Part V: Saudade

The fifth moment was in Data's private quarters.

It had been a…strange…day.

Their current mission had taken them in a close route past Turkana IV that morning, and Data had noticed a distinct, if subtle, change in the mood of his crewmates on the Bridge, even though they had not stopped at the planet or even seen it as anything more than a dot on the routine navigational scans. But even he had been able to sense the feeling of solemnity pervading the Bridge from his position at Ops. Most notable was the significant reduction in conversation and small talk between his fellow officers, ranging from a 9.36% decrease (Lt. Worf) to one of 47.92% (Commander Riker). And although he was still learning to interpret human body language, he noted that the others seemed stiff and less expressive than usual, which in his experience usually indicated feelings of emotional discomfort of some kind.

Data had found that he was not entirely unaffected, as well.

Since they had passed Turkana IV, Data had found himself accessing old memory files fifteen distinct times without a conscious decision to do so. Now, finished with his shift and on his way back to his quarters, he purposefully accessed one of the files and played it as he walked.

In the memory, he was sitting at a table in Ten Forward, with a clear glass of Andolian brandy in front of him and his hands folded on the tabletop. He was looking at Commander Riker, who had just finished a humorous story and was smiling broadly. Counselor Troi sat next to him, with Dr. Crusher standing behind her, both of them smiling. As the memory played, Data's gaze shifted further to the left, and suddenly, there she was.

Tasha was laughing, a huge smile on her face and her eyes crinkled at the corners. Her head dropped, wagging mirthfully back and forth, her shoulders shaking slightly with her laughter. She looked happy and at ease. She lifted her head, blue eyes sparkling with merriment, and apparently noticed him watching her. She nudged one of his hands with her elbow. "Come on, Data, it's funny," she said, and he noticed how her cheeks dimpled with her smile.

"Humor is a human condition that I have not yet been able to master," he heard himself responding in the memory. "However, given all of your reactions, I do not doubt that the story was indeed humorous."

"You'll get there, I'm sure," she answered, still smiling at him with an expression that he would now label as fondness.

He reached the door to his quarters and closed the memory file as the unit slid open in front of him.

Spot greeted him with loud, demanding meows, and Data paused at his replicator with a brief command of "Feline Supplement Number 57." He set the bowl on the ground, then stepped behind his workstation. He sat at his console and began pulling up the holodeck files for the new Sherlock Holmes program he was writing for his next meet-up with Geordi, but he stopped halfway through the process. Despite the fact that he had set aside this time to work on the program, something he usually found enjoyable, he realized that he simply didn't want to do it right now. Instead, he turned and opened one of his desk drawers, pulling out the small, holographic portrait that he always kept there. He set it on the desk in front of him and turned it on.

It had been seven years, three months, fifteen days since Vagra II. Data had heard several of his companions use the phrase that "time heals all", but time did not work that way for an android. Time was merely a unilateral progression, a collection of seconds and minutes that had no effect on his memories or subsystems. His memories of Tasha Yar were just as clear today as they had been seven years ago.

He wondered for a brief .03 seconds what Tasha would think if she could see him now. He hoped she would be proud of him, of how far he had come, of how much of his own humanity he had discovered. She had always believed in his dream to become human.

The odd sensation of emptiness that always accompanied thoughts of Tasha expanded through Data's neural net. Each of his friends had a distinct and unique sensory input pattern and he knew instinctively that nothing would ever replace the input pattern that had been Tasha's.

Despite the objective fact that Tasha was gone, Data still found himself sometimes wanting to tell her about some aspect of his day or his self-discovery, to have that rush of familiar sensory input from her smile or laughter in response to whatever he had just told her. Like the fact that he had now experienced twelve distinct different emotional states at this stage of his growth. Although based on his detailed catalog of her reactions, he could generate a high probability hypothesis as to what her reaction would have been, it was still not the same as experiencing it personally.

The sensation of emptiness grew, spreading through his entire system. He did not know why he found himself staring so intently at the small figure of Tasha on his desk, not when he had perfect memory records of her. The emptiness pulsed through him like an electrical surge, not strong enough to be of concern, but powerful and distracting. One by one, his secondary subsystems began to terminate, until a significantly above average portion of his energy and focus was devoted solely to Tasha.

A single golden tear pooled in his eye then slowly dripped down his cheek and splashed onto the desk in front of Tasha.

He reached out his hand gently, as if to stroke the tiny, blue-tinted figure in front of him, but his fingers just passed through the image.

He laid his head down on the desk, his neck tilted so that he could still gaze at Tasha, more tears gathering in his eyes and spilling downwards to form a small golden pool under his cheek. The immense feeling of absence pulsed inside his mechanical chest.

"I miss you, Tasha," he whispered.