to him. Rather, Tasha felt like she had betrayed her own Turkanan beliefs and that Romachaid had cost her Alfie.

There was no direct translation from the native Turkanan tongue, but it was similar to the Earth custom of Karma.

And while Tasha might not have entirely bought into the ancient deities – she understood, respected, and believed in the tenets of her homeworld's old faith.

The universe was harsh. Everything had a cost. Self-sacrifice for the greater good of the community was one's duty. And those with had an obligation to protect those without.

"I am not proposing," Data clarified.

Tasha visibly relaxed.

"But I want you to know that you are my priority," Data went on. "And I would very much like to be your priority."

It had only been an hour since his conversation with the Admiral. But for Data, that was more than enough time to make a decision.

"I would like us to make a plan during our next counselling session," Data explained.

"Make a plan?" Tasha inquired.

Data nodded.

"You and me. Map out and solidify a plan. For us," Data said. "We both have careers and things we hope to accomplish. I have no intention of giving up or scaling back my service to Starfleet. Nor do I believe you should."

She had promised Data a family.

Someday.

"I know that we are years away from that point. But I believe we should start planning," Data asserted.

"This is really important to you," Tasha observed.

"Yes," Data admitted in earnest.

Tasha nodded slowly.

"Alright," she smiled.

Data gasped softly in surprise.

"Really?" Data inquired.

"Yes. You're my priority," Tasha assured him.

---

"There's an ancient lighthouse on the north shore of the sea. It's where you found that sea glass. You said that in the morning, the sound of the waves was mesmerising," Anne said. "You sent a letter in which you described how you would lie there for hours as you tried to work out how to get the Halaains and the Optriacha to come to an agreement on trade routes."

Mark had closed his eyes, content to lie there in her arms, listening to the sound of Anne's voice as she stroked his hair.

"So I thought I would go to the same. And I suppose, in a way, it will be like we're there together, Mark," Anne said.

There was no response.

"Mark?" Anne asked.

She was greeted by silence.

Anne closed her eyes and took a shaky breath.

"Mark?" she asked again.

The only sound was the distant chirp of the crickets near the garden.

Anne brushed his hair back as she glanced down at her husband.

His grip on her hand had loosened. Were it not for her holding it against his chest, it would have dropped.

All life in him was gone.

Anne brought his hand to her lips and brushed a soft kiss to the back of it.

She held him and rocked back and forth as she wept.

---

Captain's log. Stardate 41311.7. Admiral Mark Jameson died peacefully in his sleep at 15:37 hours. His body will be transported to Alpha Centauri VI where he will be interred at a private cemetery. There will be a state funeral with proper Federation honours at a later date.

The hostages have been released and Ambassador Hawkins has reached an agreement with the new Mordanian government for a continued Federation presence on the planet.

Karnas has been charged with a series of war crimes and will face trial next month in Mordan's court.

At the request of Mrs Jameson, I have permitted Lieutenant Commander Data and Lieutenant Yar to accompany me with the envoy that will see Jameson interred.

---

Tasha bit her lip as she stood in the corner of the drawing room at the Jameson estate. She tugged at the collar on her dress uniform. She always felt constricted in such a garment – and this stuffy atmosphere only amplified the feeling.

The Admiral had been laid to rest on Alpha Centauri VI. It had only been a short trip from there to return Mrs Jameson to her home on Persephone V.

Data was across the room chatting at length with a delegation from Vulcan that had come to pay their respects.

Captain Picard had run into an old friend.

Feeling out of place, Tasha had gravitated to the edge of the room.

She scanned the mantle where a series of photographs lined the surface. There were a few of the Admiral at various functions. Two pictures featured the Jameson's together – including one that looked like a wedding photo.

To Tasha's curiosity, most of the photographs were of landscapes.

"Our wall of tomorrow," Anne said as she came up next to Tasha.

"Wall of tomorrow?" Tasha inquired.

"All the places and things we promised to do someday," Anne explained.

They weren't memories. They were unfilled dreams.

Tasha's chest grew tight. She felt uncomfortably warm.

"I'm sorry," Tasha said, unsure of what was appropriate.

"Promise me something," Anne requested.

She glanced away, turning her attention across the room.

Tasha followed her gaze and realised Mrs Jameson was looking at Data.

"Don't wait for tomorrow," Anne smiled.

---

At 17:54 Data realised Tasha was still sitting on the sofa in his quarters.

They had returned to the Enterprise a few hours earlier. It had been a quiet afternoon and Captain Picard had excused the senior officers from duty.

Data was at his workstation completing the request Admiral Jameson had asked him to submit to Starfleet. He was still wearing his dress uniform having seen no purpose to change.

Tasha had thrown off her own dress uniform first thing upon reaching Data's quarters in favour of changing into a comfortable pair of leggings and an oversized jumper.

Desperate for a distraction, she was working on the holodeck Sherlock Holmes programme she was designing with help from Geordi and Worf.

They had both been content to work together in a comfortable silence.

Data checked his internal chronometer again. It was now 17:56 and Tasha had still not moved. He suspected she was unaware of the time.

"It is almost 18:00 hours," Data advised. "Do you not have a standing weekly engagement with Counsellor Troi and Doctor Crusher?"

Girl's night.

Short of an emergency, the three friends rarely missed it.

"I cancelled. Wasn't feeling much up to going," Tasha confessed.

Tasha brought her hand up to her forehead.

"Oh, I completely forgot! You've got that holodeck thing with Geordi," she said. "I can go to my quarters."

"Geordi and I have rescheduled that engagement," Data informed her.

Data stopped typing and cocked his head to the side.

All of sudden, Data got up from his workstation and appeared in the arch that separated the two spaces.

Neither of them said anything as they stared at one another from across the room.

"Do you want to try Shulah?" Tasha asked.

"Would you be interested in Gu Elaiore?" Data inquired at the same time.

Tasha giggled.

"You go first," she said.

"Gu Elaoire is an ancient Vulcan art from the Era of Huntrat. It is considered to be a blend of movement and traditional art forms," Data explained. "It is considered by many to be one of the purest and most intimate forms of art."

"I'm not any good at art," Tasha reminded him.

"Believe me, you possess all the skills required for this form of art," Data assured her.

Tasha shrugged.

"Ok," she grinned.

"What is Shulah?" Data asked.

Tasha looked away. Her shoulders were shaking.

"Tasha?" Data prompted.

"Sorry," she laughed.

In light of Data's thoughtful suggestion, she felt like her idea was comically underrated.

"Food. Guinan's new dish this week. Some kind of Uzbek cuisine," Tasha said. "I've never had it. Thought maybe we could try something different."

---

Ninety minutes later they were sitting on Data's sofa with takeaway boxes spread across the coffee table.

"So how does this goo elfor work?" Tasha asked.

"Gu Elaoire," Data corrected.

Data got up from the sofa and began to push the furniture aside.

"We will need the space," Data explained.

He didn't need the help, but Tasha joined him in carrying the coffee table to space by his workstation.

Once they had cleared away a large space, Data slipped into his storage closet to fetch his art supplies.

Data set them down in the corner.

Together, they laid out a tarp to cover the carpet. Once that was down, they spread out a large, loose canvas.

"I will return momentarily with towels," Data said.

"What now?" Tasha asked.

"Please remove your clothes," Data said simply.

Without another word he disappeared into the bedroom.

"Data?" Tasha called after him.

Tasha ran her hand back through her hair and exhaled slowly.

When she had agreed to participate in this art project, she hadn't realised what it would entail.

"Look, Data. I want to try new things with you but I'm not comfortable being painted," Tasha said.

He'd asked her before – several times – if she would permit him to paint her.

Tasha bit her lip.

"I just can't," she said.

"If you do not wish to proceed, then we will stop," Data assured her.

Tasha breathed a sigh of relief.

"But I feel I should explain that it is not my intention to paint you," Data clarified. "In Gu Elaiore, the body acts as the tool for applying the paint."

"Oh? Like fingerpainting?" Tasha asked.

"Not exactly," Data replied.

He got up from the floor and poured them both a glass of whisky.

"Computer, music programme Data 57812," Data instructed.

As he lowered the illumination, the soft, jazzy sound of a piano filled the room followed moments later by the voice of a crooner from time that had long passed.

"I think you look best in blue," Data said.

---

"Stop it," Tasha giggled. "It tickles."

She ducked away from his hand.

"But it is in your ear," Data insisted.

"Who's fault is that?" Tasha retorted.

She glanced down at her hands and grinned to herself.

"You're sure this stuff is nontoxic?" Tasha asked.

Data sat back and gave her a look.

He didn't need to respond verbally - Tasha got the message loud and clear.

"It's just that-" Tasha began to protest.

Data gripped her chin and forced her to look up at him.

"I never would have put something on you," Data paused before adding. "Or in you that would cause you harm."

He gave her a very serious look.

"Do not look so blue," Data said.

"I can't take you seriously when you look like a muppet," Tasha confessed.

His hair was sticking up at an odd angle and he was coated in a mix of yellow and green paint.

"And I look like an Andorian," Tasha said as she shook her head.

She knew she looked just as frightful.

They were sitting across from one another in Data's bath attempting to scrub the paint from their bodies.

"You have never looked better," Data assured her.

He rang out a flannel and wiped away the paint from one side of her face.

"Flatterer," Tasha responded.

"I am grateful that you agreed," Data said.

And he meant it. He had wanted to ask Tasha for some time, but had been afraid she would say no.

He reached up and cupped her face with his clean hand. Tasha closed her eyes and nuzzled against his hand.

"Thank you for teaching me how to goop eh fwah," Tasha replied.

"I believe you are saying it wrong on purpose to get a rise out of me," Data observed.

Tasha grinned.

"Maybe," she teased.

At Data's direction, Tasha turned around in the water so that he could clean the back of her neck.

"You aren't going to tell anyone how we made that painting, right?" Tasha asked.

"You have my word," Data promised.

He pressed a soft kiss to the nape of her neck.

"You know, I have plans for tomorrow," Data shared.

"Oh really?" Tasha asked.

He stopped and rested his chin on her shoulder. Tasha could feel his breath against her neck.

"And all my tomorrow's belong to you," he whispered.