College Kids
Stardate 46672.40
(Wednesday, 3 September 2369, 10:13 AM, local time)
Yale University, New Haven, CT, Earth
It was my second day of classes, and the first meeting of Professor Wire-Whiskers' Philosophy of AI class. I was in the first row, near the center, of the huge lecture hall. I knew the class was popular, but I hadn't expected that arriving a mere ten minutes early would force me to be so visible. Since the professor was now a personal friend – or at least a family friend – I'd hoped not to command too much attention.
At least the seats weren't assigned.
The first ten minutes after the official start time had been a flurry of schedules and making sure our padds were synchronized so we would receive the updated syllabus and reading list. Whiskers didn't acknowledge me overtly, but I saw him note that I was there.
Whiskers had been behind the podium for the administrative portion of the morning. When he came out from behind it, the lecture began:
"Good morning, class. Let's start with a question: what is artificial intelligence?"
I was relieved to find that I wasn't the only person who was uncertain if we were supposed to respond.
But Whiskers continued before the silence could become awkward. "One definition is that artificial intelligence refers to an intelligence – an intelligent being – that is artificially created. Could there be such a being? At least one of you – " and he pinned me with his cat-eyed gaze " – knows that there is at least one. But if we know that artificial intelligence exists, why does the question remain interesting?"
He began to pace, his tail curling up behind him, to punctuate his words. "Here's why: if we can build an intelligent being, presumably we can understand how intelligence works. We can demystify intelligence itself, which, I think we can all agree, is one the most remarkable aspects of mentality."
"Now, you're all thinking, 'but we already have intelligent machines. Why are we focusing on beings?' And the reason is that by any definition, we organic beings are intelligent machines. We're literally made of molecular machinery. But building an intelligent computer? Creating from computer components a truly intelligent being? That is what the field of AI is all about, and that's why so many people in the field spend their time writing programs to give computers the ability to do some - or all – of the things we associate with 'intelligence.'"
He stopped dead in front of me, but his gaze was over my head. "Alright, class," Whiskers challenged, "what are some of the abilities in question. No need to raise your hand. Just shout."
"Play games," said someone behind me. The class emitted a collective chuckle.
"Right!" Whiskers said.
"Process perceptual input to make sense of the environment," someone shouted from my left.
"Very good!"
"Understand and use language," came a third response.
"Correct!" He paused, and this time he did look right at me. "Anything else?"
"Form interpersonal relationships," I said.
"Essential," Whiskers agreed. "This is just some of what we'll be discussing over this semester," he added. And then he began to expand on it.
Our class continued in the same vein until we'd used our allotted time, but I lost the thread because my head was swirling. He was talking about intelligence but at the conference on Hamal IV he'd discussed the way neural networks function, and it had seemed he'd really been talking about sentience. There were so many questions I wanted to ask him, but I wasn't sure how to phrase my queries. And then, there was the deeper issue that the person I really wanted to be discussing this with was Data.
"Now scoot," said the affable Eeiauoan, his tail twisting into a friendly spiral. "I'll see you all on Monday Be sure you've done the reading." As everyone began to gather their belongings, Whiskers took the just-vacated seat next to me. "So," he began. "Are you settling in alright?"
"It's only been two days," I said, "but so far, I'm good. My suitemates are great, my room is… well, it's not bad for a dorm, I guess."
"And my class?"
"I'm… you're a dynamic speaker," I hedged.
My inner confusion must have been outwardly apparent, because Whiskers' expression softened. "Sentience requires true self-awareness," he said. "Not just responding to input."
"How did you know I was thinking about that?"
He coiled his tail around my wrist, just like he had the first time we met. "If I were dating the only sentient android in Starfleet, it's what I would be thinking about, especially given the conversation we had when you petitioned to join this class."
"Does the rest of the class know?" I asked. "I mean… you won't tell them, right?"
"Are you and Data having problems?" his ears went into the softer position I knew reflected concern.
"No," I said. "We're good. It's just… Marvin Gratz…. Last year when I was working with the Idyllwild Troupe, I needed a therapist to help with some issues and he was recommended. I saw him for a couple of sessions, and it didn't go well because… well, partly I just didn't like his confrontational style, but also, he thought Data was grooming me."
"Grooming? I'm not familiar with this term except regarding hygiene." I wasn't sure if he was being truthful about that, or simply wanted me to elaborate.
"Like… training me… I guess. Manipulating me into the relationship we have. We're spoiled by living on the Enterprise where everyone knows him. I forget, sometimes, how it sounds when people know I was his student, and then…"
"You're worried I let you into this class as an object lesson in human-AI relationships." He wasn't asking, and he didn't seem angry. His tail remained around my wrist.
"Maybe a little," I admitted.
"I didn't. I let you in because you need six units of philosophy to graduate and while I prefer my students have Philosophy 101 as a prerequisite, you impressed me at the Hamal IV conference. I won't lie, Zoe: you're going to find this course quite challenging." His ears straightened, and his eyes crinkled a little. This, I realized, was amusement. "But I suspect you're the type who thrives on challenge. And if you get stuck, come see me during office hours. For that matter, I'll have Bright-Star arrange for you to come to the house for dinner in a week or two. Our cubs are grown, and we both miss feeding young people."
I flashed a smile as I stood up. "That's kind of you, but I don't want special treatment, really."
"It's not special treatment, Zoe. You're a friend, not merely a student." Something in his demeanor clued me in on his other reason for the invitation.
"And you promised Data you'd watch over me?"
"You know we did."
I chuckled ruefully while shaking my head. Then I slung my messenger bag across my shoulder. "Thank you, Professor. See you Monday."
(=A=)
Stardate 46677.74
(Friday, 5 September 2369, 9:02 AM, local time)
Yale University, New Haven, CT, Earth
Whether it was on a university campus or a holodeck on the Enterprise, dance studios were always comforting spaces. Maybe it was the combination of sprung floors and rosin, or maybe it was just the knowledge that for the next couple of hours physicality would be the prime focus. I hadn't taken a formal dance class since I was fifteen but ending my week of classes with one seemed like just what my schedule needed, even if it had meant being dressed to move at nine in the morning.
"Welcome to Body in Motion," our instructor greeted as she padded, barefoot, into the center of the floor. "Spread out. Find a spot on the floor, and start stretching while I talk," she suggested. "We'll do a proper group warm-up, but this will give you something to do. I mean, I always get fidgety during lectures, don't you?" We all laughed softly, but we did as she asked, and she wandered among us as she continued. "My name is Zina Bustamante. You may call me Zina or Professor Bustamante. Of the two, I prefer Zina. Dance is intimate. Theatre is intimate. Music is intimate. I like to be on a first-name basis with my students."
As she spoke, she would lean over each of us, and gently correct a back that was hunched rather than curved, a leg that wasn't turned out correctly, a sideways stretch that was off-center and would likely cause injury. Then she would stand straight and toss her thick chocolate-brown braid over her shoulder and move to another student. Her voice was as fluid as her movement. Her posture and bearing - even in a black leotard, skirt, and tights - made me want to sit up straighter. I liked her immediately.
"Some of you are here in the new Performing Arts and Social Justice program, fulfilling a foundational requirement for your major. Others are here because you need a physical education credit and as dance, theatre, or music majors, dance and movement classes count. Raise your hands if you've had formal dance training before?"
About half of us signaled that we had.
"That's both good and bad," she said, her tone laced with warm humor. "It's good because your bodies will find much of what we do here familiar. It's bad because whether you're a betty bunhead or solely focused on contemporary dance, you'll have to stretch beyond what you've studied."
She paused in the center of the room. "Body. Effort. Space. Shape. These are the four fundamentals of Laban's movement analysis. It's more than dance. It's the way we use all movement to convey emotion and thought. It's a tradition of movement analysis and function that dates back to the twentieth century and has been built upon over the centuries. Pralketh of Vulcan added to the lexicon. So did Kahless, the legendary Klingon warrior, whose creation of Mok'Bara follows similar principles, albeit with a different purpose. If you've seen the New York City Ballet in performance or been to one of Dan Curry's master-classes, you know that he, also, is one of the people who has shaped Laban's original teachings into what we use today. Body. Effort. Space. Shape. Everyone on your feet. Isolations. Let's begin."
After a sweaty three hours, we were finally released to shower, change, and go on with our days. There were twenty of us in the class, and seven of the others were in my program, with two in my concentration – theatre. Marco was a sophomore, also in Davenport college, and had never taken dance before. Fallon was in my year and seemed familiar, but I couldn't quite place her.
"I know you!" she announced, coming up to me as I was collecting my things. "You're Zoe." I expected her to share that she'd seen me and Data in the press or caught a performance when I was on Earth with Idyllwild the year before. "We have Theatre Lit together on Mondays and Wednesdays."
I was immediately relieved. "I thought I'd seen you somewhere," I admitted, "but I couldn't think where."
"It's all so new, isn't it?" she asked. "Do you have another class right away? I was going to run back to my room and change, and then grab lunch. Wanna join? I'm in Durfee." She gave her room number and I responded with mine.
"Oooh, we have a Morsel and a Gnome Princess in the room!" Marco came to join us. "Alright little chickadees, are you tied to the concept of the dining hall, or would you like to venture off campus? I feel the need to introduce you to the unofficial theatre hangout. Have you been to The New Moon yet?"
Fallon and I met each other's eyes, and then turned to Marco. "No. Is it good?" I asked.
"It's cozy. Better on rainy days, because the fireplace works. Go shower. Meet me in half an hour in front of Durfee's. Unless you have afternoon classes, in which case I will slum with you and eat at one of the dining halls."
In truth, the dining halls all had the same menu, and the food was pretty good – at least as good as the fare on the Enterprise, and better when you considered it wasn't replicated. As to Durfee's - Marco was referring to the convenience kiosk rather than the residence hall, though the one was located within the other. Part café, part replimat, it was one of the places on campus where you could grab anything from hot chocolate to feminine hygiene products, and up to a certain number of credits could be offset by your meal plan.
"I am class-free," I said, warming to the idea of lunch off campus. "Fallon?"
"I'm free also. See you both in half an hour."
And so, we dispersed, temporarily, to peel off sweaty dancewear and take quick showers – one of the few times in my life I was grateful for sonics.
(=A=)
Clean and dressed in jeans and the Hard Rock Café Shi-Kahr t-shirt that Data had given me for Christmas two years before, I left my room to meet my new dance buddies. Marco was already there, along with Gavin, one of the Davenport First Year Counselors known as FroCos. These were seniors who volunteered to reside in the freshman dorms and act as peer advisors. It was one of the ways Yale used its residential college system to make students feel like they were part of a community, and while the digital orientation I'd gone through had been informative, I knew I'd missed making connections with some of the people I might need to rely on at some point.
Gavin, however, had sent a note asking if he could escort me to dinner on the first night of classes, to make sure I was welcomed into the Davenport family.
"Zoe," he greeted, "hey. I see you survived your first week. Marco says he's taking you and one of the first-year Morsels to New Moon. Mind if I tag along? My girlfriend works there."
I shrugged. "Sure, why not. I was told it's a theatre hangout, though?" I glanced at Marco for confirmation. "Do they let poli-sci majors in?"
"What is politics but theatre on a grand scale?" Gavin asked, and in so doing, made me certain I liked him. After all, I'd used the same argument in a conversation with… someone on the Enterprise… Deanna, maybe? I couldn't remember.
"Alright th – " my reply was interrupted by Fallon's hurried arrival.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. My roommate had her boyfriend in our room and wouldn't let me in!"
"Oh, honey, so sorry. My roommate used to do that, first year. We were in the twelve-pack, in a double, and there were nights I literally slept on the couch in our common room." Marco's sympathy soothed Fallon relatively quickly.
Fallon took a few cleansing breaths. "Sharing a room sucks. I mean, at home I had to share a room with my sister, but it was bigger, and we never brought boys upstairs."
"You have to set ground rules," Gavin said.
"I guess." Fallon seemed like the type who didn't like confrontation.
"Talk to one of your FroCos if you need help or support. It's why we're here," Gavin suggested.
She nodded. "Okay. I'll do that."
"Can we continue this over lunch?" Marco asked. "I mean, I could stand here all day, but Zoe is clearly starving."
I rolled my eyes at him. "Yes, it's like I haven't eaten in… hours."
"New Moon is this way," the dark-skinned sophomore said. He gestured with his head and his spiked hair bounced slightly. I had to stifle a chuckle. Still we all walked in the direction he'd indicated.
Immediately, I realized my new friend had been correct: the café we entered would have been even better on a dismal, rainy day, but even on a still-warm September afternoon it was the perfect way to cap off my first week of classes. The front doors were painted blue and set into brick walls with bay windows on either side. Inside everything was natural wood and the windows were lined with cushions. One of them was occupied by a couple in intense conversation.
The rest of the space was sort of Irish Pub meets Victorian Library in tone. A fireplace big enough to walk into dominated one wall, there was a bar where you could watch the baristas working with a truly ancient espresso machine – one that seemed to be made of brass, copper, and blind faith – and the tables, while pitted with age, were clean, and not so heavy that you couldn't push them together if you had a large group.
The walls were filled with photographs – some were production stills, some were performers - all from Yale productions.
"Wow," I breathed.
"Told you," Marco said.
"Do we order at the bar?" I asked.
"Naah, they do table service. Come on, I'll introduce you to the group." He led us through the tables – some empty, some occupied - until we got to the corner booth tucked next to the fireplace. The table was round, and there were already several people sitting at it. "Scooch over people, we have baby bulldogs to welcome," he greeted.
There was a flurry of consolidation and the adding of additional chairs to compensate for the limitations of the booth. I ended up sitting at the end of the banquette, with Fallon and Marco in chairs next to me. Gavin had gone to the bar to chat with his girlfriend.
"Everyone, meet Zoe and Fallon. They're PASJ students, like me, theatre concentration. Zoe and Fallon, meet DJ, Jordan, V'mir, Catherine, and Steve."
Each of the five nodded or waved a hand as Marco listed their names. Steve, grinned and said, "Boola, Boola!" Then he added, "Order first, tell us who you are, after. Menu's on the board," he pointed to a hanging display above the fireplace. "The burgers – meat or veggie – are always excellent, the soup is usually good, especially on Fridays. Friday is clam chowder day."
As if she was prescient, instead of merely observant, a server came up to us, and asked what we wanted. I'd been craving a proper cheeseburger since Data and I had originally left the Enterprise over a month before, so I took the opportunity to order one, with fries and an iced tea. Marco followed suit. Fallon chose a salad.
"Alright, who's first? Fallon, you go." That was from DJ, who had been reading from a padd, but turned it off and set it behind her.
"Fallon Gilani," she said. "I'm from Tehran, went to an all-girls school. We did a service semester on one of the outer colonies, and I fell in love with theatre and storytelling as a form of therapy."
"Which college?"
"Morse," she said. I was confused for a moment, but then I remembered that the Morse freshman were assigned to Durfee Hall for their first year.
"And Zoe?" V'Mir looked Vulcan, but I wasn't certain of it. She wore her hair loose and long, instead of in the traditional short cut, and she had a gold ring piercing her left nostril.
"Oh, I'm a 'fleet brat, mostly," I said, not sure how much to share. "Grew up on Centaurus, but Mom got posted to the Enterprise and made me go there with her when I was fifteen. I've been into music and theatre for as long as I can remember." I hesitated for a few seconds, then went all in. "Spent last summer and fall on tour with the Idyllwild troupe, and spent most of this summer doing Shakespeare on Winter."
The man who'd been introduced as Jordan observed, "So, you're a pro. You Equity?" I nodded, and he went on. "That's gonna make things difficult for you as a first year."
"It is?"
"Yeah, some of the teachers are going to assume you have lots of bad habits to break, and they'll ride you harder. And getting cast will be difficult since the school will have to ask Equity for permission for you to do unpaid work."
"Even though it's school?" I was skeptical.
"Yeah. But don't worry. You'll get through it." He grinned, "I did."
I stared at him for a long moment, taking in the blue eyes, curly blond mop of hair, and affable smile. "Oh my god, you're Jordan Morris."
"From 'Just Jordan,' yup."
Our food was delivered then, and the three of us tucked in while everyone else ordered refreshes of their drinks. Catherine glanced around as we were eating, and said, "Alright then, let's make sure Zoe and Fallon know all the important theatre-hacks for life at Yale."
And so, we spent a pleasant afternoon learning the unofficial secrets – where the best breakfast was, which coffee cart had the strongest mocha, how to maximize your lunch allowance – and the tips only upperclassmen could share – which professors were cool, what performing groups took freshman – a whole litany of things.
(=A=)
Stardate 46682.16
(Saturday, 6 September 2369, 11:47 PM, local time)
Yale University, New Haven, CT, Earth
My first Saturday night at Yale was totally anti-climactic. The guys in the first floor 12-pack – a collection of twelve rooms with interlocking common spaces – were having a party, but I'd done my thing with cheap booze when I was fifteen, and I wasn't really interested in repeating the experience.
My suitemates – Anjali, Margo and Chuni – invited me to check it out with them just for the experience, but I'd promised them that I wasn't being snobby, I just wasn't in the mood. The truth was, watching them choose outfits and makeup made me wistful for date nights on the Enterprise.
The comm-unit in my room came to life on the dot of midnight. I wish I could have given my partner credit for being prescient, but we'd scheduled the call, which was the other reason I'd skipped the party. The screen glowed blue before displaying first the Yale logo, then the Starfleet sigil, then, finally resolving into the gold-leaf features of the face I most wanted to see.
"Data!" I might have sounded a tad desperate.
"Zoe, dearest. Are you well?"
I sighed. "Well enough, I guess. I mean, I'm settling into classes, I've made some friends, I've unpacked everything, but I miss you." I made a face and grumbled. "I hate sleeping alone."
"I miss you also," he said, his tone as calm as ever. "And I am certain I will also miss our nighttime routine, though I only made my rendezvous with the Enterprise yesterday."
"I thought you were supposed to be there two days ago?" I said. Normally, we'd have been exchanging daily messages even if they were just minute-long status updates Miss you, doing fine, keep safe, love you, etc. But he'd been in transit all week, and the comm system on the Calypso didn't have the reach of the systems at school or on the Enterprise.
"The rendezvous point changed. We are currently docked at the Remmler Array. In the morning, we will be evacuating to Arkaria Base while the ship undergoes a procedure to eliminate excess baryon particles."
"Is that routine? I don't remember us ever being evacuated before?"
"It is typical for long-range vessels to be swept for baryon every three years. You missed our initial sweep by three months. Your mother never mentioned it?"
I knew my expression was slightly sheepish. "Even if she had, I wasn't really paying attention to anything Starfleet related back then. And she really only ever told me about the things she found exciting. I heard about it every time a new culture was encountered – well, when the information wasn't classified. So, how long does a baryon sweep take?"
"The evacuation process typically takes longer than the procedure itself. I suspect we will be underway again in two or three days. I have planned a social experiment for the duration of our time on base."
"A social experiment?" I was both interested and amused. "Do tell?"
"Our recent attendance at Bruce Maddox's wedding and at the party hosted by your grandparents has made me aware of the tendency to converse about inconsequential subjects during social engagements."
"Inconsequential subj – " I cut myself off as realization hit. "You're doing an experiment with small talk?"
"I am. Or rather, I will be," he confirmed. "It is not a skill I have ever developed and as our life together will likely include many such events, I believe it will be useful."
I nodded in agreement, but what I said was, "Say that bit again… about our life?"
"Our life together will - " He stopped. "May I assume that you were not being entirely honest with me, when you said you were 'well enough?'"
I inhaled deeply and let my breath out slowly. "I'm not unwell, truly," I assured him. "It's just… there's a party down on the first floor tonight, and everyone wanted me to go but I bowed out. I just didn't feel into it. I've done the rowdy party and underage drinking thing."
"How do you know that is what will occur?"
"It's a college party in the guys' dorm, Data. What else would be going on?"
"I do not recall such events at Starfleet Academy. Perhaps I was simply not included."
"Or, maybe, it's because the academy has a different culture. Uniforms and rules and all that."
"Your university also has rules."
"Yeah, but not nearly as many." I took a breath. "So, I've now had at least one session of each of my classes. Do you want to hear about them?"
"I would."
"So, Monday and Wednesdays I have Whiskers' class in the morning, and Theatre Literature in the afternoon. Whiskers spent the first session asking what abilities were important in creating an artificial intelligence, but I was confused because a lot of what he was talking about seemed to describe sentience, and I realized I should have been asking you a lot more questions, because I'm not entirely sure I understand the difference."
"I am certain Whiskers will provide clarification, but if you wish me to do so instead, I will gladly provide assistance." He paused for a few seconds, and when he spoke again, his tone was gentler, more intimate. "I suspect, dearest, that you have 'picked up' a significant amount of knowledge just from our association. Must I remind you that our relationship is only that, and not a scientific experiment for either of us?" He put a teasing note in his words.
"I just… I feel like I'm failing you by not being more active about… stuff."
"You are not 'failing' me, Zoe. I have noticed that you prefer to assimilate a significant quantity of information, and spend time processing it, before asking for deeper explanations. When you require specific data, you are always articulate. Did we not have a detailed discussion about my sexuality programming during our vacation? Please do not worry about this." He took another beat, then changed tacks. "What are your other classes? You had not finalized your schedule when I left."
"Tuesdays and Thursdays are Theatre and Social History in the morning, and Calculus for Liberal Arts in the afternoon. Don't mock, it meets my math requirement for graduation credits, even if it's likely to be a lot more basic than what you taught us."
"I was under the impression that you were going to avoid mathematics during your first semester."
"One of the FroCos – that's freshman counselors – suggested I might want to just get it over with, so I don't have to squeeze it in later. I only have one class on Fridays – but it's a three-hour movement class - Body in Motion." I explained what the class was, and added, "It counts toward my major and as a physical education credit, and it's nice to end the week doing something physical. I know, what you are going to say: I should take one more course since I have the time. We have another week of shopping… where you can attend any class you want and see if you like it… there are a couple I might look into, but I also like having long weekends."
"You are mistaken in your belief that I would suggest adding to your course load, Zoe. May I ask: do you see me primarily as a taskmaster?"
"No. I see you primarily as the man I'm madly in love with. And someone I don't want to disappoint. And with that, we've taken this conversation full circle. I'm sorry, Data, I just… I miss you. Everything is new and different and weird." I lowered my voice, even though I knew none of my suitemates were home. "And I'm antsy. I miss… I was going to say I miss sex, and that's true, but, it's more than that. I miss just touching you. Snuggling while we watch a video, or just existing in the same space while we each work on different things."
"The 'newness' and 'weirdness' will wear off in time, Zoe. And you know you may contact me as often as you require."
"I know."
"I also miss your presence. Spot is not a good partner for sing-a-longs, nor does she provide your unique perspective on social – or professional – events."
I laughed softly. "Flatterer."
"No, Zoe. I am merely speaking the truth." His expression changed slightly, grew more intense. "Were I attempting to flatter you, I would remind you that your hair is a constant source of intrigue for me, and that your scent is as close to intoxicating as possible. I would tell you that I retain the flavor of your kisses and the lingering touch of your fingers on my skin. I would…"
"Data, stop!" I was half-aroused and half-frustrated, and both were seasoned with amused affection. "I'm sorry, it's just… telling me this when we can't do anything about it is almost cruel."
Immediately he became his more even-keeled self. "I apologize, dearest."
"It's okay. I know what you were trying to do, it's just… I can't even take a bath."
"Perhaps you should try swimming."
"Excuse me?"
"I am certain one of the brochures we viewed included a catalogue of Yale's athletic and health facilities. Swimming has always been relaxing for you. You may not have access to a bathtub, but you do have access to more than one pool."
"You're doing the being-right thing again," I said with a smile. "Is it weird that when you do that, it makes me feel more secure? Like, it means that all's right with the world. Well, with my world anyway."
Data favored me with the slight smile that was mine alone. "It is not weird, Zoe. It is simply us."
"Yeah, I guess you're right. Okay, so tell me: is Spot glad to be home? And did you find the gift I left for you?"
He turned away from the screen, then turned back wearing the item I'd had delivered to the Calypso before he'd departed: a Yale University poker visor. "I found it. And I look forward to wearing it during the next poker game."
"You really will?"
"I really will."
"I expect a full report on everyone's reactions."
"And you will receive one. You will also receive a delivery on Monday."
It took me a minute to realize the significance of the day in question. "You don't have to send anything," I said. "I mean… I'm not all edgy like I was last year. No promises that I won't freak out next Valentine's Day, but…"
"Zoe, we have had many discussions about when we began dating, but I believe that the change in our relationship became irrevocable on September 8th, two years ago. I wish to mark it for you – for us - to remind you that something good came out of your encounters with my brother."
"You said you thought we would have ended up together, anyway."
"I did. However, that belief does not alter the reality that our first kiss accelerated that trajectory."
"All things considered, it wasn't a bad kiss." I grew wistful. "And I liked that you put your hand on my waist. That contact… it was like a circuit closing."
"Yes," Data said, "it was." I wasn't sure if he meant that he'd felt it also, or that an actual circuit had closed somewhere inside himself.
"So, I'll comm you Monday night and let you know I received whatever you've sent, if that's alright?"
"Hearing from you is always 'alright.'"
"Sweet talker," I flirted. But then I heard the door to our suite open followed by the door to the bathroom and the unmistakable sound of retching. "At least one of my suitemates has returned and is worshipping the porcelain god," I said. "I should go offer to hold her hair or something."
"Perhaps you were wise to stay home, after all," Data responded. Was it wrong that I was slightly disappointed that he didn't need a translation of my slang? "I will speak with you on Monday," He lifted has hand to the monitor, and I matched it with mine, as we always did. "I am devoted to you."
I grinned. "I love you, too. G'night, Data."
"Goodnight, Zoe. Data out."
I sat there for a moment just holding the sound of his voice inside me. Then I went to check on whichever of the other women I lived with had not been able to hold her booze.
(=A=)
I knocked on the bathroom door. "Hey, are you okay? It's Zoe."
"No." I didn't know my suitemates well enough to identify which of them it was with a single word.
"Do you need help?"
"Can you help?" It was Anjali, I realized.
"Well," I said, "I can't make your stomach better, but I can hold your hair, or get you a cool cloth for your face."
"Come in," she groaned.
She hadn't locked the door, so I pushed it open and joined her in the black-and-white tiled space. I snagged one of the washcloths from her shelf and wet it with cold water, then knelt beside her. "Which do you want first?" I asked. "Hair or cloth?"
She turned her head to look up at me, and I saw how sweaty her face was. "Clot – no hair!" And she heaved into the toilet again, while I pulled her hair back from her face. "Will this ever stop?"
"Yes."
"Really."
"I promise." I hesitated. "I'm guessing you didn't realize you weren't drinking synthehol?"
She rocked back onto her heels, waited a moment, then sat down all the way and crossed her legs, lotus-style. "I didn't realize the punch was spiked at all. My family doesn't keep alcohol in the house, and it didn't occur to me that 'jungle juice' might not just be juice, or that it wouldn't combine well with nachos." I handed her the wet cloth. At first, she dabbed gingerly at her face, then she swabbed all the sweat away.
"Better?"
"I think so. I'm glad you were home."
"Me, too. No one should have to puke without someone to hold their hair." I kept my tone light.
"You sound like you have experience with this."
"Oh, tons," I said. I joined her on the floor, sitting with my back to the door. "One of the reasons I was living on the Enterprise at all is that I was a little out of control back on Centaurus. Over Christmas break, before I turned fifteen, I went to a party on the beach where we were drinking kamikazes." At her blank look, I explained. "It's when everyone snags a bottle from their parents' liquor stash and you mix it all together. Makes jungle juice look tame. Anyway, an older boy was trying to get me to hook up with him, and another friend stopped him before anything could happen. But my parents were understandably displeased, so Mom dragged me into outer space."
"Wow, Zoe, I didn't know you were such a wild child." She wasn't teasing… well, not entirely.
"I had a lot going on that year," I said. "Mom was on the ship and kept taking longer and longer between visits home. Dad was sleeping with my au pair. Gran was yelling at him about being responsible. And I was in the middle. I don't do that anymore. I promise."
"Is that why you didn't come to the party?"
"Partly. But partly it's because I had a subspace date with Data I didn't want to miss."
"What's it like, living with your boyfriend?"
I took a beat to formulate a response. "It's nice," I said. "I know that sounds lame, but… it's nice. He brings me coffee in bed most mornings, and I remind him not to work through the night when it's not an emergency. We share our days with each other. We play with our cat. We play music together. And we don't have to worry about whether it's date night or being home at a specific time. I mean, he has to report for scheduled duty shifts, and I sometimes freak out a little when he's on away missions, but… It's nice. It's right."
Anjali laughed. "Are you sure you're only eighteen?"
My laughter mingled with her. "Positive. I mean… I worry that people will look at us oddly because he's so much older. And then there's the whole android thing."
"Is it rude if I ask what that's like?"
"No." I echoed something Data had once said to me. "You're not asking 'just to ask,' you're asking because we're becoming friends."
She smiled, then her eyes went wide as if she thought she might have to puke again, but she re-settled. "So, what is it like?"
"It's… well, actually most of the issues in our relationship have to do with the difference in our ages and positions, and normal male/female stuff than the fact that he's an android. Once you get to know him, he's more of a guy than you'd expect. In the beginning, he didn't always get my snark, but now… he's this solid, supportive presence in my life. He's an excellent listener, he never forgets important occasions, or even personal preferences." I grinned wickedly. "He's amazing in bed."
"Amazing?"
"Imagine having a partner who always puts your needs first, is open to loving experimentation, and never gets tired."
"Oh, my gods. Zoe, you are one lucky woman."
I laughed. "Yeah. Yeah I am." I took a beat then asked, "So what about you? Is there a boyfriend back home?"
I knew she was feeling better when a chuckle accompanied her blush. "Sadly, there is not. I've dated a bit, had a fine upstanding young man – my parents' words – take me to prom – but… mostly my friends and I go on group outings. None of us have coupled up."
"Well, lots of people met their lifetime loves in college," I teased. "But it's okay if you don't, too." I glanced at the time display embedded in the bathroom mirror and noticed that it read two-thirty in the morning. "Do you have any idea where Margo and Chuni are?"
"Yes and no," Anjali said. "I thought we were going to the party together, but Chuni's boyfriend from Luna Colony is also at school on Earth – at Princeton – and he appeared at the party. And Margo… the last I remember is a bunch of people – guys and girls – drinking shots out of her navel."
And I'd been worried I would be the wild one.
"Wow. Well, I hope she's safe. The FroCos monitor these things to a point, don't they?"
"They're supposed to, yes." She yawned then. "I'm sorry, I'm getting sleepy."
"Alcohol can do that," I said, getting to my feet. "But it also dehydrates you. Drink a big glass of water or replicate some mint tea before you collapse, and if you're up to it, we can go to brunch together before I hit the pool."
"You swim?"
"Swim. Surf. Sail. My parents say I'm half-mermaid," I said. "You can come with me to the pool, if you want. I just want to get a rec pass to swim laps. Burn off some energy."
"I'll think about the pool," Anjali said. I offered her a hand up, and she took it. "And I'll definitely join you at brunch. Eleven-thirty."
"Or twelve if you need the extra half-hour."
"No. Eleven-thirty," she said firmly. We exited the bathroom and headed toward our individual bedrooms. "And thanks, Zoe. For being a friend. I owe you one."
I wanted to protest that she didn't, but she was in her room with the door closed before I could.
(=A=)
Stardate 46687.24
(Monday, 8 September 2369, 8:14 PM, local time)
Yale University, New Haven, CT, Earth
I woke on Monday morning feeling only excitement. Data had promised a delivery of some kind, and I was eager to learn what he'd sent. I was betting on flowers, but I wasn't sure. He'd given me jewelry on more than one special occasion.
More than that, though, Anjali and I had hit the pool after brunch the day before. She wasn't as strong a swimmer as I was, but I was out of practice, so we did laps for an hour, and then went to one of my favorite places on Earth (or Mars, or Centaurus): a branch of Red Sands Coffee that was only three blocks off campus.
"Alright, Zoe," my new friend had said, "I can see why this place appeals to you." She chose a fruit smoothie while I had a mocha, but we both loved the natural light coming in from the windows, and the local art hanging on the walls.
We'd spent the rest of the day hanging out in our common room, alternately reading for classes and chatting, and absolutely not judging Margo for slinking home in the middle of the afternoon with what was obviously a killer headache. "Hydration helps," Anjali advised her, and giggled at the blonde girl's glare.
Chuni had comm'd first thing in the morning, apologizing for worrying us. The four of us went to dinner together and made an agreement that we'd always have each other's backs whether it came to parties or guys or classwork.
"We don't have to all be best friends," Chuni said. "But we share a living space. If we don't look out for each other, who will?"
Of course, I had to spoil the somber moment by giggling and declaring, "Princesses of Davenport, unite!"
But my suitemates gave into the moment and echoed my cheer, much to the curiosity of a lot of the other students in the dining hall.
That moment of bonding extended to the next morning, when the three of them bounded into my room before I'd even silenced my wake-up alarm.
"Oh, Zoe, you have a delivery!" Margo announced, as she and the others swarmed my bed. Anjali was carrying said delivery: a basket with dried sunflowers, bars of chocolate, a few wrapped gifts, and an envelope with my name on it.
"You have to open it. We demand to know who's sending you things."
"Oh, I know who sent it," Anjali said. "It's from Data… isn't it?"
I grinned and sat up straighter in bed. "Okay, hand over the card, please?"
Inside was a note – it wasn't in Data's handwriting, as he'd dictated it to the delivery service, but it was in his voice: My Zoe, two years ago today we shared our first kiss, and our friendship became more. Several weeks months ago, you gifted me with a dream journal, suggesting that writing things 'by hand' may be a helpful practice. While you have made it clear that you are skeptical about the habit of keeping personal logs, I wish to repay the gesture in kind. As well, as you have often given me the gift of experiences, I wish to help you collect memories. The journal is for writing your thoughts. I have supplied a pen, but you may wish to purchase a different style or weight. The digital recording device will capture both still images and video recordings. And while I cannot be with you to ensure that you have your morning coffee before presenting yourself to others, I can assist you in the process: please find a coffee card for Red Sands. I am certain you have already discovered the closest branch. This will be refilled as necessary from my account. It is my hope, my dearest, that these things will aid in your transition. I hope you will share some of what you write and record with me, but please understand that you are under no obligation to do so. As ever, I am devoted to you. Yours, Data.
The four of us tore open the sheer blue-green plastic wrapped around the basket and pulled out the packages: a vintage paper-bound journal and pen, a recorder, and the coffee card.
Anjali and Chuni were practically swooning and Margo seemed impressed, though she teased, "So, coffee's on you this morning, yeah?"
"If we can all be ready in fifteen minutes, sure. Otherwise we'll be late for class."
"Deal!" Margo said and dashed out of my room. My other suitemates left also, and I set my basket on the floor, and recorded a message to Data, thanking him, while I got dressed.
(=A=)
Stardate 46694.12
(Thursday, 11 September 2369, 8:30 AM, local time)
Yale University, New Haven, CT, Earth
Generally speaking, a call coming in before nine in the morning meant that something was wrong, so when I blearily answered my pinging comm-unit and noted that the origin was San Francisco, I immediately assumed something had happened to Mom or Ed.
The fact that it was Dr. Beverly Crusher's smiling face on my screen made me think something horrible had happened to Data, and that she was on Earth to bring the news personally.
Something of what I was feeling must have registered on my puffy, not-quite-awake face, because her expression sobered instantly. "Zoe, I'm sorry to call so early. Nothing's wrong."
I let out a breath of relief that I hadn't been aware I was holding. "Sorry," I said, "I'm not really awake until I've had coffee, and my first class isn't 'til ten." I took a beat. "Wait isn't it even earlier for you, though?"
"It's five-thirty here," she said, "I'm in San Francisco visiting Wes, and I've been invited to observe morning report at six."
"Six AM?"
"That's the one."
"I thought the morning-person thing was just Data being Data. I didn't realize it was drilled into all of you."
"Most of us get over it once we're billeted," she laughed. "But I'm not calling to discuss morning routines. As I said, I'm visiting Wesley, and I was wondering if you could spare time for a meal next Monday or Tuesday."
"My classes are over by fifteen-hundred," I said, falling back into military time, out of habit. "But you don't have to come all the way here just so see me."
"It's not about having to, Zoe. It's about wanting to."
"I suppose it has nothing to do with a certain second officer we both know wanting assurance that I'm hale and hearty?"
"Well, that, too," she admitted. "So, Monday? Tuesday?"
"Either one is fine, but I'm less likely to feel overwhelmed by homework on Monday. If you have the time, you could come early enough to tour Yale and then go to dinner. The rare book library here is built of translucent marble and if you're inside at sunset it's spectacular."
"Color me intrigued," she said. "Will sixteen hundred hours give you enough time to decompress?"
"Definitely," I said. "Meet me at my dorm. Welch Hall… " and I gave her the address and directions.
"Alright, Zoe. See you Monday." She signed off, and I sat there for a moment. I could have snatched another fifteen minutes of sleep, but once I'm awake, I'm typically awake for a while, so I began my morning routine a little early, and went to the dining hall for a hot breakfast instead of my usual coffee and bagel.
I ran into Fallon, who had the same morning class as me, and we chose to share a table. A couple of the other students from our class – Theatre and Social History – joined us, including Felix, who was from Paris, and greeted us by complaining about the coffee.
"You would think with a global society and the ability to replicate any blend, there would be no such thing as bad coffee, but alas, it is not true," he said, melodramatically stirring cream into his mug and then tapping the spoon on the rim with a flourish.
"There is decent coffee," I pointed out. "But you have to go off-campus to get it. Red Sands is good. So is Claire's." Claire's had existed, in some form or another, since the twentieth century, and had been known for their decadent pastries for almost as long. As far as anyone knew, there had never been an actual Claire, but no one seemed to care as long as the cakes were good.
"Red Sands?" Felix seemed to perk up. "Close to campus?"
"Three blocks outside the main gates."
"You are a goddess," Felix announced. "A coffee goddess."
I laughed. "You know, I'm good with that."
We spent the rest of breakfast just getting to know each other. Like Fallon, Felix was in Morse College, while the two guys with him (Jeff and Br'neth) had been assigned elsewhere. By the time we left the dining hall to learn about the social significance of drama during the Renaissance we had the beginnings of a study group if not quite a friendship.
(=A=)
Stardate 46705.93
(Monday, 15 September 2369, 4:00 PM local time)
Yale University, New Haven, CT, Earth
"Oh, my god, this is a dorm room?" Dr. Crusher, dressed much like I was in a sweater, jeans, and chunky boots, spun around in the common room of my suite, acting as if she were my older sister or favorite aunt, and not the chief medical officer of Starfleet's flagship. "I think I'm officially jealous," she added. "How about I stay here and get another degree and you go back to the Enterprise?"
"Tempting," I said, even though we both knew she was teasing. "Except for that pesky thing where I know nothing about medicine."
"Oh… that," she said. Then she grew more serious. "Really, Zoe, this is nothing like what I was expecting. I think of college dorms as being like the academy – long corridors of doors to single rooms, with tiny common areas at each end."
She'd described the Academy dorms as I remembered them from my tour there the summer before my junior year of high school, when I'd been in San Francisco attending arts camps.
"Well, not every suite is this awesome," I confessed. "I lucked out getting this. They call it a princess suite. I have three suitemates – Anjali, Chuni, and Margo – and we each have our own bedroom and share this living room."
She began to walk around, exploring the space, pausing to look at print of Tableau I that I'd moved out of my room and hung over the fireplace, at my friends' request. (I'd moved the picture of me and Data to the position above my bed.) "Does this work?"
"It's got a holographic interface and they built a heat vent into it, but they won't let us have real flame. Do you blame them?"
"Not really." She took a closer look at the poster. "I've seen this print before…"
"Data and I have a copy in our quarters. Actually, he gave this copy to me last summer, and we originally hung it in my room, but my friends decided it should be in the communal space, and I think it looks pretty awesome there."
"I want to see your room," she said. "If that's alright? And then I'm dying to see this library…"
I gave her a tour of my personal space, and the rest of the suite, pointing so she knew which room belonged to each of my suitemates, and then we went on a brief tour of the Old Campus… I showed her the rare book library, the statue of Theodore Woolsey (she opted not to rub his toe), and various other spaces that I'd come to know in my first two weeks.
We stopped at the good coffee kiosk to get salted cocoa – there was just enough nip in the air to warrant it – and sat on one of the many benches to people-watch while drinking them. If I felt a bit awkward being just social with her, she ignored my nervousness, and talked about her own college days.
"You didn't go to the Academy for your undergraduate degree?"
She shook her head. "Oh, I did. But in the medical school you can do two semesters at other universities, for broader experience. I spent one in Boston, and one on Vulcan."
"Could you get more different?" I couldn't help the snark.
She laughed. "Well, Pacifica would have been more extreme than Boston, but… anyway, I hated the desert heat, but I loved the New England autumns. I love my life on the Enterprise, but nothing compares to the change of seasons on Earth."
"This year will be my first time experiencing that," I said. "I mean I was here the summer before the one that just passed, and the one before that, and Dad brought us here on a skiing trip once, but I mostly only know the season changes on Centaurus. From what I've been told it's much more dramatic here. I'm looking forward to it."
Dr. Crusher flashed a smile that was affectionate but not maternal. "Enjoy it, Zoe. Every minute of it. Not because you want to make your parents proud, or because you don't want to disappoint Data, but because you deserve to have this time in your life. Everyone does."
We'd avoided talking about Data to that point, except in reference to the Mondrian print, and I was quick to steer the subject away from my partner. "Did you give this same advice to Wes?"
Her smile faded somewhat. "No, I didn't. Wes is in a different place. Frankly, I'm a little worried about him."
"Because he came for a visit and didn't want to spend all his time with his mother?"
"No," she stood up, walked to the trash receptacle and disposed of her apparently empty coffee cup. Taking her cue, I drained the last of my coffee and got rid of my cup as well. "No," she repeated. "You and Wesley were never close, were you? The way you were with the others in Data's class?"
"He's two years older than I am," I pointed out. "We weren't in all the same classes, so we didn't spend as much time together, and we both… we both kind of felt like you and my mother were pushing us together, when we had zero chemistry."
"Were we?" she mused. "I suppose we were. Emily and I are good friends. Can you blame us?"
"Not now. But then? It was kind of annoying."
"I'm sorry," she was laughing again. "Oh, Zoe, I'm so sorry."
"It's all good. We… we talk sometimes. We went to dinner a few times when I was at Idyllwild. After that flight crew accident… it was a difficult year for him." The angle of the sun had changed, and the late-summer nip became a proper chill. "Can we continue this chat somewhere warmer?"
"Oh, god!" The doctor was beginning to feel as though she was a favorite aunt and not a medical professional. "Of course, we can. I'm sorry. Are you hungry enough to eat? Is there a place you're in love with, yet, or should we pick something that looks interesting?"
"Claire's is good, but their specialty is dessert. Tate's has excellent food, but they're a steakhouse and not open on Mondays. Fong Wo's makes a fantastic Mongolian Beef. I'd love to show you The New Moon, but it's more of a college pub than a proper restaurant. Food's basic, but good. The theatre crew hangs out there."
The doctor smiled at me. "Since it's my treat, let's go somewhere indulgent. Do you eat seafood?"
"I live for sushi," I said. "But I like it cooked, too. You know I grew up on the water, right?"
"Actually, I didn't know that."
"Mom never said?" That surprised me. "I guess she likely wouldn't have, since she and Dad were going through the worst of their… stuff… when she was assigned to the Enterprise. Oh! Shell and Bones. It's an oyster bar with views of the harbor, and it is open on Mondays."
"Well, then," Dr. Crusher said, "shall we?"
"Sure…"
(=A=)
The thing about college towns is that even the most expensive restaurants are pretty flexible on dress codes, and since it was Monday our lack of a reservation wasn't a problem. Also, it was pretty early for dinner.
We were seated at table overlooking the water and I immediately became awkward, which the good doctor picked up on. "Zoe… something wrong?"
"I don't… you're my mother's friend, and my friend's mother, but you're also Data's colleague, and I'm not sure… I haven't even addressed you by name all night, because it feels weird calling you 'Doctor' off the ship, but…"
"You use Will and Deanna's names. And Geordi's," she pointed out. "You're not a child anymore Zoe, and while I am your mother's friend, I think it's okay if we're friends, too. I've always believed every young woman needs an older female friend who isn't her parent." She smiled her friendliest smile. "Besides, you're Data's…"
"Girlfriend," I suggested. "Partner. Either are fine; both are accurate. My stepmother referred to him as my beau the first time he came to the house, and now it's kind of a family joke."
"Partner, then," she said. "He doesn't use our names without it being meaningful, but you should."
I smiled, "I know. It's just how he is." I picked up the menu – they had old-fashioned printed ones – and asked. "So, Beverly, what are your thoughts on ceviche?"
(=A=)
Dinner was fabulous. We shared the ceviche, had cups of clam chowder, and then I had seared scallops and she had ginger salmon.
"Fresh fish is one of the other things I really miss on the ship," she told me as we were eating our entrees. "Our replicators are good, and Guinan works magic with them, but… something ineffable is always missing."
"I thought it was just me," I said. "Mom and Dad are old-school. Both their houses have replicators but they both prefer to cook. My grandparents on Earth don't have anything fancier than instant hot water, and Gran didn't have a replicator til Dad and Zane made her get one as a concession to old age."
"Grandparents on Earth… Zoe… you're on Earth, now; you know that, right?"
I laughed. "I'm so used to phrasing it that way. I mean…I may be here, but I'm not really from here. I'm Centauran more than anything, though, I mean… Mom was always on assignments – missions – I'm never sure what the right word is – and Dad and Gran live on Centaurus. Mostly I grew up in Beach Haven, and Gran's farm. Really, after I turned ten, Gran raised me more than my parents did."
"I was raised by my grandmother, too," Beverly shared. "On Caldos. She was a healer and I became a doctor because of her."
"Well, I'm afraid I'm disappointing Gran and my parents by not following in any of their footsteps. I mean… I did audition for The Martian, and I got in, but… I wanted something broader."
"Data says you're doing a program on performing arts and social justice?"
"I am," I said. "It's an interdisciplinary program. I'd originally been thinking about something more traditional – pre-law or poli-sci."
"Politics and law, Zoe? Really?"
"I might have been influenced by living on the flagship for almost three years."
The doc – Beverly – laughed. "Maybe a little. But you didn't consider the Academy?"
"Mom used to tell me to at least consider it. But… no offense… rules and uniforms are not my thing."
"I never thought they'd be my 'thing' either," she confessed. "Tell me more about your program."
So, I did. I explained my classes, what the progression would be, and why it appealed. I even shared that it was because of my choice of program and my interest in politics that my internship in Protocol had been arranged, back on the ship.
That conversation got us through the rest of our entrees, but after we ordered coffee and dessert, Beverly asked. "Zoe… you know part of the reason I asked to see you was on Data's behalf, but you seem to be going out of your way to avoid mentioning him. Is everything okay with you two?"
I closed my eyes for a few seconds, then opened them. "Truth?" I asked.
"Hey, I'm a doctor. You can't shock me." She said it in a teasing tone, but she meant it also.
"We're good," I said. "I mean, unless something's changed with him, but considering the gift basket he sent last week for our anniversary…"
"Anniversary?"
"Two-year anniversary of our first non-platonic kiss. I mean… at the time I was sure it was only to get the tongue stud to release, but… it was more. For both of us." I hadn't shared that with anyone except Deanna and Mom, and I was a little afraid of the doctor's reaction.
"Well," she said with real warmth, "happy anniversary. But you were telling me why you've been avoiding mentioning Data."
"I didn't want to be one of those women who can't have a conversation without mentioning her partner." I took a beat. "I don't know who Data talks to, aside from Geordi. I mean, about the details of our relationship. And you all work with him, so I feel like… I mean… I couldn't talk about it with my friends when we were first shifting toward a romantic relationship because he was our teacher, and he was my mother's boss, and… God, I miss him. We send brief messages almost every day. We talk over subspace once a week, but I still miss him. I feel like… I'm the same age as my suitemates, but at the same time I feel so much older."
"Oh, Zoe. I'm sorry. I should have reached out to you sooner. We all… Data's such a special person, and I think we all root for him to be successful in his career and in his personal life, and we've watched the two of you first as friends and then as more, and he's really blossomed… but it didn't occur to us that you didn't have enough support."
"I have my friends now, but it's still weird for them. Wes came to my grandparents' place in Niantic over Labor Day and even he was awkward, seeing us together." I ducked my head as I admitted. "We've been talking about marriage… did you know?"
"You and Data? Zoe, that's wonderful!"
I lifted my head, surprised. That was not the reaction I'd expected. "You don't think I'm too young?"
She lifted her coffee cup to her lips and took a sip, obviously considering. "No," she said. "You are young, but with everything you've been through in the last two years – you alone, and the two of you together – I can't imagine that waiting would do any good. And Data is over the moon for you, you know that, right?"
My smile was a fond one. "I know. I love him, too. When we were at the house on Terlina III he said he was waiting for me to be ready for him to propose. I asked him to give me this semester… I guess… I'm afraid of my life being totally subsumed by his. Or I was…. And now I feel like if I even talk about him, I'm some hopeless case who can't function without her… partner."
"It was like that with Jack and me," she said softly. "He was command track all the way, and I wanted to be a doctor. I was still in my residency when we had Wes… I miss him, Zoe, every day, but if I'm honest with myself, I have to admit that if he'd lived, we might not have made it, or I might have let my career become secondary to his."
I didn't have a response for that. I think we both knew there was nothing I could say that would carry any meaning.
Still, when the check had been paid, and the doctor had walked with me back to campus – she'd parked her rental flitter in the guest lot – I turned to her and gave her an impulsive hug. "Thank you," I said, "for dinner and for talking to me, and for not making fun of how pathetic I am."
Her arms came around me, squeezing, then releasing. "You're not pathetic, Zoe. You're a young woman in love with a Starfleet officer. Separation is going to be part of your life – it's already been a big part of your relationship – but it's not a sign of weakness to admit you miss him. He misses you."
I nodded. "Yeah. I guess. It just feels different this time. Data says I have to stop seeing this as four years and just take it one stretch at a time."
"He's pretty wise."
"Well, he has wise friends; I'm sure that helps."
"So, now I have a favor to ask you," Beverly said. "Two really. One… this weekend or next, visit your mother. She misses you, too. And while you're there, go have lunch or a coffee with Wes. He's allowed to invite you to campus if he can't get a pass, and he misses the Enterprise and his friends there as much as you do."
I nodded. "It's because for us, that ship is home in a way no place on Earth can ever be."
"Look who's pretty wise herself," the doctor teased. "Alright. Go study. Or call Data and assure him we didn't plot to overthrow the universe."
"Well… not this time," I said. "Maybe we could do lunch when I come home for Christmas?"
"I'd love that."
And she stepped away from the door and triggered her comm-badge.
I waited for the last shimmer of the transporter beam to die away, and then I went back to my room.
(=A=)
Stardate 46747.81
(Tuesday, 30 September 2369, 10:52 PM local time)
Yale University, New Haven, CT, Earth
By the end of September, I'd fallen into a routine. Fallon, Marco, and I usually went to The New Moon after our Friday movement class. Anjali and I went to brunch together on Sundays, and then I went to the pool. Sometimes she came with me, sometimes she didn't, but it was nice to have swimming back in my routine.
My cello was basically an art piece, though. I'd considered playing it on more than one occasion, but I was so out of practice after being away from it most of the summer, that I was reluctant to inflict it on my suitemates, and it didn't help that I'd received a file from Data a couple of days after Dr. Crusher's visit. It was a recording of a concert in Ten-Forward, of him playing Chopin's Trio in G Minor with a pianist I didn't recognize, and an ensign I'd seen around but couldn't place.
Their performance was lovely, but the piece was one Data and I had been rehearsing – with the computer playing the piano part for us – before I left, and as much as I enjoyed hearing him play, I was hurt and jealous that he'd performed our piece with other people. I'm ashamed to admit that I was petty enough to avoid returning his calls for several days, but when we finally talked, I was calm enough to explain my feelings in a way he could understand.
"Do you wish me to discontinue playing music, Zoe?" he'd asked, and I had a sudden realization of the power he'd given me. If I'd said 'yes,' he would have complied.
"No, of course not. I'm just… homesick and lonely for you, and…"
"And despite the fact that you are forming social connections, and have settled into your classes, you are not feeding your creative needs," he finished for me.
"No," I said. "I'm not."
"Why not?"
"I don't know… auditions for the next play aren't 'til next week. I'm not a music major so I feel weird about approaching any of the music groups…"
Data had been silent for several seconds after my list of reasons. Then, in his gentlest tone, he said, "Zoe, dearest, I believe that you are 'making excuses.' Typically, you do this when you are worried, or when you are afraid. I have never known you to display a lack of courage, therefore I can only conclude that you are worried about something. Please tell me, so I can… help?"
But I didn't know why I wasn't seeking out opportunities, and I told him so. "I'm just… not ready."
"Would it help if I made a formal request of you?" he asked. "Will you add an hour of practice time to your schedule this week? Perhaps the act of playing will help clarify your thoughts."
I sighed, but as usual, Data was right, and it wouldn't hurt anything to grant his request. "I promise," I said. "I will."
"Very well. Please contact me whenever you wish, Zoe. I cannot offer support if you do not speak to me, and when you avoid me, it is… distressing."
I closed my eyes against the knowledge that – even though he wasn't calling it so – I'd hurt him. "I'm sorry," I said, meeting his eyes once more. "I just… miss you."
"I miss you also, Zoe. And I love you."
That, at least, made me smile. "I love you too."
I lifted my hand to the monitor, and he met it with his. Then he gave a single sharp nod, and said, "Data out."
The connection closed, and I stared at the blank screen for a long moment, then contacted my mother. It was three hours earlier in San Francisco, so I knew she'd be home and awake.
"Zoificus! To what do I owe the pleasure?" That was my mother: the perfect blend of affection and passive aggression.
"Sorry, Mom, I know I've been incommunicado. Listen, Family Weekend is this weekend… I sent you email about it."
"You did," she confirmed. "Did you want us to come?"
"I did, but now I'm wondering if I could come visit you instead? I mean, you don't need a special weekend to visit me, and I'd love it if you did." I took a breath, and admitted, "But right now, I think I kind of need some maternal coddling more than I need to show off my awesome campus life."
My mother's smiling face gave me almost as much reassurance as any look I ever got from Data. "Of course, honey. Do you need to arrange a rental flitter?"
"No… I… " One of the things about having registered our domestic partnership with Starfleet was that I had access to some of Data's privileges. One of them was transporter access on Earth, though that was meant for emergencies. The other was a discounted rate at different rental agencies. "I can handle it."
"Of course, you can," Mom said. "So, when will we see you?"
"Friday night? In time for dinner?"
"Alright, kiddo. I love you."
"Love you too, Mom."
And I cut the signal, and then went to the bathroom to brush my teeth so I could go to bed. It was early for me, but I had to find time to practice the next day. After all, I'd promised Data that I would.
Notes: Whiskers' opening lecture is adapted from published class notes from "Mind: Brief Introduction to the Philosophy of AI" from the University of Liverpool in the UK. Zoe's Body in Motion class is based on similar movement classes that use the work of Rudolf Laban, creator of Laban Movement Analysis, as their core. Some such classes are theoretical; some are practical. Zoe's will be a mix of both, but more of the latter than the former. Pralketh is my own creation (Not all Vulcans have S-names or T'-names. Really.). Kahless is, of course, legendary. Dan Curry is the stunt coordinator who created the Klingon martial art Mok'Bara, which is basically a sped-up, harsher version of Tai Chi Chuan. "Boola, Boola," is a Yale cheer. Durfee Hall is a freshman dorm on Old Campus (like Welch, where Zoe is.) and Durfee's is currently a campus convenience store, but it should be noted that my version of Yale is not an exact match to contemporary Yale. Similarly, my New Haven isn't an exact match for the real city, though Claire's and Shell and Bone are real restaurants that exist today. Thanks to Javanyet for providing the name of The New Moon. This chapter spans the episodes, "Starship Mine," "Lessons," and "The Chase," though the latter isn't mentioned. (Assume it's classified and can't be discussed on an open channel.) (Revised 29 September 2019)