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.

80. Coming of Age

Author's Note: Ah! I'm so thrilled to be here! This instalment marks both chapter 80 and over 900,000 words in this story!

I'm thrilled and so grateful for all of your support.

As I mentioned in the last update – there are some dark days ahead. The Romulan conspiracy arc is now in full swing.

I've been writing like mad in an effort to finish The Complication by the end of the year. My goal is to have this wrapped up so I can drop the sequels The Crucible (TNG S2) and the start of The Course We Set (S3-S4) by early January.

Our roadmap for the next few updates is as follows:

Coming of Age: Wes prepares for his entrance exams to Starfleet Academy. New information forces the team to rethink the Romulan Conspiracy.

Heart of Glory: When three rogue Klingons leave Worf with uncomfortable questions, the crew are there to remind him that the Enterprise is home.

Arsenal of Freedom: A computerised weapons system proves more than a match for the crew. With the Captain, Commander Riker, and Doctor Crusher injured, it's up to Data and Tasha to save them. Meanwhile, Geordi's in command.

Symbiosis: The rescue of a transport freighter pulls the Enterprise into a difficult conflict – one that causes disagreements to flare up between the crew. When an argument between Beverly and Jean-Luc reaches the boiling point, it has serious repercussions for their relationship.

Sucker Punch: Full disclosure – this is a fun romp palette cleanser to break up all the heavy material. Jean-Luc's ego gets the better of him when he agrees to participate in a friendly inter-ship rivalry. The crew of the Enterprise face off against the Yamato in a series of challenges designed to test them.

---

"These are the reports from the ship's stores, cargo bays three, five, and eight, and, eh," Tasha paused as she shuffled the tablets in her hand. "And that is the medical storage locker and hazardous waste."

Tasha set the final tablet down on the surface of Data's workstation.

"Oh," she gasped.

Tasha swiped her finger on the screen to pull another report.

"This is a requisition requiring the approval of the First or Second officer," Tasha explained.

Data frowned as he skimmed over the request.

"For a new personal PADD?" Data asked.

He glanced up at Tasha.

"What has happened to your device?" Data inquired.

"Broke," Tasha said simply.

Data's brow furrowed as he eyed Tasha with suspicion.

"Perhaps I can fix it," Data offered.

"No," Tasha answered. "I think it's a bit beyond repair at this point."

But Data wasn't going to simply accept her explanation without more detail. While he trusted Tasha, PADDs weren't just readily issued at whim. Because of their capabilities, it was essential for Starfleet to track precisely where they were issued and why.

Though the loss of the object certainly explained why Tasha had presented him their final departure checklist reports on several different tablets.

Data also recognised that technology was not Tasha's forte. Presuming that her assumption about its state was inaccurate – Data decided to press the issue.

"I will be happy to take a look. Perhaps the damage is not nearly as bad as you believe," Data suggested.

Tasha bit her lip.

"Lieutenant?" Data inquired.

They were technically on duty and their meeting that afternoon was strictly in the sense of their respective roles as Second Officer and Security Chief. When they were on duty, Data and Tasha made a point of using their titles – especially when it involved a matter of delicacy like requisitions.

"No, I'm fairly certain it can't be saved," Tasha assured him.

Tasha knew she would have to give him more information. Data would never be satisfied with such a vague explanation.

"It fell down access shaft 39R on deck twenty-eight," Tasha said.

"The one that leads directly to the maintenance access shaft for the reserve bay torpedo tubes?" Data inquired with a hint of displeasure.

"Mmm hmm," Tasha nodded. "Completely melted when flushed the tubes – as you know they were supposed to be empty – and all that shoots out the aft section."

Data's face soured. Tasha cleared her throat as she scratched at the inside of her wrist.

"And it happened to coincide with the test burn on the starboard nacelle so there's nothing left," Tasha concluded with a shrug.

Clever girl. Data thought.

"I see," Data said.

He tapped the computer screen to power down his workstation. It took a full three seconds for everything to go down. The loud, steady hum that never seemed to cease fell silent as the screens went dark.

"Commander?" Tasha asked.

Data stood up. He gripped Tasha's bicep and guided her out of the main room and into the bedroom.

Unlike most of the other senior officers, Data's living quarters also served as the Second Officer's office space. During their initial planning for the allocation of space, no one had envisioned an android actually having the need for living space.

Most of the time Data didn't mind having his workstation close – it was awfully handy when inspiration struck.

Or when he wanted to be rather naughty and take advantage of having a joint living space/working office. It provided all the thrill of getting frisky in the office with none of the risk – an advantage Will Riker was more than little jealous of.

Data sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled Tasha down with him.

"Right now I want to have a conversation with you as your partner, your lover – and not your commanding officer," Data explained.

Tasha remained perfectly still.

"What happened?" Data asked.

Tasha shrugged.

"I dropped it," she answered. "I wasn't going to crawl down after it – not into a torpedo tube."

Data took hold of Tasha's hand and pulled it into his lap.

"In all the time I have known you, Natasha Yar, I have noticed that you choose your words carefully," Data remarked. "More so than most humans."

Years of covert operations training enabled Tasha to keep her cool demeanour.

"For the duration of this conversation, you have not used the words such as accident, mistake, or mishap. Not once," Data observed.

"Like I said, dropped it," Tasha said.

Data did not so much as blink.

"Nor do I believe you feel remorse for dropping it," Data went on. "You have not once said that you regret such an act. And I believe that is because you intended to drop it."

Tasha remained silent and unmoving as she waited for Data to continue.

"What I would like to know is why," Data pressed.

"I can answer that honestly. Or I can protect you," Tasha replied.

Her lip began to quiver.

"But I can't do both," Tasha confessed. "And I won't lie to you."

---

Seventy-Two Hours Earlier

"And the temporary storage has been emptied. Secondary shift rotation is in effect and Emmerson and Cooper have volunteered to watch the office because it counts towards their recertification credit," Tasha said as she ticked off the items on her hand.

Tasha grinned.

She leaned over the workstation, propping up her elbows atop the surface as she rested her chin on her fist.

She'd been looking forward to this stop for quite some time. All those shifts she had covered for Worf during Ariana's visit meant that Tasha had very little on her plate for the duration of their visit.

Relva VII was a minor starbase. They were safely within Federation territory in an area that was stable. There was no risk of space anomalies, enemies of the Federation, or other such disruptions.

In fact, unless Q popped in, Tasha was expecting to have the whole weekend to herself with Data.

"Which means for the next seventy-two hours I am all yours," Tasha said.

Her expression changed.

"Well, almost. I promised Beverly and Deanna that I'd check out the shoppes and Commander Riker found this place that specialises in hot food," Tasha said. "You're welcome to join."

Data kept his response neutral.

"My dear, though I have tried a total of six hundred and forty-nine varieties of peppers, seeds, and roots that, as you say, 'bring the heat', I fear that I do find the same sense of enjoyment that you experience," Data confessed.

In fact, Data's sensory receptors indicated that some of the foods his human friends consumed were enough to cause pain.

He was both fascinated and confused by the way Tasha, Riker, and Worf would literally force their way through a tray of ultra-hot nosh bean nuggets at Ten Forward – sweating, mouth on fire, eyes watering.

Data reasoned the high that came from hot food was just something he would never get to share.

And that was perfectly fine by Data – it was one experience he was fine with missing out on.

"So what do you want to do today?" Tasha asked as she rocked back and forth.

Data could tell from her eager attitude that Tasha had something in mind.

"What would you like to do?" Data asked.

Tasha's eyes lit up.

"Well, I was thinking we could start-"

"Lieutenant Commander Data report to Transporter Room Three," Captain Picard's voice chimed in from over the communications array.

"I am sure this will not take long," Data assured Tasha as he rose from his seat.

"Lieutenant Yar report to Transporter Room Three," Captain Picard said.

"What now?" Tasha pondered aloud.

Data could sense the trepidation in her voice. She sincerely hoped there wasn't an emergency.

Alas! It was fun to imagine. Tasha thought as they rushed off to the Transporter Room.

---

Captain's log, stardate 41416.2. We're orbiting Relva VII, where Wesley Crusher is about to be tested for entrance into Starfleet Academy. And to my great surprise, I have just learned that my old friend Admiral Gregory Quinn is on Relva VII and has requested to beam aboard the Enterprise immediately.

---

When Data and Tasha reached the Transporter Room, they found Commander Riker, Doctor Crusher, and Captain Picard present and waiting. Miles was at the console.

"Sir, two standing by to beam aboard," Miles reported.

Admiral Quinn's hail had offered little information in the way of the nature of his visit – only that he wished to beam aboard straight away and that he was bringing one aide with him.

"Whenever you're ready, Chief," Picard replied.

Miles activated the transporter pad and two figures appeared.

The first was a seasoned Admiral with striking grey hair.

Quinn. Data identified.

More specifically, Admiral Gregory Quinn. His expertise was in Operational Support Services. But Quinn had made a name for himself during the final years of the conflict with the Klingon Empire prior to the alliance.

He was a veteran of the days when the Federation had been at war with both the Romulans and the Klingons.

And Data knew from Captain Picard's service records that Picard had served under Quinn when stationed on the USS Robert.

Data did not recognise the aide that accompanied Quinn.

He was a middle-aged man with a high forehead and sandy blonde hair that was starting to thin. The pips on his collar indicated the rank of Lieutenant Commander.

But unlike most of Quinn's staff, this man wore a red Command uniform.

"Welcome aboard, Admiral," Picard said as he greeted the pair.

"Good to see you, Captain," Quinn responded.

He turned to his aide.

"Picard, allow me to introduce Lieutenant Commander Dexter Remmick," Quinn said as he introduced his guest.

Tasha recognised the name, but she could not place how she knew it.

"From the Inspector General's office," Data said aloud as he accessed his internal databank of Starfleet personnel.

It took all of Tasha's training not to visibly react as she placed the memory.

Do you know Dexter Remmick?

Captain Rixx had asked Tasha that question during their meeting on Earth. The very meeting where he had shared his concerns about a series of strange, seemingly unrelated incidents that were all a little too connected with Starfleet's sudden withdrawal along the Neutral Zone.

Remmick shares our suspicions. And he's agreed to quietly look into them. As an officer of the Inspector General's office, Remmick has the ability to move freely without much oversight from Starfleet Command.

Rixx had endorsed Remmick's abilities, assuring Tasha he was the right man for the job to make discreet inquiries on the matter.

Sure does get around. Tasha thought, considering Remmick was all the way out at Relva VII.

"Of course you remember Doctor Crusher," Picard said as he introduced Quinn and Remmick to the line of officers.

"Beverly, how nice to see you again," Quinn said.

The last time they'd seen one another had been Jack's funeral.

"Allow me to introduce my First Officer, William T. Riker," Picard said.

Riker shook hands with both Quinn and Remmick.

It struck Data that there were similarities between Riker and Quinn – both men were tall, burly. They carried themselves with pride – and it made for a commanding presence.

There were similar mannerisms. The two even shared piercing blue eyes.

As he observed them interact, Data couldn't help but feel amused. Watching Quinn was like looking into a time machine to see what Will Riker might very well look like in forty or fifty years.

"This is my Second Officer-"

"Lieutenant Commander Data," Quinn said in astonishment. "I've been looking forward to meeting you for some time."

"And my Chief Security and Tactical Officer, Lieutenant Natasha Yar," Picard concluded.

Captain Picard rubbed his hands together.

"Now then, is this a social call?" Picard inquired.

"I need to speak with you," Quinn declared.

There was a sense of urgency in his voice.

"Certainly," Picard said. "Come. We can all step into the Observation Lounge."

"Alone," Quinn clarified in an ominous tone.

Jean-Luc's brow furrowed. It wasn't like Quinn to operate in such a manner.

"Is this personal? Has something happened?" Picard pressed.

He was concerned Quinn had been sent to deliver terrible news.

"Business," Quinn specified.

The Admiral could see Picard didn't quite follow why such a conversation warranted secrecy.

"Well then, my staff should-"

"Alone, Jean-Luc," Quinn insisted.

Everyone could sense there was something unusual about this visit. A certain aura of trepidation hung in the room, clinging to every available inch of air.

Data couldn't quite place the feeling.

But it was the same sense of unease he felt whenever they approached the Cardassian border, or a Klingon Warbird uncloaked in the vicinity.

Or when a ship was ordered to the Neutral Zone.

"Number One, I think it would be wise if we were to restrict travel off the Enterprise at the moment," Picard ordered. "Recall all our personnel – except Mr Crusher who will be starting his first set of exams soon."

He didn't know what was coming and wanted to be prepared for any contingency.

"And gather the senior staff. Observation Lounge. Keep everyone on hand," Picard said.

"No," Remmick said suddenly. "It's imperative you go about your business as usual. It is imperative our visit does not draw any attention."

"What my colleague means to say is that we don't wish to disrupt your business," Quinn said.

Wordlessly, an understanding passed between Jean-Luc and his officers in the room.

"Well then, I think we'd all like to get to our poker game," Riker said brightly.

Of course, there was no poker game. But Riker would round up the other senior officers and keep them all in one place under the guise of a poker game while they tried to deduce what Admiral Quinn was doing on the Enterprise.

And just why the Inspector General's Office was involved.

---

Miles returned to his shared quarters with Keiko to grab a few supplies before heading over to Commander Riker's.

Miles snagged his smaller toolkit and slipped his phaser into the bottom. He threw a few bags of crisps and his lucky Finglas Firebrands team neckerchief. He brought it whenever he played poker – and it made a nice cover for his phaser in a pinch.

"Well, I think we're all set. I've packed a lunch," Keiko said as she emerged from the bedroom.

Miles followed her line of sight to the table where there was a family-size ration box. Keiko had even packed a blanket and a thermos for the trip.

They had been planning to explore the Arboretum on Relva VII and see some of the new hybrid orchid species developed by the botanical research lab.

Keiko stopped as soon as she saw Miles wrapping his neckerchief around his phaser.

"Miles?" she prompted.

Miles sighed and set his phaser down. He stepped over to Keiko and pulled her close.

"I'm sorry. Something's come up," Miles said.

"That's alright," Keiko replied. "I know that if you feel compelled to go, it must be important."

"Do something for me? Please?" Miles asked.

Keiko smirked.

"Don't worry. I won't eat all the Manju," Keiko assured him. "I'll save some for you."

For as much as Miles liked to huff and puff about all the new food Keiko had introduced, he'd taken quite a shine to some of her Japanese cuisine.

Particularly to the little steamed buns filled with sweet red bean paste.

Keiko giggled and kissed the tip of his nose.

Only Miles wasn't laughing.

"Miles?" Keiko asked as she studied his worried expression.

"Stay here today. On the ship," Miles said. "Better yet, stay here in our quarters. At least until I get back."

Keiko's brow furrowed.

"Miles, you're spooking me," Keiko remarked.

There hadn't been any ship-wide announcement. They weren't on heightened alert and none of the klaxons were sounding.

Unless it's something really serious. Keiko thought.

She knew that there were situations where alerts could be counterproductive. Keiko also knew that those instances were the really bad ones.

"Please," Miles pleaded. "Just til I get back."

He kissed her forehead and then made for the door.

Miles stopped just shy of the door. He took a long, determined breath.

Keiko was taken by surprise when he turned back and swept her into another tight embrace.

"You know I love you," Miles whispered as he buried his face in her hair.

"I love you too. Miles, what is going on?" Keiko asked.

"I don't know. Just please stay here until I get back," Miles said.

He pressed another tender kiss to the top of her head before departing.

---

By the time Miles arrived at Commander Riker's quarters, most of the other senior officers had assembled. Data was wearing his signature green visor and shuffling cards.

Deanna was sipping on a cup of cocoa to calm her nerves.

Worf and Tasha were combing over the latest scans in the area, desperately searching for any clue as to the Admiral's sudden appearance on the Enterprise.

"Gregory Quinn and Captain Picard go back ages," Beverly said.

"You do know them better than any of us," Will said.

He set down a tray of snacks in the middle of the table. If they were going to sell this as a poker game, they might as well pull out all the stops.

"They served together on the Robert. Quinn was still a Captain then," Beverly explained.

It had all been so long ago that it felt like a different time, another place.

"You have to remember - it was a different world then. We were in conflict with both the Klingon Empire and the Romulans. They had their own shaky alliance," Beverly recounted. "There were no families on board starships in those days."

Starfleet had never overtly been a military organisation, but Beverly had always seen that time as the closest Starfleet had ever come to it – particularly when compared to the current state of things.

"Quinn's officers were like family. He mentored the whole lot of them. They were thick as thieves," Beverly shared.

She paused and smiled, shaking her head as she recalled a fond memory of the gang together all crowded around the table. Personal Quarters had been much smaller back then. As a married couple, Jack and Beverly Crusher had one of the larger rooms and it meant they frequently hosted all the entertaining.

Much like the crew of the Enterprise, they had been more than simply colleagues – they were family.

"There was Jean-Luc Picard, Walker Keel, Gregory Quinn, Donald Varley, Cort Zweller, Marta Batanides, my Jack," Beverly trailed off, overcome by the memory of it.

"Well we know it isn't personal. It's business. Quinn said as much when we were in the Transporter Room," Riker said.

Data looked up from his cards.

"Perhaps it is a bit of both?" Data suggested.

Riker shook his head – he didn't quite follow.

"You mean like Quinn lied? Not intentionally, but just to cover up it was something personal?" Geordi asked. "You don't think something happened to his family, do you?"

Data shook his head.

"No, I mean what if it is business that affects the Captain personally. As in, only the Captain. Perhaps a transfer or promotion?" Data proposed.

Tasha chuckled.

"Yeah, good luck getting the Captain out of that chair. He likes being in the field," Tasha reminded them. "He wouldn't give this up – not even for boxed pips."

'Boxed pips' was a slang term used to describe the pip insignia designating the rank of admiral.

"Maybe he doesn't have a choice?" Worf threw out there. "Perhaps Starfleet believes his talent is best used somewhere else?"

A dark thought crept into Tasha's mind.

There had been so many unusual transfers of competent officers that found themselves relegated to desk jobs at the Academy. Those that didn't get such positions had been the victims of mysterious disappearances, accidents, and maladies.

Riker sat down, chewing on a sausage roll as he mulled over the information in his mind.

"What do you think they're talking about up there, sir?" Miles prompted.

---

Up in his Ready Room, Jean-Luc sipped his Earl Grey quietly as he listened to Admiral Quinn and Lieutenant Commander Remmick with a growing sense of unease.

"Mr Remmick will be conducting a full investigation of the Enterprise," Quinn announced.

"What are you looking for?" Picard asked.

Admiral Quinn was hesitant to answer.

"Irregularities," Quinn responded.

It was so vague he needn't have bothered answering at all.

"Does this involve a member of my crew or one of my departments? Our communications? Has there been an inventory issue?" Picard pressed.

Remmick and Quinn exchanged a dark look.

"I have reason to believe there may be something very wrong on this ship," Quinn shared.

Jean-Luc sat up and leaned forward in his seat.

"Tell me what you suspect," Picard urged.

If Gregory Quinn thought something was off then Jean-Luc trusted the matter was serious.

"Your ship's had a number of incidents in the last year," Quinn said.

"Well, we are a starship," Picard reminded him.

The unusual was the very nature of their business – exploration, investigation, diplomacy. It was all part of the job and incidents came with that.

Especially on the flagship.

"Diverting off course, delaying your arrival at Starbase 173 in order to investigate what may have been the first solid evidence of Iconia," Quinn said. "And when Starfleet sciences followed up in the area all we could find was evidence of a high-energy wave blast caused by a Romulan power cell."

Jean-Luc had reported all the details of their Iconian find – including the Romulan connection in his report to Starfleet.

"Are you implying-"

"Your ship recently diverted off course again following an information transfer from the Yamato," Quinn went on. "You were gone for hours and there's no official account of your whereabouts."

Jean-Luc's body tensed.

It had been his decision to make no mention of finding a Romulan Communications Array on Dalmaede or its subsequent destruction.

According to the official report, they had merely diverted off course to take a number of scans of the area for mapping purposes.

Captain Picard's intention was to test Starfleet's response. It was a dangerous game, but one Jean-Luc felt necessary in order to ascertain if there really was a Romulan conspiracy at work.

"I'm ordering you to cooperate in every way necessary with this investigation. Is that clear?" Quinn asked.

"Yes, sir," Picard replied. "What will this investigation entail?"

"I'll be interviewing your senior staff, some of the Departmental heads and their seconds, Bridge officers, and the Security team," Remmick explained. "Along with anyone that was present with your team on Dalmeade."

Picard was stunned.

"We know about why you were really there. The Romulan Communications Array. And that a number of your staff were present on the planet prior to its destruction," Quinn informed him.

"Am I being court martialed?" Picard asked.

Direct had always been his style.

"No," Quinn answered honestly. "This isn't an investigation for disciplinary action, Jean-Luc."

It did little to reassure the Captain.

"Is one of my officers under investigation?" Picard inquired. "I'd like to state here and now that if this is some runabout way to circumnavigate the recent ruling in Mr Data's favour that-"

Admiral Quinn put his hand up.

"I assure you our only interest in the android is in his role as Second Officer," Quinn assured him.

That was a relief. Jean-Luc could hardly bear to think of Starfleet making another attempt to imprison Data.

"Do you have a schedule? Should I assemble the team?" Picard asked.

Remmick shook his head.

"No, Captain. I'll contact them individually," Remmick explained. "I don't want them talking amongst themselves or trying to come up with a story together. It's best if they're just honest with me."

Quinn gave Remmick the go ahead to begin.

As soon as Remmick left for the Bridge, Quinn sat down across from Picard.

"We've known one another for years. Tell me what's going on," Picard urged.

"Jean-Luc, it is vitally important that my orders be followed exactly. There is something terribly wrong and I hope to find no evidence of it here," Quinn said. "Also, I'll be staying on the ship for the duration of Mr Remmick's investigation."

---

Down on Relva VII, Wesley stepped into the entrance for the Starfleet Academy Extension office.

He surveyed the room and suddenly felt small.

It was all so different from the Enterprise.

There was a central hub that jetted off in eight different directions. The extension office was laid out on a grid and was home to a number of training facilities, classrooms, and student housing.

A young group of cadets walked by as they gossiped about a recent Atmospheric Chemistry exam.

"I told you the answer was neon," one of the cadets said.

"Well maybe I wasn't listening," another shrugged.

"No, you were too busy prepping for the field hockey game," the first one laughed.

A small smile spread across Wesley's face.

The Academy wasn't just a place for training. There were teams and clubs for sports, performing arts, political pursuits, cultural interests, and various hobbies. It featured everything from the likes of racquetball and decathlon to holographic gaming and needlework.

Even the extension offices offered a chance for students to engage in such communities.

"Can I help you?" a voice asked from behind a large, round desk.

"I'm looking for the exam," Wesley replied.

"Hatch? Match? Or Dispatch?" she asked.

Wesley blinked.

"Are you here for the entrance exam, a roommate compatibility test, or for exit exam testing?" she clarified.

"Oh, entrance exam," Wesley said.

"Third corridor. Left at the philodendron. Eight doors down on the left," she replied without missing a beat. "If you hit the medical office, you've gone too far."

"Thanks," Wesley replied.

Squaring his shoulders, he headed off for his first examination.

---

When Wesley arrived, he was surprised to find the room empty. There were little rows of testing stations lined up and several large viewscreens build overhead that Wesley presumed were there to keep testers apprised of the time.

On Commander Riker's advice, Wesley had arrived almost an hour early. In accordance with Starfleet rules and regulations, Wesley would be permitted to choose his own testing station.

And Wes wanted to be sure he selected one where he felt comfortable.

He sat down at his station and adjusted his chair to the proper height – a tip from his mother who had advised proper ergonomics would help with all the long hours sitting there.

Then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Wesley inhaled slowly through his nose and exhaled counting to four.

Meditate between your tests. It will keep you focused. Worf had advised.

Wesley shook out his arms and rolled his neck around. Then he reached up, stretching his back and shoulders just as Worf had taught him.

When that was done, Wes reached into his backpack and retrieved the pack Tasha had quite literally shoved at him early that morning.

Something salty. Something sweet. Packed with protein to fuel that brain. A bit of caffeine. And plenty to drink to help you think.

Tasha had been on him all week about the necessity of proper snack planning for the exams.

And chocolate, of course. Deanna had added.

Yes, they had quite literally kitted Wesley out for a week's worth of snacks.

I thought you were heading off to the exams – not one of those long-term exploratory missions. Miles had winked.

Last but not least, Wesley pulled out a very special device and attached it to top of his testing station. After attaching the cable to the appropriate input port, he activated the unit to ensure it was connected.

"What is that?" a voice asked.

Wesley was startled as a young woman popped up from behind one of the testing stations. She flipped the curly dark hair that cascaded down over her shoulder back and smiled.

"The unit you just put down. What is it? Don't worry, I won't tell anyone," she assured him.

"Oh!" Wesley realised. "That's a flux coordinating sensor. They're perfectly legal under the rules."

It had been Geordi and Data's suggestion that he use the unit as it would save him time on calculations during a number of tests.

The young woman's face fell.

"I thought the testing stations included one," she said, a slight hint of panic rising in her voice.

"They do," Wesley assured her. "But these stations are at least twelve years old. Newer models have a few functions these older machines don't offer."

The woman nodded.

"I suppose so. I'm Oliana Mirren by the way," she said as she extended her hand. "One of the other finalists."

"Wesley Crusher," Wes replied as he took her hand.

"From the Enterprise," Oliana replied in awe.

Wesley nodded.

"I've heard about you," she said. "I was warned you'd be tough competition."

"Well you wouldn't be here-"

"If I wasn't smart. Yeah yeah," Oliana replied, brushing off the compliment. "There's a lot more to it than just that. You're so lucky that you've had practical experience aboard the Enterprise."

She flopped down in the chair across from Wesley.

"I'd give anything to be an Acting Ensign. To get some real experience," she shared.

She shrugged as she fidgeted, twisting back and forth in the chair.

"I moved to the Farragut last year to live with my aunt. She's an operations officer. I've got some experience. But they never let you do anything exciting. Mostly just swapping out transfusers and cleaning the carbon filters," Oliana said.

Wesley could sympathise. It had been so difficult to sit by and watch during his early days aboard the Enterprise.

"I've never even been on the Bridge outside of a class tour," she added with a deep sigh.

Suddenly her eyes lit up.

"But I bet you have lots of stories," she said.

Wesley wasn't sure where to start.

"Um, I mean I guess," Wesley replied.

For some reason, he felt naturally compelled to play it off as nothing special. He wasn't accustomed to anyone his age having an interest in such things – at least not without getting jealous.

The very last thing Wesley wanted to do was drive away a possible friend by making them feel bad.

"Come on," Oliana encouraged.

"Well, there was this time I saw a black hole," Wesley confessed as he reached up to scratch the back of his neck.

Oliana was stunned.

"Whoa," she breathed.

"Up close and everything," Wesley went on. "Well, not up 'close' close, but close for a black hole."

Wesley flashed her a coy grin.

"I mean, I was technically unconscious when we slingshot around to escape the gravity well. And I almost died. But, yeah, I guess it was pretty cool," Wesley said.

The door to the testing centre slid open and two additional hopefuls stepped inside.

The first was a Vulcan woman with dark hair. Judging from her attire, Wesley surmised she was a student at the Vulcan Science Academy.

The second was a Benzite.

"Hi," Oliana said, waving them over.

"Hello," the Vulcan responded.

"I'm Oliana Mirren," Oliana said as she thrust her hand forward.

The Vulcan eyed her hand with a hefty dose of scepticism. She'd heard about this strange human custom of shaking hands.

Instead of taking it, she opted to go with a traditional Vulcan greeting and raised her hand to offer a Vulcan salute.

"Greetings. I am T'Shanik of Vulcana Regar," she said.

"Wesley Crusher," Wes introduced himself, copying the Vulcan salute.

If there was one thing Beverly Crusher had instilled in her son, it was to respect the culture of others and that included their way of doing things.

T'Shanik looked him up and down.

"You do not look as if you meet the age requirements," she said.

"I'm fifteen," Wesley assured her.

There was an uncomfortable silence that followed.

"Indeed," T'Shanik finally said.

T'Shanik herself was nearly thirty – quite young for a Vulcan but certainly closer to the average age of Vulcan applicants to Starfleet.

Oliana was nineteen and this was second attempt at entrance.

Wesley turned to the Benzite that had been standing alone at the edge of their conversation.

"Hi there," Wes said.

He looked surprised that anyone was talking to him. By nature, Benzites were eager to please. They worked hard and were keen to prove themselves to the Federation.

Benzar was not yet a Federation member planet but shared a favourable trade relationship with the Federation and was actively seeking membership.

In fact, it was part of why this particular Benzite was hoping to join Starfleet.

But Benzites often found their fish-like appearance and breathing apparatus had a tendency to scare humans.

"Uh.. Mordock," he said.

"The Mordock?" Wesley asked. "The Benzite who constructed the Mordock Strategy?"

Mordock was shocked that anyone – let alone a human youth – had heard of his work.

"Our Assistant Tactical Officer is a huge fan of your work," Wesley explained. "He's based a few of our own training drills on it."

Wesley frowned.

"I thought you would already be a student at the Academy," Wesley remarked.

"No," Mordock replied. "Only a hopeful, like you."

Ten minutes before the first exam was slated to begin, an officer from the Academy Extension Office strode in through the doors.

"Good morning, finalists! I am Tac Officer Chang. Welcome," he greeted them.

Officer Chang explained the testing would get underway in ten minutes. He advised that now was the time for a quick stretch or trip to the facilities.

"As you know, we will start with the navigation exam. This is the shortest of the tests you will take as part of the process and we believe this is a good introductory exam to give you an idea of what's to come in the next three days," Chang announced.

Everyone was on edge.

Chang offered them a warm smile.

"You are all here because you've shown remarkable ability. This may be a difficult, exhausting experience. But it is an exciting challenge and a rewarding one," Chang assured them. "Expect the unexpected. Trust yourselves and your preparation. I wish you all the best of luck."

---

"Luck had nothing to do with it," Geordi said, countering Remmick's assertion that the team had merely 'been lucky' when it came to escaping the destruction of the Romulan Communications Array on Dalmeade.

Geordi had been the only senior officer (save for Captain Picard himself) that had not been present on the planet.

In spite of Geordi's protest, Captain Picard had ordered Geordi to remain behind as Acting First Officer in case anything happened to the rest of the team.

"They got out because they're good officers and they know what they're doing," Geordi insisted.

Lieutenant Commander Remmick leaned back in his seat, watching Geordi carefully as he tapped to take notes on his tablet.

"I'd like to shift topics to your recent experience on the asteroid that contained a suspected Iconian doorway," Remmick said.

Geordi shrugged.

"There's not much to tell. We didn't know what we were stepping into," Geordi said.

"And yet you chose to go there. And from your own report, that request was made by you personally," Remmick said.

"We thought it was a wormhole. All of our initial sensor data indicated it might be a stable wormhole," Geordi said.

Remmick's fingers clicked away at the screen in his hands.

"And you were unconscious during most of that experience?" Remmick inquired.

"I was pretty seriously injured. I drifted in and out," Geordi said.

"Then you cannot account for the whereabouts of those who also came through the doorway? Specifically, Captain Picard, Commander Data, Lieutenant Yar, and Lieutenant Worf?" Remmick pressed.

Geordi was flabbergasted.

"I didn't say that," Geordi said, pushing back against such an assertion.

"But you cannot account for what happened while you were unconscious," Remmick countered. "Did you notice any unusual behaviour from the others during that time?"

"We nearly died!" Geordi snapped. "No. I didn't notice anything odd. We were just trying to stay alive."

Geordi didn't mean to get angry. But he didn't much care for this Remmick putting words in his mouth.

"From what I understand, Captain Picard and the others were only on the other side of the doorway for a short time," Geordi explained. "Ninety minutes. Tops."

Geordi's initial suspicion that he was under investigation had quickly shifted to thinking it was Captain Picard. But as Remmick's questions continued – sometimes bordering on the unusual, Geordi began to wonder if it was the entire team.

"Thank you, Mr La Forge," Remmick said after nearly two hours of questioning.

He swiped the screen on his tablet.

"Now then, I'd like you to tell me everything you can about Cillian Platt," Remmick said.

Geordi's brow furrowed in confusion.

"Be specific," Remmick instructed.

"Cillian Platt, your first roommate at Starfleet Academy. He's a decorated Command Officer," Remmick prompted.

Geordi visibly bristled.

"I think you need to check your source of information. My first roommate at the Starfleet Academy was a guy by the name of Nathan Levy-Parker and flunked out three months into our second term," Geordi said.

Dexter Remmick breathed a sigh of relief.

Good.

La Forge was who he claimed to be. That was a good sign.

"Thank you, Mr La Forge. That will conclude our questions for today," Remmick said.

Geordi replied with a stiff nod.

As Geordi made to leave, Remmick stopped him.

"And Mr La Forge?" Remmick called after him.

Geordi stopped.

"Under penalty of court martial, I order you not to reveal any of the questions or information we discussed today with anyone else – including Captain Picard," Remmick commanded.

---

Captain Picard had made himself scarce since the arrival of Lieutenant Commander Remmick. It was easier to be unavailable rather than lie to his staff.

Unfortunately, he couldn't entirely remove himself from the Enterprise.

Shortly after 15:00 hours, Captain Picard found himself cornered.

He'd gone for a walk on the lower, largely unused levels of the ship. In one corridor, he could hear a set of footfalls approaching. Two or three people by the sound of it.

In the other adjacent corridor, Jean-Luc heard a set of voices that sounded like Geordi and Riker.

Jean-Luc panicked. There was no out – he would simply have to go back the same route he'd come on. Captain Picard began to back away, creeping silently along the carpet as he made for the nearest lift.

Which was all well and good until he ran smack into Data.

"Captain," Data said, helping Jean-Luc to his feet.

"Thank you. Excuse me," Jean-Luc said hastily.

But it was too late.

The two adjacent approaching parties had heard the encounter.

"Captain," Worf said.

The footfalls made sense – one corridor had been Riker and Geordi. Worf, Tasha, and Deanna were walking together in the other.

"Captain, may I speak frankly?" Riker asked as he approached them.

"Always, Number One," Picard assured him.

Riker squared his shoulders and pulled himself up to his full height.

"Sir, as First Officer I should be informed of what's happening here," Riker insisted.

Picard nodded in agreement.

"Yes," he replied.

"Then what is this all about? Remmick is turning this ship upside down," Riker said in an exasperated voice.

Jean-Luc could empathise with his position. All day staff had been running to Riker with questions and concerns about Remmick's investigation.

"Sir, half the ship thinks they're under investigation. I've had people pouring into my office," Riker said.

"The waste disposal on deck nineteen is malfunctioning," Data informed them. "Six of the labs from my Science teams were attempting to dump unauthorised research for fear of discovery."

"I've had a flurry of unprompted confessions and requests for immunity over minimal infractions," Tasha added.

Tasha's Security Officer never bothered with minor things like underground gambling or the old 'trading places.'

'Trading places' was a term that referred to a housing situation when roommates would willingly switch places with one another without requesting formal reassignment so they could share the smaller junior officer crew quarters with their friends or lovers.

"I had to spend forty minutes consoling a terrified little Ensign that they were not about to be thrown out of Starfleet because they took a hit of Orion sweet grass at a party," Tasha grumbled.

She paused and shook her head.

"Six bloody years ago," Tasha said.

"Sir," Deanna said, stepping in. "Something has to be done. Perhaps a ship-wide announcement?"

Jean-Luc shook his head.

"I'm afraid that is not possible," Picard replied. "I have been ordered against such an action. In fact, I believe you were all ordered not to discuss the matter."

"Technically, we were ordered not to discuss the content of our conversations with Mr Remmick. And we have not," Data said.

They were walking a fine line between.

"Sir, what's really going on here? Are we under investigation? Are you?" Riker demanded.

"I don't know," Jean-Luc responded honestly.

---

At 18:00 hours, Miles returned home.

Keiko had been reading on the sofa. She practically leapt up and rushed over when she heard the door.

She pulled him into a warm embrace, grateful that he had returned safe and sound.

Only Miles didn't look very pleased.

"What's wrong?" Keiko asked.

Miles just shook his head before going to return his toolkit to its place on the shelf.

"Miles?" Keiko pressed.

He kicked off his boots and grabbed a coffee from the replicator.

"Double black. Double sweet," he ordered.

"What happened? Is everything okay?" Keiko asked.

"We need to go to Ten Forward tonight. Dinner with other senior staff," Miles said. "I'm sorry about this."

They'd had plans for the day and Miles felt terrible for disrupting Keiko's trip.

"Miles-"

"I can't talk about it, sweetheart," he said.

Keiko stepped over to him. She took the cup of coffee from his hands and set it down on the surface of the table. Then she reached up to run her fingers back through his light brown curls.

"Are you alright? I'm so worried about you," Keiko said.

Miles took hold of her hands and brought them both to his lips.

"I'm sorry. I know this isn't easy for you. There's an Admiral aboard. And someone from the Inspector General's office. Asking a lot of funny questions," Miles said.

His brow wrinkled with worry.

"And that's all I can say," Miles explained. "For now, we've been asked to go about business as usual. Which is why all of us senior officers are getting together for dinner."

"Then I'll get dressed," Keiko said simply.

The corner of Miles's mouth curved upward.

"Just like that?" Miles asked.

"Just like that," Keiko replied.

She gave him a quick peck on the lips.

"You're a good man, Miles O'Brien. And I trust you," Keiko said.

---

Data was alarmed as he stood in the doorway of Tasha's bedroom.

Every available inch of space on the bed was occupied by something that, while not explicitly contraband, certainly bordered on the unusual.

Microcharges. A pair of Andorian ice miner blades. A personal after-market phaser. A specialised phaser scope that could rival Geordi's VISOR for visibility.

They were all equipment Tasha had collected during her time in Starfleet.

"You have been storing all of this here? In your quarters?" Data asked.

"Mmm hmm," Tasha nodded.

Data knew that Tasha carried more tools on her than most during her shifts – especially on away missions. It was almost surprising how much she could hide on her person when she wanted to.

Years of growing up in a place like Turkana coupled with her time in covert ops had conditioned Tasha to be prepared for any and all contingencies.

Data stepped over to the bed and picked up a package of microcharges.

"Tasha, even with my vast imagination and ability to theorise, I can think of few instances in which you would need to blast your way through a bulkhead," Data said.

Tasha stopped and turned to him. She smirked as she snaked her arms around Data's torso.

"Not all of us can simply rip apart duranium as we please," Tasha replied.

She let go of his back in favour of caressing his biceps.

"I believe you are attempting to distract me so that I forget about the armoury you've been hoarding," Data remarked.

"Is it working?" Tasha teased.

"Very nearly," Data replied. "Which I surmise is for the best."

"Why do you say that?" Tasha asked.

"Because, my dear. We do not have time for it to work properly and be on time for dinner," Data said.

In order to keep up appearances, everyone was headed to Ten Forward. They didn't want Remmick thinking they were up to anything. Furthermore, they wanted proof positive that they were not out disobeying his orders to stay quiet.

They would get together, share a meal, and talk about anything but Remmick.

"I just wanted to run a quick inventory. Ensure Remmick has been down here going through all of this," Tasha said.

"I highly doubt Commander Remmick would search through your quarters," Data advised.

"Bet?" Tasha replied as she lifted the false bottom in one of the drawers.

It didn't take long for Tasha to stuff all of her items back into place.

Data had never even known that she'd kept hidden compartments in the bottom of the shelves that were built into her walls.

"Tasha, how did you-"

"Ship's stores," she answered. "I just swapped mine out. Instead of drawers for a shelf that's forty-five- centimetres, I replaced them with ones designed for thirty-two-centimetre drawers."

"Hmm," Data said as he raised his eyebrows.

---

Wesley took a deep breath before he stepped through the doors to Ten Forward.

"Hey hey!" Riker shouted, waving him over to the table.

Wesley plastered a big smile on his face to hide just how nervous he was feeling.

The Navigation exam had been a breeze. Chemistry went smoothly enough. And Wesley had aced both Propulsion Systems and Physics.

Wesley had spent his lunch hour with the other Academy hopefuls as they shared their plans. Oliana dreamed of being an Operations Specialist like her aunt.

T'Shanik was due to complete her coursework at the Vulcan Science Academy next month where she had excelled in Fluid Dynamics. She was hoping to join the Geomechanics division of Starfleet Sciences.

As a Tactical Weapons specialist, Mordock was looking forward to studying under some of the best Tactical minds that the Federation had to offer.

It was Mordock's hope that he could offer his own expertise and bring a little bit of Benzite knowledge to the Federation. In exchange, he hoped to return to Benzar one day and serve his own people again having gained the knowledge and experience that a Starfleet career offered.

Wesley had never felt so out of his league.

He still hadn't settled on a major.

Wesley knew he would be best served obtaining a double major – a decision reached upon numerous heart-to-heart conversations with Geordi, Data, and Commander Riker.

But he didn't know where to begin.

"How was it?" Beverly asked as her son slipped into the seat next to her.

Wesley shrugged.

"Fine, I guess," Wesley replied.

Beverly could tell something was wrong.

"Would you like to talk about it?" she asked quietly.

"No, not right now," Wesley replied. "I'd rather hang out here for a while. Take my mind off things."

Wes was desperate for a distraction – anything to keep him from thinking about tomorrow.

"How was your day?" Wesley asked.

The question was directed to the table.

Everyone fell silent.

Wesley frowned.

"Oh, um… great," Riker said.

He glanced around at the other officers for support.

"Yeah, fine," Tasha lied.

"Mmm hmm. Just a normal day on the Enterprise," Miles said.

Wesley wasn't buying that excuse for a second.

"What aren't you telling me?" Wesley asked as he scanned the line of faces around the table.

"Why don't we talk about something else, eh?" Riker suggested.

"Like what?" Deanna asked.

She could sense the general feeling of unease that was hanging over the group. They were all afraid to speak for fear of saying the wrong thing.

"Oh anything I suppose," Riker replied.

Data spied an opportunity to introduce a topic he'd been keen to discuss.

"Were you aware that the Arboretum here on Relva VII is home to more than one thousand species of Lepidoptera?" Data asked.

"Bless you," Miles teased.

"Butterflies and moths," Data clarified.

"Yes!" Keiko said as her face lit up with glee.

"Their research includes the rare Vulcan Shadow Moth – once thought extinct," Data shared.

It may have been a strange topic of discussion, but it was exactly what the table needed.

"There is a researcher there, a Doctor Kaplan, that is responsible for saving them," Data went on.

"They're one of the only species capable of withstanding hot, dry climate on Vulcan," Keiko added.

The rest of the table listened politely, occasionally asking questions, as Data and Keiko and discussed the various species of butterflies and moths found on Relva VII.

Their conversation could not have been more opportune.

Just as Data explained the unique relationship between the Grey Speckled Lunar Moth and the ecosystem found on Tripideis IX, Commander Remmick passed within earshot of the table.

He made it look as if he were merely on his way to take in the view – but it had been his intent to eavesdrop.

Remmick was relieved the crew had followed his orders and were not discussing the interviews.

Another good sign. Remmick thought.

---

As the hours ticked on and the empty stack of plates grew higher, Wesley began to relax.

"Are you going to eat that?" Tasha asked, eying the last hot tofu wing sitting between them.

"All you," Wesley said, pushing it toward her.

"Thanks," she grinned.

Data reached out and cupped the side of Tasha's face, turning her toward him. He reached up and dabbed away a bit of hot sauce that was lingering on her chin.

From his position in the corner of the room, Remmick had watched them for the last three hours. There was a certain casual familiarity between the senior officers.

Familiarity was good.

It would make it harder for anyone to infiltrate.

Yes, as he watched this group interact Remmick was quite pleased. He may have looked stern as he sat there sipping his drink all alone in the dark corner.

But it was all part of the job.

"So?" Tasha prompted.

"So what?" Wesley asked.

"So what are you worrying about?" Tasha asked.

She could tell Wesley was feeling anxious.

"Just stressed. It was a long day," Wesley lied.

They chatted about the latest Parrises Squares game and the news that the famed Klingon Death Metal band, Bat'leth Out of Hell, had recently announced Alpha Quadrant Tour Dates for 2365.

"Maybe we'll get lucky, and the Enterprise will be close enough we could sneak off for a quick shuttle trip?" Wesley suggested.

Worf shot him a look.

"What?" Wesley asked.

"You will likely have no problem securing tickets," Worf said. "We may have difficulties."

Wesley didn't understand.

"You'll have a much easier time getting tickets on Earth. They've got shows in Glasgow, London, New Berlin, Nanjing, Cape Town," Tasha rattled off.

Wesley's heart sank.

"Oh. Right," he realised.

When the hour had grown late, they decided to break it up so Wesley could get some sleep before the next day of testing.

On the way out the door, Wesley caught Data's arm.

"Mr Data?" Wesley asked.

There had been a particular question burning on Wesley's mind ever since he'd accepted the Academic Excellence Award three weeks earlier.

Data glanced down to where Wesley had gripped his forearm and then lifted his head to meet Wesley's gaze once more.

"Wesley?" Data asked in response as he cocked his head to the side.

Wesley's question was on the tip of his tongue. Only he couldn't find the words. Wesley fell silent as his courage faltered.

"I uh…I just wanted to thank you for all your help during my test prep," Wesley stammered.

Data eyed him carefully.

Wesley's nonverbal social cues were off the charts in terms of relaying concern, anxiety, and the same kind of hasty false confidence humans employed when they wished to avoid a subject.

Wesley could sense Data had read through his flimsy excuse. He was about to come clean when Data beat him to the punch.

"Wesley, you know that my door is open at all times," Data said, taking pride in his correct use of a new colloquialism.

"Thanks, Data," Wesley replied.

---

Wesley was the last one from the group to leave Ten Forward.

"Hey kid," Guinan called out, stopping him in his tracks.

Wesley had been dreading this conversation. Though Guinan would never admit it, Wesley suspected she had some sort of empathic ability.

To Wesley's surprise, Guinan didn't offer him any sage advice or one of her roundabout, made-you-realise you had it in yourself all along chats.

She simply handed him a thermos instead.

Wesley looked down at the canister and frowned.

"What? You don't like hot chocolate?" Guinan asked. "Don't tell me you're the only teenager in the galaxy that doesn't like hot chocolate?"

"Is it some sort of drugged concoction?" Wesley inquired.

Guinan knew how to make all sorts of teas and tonics that aided everything from indigestion to insomnia. Her Tension Tangler and Worry Wrangler teas were legendary among the crew.

"Oh yes," Guinan said.

She threw her arm around Wesley's shoulders and walked him to the door.

"There's warm milk to help you sleep and a bit of banana for sweet dreams. Some toffee for flavour and of course the cocoa," Guinan explained.

"Thanks," Wesley replied, offering her a small smile.

As soon as he stepped out into the corridor, Wesley made for the lift. He was really looking forward to a good night's sleep courtesy of Guinan and her wondrous mixture.

Wesley allowed his mind to wander as he waited for the lift.

Another try couldn't hurt. Wesley thought.

He dropped his gaze to the warm thermos in his hands as he considered the idea. He figured now that he had a sure-fire sleep aide, it couldn't do any harm to make another go of it on the holodeck.

---

"What did Wesley want?" Tasha asked. "Everything okay with him tonight? He seemed a bit, well, down."

Tasha had noticed Wesley catch Data's arm on their way out the door.

Data frowned as he slipped out of his uniform jumpsuit. Out of habit, he folded the garment before placing it in the reprocessor.

It was not a necessary step. But it was one habit of his programming that Data had yet to unlearn – a fact that frustrated him greatly.

"I believe there is something he wished to discuss," Data answered.

He sat down on the edge of the bed to remove his socks one at a time. Fortunately, his programming hadn't been designed to force him to fold them as well.

"But he was reluctant to address the subject," Data explained.

"Oh," Tasha replied.

Her response was slightly muffled – her head was buried as she rummaged through the drawer. A moment later she emerged with a triumphant 'ah ha!' and tossed a grey, cotton tee at Data.

"As Wesley is not aware of Commander Remmick's investigation, I am left to conclude the exams are the source of his distress," Data said.

He struggled, fidgeting as he pulled the soft tee down over his head.

Data and Tasha were standing less than a metre apart. They looked one another up and down.

The tactile sensors in Data's bioplast registered that the shirt on his back was at least ten point six centimetres short. Though he packed a lean, lithe frame, the short sleeves were uncomfortably tight around his biceps and across his chest.

Tasha was practically swimming in the shirt she had on.

With all the weight and muscle mass lost from the suit prototype incident, Tasha had gone down nearly three sizes.

With a word, they simultaneously pulled the shirts overhead to swap – only Data was having a bit of difficulty with the smaller neck.

He stopped struggling as he felt Tasha's arms on either side of him. She carefully guided the shirt up and over his ears and then stopped to take in his appearance.

Tasha reached up and gently smoothed his tousled hair, running her fingers back through it as a small, fond look spread across her face.

"Sorry about that," Tasha apologised.

"Do not be," Data replied simply as he pulled her close, his hand coming to rest in the small of her back.

When all was said and done in the end, Tasha still wound up wearing his shirt that night.

---

Data was in the midst of his dream programme, somewhere between Wild About You and Cheek To Cheek as he danced on air with Ginger Rogers when an intrusive sound pulled him back to reality.

Data sat upright in bed.

There was a chime at the door.

He threw off the covers and padded across the carpet out into the main room of Tasha's quarters. He stopped just shy of the door when he realised he was not properly attired.

According to his internal chronometer, it was shortly after 04:30 in the morning. And Data knew if someone was calling at this hour, it had to be important.

He couldn't very well answer the door in nothing more than a pair of drawstring trousers.

So he grabbed the nearest thing he could find – the small, discarded tee on the floor from earlier – and made for the door as it chimed once again.

The door slid open to reveal none other than Wesley Crusher.

He looked as if he hadn't slept all night.

As soon as Data opened the door, Wesley felt as if he'd made a terrible mistake. Data didn't share the same 'I was just rudely awoken' appearance as humans. There were no puffy eyes or obvious signs of sleep.

Though he may not look the same, Wesley immediately knew he'd interrupted something as he eyed the haphazard state of Data's attire.

"I'm sorry," he stammered. "I never should have come so late."

"Early," Data said.

"Right," Wesley said, realising it was now well past midnight.

He closed his eyes and sighed.

"Sorry, sir. I should let you go," Wesley said.

He turned to leave, but a firm hand on his shoulder stopped Wesley in his tracks.

"Please, come in," Data said.

The two men stepped inside. Data asked Wesley if he'd like anything from the replicator after motioning for him to take a seat at the table.

"No, I've drank so much Raktajino I can't stop shaking," Wesley said.

"Then you shall require large amounts of water to flush it from your system," Data said.

He joined Wesley a moment later at the table and set down an empty glass and a pitcher of cool water. Data did not bother to ask Wesley – he simply poured him a cup and slid it in front of him.

"Thanks," Wesley said.

He slammed the glass of water and finished with a satisfied 'ah.'

"Thanks," Wesley repeated.

Data did not hesitate to refill his glass.

"Wesley, if I may," Data began. "I am concerned that whatever is on your mind is beginning to impact your physical wellness."

"Is it that obvious?" Wesley asked.

Data cocked his head to the side. He did not understand Wesley's question.

"Does everyone think I've cracked under pressure?" Wesley pressed.

Data's eyes narrowed as he studied Wesley carefully.

"Physical symptoms of stress are a common occurrence for humans," Data advised. "If you are experiencing such distress then perhaps Sickbay would be better equipped to handle such a problem?"

Hearing this was another sign that Wesley never should have stopped by so late.

"I could retrieve an osteogenic regenerator from the medical supply kit down the corridor. And while I may posses some field medical training, I am hardly qualified to-"

"I meant metaphorically," Wesley clarified. "You know – unable to cope."

"Oh! I see," Data replied. "Do you believe that you have?"

Wesley shrugged.

"I'm here at 04:30 aren't I?" Wesley remarked.

Data lifted his eyebrows to signal his agreement with that particular assessment.

They sat in silence for a few seconds before the door to Tasha's bedroom slid open.

"Mmm," Tasha stopped in the doorway to stretch. "Can't sleep?"

She rubbed her eyes before shielding them against the harsh light.

"I should go," Wesley said.

"No, no. Good morning or night or whatever it is," Tasha paused as she was overcome by a yawn. "Sorry."

She squinted to check the timepiece on the wall.

"Never too early for Raktajino," she said with a grin.

The time was a bitter reminder that the clock was ticking for Wesley. He was less than three hours out from his first exam.

Wesley wasn't worried about the Applied Probably exam.

Nor the Stellar Cartography exam after that.

LCARS Programming and Regulations would be a breeze.

It was what came after that had Wesley worried.

"Spill it," Tasha urged.

Wesley hesitated. He looked back and forth between Data and Tasha as if to debate whether or not to just get up and leave.

His eyes fell on the baggy shirt Tasha was sporting and Wesley visibly cringed.

They've swapped shirts. Probably just caught them in the middle of... Wesley thought.

Tasha followed his line of sight.

"You're not interrupting. Believe me," Tasha assured him. "Come now, you've been up all-night thinking about whatever it is that's bothering you."

"And you were atypically quiet during dinner," Data chimed in.

Even before they had gotten together, Data and Tasha had both been very dear to Wesley. They'd recognised his potential and never treated him like a child.

They respected his feedback and opinions when it came to ship's operations.

Tasha was like the sibling Wesley had never known and Data was both a wonderful mentor and supervisor.

Wesley trusted that there were things he could share with them that he would rather not discuss with his mother. He couldn't bear the thought of letting her down.

"Can I ask you something? You don't have to answer if you don't want to. I understand," Wesley said quickly.

"Of course," Data replied.

Wesley took a sip of water to buy himself time. When he finished, he set the glass back down. Both Data and Tasha waited patiently for Wesley to find the right words.

"I've spent hours obsessing over this. I've gone to the holodeck eighteen times in the last week just to-"

"Wes?" Tasha prompted.

"Thy psych test," Wesley confessed. "Well, the live portion anyways."

In addition to rigorous mental and physical examinations, Starfleet Academy hopefuls were required to pass a series of psychological examinations designed to determine mental fitness for life in Starfleet.

Starfleet's assessment entailed a psychological interview, a psychotronic stability examination, a live observation study under simulated conditions, and a live observation study in the real world.

While the live, simulated exercise was scheduled, the live observation behavioural analysis was a surprise.

"I've tried everything I can think of that frightens me – a ship going down in water, losing my mum, a Gorn attack," Wesley shared. "I even built a programme around the Cardassian advancement into the Actium Sector."

Wesley had been eight when they'd been stationed on Starbase 211. He would never forget the mass, short-notice evacuation when a Federation defence force fell and the Cardassian fleet had advanced further into Federation territory.

As his mother was an essential member of the crew, Beverly had been left with no choice but to send Wesley on alone with the other evacuees. A friend and fellow officer had promised to keep Wesley safe and see him off to Beverly's grandmother in the even that she did not survive the encroaching invasion force.

In the end, they had been reunited after fourteen days.

But Wesley had never forgotten sitting all alone on that transport with nothing more than his little suitcase and a picture of his parents while the adults on the runabout discussed things like troop movements, evasive manoeuvres, and hull integrity.

"What was your test like?" Wesley asked.

"I don't know," Tasha replied honestly. "The behavioural analysis is impossible to predict. I don't know when it happened – only that I passed."

Data nodded in agreement.

"I do not know for certain. Though I have suspected three possible incidents during my exams that could have provided such an opportunity," Data said. "One in which I believe I was intentionally directed to the wrong room. In one incident, I was confronted by a rather temperamental Caitian while waiting for the lift."

"Data that's only two," Wesley pointed out.

"Between my exams, I would retreat to the grounds. In particular, to a spot near the lake. I often went there after my shifts at Admiral Farooq's office," Data explained. "But during my exams, I found there were two cadets having a conversation within earshot."

Data sounded uncomfortable.

"They discussed how distrustful they were of technology – particularly artificial intelligence. They made a series of crude jokes about it," Data recounted. "Perhaps they were merely there by coincidence. However, I cannot rule out that they were planted there to test my response. To see if I would become angered or dangerous."

Under the table, Tasha gave his hand a squeeze.

"I see," Wesley said. "Then I shall have to be on my toes."

"I believe you would be best served by just being who you are," Data countered.

Tasha nodded in agreement.

"What if that's not enough?" Wesley asked in an unusually timid voice. "Ow!"

Under the table, Tasha kicked him in the shin. Wesley hissed as he rubbed his leg.

"What was that for?" Wes demanded.

"On your worst day you're the brightest person in the room," Tasha insisted. "Your mind works in ways that most of us can't even begin to fathom."

"I appreciate that you want to cheer me up. But I don't think being good at maths is going to be enough here," Wesley confessed.

Data could see that their efforts would require more evidence.

"If I may, I believe Lieutenant Yar is trying to say that the way in which you approach situations is ideal for candidacy. You are observant, patient, and willing to learn," Data explained. "You see things that others do not. You are not afraid to ask questions."

"There's more to the Academy than just academic learning," Tasha said. "It takes heart. And you've got that in spades."

Wesley seemed to relax a little.

"I suppose, I mean you got in at my age," Wesley said before quickly adding, "no offence."

Tasha just grinned.

"None taken. If it were all down to maths I wouldn't have stood a chance," Tasha said. "Trust me, just be you."

"Maybe you're right," Wesley pondered aloud.

"Of course we are," Data replied innocently.

It was enough to earn a smile from Wesley – the first genuine one of the evening.

"Can I ask you guys something else?" Wesley inquired. "What was the simulation test like? I mean, what was your experience?"

Data and Tasha glanced at one another, wordlessly communicating as they were uncertain who should go first or how to answer.

Tasha found her voice before Data.

"Well it's different for everyone," Tasha said.

"Indeed. While research indicates there are some common themes among applicants, no two are alike," Data added.

"And it's all based on you and your past experiences," Tasha went on.

"The programme was designed by a team of psychological experts and took nearly-" Data began to say.

Wesley put his hand up.

"I know what you're doing," he commented. "It's alright. You don't have to answer."

Tasha bit her lip.

"It's just… I don't think we're really the best people to answer that for you," Tasha replied in earnest.

"I'm so sorry," Wesley apologised. "I didn't even think before-"

"It's alright," Tasha assured him.

Wesley knew enough about Data and Tasha to understand they had both endured their fair share of trauma. Though he wasn't privy to the details, Wesley recognised their psychological exams probably entailed material that was of much a darker and heavier subject matter than the average applicant.

But Tasha could see that Wesley needed something or he'd spent the whole day in a panic.

"Shuttle crash," Tasha shrugged. "I'd rather not go into the details. But it was a water landing and there were these massive caiman with their great big, snapping jaws."

She winced and made a face.

"It's probably going to be a little scary. And it will feel very real. But all you have to do is focus on you and your training," Tasha advised.

It was exactly the reassurance that Wesley needed.

"Thanks," Wes said.

His eyes went wide as he checked the time.

"Oh jeez, I didn't realise it was so late. I should get going," Wesley said as he scrambled up from the table.

It was nearly 06:00 hours and Wesley still needed to check in at his lab, eat, and shower before heading off to another day of tests.

"Hey," Wes called back, stopping just inside the door. "You know-"

He paused as if to debate whether or not to say it.

"It's not my place. But I know you've talked about it," Wesley began. "You two are pretty great at this parenting thing. Just so you know… for well, someday."

"Goodnight, Wesley," Data said.

---

As soon as they were alone, Tasha and Data decided that they might as well get up for the day.

Tasha set the table for two as Data used the replicator to fashion breakfast for them.

"I feel terrible he's so worried," Tasha remarked.

"I am sure he will do fine," Data replied. "Wesley has already proven himself as a competent officer."

Data set a bowl of fruit down in the middle of the table and returned a moment later with two bowls of porridge as Tasha poured their coffee.

"Which one is this?" Tasha asked as she sniffed at her cup.

"Blueberry," Data replied.

"Mmm," Tasha nodded in approval as she took a sip.

They ate in silence for several minutes until Data finally felt comfortable enough to ask his own question.

"Tasha, may I ask you a question?" Data inquired.

"Mmm hmm," Tasha replied as she drank her porridge straight from the bowl.

"Caiman?" Data asked.

Tasha stopped eating and set her bowl down on the table. She swallowed a long sip of coffee and then sighed.

"I just said that to put him at ease," Tasha confessed. "I lied. But I'm worried about him. And, well, I'm sure you understand?"

Data nodded.

They both turned back to their breakfast.

"A cage," they said simultaneously without looking up.

Tasha dropped her spoon and Data froze.

Slowly they glanced up at one another from across the table.

"No light. No life. I was nothing more than an object, trapped in a cage with no free will," Data shared. "There was nothing to keep me company save for the darkness and the silence."

He felt a chill up the back of his duranium spinal column as he recounted the experience.

"You're never going back there," Tasha declared. "Ever."

Her arm shot out from across the table as she gave Data's hand a reassuring squeeze.

"I promise," Tasha said.

Data knew she meant it. And knowing that he was now a free citizen with rights recognised by the Federation certainly made him feel that his position in the universe was much more stable than before.

"You are correct," Data replied.

Tasha relaxed and went back to eating, flashing him a brilliant smile as she snagged a fresh replicated pear from the centre bowl.

"Tasha?" Data prompted.

"Hmm?" she asked as she chewed her breakfast.

She was pretending to ignore the obvious implication of his question.

"Do you wish to talk about your experience?" Data offered.

Tasha shrugged.

"A cage. And I was powerless to help other people," Tasha replied simply.

Tasha had always known that her greatest weakness was the fact she loathed (more than anything) the need to prioritise saving lives during emergency situations.

Far too many Starfleet situations involved making choices that minimised the risk.

The needs of the many. She thought bitterly.

Tasha could do it.

She just didn't want to do it – largely because she had spent far too long doing it on Turkana. The Federation was supposed to be a utopia where such choices didn't exist.

The reality was that even in utopia there were ethically ambiguous situations.

And the weight of such choices weighed heavily on Tasha. She never knew that her ability to make those decisions while outwardly portraying a cool demeanour was why she had been flagged early as a possible Covert Ops recruit.

Tasha never let anyone see just how much those decisions impacted her mental state.

Well, no one aside from Data.

"Tasha?" Data asked, drawing her back out of her thoughts.

"Sorry, just thinking about my interview," Tasha lied.

---

Across the ship, Wesley stopped into Ten Forward to grab a bite and a fresh cup of Guinan's energising ginger tea before his exams.

He spied Worf over at the window – he'd been up early hitting the fitness centre in an effort to rebuild his lost muscle mass.

"Morning," Wesley said.

Worf nodded to Wesley and waved him over.

"You are up early," Worf remarked.

"Haven't been to bed," Wesley confessed.

Worf scowled.

"I know, I know," Wesley said before Worf could chastise him.

Worf had been on him for months to take better care of himself. The ship's self-appointed wellness guru, Worf was always advising his friends to eat better, hydrate, rest, and take time for themselves.

"There is nothing more important than self-care," Worf said. "A skill that is vital for surviving the Academy."

"I was up all night trying to scare myself for the psych test," Wesley explained.

Worf's face darkened as he took a long drink from his signature morning Raktajino.

"The psych test is no more or less important that the rest of the process," Worf reminded him.

Worf himself had shared his own series of sleepless nights in preparation for such an exam – right up until he learned it was not weighted any more than the other portions.

"Thinking about what you cannot control only wastes your energy and creates its own enemy," Worf said. "Put it out of your mind. Focus on your strengths."

Wesley flopped back against his seat and turned his attention out the large viewer windows that lined the front of the ship.

"How can they know what my deepest fear is when I don't?" Wesley pondered aloud.

"By analysing your psychological profile. They were very accurate about everyone I tested with – including myself," Worf replied.

He paused to stuff another forkful of sausages into his mouth.

Wesley chuckled and shook his head.

"Yeah right, like there's anything that could frighten you," Wesley teased.

Worf stopped chewing as he studied Wesley with care. Slowly, he finished his bite and then dabbed his beard politely with a napkin.

"Only fools have no fear," Worf remarked.

"I'm sorry," Wesley apologised. "I didn't mean to-"

Worf waved him off.

"Do not be," Worf assured him. "Far too many people presume that the absence of fear is the hallmark of strength. But recognising your fears and acknowledging how they impact your performance is a critical part of growth."

In another life, Worf would have been a poet rather than a Starfleet officer.

"This is an opportunity to learn a great deal about who you are," Worf explained. "Wesley, it is very difficult for me to depend on anyone else for anything – especially my life."

Wesley didn't understand.

"But on the Enterprise you do that every day," Wesley countered.

Worf nodded as he took another sip of his Raktajino.

"So you overcome your fear?" Wesley pressed.

Worf shook his head in the negative.

"No. It is still my enemy. And something I am constantly working to address," Worf shared.

He set his cup down and stared at Wesley.

"Starfleet is not looking for officers that are perfect. It is looking for people willing to grow," Worf said. "People that never want to stop learning."

Worf stretched one of his long arms across the table and gave Wesley's shoulder a squeeze.

"There is something that unites all of us and that is our curiosity, our desire to explore. More than anything, we seek discovery," Worf said. "We are not perfect. We never will be. And the sooner we accept that, the sooner we can break free of the fear that keeps us stagnant."

---

Don't be so afraid you never leap. Tasha reminded herself.

She closed her eyes and squared her shoulders before stepping into the Observation Lounge for her interview with Commander Remmick.

When she arrived, he was seated at the far end of the table. Remmick was shuffling through a series of tablets that held various notes and Starfleet records.

"Please, take a seat," Remmick instructed.

Tasha sat down on the opposite side. She was already uncomfortable about the experience – having her back to the door only added to that unease.

Remmick wasted no time in getting to the point.

"You have dual roles here on the Enterprise. Is that correct? Chief Security Officer and Tactical Chief?" Remmick asked.

"Yes, sir," Tasha replied.

"But your expertise is in Covert Operations," Remmick went on.

"Yes," Tasha answered.

Remmick tapped the screen on his tablet. He hadn't even made eye contact with Tasha once. She suspected he was actually using a small recording device to watch her responses without appearing to do so.

It was an interrogation tactic that Tasha was familiar with.

"So you could say that it is easy for you to withhold information from others. From your colleagues," Remmick said.

Tasha did not react.

"What are you implying, sir?" Tasha asked in an even, soothing tone.

She had switched on her Security voice – the same one she had used to diffuse countless situations.

For the first time since she entered the room, Commander Remmick had looked up.

"I wasn't aware I was implying anything," Remmick replied.

For a moment, they said nothing – just staring at one another from across opposite ends of the table.

Then Commander Remmick chuckled.

"You really are Covert Ops to your core. Trained not to offer any additional information with your answers," Remmick said with a hint of amusement.

Tasha remained silent.

"Now then Miss Yar," Remmick began.

"Lieutenant," Tasha interjected.

"My apologies, Lieutenant," Remmick said.

Tasha loathed being addressed as 'miss.' In her experience, it had been used far too often by older male officers as a less than subtle way to reinforce the differences in their age and rank.

Tasha had been on the receiving end of being addressed in such a manner during more than one scathing interrogation in her day.

In her mind, it was as good as calling her 'little girl' or 'young lady.'

"Lieutenant," Remmick said, starting over. "I'd like to preface this interview by informing you that Admiral Quinn has granted me access to discuss your time in Covert Operations. So I want to assure you that you can be completely honest with me."

Tasha sat perfectly still as she waited for him to continue.

"Now that's settled, I'd like to move into-"

"Excuse me, sir," Tasha cut in. "I will be willing to answer any questions you may have. But Admiral Quinn does not have the authority to grant you such clearance."

Tasha wasn't sure if this was a test or an attempt to genuinely get around the requirements. Either way, she was not comfortable proceeding.

"Now, if you have a RP672.C9 form signed by Admiral Henry of Starfleet Security and two flag officers, stamped by the Inspector General's Office, and sealed under order and delivered by a JAG officer – for which I would receive equal receipt, then we may proceed," Tasha said.

She paused.

"Otherwise, you will need to obtain proper clearance before we can discuss the sealed portions of my service record," Tasha concluded.

Remmick ignored her.

"You were part of the team that liberated the G'kantal work camp," Remmick said.

It wasn't a question – it was a statement.

"It's an impressive record," Remmick said as if to appeal to her ego.

Only Tasha had never found her record all that impressive. In fact, she was keen to put as much distance as possible between that part of her life and who she was now.

"Do you still talk to anyone you served with? Surely the bonds of such service would last," Remmick remarked.

Tasha remained silent.

"Do you know Captain Rixx?" Remmick inquired.

"I served under his command for a time," Tasha answered honestly.

Remmick was impressed.

He'd led her right up the question and she'd navigated around with aplomb. She'd acknowledged her service under Rixx – that much was public – but nothing else.

One down. Remmick thought.

She had passed his first test and Remmick allowed himself to indulge in a sense of relief.

"You're trained in forensic countermeasures. Correct?" Remmick asked.

Tasha responded with a stiff nod.

"It's standard practice for all Covert Operations training," Tasha answered.

Another careful answer. Remmick thought.

It was standard training for any cadet in the Covert Operations programme. She had tactfully answered his query without discussing her own skill.

Remmick got up from his seat and circled the table. When he reached Tasha's position, he set a tablet down and slid it over to her.

"Do you know what these are?" Remmick asked.

Tasha picked up the tablet and studied it closely. She fought the natural instinct to react. Instead, she quickly scanned the image to determine as much information as she could.

Timestamp.

Origination.

No signature.

Tasha set the tablet down. She then leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms.

"It looks like a communications log," Tasha said.

"I want to know what you know about a series of transmissions that originated between the Enterprise, the Yamato, and the Thomas Paine," Remmick said.