Hi! I'm sorry this chapter took me so long to finish. I was kind of stuck for a while, but your nudges and wonderful comments helped me push through the sticky bits and connect a few of the hazier dots I'd left in the initial outline. :) Hope you like this next part!

Chapter Twenty-One

Freja handed the medical tricorder to Deanna and selected a small dermal regenerator from the tray beside the cot Riker and Nat had brought in from the other room, smiling gently as she turned back to Kahlestra. Deanna headed across the small room, where Mikey lay on the biobed beside the one monitoring Kahlestra's mother. The boy hadn't woken up since Data carried him into the clinic, and Deanna's expression grew pinched as she reviewed the tricorder readouts...

"Well, Kay," Freja said, "apart from that awful burn on your hand, you're fit as a fiddle and ready to play. I'll just use this to—"

"No!" Kahlestra said, pulling away from the dermal regenerator. "I don't want you to fix my hand."

"This isn't the time to be stubborn," Freja said. "Burn wounds can be pretty nasty if they're left untreated. Your hand could become infected. If there is nerve damage, you could lose some feeling and dexterity—"

"Just clean the wound," Kahlestra said. "Don't heal the skin. I can use my hand just fine."

"Kay," Data said, stepping away from the computer console where he'd been double-checking the results of his own self-diagnostic, and the diagnostic he'd run on Howard after replacing his arm. "If you do not allow Dr. Anders to heal your hand, the scars—"

"I want the scars," Kahlestra said, scowling down at the reddened wound. "I want to remember… Like you."

Data tilted his silvery head.

"I do not understand," he said.

"Those stinking slavers didn't take your skin," she said, narrowing her eyes at the startled android. "You did it to yourself, didn't you. You did it because someone hurt you. Someone hurt you so bad, you needed to remember – needed everyone to remember – just who and what you are, underneath. Well, I need to remember too."

"Remember what, honey?" Freja said.

The eleven-year-old slid off the cot and straightened to her full four feet, six inches, teeth bared and eyes blazing.

"That I am a Klingon," she said. "Dr. Baker was my friend, and she was killed – vaporized! – while trying to protect me. Shot in the back by flesh-peddling cowards! I will not erase the marks her murder seared into my skin!"

Data blinked thoughtfully and flexed his own metallic hand, his golden eyes moving back and forth as he processed the girl's words.

Freja looked uncertainly from one to the other.

"I don't know how your mother would feel about this…" she said, glancing at Kurak's prone form. The Klingon woman had stabilized, but she still needed a trained specialist to examine her internal injuries. Melinda Baker had worked as a nurse for three years before going back to school to follow her dreams of becoming an archaeologist, working in the field. If she'd been there now...

"Just let her keep the stupid scars," Ishta muttered, curled up in the corner with her arms crossed over her knees, her chin on her arms, and her back against the wall. "It's her hand, after all. If her mom makes a fuss, heal it then."

Kahlestra snarled at the older girl, who wrinkled her nose right back.

Freja sighed and set the dermal regenerator back on the tray.

"All right, Kay," she said. "Come with me, and we'll get that wound all cleaned out for you." Looking down at Ishta, she added, "I'll expect to see you on that cot when we get back, young lady."

"Fat chance," Ishta mumbled, sinking deeper into herself until only her blue eyes were visible over her arms.

"You do not wish a physical exam?" Data asked.

"Hell no," Ishta grunted. "I'm not letting a bunch of Feds poke and prod me with those machines."

"You saw for yourself that the exam is entirely non-invasive," Data said. "There is no poking or prodding involved."

"Whatever! I just don't want one, OK? And I'm keeping my clothes," she added fiercely, digging her fingers into her tattered, sand-and-travel-battered rags. "Tell that Freja lady I will not wear some stupid, ugly replicated jumpsuit!"

Data regarded her, noting her tense, protective posture, and was again reminded of his friend, Tasha Yar. He recalled all she had told him of her life before Starfleet, a life of abuse and insecurity, where those who trusted too easily were marked as targets, victims…and he nodded.

"As you wish," he said.

She glanced up at him, her brow furrowed in suspicion.

"Did I not promise I would look out for you?" he said. "If you are uncomfortable with the mediscan, I won't force you. As for your clothes, if you are amenable, perhaps later I can show you how the replicator can be used to design an outfit to your own specifications. Would you find that acceptable?"

She grunted and shrugged, but most of the angry tension had drained from her shoulders.

Data smiled, and gave her dark, tangled hair a supportive pat.

"In the meantime, the sonic shower is free," he said. "Why don't you clean up, then get some sleep. The replicator can supply you with a pillow, dental cleansers, and a hairbrush if you like."

She grunted again and slouched to her feet, shuffling toward the replicator while Data headed over to check on Mikey.

"How is he, Counselor?" he asked quietly.

"Not good, Data," she said, indicating the troubling readouts. "According to this, the boy is suffering from end-stage leukemia. I'm amazed he was able to find the strength to make it this far."

Data frowned and moved closer, gently brushing a stray hair from the boy's warm forehead.

"What is Dr. Crusher's ETA?" he asked.

"Her shuttle won't arrive for another few hours yet," Deanna said, and looked into her friend's worried face.

"I never thought I'd say this," she said, "but you look exhausted, Data. We have things under control here. Why don't you take this time to activate your dream program? We'll wake you if the situation changes."

"But, Deanna," he said, "would it not be better if I stayed here, with him? If he should wake, in a strange place—"

Deanna squeezed the android's shoulder.

"You need to take care of yourself too," she said. "I noticed you brought your bioplast sheeting in from the stable."

Data hunched his shoulders and looked away, his discomfort palpable even to a non-Betazoid.

"I have considered replacing my…skin…" he said. "And, I know it would be best to do so sooner rather than later. Since removing it, my systems have endured unprecedented stress and, as you observed, I have not yet fully recovered from the ordeal. Yet…"

His shoulders hunched even further and he clasped his hands, his blinking thumbs twiddling over his laced fingers.

"Is this difficult for you, Data?" Deanna prodded.

He tilted his head.

"Difficult?"

Deanna's lips quirked slightly and she gestured for him to follow her to the cot. In the next room, they could hear Ishta and Kahlestra arguing over whose turn it was to use the sink. A spike of concern shot through Data, but Deanna held him back, indicating he should sit beside her on the flat, foam mattress.

"They're all right," she assured him. "I want to talk about you. You've been through a lot these past couple of days. From what you, Howard, and the children have told us, it sounds like it's been one adventure after another since you escaped those kidnappers."

Data narrowed his eyes.

"I am not quite certain what you are asking me," he said. "If you wish to know whether my emotion chip has—"

"No, no, Data – I'm trying to say I'm proud of you," Deanna said. "You've progressed so far so fast, and all on your own…it's only natural you might find your return here, to us, to be a bit…confining…"

Data shook his head very slightly.

"Deanna, I still do not—"

"Data," she said, resting her hand on his arm. "Let me just say this, straight out. You know that, as organic beings mature, as they go through the mental stages of development from infant to adult, their physical features also change. But, while you may have an aging program, your appearance stays pretty much the same from year to year, decade to decade. The experiences that change you on the inside are not necessarily reflected in your face…as they would be if you were human."

"That is true…" Data said quietly. "And, it has been a concern of mine as I have watched others around me age."

He sighed, and pulled his arm away from her hand.

"You are quite correct, Counselor," he said. "I have changed, and I do wish my outward appearance to reflect those changes. The prospect of…replacing…my former skin… A skin that…that I purposefully shed…"

He winced a little, and shook his head.

"Bioplast sheeting may be durable, but it was old tech when my father procured it for my construction, over thirty years ago. There is a much broader range of materials available now, materials that are infinitely more advanced. Materials capable of matching, not just the look of human skin…but the sensations as well…"

He swallowed, and glanced at her.

"I have never admitted these thoughts out loud before, not even to Geordi," he said, his voice growing increasingly strained as awkward emotions churned within him. "But…I have been considering this…operation…since I first realized that my mother, Juliana, was an android. The advancements evidenced in her construction…the capacity for real, physical sensation… And yet, until the Borg Queen… I didn't… I never…"

"It's all right, Data, I understand," Deanna said, placing a supportive hand on his shoulder. "And no, I don't think you're vain to feel this way."

He straightened slightly.

"How did you—?"

"It's pretty obvious, isn't it?" she said, and smiled. "Data, I know you worry about disappointing or upsetting us, but it really isn't necessary. As the captain has said, we want you to be the man you are, the man we've all watched you become. And, Data, part of that is knowing that you feel comfortable and confident in your own skin. If you truly feel this upgrade is right for you, that you've 'outgrown' your old skin, as it were, then go ahead and embrace the change. And, when you do, do it for yourself, not us."

"But, my Starfleet records…" he protested weakly.

"The rest of us aging mortals have to update our image IDs every five years," she said. "I'm willing to bet you haven't changed yours since you made Lieutenant Commander."

"I'm afraid you would lose that bet, Counselor," he said, and smiled. "I update my image file every time they come out with a new uniform. But, I suppose it is about time for a change. When time permits, I will discuss the matter with Geordi and Dr. Crusher."

"And, until then?" Deanna asked, glancing at the saddlebag he'd brought in from the stable.

"I don't know," he said, and slid off the cot. "Ask me after my power levels have returned to optimum parameters."

"Does that mean you're going to sleep?"

"It does," he said. "Please wake me should Mikey's condition change."

"I promise, Data," she assured him, her expression turning thoughtful as she watched the android stride through the clinic's sliding doors.

To Be Continued…

Next Time: A bit more talk and character stuff before the plot heats up again, but this time, someone may be watching... Stay Tuned as the second tier of this three-level story continues! :)