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Chapter Sixteen
Data raced through the compound, his worry increasing with every clanking, clattering step he took through the tunnel-like corridors.
He hadn't found Ishta in the makeshift quarters the archaeologists had set up for them the night before. She wasn't in the clinic or the exercise dome. Counselor Troi, still busy with her subspace calls, had assured him Ishta hadn't come into the communications center. She wasn't in the runabout, she hadn't gone to visit Mikey and Howard in the sickbay…
Data stopped moving, closed his eyes, and took in a slow, steadying breath through his nose.
He had to think, not panic. To panic would be inefficient and only waste more time.
If only they were aboard the Enterprise instead of this barren, desert planet, he could run an internal scan—
Data's eyes snapped open.
"Of course!" he cried, already sprinting for his tricorder.
With android dexterity, he pulled the device from the saddle bag by his cot and set it to scan for all humanoid life forms within a two kilometer radius. As he did, he muttered to himself, "Perhaps I have grown more irrational. I should have thought of this at once… Ah!"
The tricorder's small display screen showed a basic map of the complex, with the people inside showing up as red dots. There were three in the runabout: Lt. Ogawa, Mikey, and the pilot, Lt. Exupery. Howard was there too, he knew, but as a robot, he read as a mechanical device and did not show up as a dot on the screen. That was an oversight Data would have to remedy, as he had when he'd programmed all Enterprise scanning equipment to differentiate his own unique energy signature…but later. He saw eight dots in the cafeteria - nine dots? No, there were eight, and one more was approaching through the corridor. The control room read as empty, so it had to be Counselor Troi, joining the rest of the group for supper.
Data zoomed out to include the residential domes, the exercise dome, the labs, then out further to the stables—
"There she is! With the horses," he said in deep relief, pocketing the tricorder as he strode from the room, through the foyer, and out into the cold, dark, windy night.
He shivered, the unexpected sensation of goosebumps rising on his sensitive flesh momentarily sending him back to the Borg Queen…his split-second of temptation as her warm breath brushed his skin…
…Was that good for you…
"Stop it!" Data snapped at the darkness, shaking away the computer-perfect memories like Spot shaking water from her fur. "The Borg Queen is dead. She is dead!"
…If that's true, Data, why do I still haunt your thoughts…
Data shook his head harder and increased his pace, making it across the stinging, swirling sand to the stables in only a handful of seconds.
"Ishta?" he called, holding his tricorder out like a palm beacon as he passed through the swinging gate and started peering into the stalls beyond. "Ishta, it is Data. Please respond."
He walked past the sleepy horses, giving Sagebrush's long nose a friendly pat as he moved toward the back of the cave, where saddles, equipment, fresh oats and hay were stored. Ishta's willowy form was nowhere to be seen…until he turned the tricorder toward the speeder he and the children had taken across the desert. The compact vehicle was snugly parked there, out of sight, but taking up an inordinate amount of the already cramped space.
Data pursed his lips and pocketed his tricorder. Adjusting his own eyes to read infrared light, the android opened the speeder's door wide enough to squeeze through without scratching it against the uneven rock wall.
Ishta's warm form glowed inside, her back pressed against the seat and her legs pulled tightly against her chest.
"Hello," Data greeted. "It is rather chilly in here, don't you think?"
She didn't answer. Just scooted closer to the door.
Data squeezed between the driver and passenger seats to join her in the back.
"I came out to find you when you did not come to dinner. You had me quite worried for a while."
The young Orion didn't respond. She just hunched into a tighter ball.
"Ishta, what is wrong?" Data asked. "Has something happened to upset you?"
Ishta released a frustrated roar and slammed her back against the seat.
"Stop it, OK!" she snapped. "Just, stop! I don't want to talk to you, so just leave me alone!"
Data sighed and lowered his eyes.
"I thought we had passed this stage," he said. "I thought we were becoming friends."
"Oh, please," Ishta scoffed. "There's no such thing as 'friends'. Not really. We exist only to use or be used, and I'm no good either way. That's why I was made a Skin and not a Slave. That's why I won't be able to hack it in your precious Federation even if your red tape officials do let me stay. So, get out and leave me alone!" she shrieked.
Data blinked in the darkness, quite disheartened by this shift in her attitude. Back before lunch, it had seemed she had started to relax her shields a bit. She had opened up to him about her past, her dreams of becoming a dancer…
Now, it seemed her fragile confidence had imploded completely.
Data leaned toward the dashboard to activate the speeder's battery and turn on the inside lights. He readjusted his eyes to read the normal, visual spectrum and sat down to face Ishta again.
The lights revealed that the girl had been crying, and for a long time. Her bright blue eyes were puffy and rimmed with red, her green cheeks were flushed and streaked with tear tracks.
Data swallowed sadly.
"I am sorry," he said, reaching out a hand to brush tear-dampened hair back from her face. She flinched, but didn't pull completely away, watching his expression with her hard, wary eyes.
"I have not been very fair to you, have I," he realized. "I have asked for your trust and promised you mine, but at the same time I have withheld any assurance of stability or sustainability. It is not right of me to foster a caring bond between us if we are to be separated in less than a week, and I should not expect you to feel any comfort knowing the best I can offer you right now is a surrogate shelter and holiday visits. I have been terribly selfish, Ishta."
Ishta stared at him. Then, she tilted her head back and screamed a scream so harsh and so loud the horses shrank back in their stalls.
"Ow…" Data winced, reflexively covering his ears with his hands. "Why—"
"Damn you!" she cried, her long braid lashing as she slammed her fist against the door window again and again and again. "You metal android bastard! I never cared about anything before I met you. I never wanted to stay around anyone the way I want to stay with you. And now, you're dumping me too!"
"Ishta, no, I—"
"I hate you!" she shrieked. "I hate you for making me think a robot might actually be different! For making me imagine…"
She sniffed and swallowed hard, turning her tortured face toward the speeder's hard top roof.
"I want you to tell that shrink woman to stop trying to find me some place to stay in the Federation," she croaked. "I want you to tell her to send me back to Orion Prime. I can't learn all the sciencey mathy shit they'll want me to learn here. The kind of crap Kay has to cram in her head every day. If I can't stay with you, I don't want to."
"It probably does not help to know this, Ishta," Data said, "But, I have been imagining too. For the past few days, I have found myself daydreaming—"
"I know where you're going, and I don't want to hear any more," Ishta cried. "I don't want you to say you'd adopt me if you could! If you can't close the deal, shut up and move on. Don't keep asking me to care, because I can't, OK! I just can't..."
Data closed his eyes and sighed through his nose.
"Ishta, please know the ridiculous legal situation regarding your status has nothing to do with the person you are. You are—"
"I know what I am, android," Ishta snapped. "I'm a piece of merchandise. Something you picked up, but found out you can't keep. I get it, OK?"
"No, Ishta, you do not," Data said firmly, locking his eyes on hers. "There are layers here. Decades of deeply ingrained injustices, both within the Federation and without. That is what we are facing, Ishta. That is what I intend to fight."
"Yeah, well, good luck with that," she snorted. "Nobody cares, idiot."
"I care, Ishta."
"You don't count!" she said. "No one counts except Users like Father. If your computer brain was as smart as everyone says, you'd know that."
"Everyone counts Ishta," Data retorted. "The Federation was founded on a shared appreciation and acknowledgment of the fundamental value of all individuals."
"Then the Federation was founded by idiots."
"You are saying this because you are frustrated," Data said. "I understand, because I feel it too. But, we must strive for patience, Ishta. Counselor Troi has been working very hard to secure you legal asylum within Federation space. If she is successful, you will have the right to remain here for as long as you choose."
Ishta rolled her eyes.
"So what?" she snapped. "I told you, I don't want that!"
"Even if it meant I could then apply to become your legal guardian?" Data asked.
Ishta frowned.
"I thought you said the Feds won't let a metal man adopt meat kids."
"They do not - at the moment," Data said. "But, Federation laws are designed to be modifiable. If our petition is turned down, we could appeal the case. Force the courts to reconsider. Give the legislators a chance to write new laws."
"That sounds like a load of crap," Ishta said. "How long will all that court shit take, huh? Five years? Twenty? By that time, I'll be old like you! Chances are, we won't even win."
"There is precedent, Ishta," Data said. "I have gone to court to fight for my rights before. It was difficult and, looking back, quite frightening. If I had lost, there is a good chance I would have been dismantled, and I would not be sitting here with you now. But, with the help of Captain Picard and Commander Riker, I was successful. My right to choose was officially acknowledged. And, here I am. Ready and willing to fight for our right to adopt each other. If, that is, you would choose me to serve as your legal guardian."
Ishta regarded him.
"Hmph," she snorted. "So, maybe your system worked, like, one time. But, what about your ship? Didn't you say there's no kids allowed on board?"
"It is left to the captain's discretion to make an exception," Data said. "But, even if he chooses not to allow it, I can always request a transfer to a ship designed to accommodate children and families. In fact, since returning to this compound, I have found myself seriously debating whether to leave Starfleet service all together. So, you see, there are options, Ishta. Nothing in our lives is set in stone."
"I think you're nuts," Ishta said. "Why the hell should you risk your fancy career for some useless Skin who's never even seen a school? I'm already too old to learn the stuff you Federation people need to know... No, I'm not worth it. It's just too late!"
Data blinked his amber eyes, his expression softening into a very slight smile.
"It is because you are worth it, that I am willing to take the risk and face the giants that stand before us," he said. "But, I will require your assistance. Dulcinea."
"It's Ishta, and you're crazy as well as nuts," she said. "And an idiot."
Data glanced at her, his small smile twisting into a smirk.
"You say you are too old to begin learning 'Federation stuff'," he said. "How about we put that supposition to the test?"
"What sort of test?" she asked warily.
"I will give you a homework assignment to complete. Just like Kay," he said. "It will give you something productive to do tomorrow while I help Kurak and Mikey. Are you interested?"
"Depends on what it is," she said.
Data smiled.
"Fair enough," he said. "For this assignment, I would like you to read a play based on a famous Earth novel first written in Spain between 1605 and 1615. The play is called Man of La Mancha. I would like you to find this play and its musical soundtrack using the computer's library database. I would then like you to read the text, listen to the songs, and write two pages explaining to me what you think of the story and the characters. Do you think you can do that, Ishta?"
"You want me to read an Earth book?" she said, wrinkling her nose. "In Standard?"
"The computer can read the text aloud if that is a problem. In addition, the play has been translated into Orion if—"
"No," she said defensively. "I know how to read Standard."
"Then, you will do the assignment?" he asked.
She shrugged.
"Yeah, sure. Whatever."
He smiled.
"I want you to come to me if you require any assistance, no matter how minor. Even if I appear to be busy. That, too, is part of the assignment."
Ishta sucked in her cheeks and sighed.
"Yeah, fine. You know, it's getting pretty stuffy in here. You want to go eat something?"
"The rest of the group is currently having their dinner in the cafeteria," he said. "Do you wish to join them?"
"Not really," she said. "But I'll go if you're going."
"Then, I will accompany you," he said, squeezing his way to the front seat, where there was slightly more room to open the speeder's front door. He waited until Ishta had jumped out and closed the back door before dousing the lights and turning off the speeder's battery, plunging the cramped stable into darkness.
"Too bad you don't blink in the dark like a traffic beacon anymore," Ishta commented. "Can you see?"
"I am equipped with night vision," Data said. "But, if it helps, I brought this."
He pulled out his tricorder, and held up its glowing screen.
"Not very bright, is it," she said dryly.
"Then, hold my hand and I will guide you across the compound," Data offered.
Ishta scowled but took his hand, listening to the horses sigh and stamp as the two of them walked out of the stable into the chilly, windy, starlit night beyond.
"You know, we didn't really solve anything back there," she said.
"I know."
"Would you really leave your ship to be my guardian?"
"I would."
"Data?"
"Yes, Ishta," the android asked, looking down at her dark, starlit face.
"What if you do all this stuff…challenge the Federation, face the courts…and it doesn't work. What if you find out a cheap Skin really isn't worth the trouble after all, and you did all this fighting for nothing?"
Data stopped their walk and took her other hand, looking her straight in the eyes.
"Ishta," he said. "I know your experiences have taught you to feel...worthless. Less than. As an android, I have faced similar disfavor. My mechanical nature offends and frightens people - even those I have never met. All through the academy and my early career, I was bullied and mocked, ignored, overlooked, threatened and told repeatedly to keep quiet and know my place. It got to me, Ishta. Even now, there are times…dark times…when I sincerely doubt my value and my purpose. Even my status as a living being… But, do you know what happens, Ishta, if we give up on ourselves?"
"The bastards win?" she said.
Data snorted a startled laugh.
"Yes, Ishta," he said. "That is correct. The bastards win."
He sighed a little and looked up at the stars. After a moment, Ishta followed his gaze.
"I will do all I can to assure you that you are worth my time and care," he promised her. "Not for anything you can do or provide. I do not believe in that 'use or be used' philosophy. I value you because you are you. The only you this universe will ever know."
Ishta rolled her eyes.
"Good grief…"
"But," Data added, "if you are to join me in this fight, you must do your part as well. You must work to build up your confidence and sense of self-worth."
"Yeah," she scoffed. "How can I do that, when I already know how much I suck?"
"You do this," he said, looking back at her. "You risk trusting the word of another. You try new things even if you're not sure you can do them. You ask questions and keep reaching, keep stretching until, eventually, you demonstrate to yourself that, maybe, you don't suck quite as much as you suspected. It is a quest, Ishta. A quest...not to be human, as I once thought. But to accept and value yourself. Despite everything that may have gone wrong..."
Ishta hissed low and kicked at the sand between them.
"Idiot," she muttered.
"Cynic," he responded in the same tone, and she looked up at him with a smile.
A strong gust of chilling wind sprayed sand over them both. Data shivered and rubbed his arms.
"God, it's cold," he complained, reaching up to shake the sand out of his already wind-blown hair. "Come on. Let's head back to the cafeteria before the others send a search party out looking for us."
The warmth of the corridor was a welcome relief after the freezing desert night.
Data ran his fingers through his wild hair, trying to brush it back into some semblance of its customary neatness as he followed Ishta toward the cafeteria's sliding doors.
"It looks better like that, you know," the girl commented when she noticed his flustered struggle. "Slicking it back all the time makes you look stupid."
"Thanks for your opinion," Data said, smoothing his palms over the sides of his head to make sure no stray, wild wisps stuck out around his ears. "But, I have maintained my hair in the same style since my activation."
"Why?" Ishta asked.
Data paused.
"I do not know," he said, and resumed his preening. "I suppose I prefer a tidy appearance."
Ishta shrugged.
"OK," she said. "But, you look like a geek."
She went through the sliding doors, leaving Data to glance around the corridor for a reflective surface.
A metal support pole wasn't the best mirror, but it was better than nothing. Data stared at his oddly curved reflection and frowned.
His accustomed style did look a bit severe over his new features. Perhaps, if he brushed it to the side…
Data blinked and straightened, startled by his own behavior. Had he always been so vain? Or was this concern he was feeling regarding his looks something new?
"I really am an idiot," he said, roughly pushing his hair back the way he'd had it before. "Why should it matter to anyone if I comb my hair back, or choose to…"
A soft humming began in the cafeteria, slow and sweet and faintly eerie.
Data knit his brow and walked through the sliding doors, to see Kurak standing before the podium where the archaeologists had given their presentations less than an hour before. She had changed her clothes and was now dressed in formfitting Klingon armor with high boots and a leather tunic long enough to brush her heels. Her wavy, waist-length hair hung loose over her spiked shoulder armor, and she held a bat'leth sword in her hands.
The rest of the group watched from the fold-out table, most of them just finishing their dessert. Ishta joined them with a loaded tray of her own, more focused on eating than listening to Kurak's memorial for a dead woman Ishta had never met.
But, Data stood as if frozen, his senses overwhelmed by the layered aesthetic of the moment. Golden light caught the highlights in the Klingon woman's hair, the gleaming sword she wielded becoming an extension of her arm as she transformed violent fight moves into a slow, graceful dance.
All the while, she sang with the strong voice of a trained soprano…a piece from a Klingon opera Data had never downloaded into his memory. The words were in Klingon, a rather ancient dialect, but the android had no trouble translating…
The sun is sleeping quietly
Once upon a century
Wistful oceans calm and red
Honorable corpses laid to rest
For my dreams I hold my life
For wishes I behold the night
The truth at the end of time
Losing faith makes a crime
I wish for this nighttime
To last for a lifetime
The darkness around me
Shores of a solar sea
Oh, how I wish to go down with the sun
Sleeping
Weeping
With you…
Data felt his breath catch, his pulse rise with the sad, soaring melody. The singer held him enraptured and he couldn't look away…not even to see if Ishta was watching…appreciating the skill…the art of her heart-wrenching dance…
Sorrow has a Klingon heart
From my lord, I did depart
I sailed before a thousand moons
Never asking where to go
After two hundred days, this fight
Was then decided by a night
A moment for the poet's play
And now, there's nothing left to say
I wish for this nighttime
To last for a lifetime
The darkness around me
Shores of a solar sea
Oh how I wish to go down with the sun
Sleeping
Weeping
With you...
Kurak's voice faded and Data blinked, only then discovering the tears running down his nose, his cheeks.
He swallowed quickly and wiped them away, feeling the skin of his face burning all the way up to his ears. The dance was over, but images of Kurak's lithe form continued to move in his mind. Unfamiliar emotions quivered inside him, and he had to turn away, concentrating on calming his pulse and returning his breathing to normal as he strode for the replicator.
Even then, he barely heard Captain Picard praising her performance…Kurak inviting the others to share their memories of her friend, Melinda Baker…
Data closed his eyes and sighed, pressing his flushed forehead to the cool, metal wall as his meal materialized in the replicator slot.
The strange, powerful feelings were fading, which he had to admit was a relief. It was the music that had affected him…the beauty of the aria. That was all.
...wasn't it?
Of course, that was all. He didn't even like Kurak. He detested the way he'd seen her treat Kahlestra. And, her words and behavior had made it pretty clear she didn't care much for him either.
Data sighed again and grabbed his tray.
It was nothing. Simply an emotional response to an unexpectedly moving song. The feelings had nothing to do with Kurak. Just him.
It had to be. Because, if it wasn't, working with Kurak tomorrow might prove far more complicated than he'd anticipated…
To Be Continued…
References Include - TNG: The Measure of a Man; "Don Quixote" by Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra; "Man of La Mancha" by Dale Wasserman with lyrics by Joe Darion and music by Mitch Leigh; and the song "Sleeping Sun" by Nightwish (Oceanborn, 1998). I altered the lyrics to read more like a Klingon Opera. ;)
Am I the only one who thinks Nightwish songs like "Sleeping Sun" and "Ghost Love Score" sound exactly the way Klingon Opera would sound if it was real? (my cousins seem to think I am... LOL!)
Please Review! :D