Update! A pretty long one too...hope you don't mind! Yep this story is meant to be a little out of character because they are in a different setting but also because the version of the crew we see in the episodes is markedly different from the version of the crew portrayed in the movies (and also because every story we authors create is by nature a bit AU). :) That's kind of why I've been playing with writing this story and The Wild Men simultaneously. It's given me a chance to doodle around with two very different camping trips set at very different times in the characters' development: one right at the start of Season 1 and the other shortly after the First Contact movie. In the first one, Data's only just decided to consider himself a person. His rights as a sentient being haven't even been confirmed yet. In this one, he's in a such different place. He has almost everything he wanted starting out but, as Spock observed in Amok Time, "having is not so pleasing a thing, after all, as wanting. It is not logical, but it is often true." As a result, the chapter after this one will be a little weird. Just so you know. ;)

Hope you like this next bit!

Chapter Five

Riker winced, groaned, then gave a little, involuntary yelp of agony as he staggered bow-legged toward the campsite. Deanna wasn't in much better shape, but her unflappable dignity, ingrained in her psyche early on as befitted a member of the Fifth House and daughter of the heir to the Holy Rings of Betazed and the holder of the Sacred Chalice of Rixx, compelled her to walk upright – at least, as upright as she could manage after a long, hot day in the saddle.

Picard tried to hide a smirk, but it showed up in his eyes anyway. Riker scowled at him and held his breath as he gingerly straddled a worn rock many travelers before him had recruited to serve as a lounge chair. Troi chose to remain standing, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. It was great to be able to stretch her legs and back, but her thighs and backside felt like they were on fire.

"Sore?" the captain asked innocently, handing each of them a silvery ration pack.

Riker took the pack, but shot the older man a very dirty look.

"How come you're not suffering with the rest of us?" he asked grimly, kneading the pack between his hands to start it heating up.

Picard chuffed a slight laugh.

"I invited you many times to come riding with me in the holodeck, Will," he said. "If you'd accepted, you might have built up some tolerance by now."

"Tolerance?" Riker said incredulously. "My backside feels like it's been rubbed raw by a wood sander!"

Troi winced in heartfelt sympathy, her discomfort redoubled by the waves of agony she sensed eminating from Riker.

"Well, I can suggest two things," Picard said, leaning back against the shallow cave entrance and drawing a very old looking bottle from his rucksack. "First, that you each take a good, long swig of this. It's an old riders' remedy. To help with the pain."

"Ah! Tennessee whiskey," Riker observed, accepting the bottle and squinting at the worn label. "Just the thing for the ailing cowboy."

"And second?" Troi asked, taking the bottle after Riker and making a face as the whiskey went down. Quickly, she passed it back to a highly amused Picard.

"Well, I picked up a tube of liniment at the supply tent," the captain offered. "Stings like the dickens, but does the job, as they say."

Troi and Riker groaned.

"Or, if you prefer a more modern approach, you could make use of the dermal regenerator in the emergency med kit. You'll find it in Data's saddlebag – just there."

He pointed to the pile of stuff Data had unloaded from the horses before walking them down to the little mountain spring to drink, then set about clearing sand from the ancient-looking fire pit and cracking heat sticks, which he stacked neatly in the center before they grew hot enough to glow.

When, after several busy minutes of unrolling sleeping gear and setting out more ration and water packs, he showed no inclination of leaving the cave to fetch the dermal regenerator, Riker turned pleading blue eyes to Troi.

"Oh, fine," she muttered, and set down her slowly warming ration pack. "I'll get it."

"I knew I could count on you, Imzadi!" Riker called as she limped away.

Picard couldn't be sure, it happened so fast, but he thought he glimpsed the Counselor's hand flashing a surprisingly rude Betazoid gesture at the smirking First Officer. He smiled a very small smile and kept working, humming to himself all the while.

Data decided he liked horses. He liked them very much. The graceful way they held themselves, the elegance of their movements. The way they walked alongside him so trustingly as he led them to the bubbling little spring, not far from the campsite. Yes, he even liked the way they smelled.

The stable manager had provided the group with grooming tools as well as some treats for their mounts. Once the horses finished drinking at the spring, Data offered them each a treat, delighting as they delicately nibbled the goodies from his hand. Then, he led them up a sandy slope to the shallow little stable of a cave the planetary authorities who maintained the trail kept stocked with fresh hay and several bags of oats.

"In you go," Data said, and entered the cave with them, pulling the swinging gate closed behind him. He removed their saddles and bridles, hung them on the appropriate pegs, then began brushing the horses down, getting them ready for the night after their long desert trek. As he ran the brush through their manes, gently untangling the snarls the wind had caused, the android found himself drifting into a pleasant daydream.

He was back in his quarters, a paintbrush in his hand. The horses he was tending filled his mind with shades and shapes of light and color and he saw himself blending the right tones of brown, tan and ebony on his palate, tracing out their four dynamic forms on his flat, static canvas, dabbing in shadows and highlights to represent their movement through the desert sun...

Before long, he was seized by a strange, absurdly powerful idea. An idea he suddenly knew he had to make real. Leaving the horses to their dinner, Data raced back to the area near the spring. He scouted around in the dimming twilight for a while, examining the rocks and the layered, colored strata of the cliff side.

Slowly, he began to smile.

"Hematite, ochre, manganese oxide…"

He crouched down, collected a few stones, and crushed them to powder in his palm.

"Perfect."

"So, what is this stuff?" Riker said, peering into the dark, steamy depths of his piping hot ration pack. "Smells like beef stew."

"It's beef bourguignon," Picard told him. "And there's dehydrated fruit salad for dessert."

"You mean those crunchy pink blocks with the yellow flecks?" Riker put on a wide, wry smile. "Sounds delicious."

"It's not so bad once it's been rehydrated," Picard noted. "Especially if you use whiskey in place of water."

Riker raised his eyebrows and shared a glance with Troi, both of them feeling much more chipper now the dermal regenerator had worked its essential repairs.

"Now that, I'm willing to try." He glanced over at the place they'd set for Data, the lonely ration pack and water sachet reflecting the orangey glow of the heat sticks. "How long does it take to water horses?" he asked.

"Not this long," Picard said, and frowned. "Data did mention he saw speeder tracks in the sand earlier today. You don't think he's run into any trouble, do you?"

"I don't sense that anything's wrong," Troi said. "But Data has been gone a long time. Do you think one of us should go looking for him, or should we give him a few more minutes?"

"I'll get him," Riker said. He set his ration pack down and climbed to his feet. "Don't either of you start eating without me."

It wasn't hard to locate Data's position. All Riker had to do was follow the singing.

A lilting tenor wafted from a little cave that had long ago been turned into a makeshift stable. Riker paused at the gate and just listened. He knew Data had been working to master the violin, along with several other instruments, but he'd never heard him sing before. At least, not like this…

From this starship you now must be going

I will miss your bright eyes and sweet smile

We both know you are taking the starlight

That has brightened our pathways a while…

The tune was soft and slow and bittersweet, and clearly not meant for any human audience. The horses seemed thoroughly charmed, standing still and calm, as if already asleep.

Riker could see Data was doing something as he sang, moving his pale hands against the smooth wind and sand-eroded stone, but in the dimness he couldn't make out any details.

Come and sit by my side if you love me

Do not hasten to bid me adieu

Know I always will treasure your memories

And that my love will always be true.

The song ended like a mournful sigh, and Data stepped back from his work, his head slightly tilted. Riker opened the gate and stepped inside the cave, moving slowly until he stood beside him.

"Data—" he started, but the android jumped as if Riker had just jabbed him with a live wire. "Data, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to startle you!"

"Commander!" Data gasped, his golden eyes blinking rapidly. "No, it is I who should apologize. I did not hear you come in. I believe I was…preoccupied…"

"That's understandable," Riker said and stared at the cave wall. "Data…did you do this?"

A deceptively primitive wall mural stared back at him, done in the style of the Paleolithic art found in the Chauvet-Pont-d'Arc Cave in southern France. Four horses, clearly modeled on their four mounts, stood in profile, one in front of the other, from largest to smallest. They burst from a striking field of ghostly handprints, like the ones that gave Argentina's Cueva de las Manos its eerie name.

"I did," Data asserted, and showed the commander his reddish orange and black-smudged hands.

Riker nodded slowly, still taking it all in.

"It's…amazing, Data. Honestly. But…the authorities on this planet… I'm sure you're aware they have some very stiff rules regarding the…defacement…of their natural landmarks."

Data's expression seemed to freeze, the dreamy distance in his eyes momentarily replaced by something far more delicate. Before Riker could place it, that expression, too, had flattened out and vanished.

"This is not a natural landmark," the android stated. "It is a stable. A heavily used stable, at that. And what I did is not defacement. It is art."

"You say it's art and I agree – that is most definitely art," Riker said, his eyes still fixed on the powerful, haunting work. "But Data, the fact is, you didn't have permission to make that. If a Ninevehan Ranger should spot this mural, he might not see what you and I see. He might see graffiti."

Data stared straight at Riker, his golden eyes as hard as chips of amber.

"I will not remove it."

Riker closed his eyes and sighed.

"Data, do you really want me to bring the captain into this?"

"Do what you must," Data said. "I will do the same."

Riker frowned.

"Now, what does that mean?"

"It means, sir," Data said, "that I am quite aware of the laws governing Nineveh IV. I am certainly more familiar with them than you are. These caves are maintained by the Rangers, but fall under the public use clause applying to offworlders. To create this piece, I did not gouge or carve or in any other way alter the contours or affect the stability of this cave. All I did was apply a fine layer of naturally occurring pigments native to this location to the cave's interior surface – pigments that, given time, will naturally fade and erode along with the cave wall itself. Even if my work were to be deemed 'graffiti,' as you say, and it was decided I should be charged as an offender, the stiffest penalty I could anticipate would be a fine of no more than half a bar of gold pressed latium."

Riker's thoughtful frown deepened, but before he could say anything, Data turned on his heel and walked out, calling over his shoulder, "I am not a fool, Commander and, although I did create this work on impulse, I did not do it without considering the consequences. If you still want it removed, you are welcome to do it yourself. Just do not expect me to watch."

"Data!" Riker called after him, but the android was already gone. The commander pursed his lips in frustration, and glared up at the mural. Despite the deliberately primitive style, in the deepening shadows those horses seemed almost alive. Riker shivered despite himself and strode out of the cave, making sure the gate was closed fast behind him.

Riker was greeted by a sullen golden glower when he returned to the warm, bright cave where he and the rest of the group would be spending the night. Troi and Picard looked both puzzled and concerned, but it appeared that the android hadn't spoken a word to either of them.

"Don't worry, Data," Riker said as he resumed his place on his comfortable rock. "I didn't touch your painting."

Data's expression didn't shift, but Troi and Picard seemed enlightened.

"So, that's what you've been doing," Troi said. "Well, we'll have to see this painting. Where is it?"

"Down in the stable," Riker said. "But don't bother going now. It's getting too dark to see and, trust me, a palmlight won't do this thing justice."

"In the morning, then," Troi said, and patted Data's knee. "I'll look forward to seeing your work."

Data scooted out of range of her touch.

"That is not necessary, Counselor," he said, his eyes fixed on the heat sticks. "The commander was right. It was a stupid, impulsive thing to do, defacing the cave wall like that. I will remove the offending pigments at the soonest opportunity."

Riker straightened.

"Don't you dare put those words in my mouth," he said, and glared. "I don't understand you lately, Data. How can you go from defending your work so passionately back in that cave to downtalking it like this?"

"Perhaps, I have had a chance to view it from an outside perspective," Data mumbled into his drawn up knees. "As a result, the emotional context of the work has...changed…"

"What are you talking about?" Riker demanded.

"Please, leave me alone," Data muttered, hunching into an even tighter ball.

"Come on, Data, don't be like this," Troi said. "Don't retreat into yourself. We're your friends. You can talk to us."

"Unless that is an order, I really would rather not," Data said, and buried his face in his arms. "Why did I do this to myself…? Why, why, why…?"

Picard took a meditative sip from his cup of rehydrated whiskey fruit punch, then tore open his ration packet.

"Ah, smell those herbs. There really is nothing like a good beef bourguignon. And this is certainly nothing like a good beef bourguignon." He grinned at his little quip. "All right, everyone, dig in."

Riker and Troi cast a last look on the despondent android and his untouched rations, then followed the captain's example. Before long, the three officers were laughing and chatting over their dinner, enjoying the warmth of the cave and the pleasure of each other's company.

Slowly, very slowly, Data raised his head and propped his chin on his arms, just watching. When no one seemed to notice, he slowly, slowly shifted into a cross-legged posture and inched, ever so slightly, closer to the group.

When, still, no one paid him any attention, he took in a deep breath and spoke over the banter: "It is fear."

The others stopped their conversation and stared straight at him, as if he were a rogue ball player pitching into the stands from two fields over.

"Do go on, Commander," Picard invited.

Data shrugged a little and started using his orange-and-black stained finger to draw abstract swirling designs in the sand beside him.

"I started to tell the Counselor, that day in her office, but I stopped myself...out of fear," he said. "This emotion chip has changed me more than any of you realize. More than I have allowed myself to show. The Counselor was right, I do not wish to disappoint you and I am greatly disturbed by the precedent set by my brother, Lore. Yet, I cannot deny that fundamental alterations have occurred…and there is no going back. These emotions are an integrated part of me now, whether I remove the chip or not."

"Is that what you find frightening, Data?" Troi asked gently. "That you can't go back to who you used to be?"

Data chuffed a dry laugh and shook his head.

"You really have no idea, do you," he said. "But, perhaps that is also my fault. I have been…hiding…for so long… How can I expect any of you to understand?"

"Perhaps if you explained?" Picard prompted.

Data glanced at him, as if debating. Then he sighed and went back to his absent doodles.

"You know," he said, "when we were on the D, I used to think…this is it. I am finally where I always wanted to be. My career had advanced further than I had ever dreamed possible, and I had friends, real friends: friends who encouraged me to learn and explore and try new things. For a while…a brief while…I truly believed I would make it, that one day humanity would greet me with the same unthinking acceptance it granted the naturally born members of its kind. And then, I installed this chip…" He swallowed hard and dashed his intricate doodles back to sandy smithereens. "And everything I thought I knew became so hollow…"

"Data, you mustn't think like that," Troi said. "You're going through a difficult transition right now. In a few months—"

"No, that is not it, that is not what I am saying!" Data cried. "You do not see it. You do not see it because it never, never happens to you! Those brief shudders, the second glances and embarrassed, awkward looks. The ones I get every day, whenever I pass behind a young ensign at the science stations, or reach over an engineer's console to make a correction. I scare people, Counselor. My proximity triggers a primal fear they cannot hide, and which I can no longer simply ignore."

He closed his eyes for a moment, his face contorting like a man struggling to hold back tears. When he spoke again, though, his voice was low and clear.

"Living on the D was like being in a bubble," he said. "A big, soft, cushiony bubble where I could believe I was making progress toward a goal I now know to be entirely unattainable. No, do not interrupt, just listen," he said to Troi. "Not one new transfer to the Enterprise-E has yet viewed me as just another humanoid officer…the way Geordi and Tasha and you, sir," he nodded to Picard, "did when we first met. And while the officers I have had to meet with and train since our incident with the Borg know of my reputation and my more 'inhuman' specifications, they have yet to accept me as a colleague, let alone a friend. They view me as a machine, a curiosity, something strange and unnatural, intimidating and a little bit creepy. And although this is nothing new, although I have been dealing with such attitudes all my life, striving to fit in and to behave as correctly as I knew how, I know now that it will not stop. No matter what I do, how far I progress, how much I achieve… These parochial human arrogances will never change, or go away. And, I must admit, surviving the Borg Queen's cruel abuses has only made me more intolerant of this type of behavior. Since our return home, I have found myself increasingly unwilling to allow these humans the time they need to become…acclimated…to my android nature. That damned article just brought the whole thing to a head. If you want to know the bare-bones, God's-honest truth: I am heartily sick of the whole ridiculous hassle and I do not want to take it anymore!"

He took in a deep, ragged breath, his nostrils flaring slightly as he struggled to reign in his anger.

"I am not human and I will never be human and I never truly wanted to be a flesh-and-blood human being," he stated with deep conviction. "I am an android, and I want to be an android. In fact, I even like being an android. But I do not like to be feared. And I do not like the frustrated, angry feelings that fume so deep inside me when I see that fear in others. That is what frightens me, Counselor," he said, staring straight at her. "That is the terror I try so hard to keep hidden. Lore's words have become clear to me. I do, finally, understand my 'evil' brother, and all he tried to teach me about human bigory, prejudice, and betrayal. But I cannot forgive him, as he wished. For, he gave in to those frustrations, those angry, bitter thoughts. I will not. I will not."

Data clenched his fists and pressed them to his mouth, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes as he lowered his chin to his chest.

Riker, Troi, and Picard shared a long, deep look.

"It's true, Data," Picard said grimly. "Dealing with the Borg, the Cardassians, the Maquis, the rise of the Dominion… We have been forced to watch as the times changed around us, and not for the better. In many ways, humanity has become less open-minded as a result of the recent trials it has been forced to endure. It's unfortunate, and inherently unfair, that the suspicions and insular attitudes that lurk in the minds of many of our new crewmates have extended to include you. I could say the pendulum will one day begin its return swing and we'll once again see a future shaped by tolerance and curiosity, unhindered by fear of the different and the unknown. But that's a mere platitude, and you deserve better."

Data sniffled into his arms, his chest hitching with sobs.

"I am…so sorry," he choked. "I am a hateful being… I have been so…so very angry…"

"No, no, it's all right, Data," Troi soothed. "The Captain's right. You do deserve better. And we should have been more aware of what you've been going through. You were right to feel angry. If I'd known this was going on, I'd be angry too. And so would the captain and Commander Riker."

Data glanced up, his golden eyes oddly puffy from crying.

"Lore hated humans," he said. "He delighted in their fear, and in watching that fear turn to hatred. I do not want to be like that. I do not want to hate. But…but sometimes, I get so frustrated that I…I…"

"That you want to scream?" Riker offered. "Rant and rage and break things?"

Data blinked at him.

"Yes."

Riker smiled.

"Then, Data, I guess you really are human after all. I can't tell you how often I've felt like that. We all have." He gestured to Picard and Troi.

Data stared blankly for a moment, then shook his head.

"So strange..." he said. "I believed for so long that gaining emotional awareness would be the key to achieving humanity. Yet, I have never felt more like a machine than I have since the installation of my emotion chip. It is as if the more convincingly human I act, the more my internal differences seem to matter to the people I meet...and the more distant they behave toward me. This, of course, does not apply to you, or to any of the friends I made aboard the Enterprise-D. But - and I mean no offense - we will not be together forever. And...I dread the thought of a time when I will be left alone. I do not want to be human, Commander. I just… I want…."

He stopped and sighed, a look of anxious desperation creeping into his eyes.

"Who am I?" he asked plaintively, looking to each of them in turn. "I mean it. What the hell am I? What do you want me to be?"

Troi offered him a genuinely sympathetic smile.

"You are Lt. Commander Data," she said. "Starfleet hero and my personal friend. Any more than that, you're going to have to work out for yourself."

Data released a ferocious sigh and fell back until he was lying like a starfish on the cave's sandy floor.

"Thanks a lot," he muttered.

Riker laughed out loud and tossed him a silvery rations packet. Data lifted his left arm straight up to catch it, and squinted at the print near the top.

"Fruit salad?" he queried from the floor.

"Yeah," Riker said. "Something the captain thought up. Mix that packet in a cup with some Tennessee whiskey. It'll perk you right up."

Data let his arm flop back to the sand, still holding the packet.

"Commander, need I remind you that alcohol has no effect on me."

"I'm not talking physically, I'm talking mentally," Riker said. "Mix the stuff with water if you don't want any whiskey. Just sit up and have a drink with us."

Data frowned a little, but he sat up and moved closer to the group.

"That's the way," Riker praised, and handed him a little plastic cup. "So, what'll it be, water or whiskey?"

"Water, please," Data said. "And just water. I…do not like rehydrated fruit salad."

"Then, that's something we have in common, my friend," Riker said, and grinned. "I can't stand the stuff either."

Soon all four of their cups were full, and Picard raised his in a toast.

"To the adventure ahead," he said, and the four of them drank. "We should reach the first archaeological site late tomorrow afternoon. You're going to love it, I know. In archaeology, there are few sights more impressive than the Stairway of Sawrina the Great."

"I look forward to it!" Troi said, and raised her cup for another toast. "This one's for Data," she said, and smiled at the android. "For being brave enough to show us his true face."

Data raised his cup with the others, but he didn't return their grins. The fact was, he hadn't shown them his true face. Only one person had ever seen him as he truly was, had pierced straight through the trappings of his imitated, synthesized humanity…and that one person had been an abusive, manipulative, controlling Borg monster he himself had helped to kill.

It made him wonder…

What would happen? Could he do it? Should he do it?

Was he really brave enough to reveal his inner self?

To Be Continued…

References include: First Contact (movie); the novel Metamorphosis; Brothers; Hide and Q; The Ensigns of Command; In Theory; Silicon Avatar; The Offspring; Menage a Troi; Manhunt; Half A Life; Inheritance (in which Data tells his mother he is attempting to master all known styles of painting); The Red River Valley (song) composed circa 1870 (which I modified for this story); the Army food my Dad let me try when I was little (especially the weird, Styrofoam-like squares of dehydrated fruit salad!); and the CD Ol' Yellow Eyes Is Back (1991).

P.S.: The cave drawings I mentioned are real, and I adapted a picture of the Paleolithic horse painting for this story's cover. I added some yellow hand prints and a picture of Asimov's Positronic Man. :)

Until next time, thanks for reading! Your reviews are always welcome and appreciated! :)