You never want Data mad at you…

Will Riker remembered the words of Geordi La Forge, spoken on perhaps more than one occasion, and remembered also that he had readily joined in the general susurrus of agreement upon the fact that it was a good thing Data was so nice.

Because he was just so strong into the bargain. His build and manner were extremely unassuming, and it was too easy to forget the fact that he was capable of throwing duranium about like tissue paper. Indeed, they'd met his less-than-affable brother Lore, and Worf had been on the receiving end of a Soong-type android's strength directed in malice. Androids like Data could be dangerous, were dangerous, were -

- were not killers, Riker was sure of it. He could see, in his peripheral vision, Beverley Crusher hovering with a padd in hand. The doctor had that intent, piercing look about her that made Riker add a new level of anxiety to his current state of mind. She evidently had new information, and Riker had a suspicion that it wasn't going to relieve the situation at all. He had to push things forward again.

"Data," he said, sternly, "the comm channel was open the whole time. We heard the Away Team being attacked. Now tell me who attacked you."

"It was no-one, sir," repeated Data, in a tone so solemn and quiet that Riker eased up a little. He had, he realised, been mentally prepared for stubbornness, insubordination, but from the android, of course, he received only conviction. And Data was damaged, who knew quite how badly. I'm not interrogating a suspect, not yet, not yet, I'm interviewing a wounded officer under my command. Get it together, Will.

He made a conscious effort to adjust his body language to something less aggressive. Possibly Data noticed this, or possibly his training overcame the vocal and power problems and got out the words: "Sorry, sir. Perhaps I have been insufficiently clear. It was not an individual or group of individuals who attacked us. It was Hitchcock itself."

"Pardon me, Commander Riker," cut in Beverley Crusher at this point, "but if that's the case, I'm going to have to ask Mr Data how he came to be holding a metal rod covered in the captain's blood?"

ONE HOUR EARLIER

Picard's voice rang out around the bridge. "It is imperative that we reach the colony before -"

The howling and the crackling almost overtook the transmission at this point, and Riker, alarmed and leaning forward in the command chair on the bridge, gave Worf a sharp look over his shoulder. Worf could do nothing: Picard had simply stopped speaking. Data's voice took over, calm and measured but raised, as the android tried to be heard against the maelstrom evidently raging around them.

"Enterprise. I have lost contact with the rest of the Away Team. The atmosphere is heavily clogged, obstructing vision and -"

Another howl of interference and Data's voice cut out.

"Mister Data, respond. Captain Picard, respond." Will said, deliberately, for the fifth time. Since the captain's initial activation of his communicator, and Data's own subsequent call, he had tried and failed five times to be heard by the team on the surface. He was becoming extremely worried. This was the command officer's moment, the delicate balance between careful enough and over-careful. Where was the tipping point? When do I make the call to bring them home?

"My god," the captain's voice cut in, after a nerve-wracking moment. "Data! Data!"

A period of confused noise, now: cries, muffled by hissing static and distance. Picard breathing hard as if running, and a further shout of "Mister Data - stand down -"

"Stand down?" Will wondered aloud, and heard Worf utter a low growl behind him.

Deanna Troi leant forward, her fingers gripping at the arm of her chair.

Data, this time, speaking over his own open comm channel, and a hint of confusion in the android's voice: "Captain? Where are you? Captain?"

An unidentifiable sound cutting in, very loud, like a half ton of wet sand falling onto a sheet of bubble wrap, and Picard shouting: "No!" Data's combadge spat out a mad gobble of interference and then registered a hard impact before cutting off abruptly and entirely. Riker realised he had stood up, unconsciously pacing toward the screen where Hitchcock roiled redly beneath them.

There was a Caitian screech from Picard's comm channel, a choking feline yowl of distress and fright, and Troi, who had been tense and pale, clutching at the bridge rail, uttered a soft sound of horror.

"Will, she's dying. She's dying and she's terrified."

The precious seconds he wasted at this point would haunt Riker later as he stood over the bodies on the transporter pad. Whether he could have saved more lives by acting quicker, he would never know. But the comms channel was suddenly alive with voices, the Caitian screaming, Picard shouting Data's name furiously and then yelling in obvious pain, Hutchens shouting something about grabbing a hand and other less coherent noises of panic and human agony. It was mesmerising and dreadful, and the bridge crew were caught in its spell until Riker's command training gave him a smart kick.

"Transporter room one. Get them up here. Chief! Get them back now!" he shouted, and ran for the lift, gathering Worf with a nod.

PRESENT

"It's a valid question, Mr Data," said Riker, helplessly, and the android turned his head slowly to regard the doctor out of his good eye. "Suppose we start with that and come back via the death of Hutchens -"

"I did not see Hutchens die, sir," said Data, immediately.

And that's the first fact I actually feel comfortable with. I can believe that.

"Out with it, then," Riker said, quietly. "The captain. Did you -"

Data gazed at him solemnly.

"Did I hit him with the pipe, sir? Yes, sir."

Geordi La Forge turned an expression of such disbelief on his friend that it was almost palpable. Riker knew he himself looked sick.

"For God's sake, Data, why?" Beverly Crusher asked, softly. The android, with what remained of his brow furrowed, held her gaze and said with perfect sincerity:

"To save his life, Doctor."

It had (said Data, his tones still slurring and buzzing over certain syllables) been a disorientating experience even for an android, beaming down onto the surface of Hitchcock. The instant dust storm had invaded his eyes and his sensors had worked into overdrive trying to keep up with the constant bombardment from every direction. Not needing to breathe, Data had also closed his eyes for the first few moments, allowing his sensors to regain their equilibrium.

When he opened then again, narrowed against the storm, there was no sign of the rest of the Away Team at all. Vanished in the cloying air. Shouting would do no good. Even to android ears any words would be whipped away and distorted within seconds of being spoken. He tapped his combadge immediately, working the tricorder automatically with his other hand to check for sensor readings more wide-reaching than his own internal sensors.

"Enterprise. I have lost contact with the rest of the Away Team. The atmosphere is heavily clogged, obstructing vision and sound. Any contact with the colony is impossible. Recommend immediate beam-up as the environmental conditions are hazardous to organic life."

He had paused, then, as there had been no acknowledgement from the ship. Speculation: the dust storm was inhibiting long-range communications. "Data to Enterprise."

He waited patiently, while the air screamed around him, hot sand scraping across his face. Nothing. Regulations should guarantee that after the proscribed time period had elapsed without communicator contact, the Away Team should be beamed up by order. So there was nothing for Data to do but wait and try to locate his fellow officers.

He turned his back to the worst of the howling gale, which still exposed him to scorching crosswinds, and started to methodically quarter the beam-down area. His eyes filled with sand: he scraped them clear. Then he heard the faintest of familiar voices, his captain, calling his name. The sound seemed to be coming from all around him. Speculation: the acoustic effects of a suspension of large sand grains in a heavy atmosphere contribute to reflection and rebounding of sound waves -

("Get on with it, Data," said Riker)

"Captain?" he shouted. "Where are you? Captain?"

And then Picard was charging at him out of the whirling maelstrom, his eyes blazing with fear and fury, and his mouth choking on the screamed word "No!"

Even Data had difficulty at this point raising a speculation as to the cause.