ConseQuences
Stardate 44714.44
(Monday, 18 September 2367, 18:30 hours, ship's time)
"I'm just saying it was like Reg was a whole different person," I told my mother as I set the table for dinner several days after Lt. Barclay's theatrical debut.
"Reg?" My mother would question my use of an officer's first name.
"Lieutenant Barclay. He said to call him Reg." My mother accepted that, and I moved on. "I mean, on Friday, he pretty much sucked, and then Saturday he was phenomenal. Dr. Crusher told us in her casting memo that the only reason he didn't get Romeo is that he's too old."
"So, who did get Romeo? Josh?"
"Actually, no. He got Mercutio, and I think he's happy about that. Besides, if he had been cast as Romeo we would have had to kiss, and that would be weird."
"Isn't it part of the job though, to take whomever you're cast with in stride, and just do the job?" my mother asked in her I'm-making-a-point voice.
"Well, yes. Which is why I'm totally not going to protest playing Juliet opposite Ensign Lovejoy."
"Lovejoy…Not Ethan Lovejoy? The one they all call 'Ensign Loverboy?'"
"That's the one. But Mom, really, it's just theater, it's not like I'm going to date him. Actually," and I made my tone somewhat lofty, "I've decided I'm not dating anyone this semester."
Her brow arch told me she didn't believe me. "Really?" she asked. "Does that mean you're cancelling your weekly video night with Data?"
I sat down at the table as she collected our meal from the replicator. "Hanging out with Data is more like teaching a class in Pop Culture 101 than anything even close to dating, which, by the way, we are not." Lofty had been replaced by testy.
"Easy, kiddo," my mother said. "I'm just teasing you."
"I know, Mom," I said. "I'm sorry. It's just… people are talking and it's starting to get to me a little." I took a few bites of salad, giving myself time to cool off. "So, are you involved in the Cytherian project?" Asking her about work was never a bad way to distract her.
"I am," she said. "It's fascinating getting to exchange information this way. Their culture considers the arts as important as the sciences and believes even the most functional of tools should still have an element of beauty."
"Data said we might have one or two of them visiting - well, a holographic projection of them, anyway – in class on Wednesday. I hope he doesn't decide to give us a pop quiz. His class is challenging enough for me without having an audience. Is there anything I should know about Cytherian etiquette?"
She chewed and swallowed the bite of food she'd just taken, then answered, "Not really. Be polite. If you should happen to be sarcastic, don't be surprised if they respond to that with questions about meaning and usage."
"Sarcasm isn't a thing for them?"
"So far, they seem to appreciate irony, but your kind of snark…"
"So, don't be quippy, is what you're saying?"
"If I answer 'yes' are you going to take it as a challenge to see just how quippy you can be?"
"Probably not," I answered. "But only because there are limited opportunities for snark in any math class and doing so with Data seems really wrong… especially considering… everything."
"Hmm." My mother peered at me over the glass of wine she was sipping. "Why is that not reassuring?"
I gave her my best innocent grin. "I don't know, Mom. Why wouldn't it be?"
"Hmm," she said again.
The rest of dinner was eaten in silence.
(=A=)
Stardate 44727.22
(Saturday, 23 September 2367, 10:30 hours, ship's time)
I was half an hour late to meet Data for my Saturday session, not because I'd overslept, or because I was avoiding him (that time), but because there were other people in the turbo-lift and I hadn't wanted them to know where I was going.
Counselor Troi had told me to trust the truth of my friendship with him, but that was a lot easier when I didn't hear my name being whispered in public spaces, and when I wasn't getting nasty looks from his ex-girlfriend.
Not that any of that was Data's fault.
Not that any of it was anyone's fault, really.
It was just one more thing I would have preferred not to deal with.
"You are late," was his greeting when I stepped into his quarters. A year before, that observation would have been offered with flat neutrality. That day there were notes of concern in his voice. "Is everything o-kay?"
His use of the casual term made me smile in spite of myself. "Sorry," I said. "There were… do you think maybe we should move my lesson back to the conference room, or maybe use one of the practice rooms on the rec-deck?"
"I was under the impression you had come to prefer working here," he said, confusion layered over the concern in his tone. "However, if you would prefer an alternate location, we can move next week's lesson."
"I do like working here," I said, adding the confession, "These quarters – your quarters – feel almost as much like home to me as Mom's do. I just…" I hesitated, and recalled the counselor's other advice, that I would have to be open with him in ways I never would with anyone else. "People are talking. Whispering, really. In Ten-Forward. In the halls. It's not a lot of people, and I'm probably being hyper-sensitive, but, the general consensus is that people think our relationship is more than it is, and I'm embarrassed, and worried about it affecting you, and there were people in the turbo-lift and they were staring at me, and I rode down to deck fourteen and over to the aft lift-bank, and then back up to this deck and walked back because I didn't want anyone to know I was coming here."
I hadn't meant for it all to come tumbling out in one massive info dump, but there it was. And honestly? Spelled out, it seemed ridiculous, and for once I was glad that he wouldn't – couldn't – laugh at me.
Instead, he was sympathetic.
"I am sorry that you are troubled by ship's gossip," he said. "I have heard similar suppositions."
"And they don't bother you?"
Data had the sense not to tell me he couldn't be bothered. "I have been the subject of gossip many times before," he said softly. "I do not comprehend the purpose of it, and I would prefer that it not occur, but, in the words of a very wise woman, 'people will think what they think.'"
"That sounds like something Guinan would say."
His eyebrows lifted, almost as if I'd impressed him in some way. "It was."
"How did you deal with it, other times?"
"At first, I would confront people and attempt to explain that I was not, in fact, a 'walking data-padd' or a 'talking encyclopedia.'"
"Oh, I bet that went over well."
"Gossip, and my initial reaction to it, are part of what made my time at Starfleet Academy somewhat… challenging."
"Only part?"
"Practical jokes were also a negative factor."
"I never realized you were picked on."
"It is a humanoid trait, to 'pick on' those who are perceived to be weak."
"You were bullied." It wasn't a question, but he nodded his affirmation, anyway. "I have a hard time believing anyone ever perceived you as weak, though. A little naïve at times, maybe. Mild-mannered or soft-spoken, sure. But weak?" I flashed him a wry smile, 'That doesn't compute." He didn't answer, but even though I had a million more questions, I quelled my curiosity and changed tacks. "So, I'm getting later and later for my lesson. It's a good thing my tutor doesn't hand out demerits."
"Are you ready to begin?"
"Yes," I said, unzipping my gig bag and taking out my cello and bow. "Music-ize me, please?"
We spent the rest of our scheduled time working alternately on theory and technique, using the duet Hugo had written as a basis for both.
As I was packing up to leave, Data offered, "If the 'whispers' you are hearing are troubling you, I can speak with whomever –"
"No," I said, cutting him off. "That would only make things worse. I talked to Counselor Troi about it, actually."
"Was her advice helpful?"
"Yes and no."
"Please elaborate?"
"She said I needed to let you know what was going on," he nodded, and I continued, "and she said to ignore it."
"Ah."
"Exactly."
"Would you prefer that we discontinue extracurricular social interaction?" he asked after a beat.
"Is that what you want?" I countered.
"It would not be my first choice," he answered. "However, I have no feelings to be bruised by being the subject of gossip, and I do not wish to be the cause – however ancillary – of your distress."
"Actually," I said, leaning on my packed cello, "Counselor Troi suggested that we be more visible."
"Ah," he said again. Two 'ahs' in one conversation was impressive. I wondered if there would be a gold star involved if I got him to say it a third time. "I believe I understand her reasoning. If people see us together, interacting as friends, they will realize the true nature of our relationship, and conjecture will die off."
"Something like that, yeah." I wasn't sure if I should mention that one of the people doing the conjecturing was (apparently) his ex.
"Then, we must endeavor to do as the counselor suggested. Have you selected an activity for our next outing?"
I couldn't help the blush that colored my cheeks. "I haven't," I said. "I was… I was sort of kidding about that, you know? I didn't think you really wanted to-"
"Spend time with a friend?" he finished for me. "I will expect a suggestion from you before you return to quarters after rehearsal tonight."
His tone was so matter-of-fact that I couldn't help it. I offered him a salute and a flippant, "Aye, sir," before I hoisted my cello and left.
There were a couple of officers walking down the hall in the opposite direction from me, and I saw them notice whose quarters I'd just left, but since I knew that we'd really only had a music lesson, I tried to ignore them.
I was almost successful.
(=A=)
"What's the least romantic activity two people can do on this ship?" I asked Keiko when I stopped by the ship's arboretum later that day. I'd promised to care for the catnip she'd let me plant and dropping in on Saturday afternoons had become a habit.
"Laundry?" she suggested, only half-seriously.
"Okay," I amended, "what's the least romantic thing two people who aren't married, dating, or otherwise privy to each other's laundering needs can do on this ship?"
"Well," she said thoughtfully, "the Enterprise is hosting a big archaeological conference next week. What could be less romantic than a bunch of lectures about ancient artifacts?"
"You're not serious?"
"About the lectures? Yes, I am," she said. "Look, I appreciate history, and I know it's important to make it come alive, but the Antiquities Board seems to go out of their way to make it stay dead. Miles and I went to the last conference because they were focusing on Celtic mythology, and it was… Let me put it this way, Zoe, I bought a new pair of sunglasses every morning just so I could sleep better in the sessions."
"Wow," I said, "that sound really horrible. But…why a different pair every day?"
"They validated parking if you bought something," she said with a grin. Turning her focus on the patch of catnip she said, "I know this was meant as a gift for Spot, but it's growing so well; do you mind if I share it with a few other cat-owners on the ship?"
"Not at all," I said. "Actually, unless you've told him, even Data doesn't know it exists. He's been trying to conserve the bag of organic catnip chews I brought back from Earth."
"That sounds like him," she said. "You're under-watering that far corner, by the way. Let's tweak the sprinkler pattern." She pulled a padd out of her coveralls, and we tested the sprinklers for my corner of the 'garden' until she was satisfied with the spray pattern. "Better," she pronounced. "Much better."
"Thank you," I said.
Her response was a merry laugh. "I should be thanking you," she said. "I like having company in here, and you're not afraid to get your hands dirty."
"Well, this is… Gran would call it 'clean dirt,'" I said. "You know, it's soil, not filth."
"'Clean dirt,'" Keiko repeated. "I suppose that's true." She paused, and then walked over to one of the benches placed around the space. Dropping onto it, she patted the empty place next to her. "Sit with me a minute, Zoe."
Her suddenly serious tone made me worry what she was going to say, but I went and joined her on the bench. "What is it?"
"I've heard some people talking about you and Data. I know the two of you have a special friendship, but… I heard someone say you were living with him. That can't be right, can it?"
"It was," I said. "But not in the way people think it does. I don't know how much Data tells you or Miles, but… you know his brother Lore?"
She nodded. "I've heard he's not the nicest person."
"Sick and twisted barely begin to describe him," I affirmed. "I ran into him on a starbase last February, after I'd yelled at Data for something stupid that only my teenaged brain could conjure up, and since then he's been sort of… stalking me. There was another encounter on my way home from Earth, and since my mother was off-ship, I stayed in Data's quarters for a few days."
"That must have been awkward for you," she mused.
"A little, at first, and then… not so much," I said. "Probably it was worse for him."
"I doubt that," she countered. "Data seems comfortable with you in a way he isn't with anyone else."
"People keep saying that," I said, rolling my eyes. "I think they see what they want to see."
"Maybe," she said. "If you ever need to talk, Zoe… Data's my friend, but you are too, okay?"
"Sure," I said. "Thank you." I got up to go, but paused as I was leaving, and looked back at her. "Hey, Keiko? If Professor Benoit happens to ask, could you let him know my mother's favorite flowers are Vendarian chrysanthemums?"
She laughed. "I'll make sure he knows. See you later, Zoe."
(=A=)
Stardate 44741.90
(Thursday, 28 September 2367, 19:02 hours, ship's time)
By the time the Enterprise had arrived at Tagus III, I was beginning to regret having picked the opening night of the archaeology conference as my next non-date with Data. On the one hand, as Keiko had said, it wasn't at all romantic, which was good. Wasn't it? On the other hand, Captain Picard was the keynote speaker and, as I'd learned just that morning, my mother was also presenting at the conference.
I mean, there's not-dating and there's not-dating with your mother.
In any case, at about seven in the evening we'd settled into our seats near the back of the conference room that had been set up as a lecture hall, and I was already re-thinking the wisdom of my plan. We weren't sharing a dining table or dancing, or anything else remotely couple-ish, but sitting there, next to Data, I felt incredibly aware of him.
Fortunately, my mother was only a couple of seats away, sitting with Ed. He hadn't proposed while they were away – it was too soon - but his arm was draped over the back of her chair, around her shoulders, and her body was angled slightly toward his. As potential stepfathers went, he wasn't a bad candidate, I mused.
Data nudged me slightly and I realized I'd been daydreaming. I recovered quickly enough to join the polite applause heralding Captain Picard's arrival at the podium.
"Are you alright?" Data asked very softly, under the applause.
"Fine," I said. "Just… thinking…"
He seemed to accept that, but before the captain's speech began, Data asked, "I was not certain if your suggestion of this activity extended to the reception, afterward."
"I didn't know there was one," I admitted.
"There is," he said. "Attendance is not required, but as your mother is one of the presenters, if you would like to go I would be happy to extend our evening and continue to serve as your escort."
I turned my head to meet his eyes. "You have to go, don't you?" I asked.
"It would be extremely noticeable if I do not attend," he confirmed.
"And I wouldn't… it wouldn't look bad if you bring a student?"
"You are sixteen, not six," he countered, using one of my own lines against me. (I was never sure if I found it sweet or annoying when he did that. Probably both.) "We are present at the lecture together, and it is not a great leap to expect us to continue on to the reception."
"I'm not… I didn't dress for a party.
He glanced down at my outfit, causing me to blush faintly. I really hadn't dressed up, but I had made an effort to look a little more put together than my typical jeans, vintage t-shirts, and combat boots would imply, opting instead for a sweater and skirt, and proper shoes. "Your attire is entirely appropriate for the occasion, Zoe."
Understand that there was no graceful way to decline his invitation, and realizing that I wouldn't have wanted to, if there had been, I made my answer casual. "Sure," I said. "Why not?"
"Do not worry," Data added in a faintly teasing tone. "There will not be dancing."
The captain began speaking then, and I settled in for an evening of boring speeches, only to see some weird flashes of blue light, and notice that – apparently magically - the captain and several of his senior officers were suddenly sporting crazy costumes. "Data what's going – oh, my god -" I couldn't help but stare, because my friend was holding a giant drumstick - turkey, I think – in his upraised hand, and his uniform had been replaced by brown robes. "I would kill for a camera right now."
He glanced down at himself, then back up at me, surprise evident on his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but then there was another flash of light, and he was gone. They were ALL gone.
The people remaining in the room broke into a chaotic chorus of exclamations and suppositions, and in the center of it all was my mother, who was suddenly the ranking officer on the scene.
Striding to the podium, Mom called out, "Everyone, take your seats, please. We'll let you know what's going on shortly; in the meantime, please remain calm."
She waited for the pandemonium to settle, then tapped her comm-badge to open a channel. "Lt. Commander Harris to bridge." She waited for an acknowledgment before she continued, "Captain Picard, and most of the senior officers have just… vanished… from the conference room. Can you scan for them?"
Over the tinny speaker of my mother's comm-badge I heard the response come through, "Ensign Anaya here. Initiating scan." There was a pause, and then the voice of the woman on the bridge returned. "Commander Harris? The captain is not on the ship. Neither are Commander Riker, Lt. Commanders Data and LaForge, Lieutenant Worf, Dr. Crusher, or Counselor Troi."
"Who has the bridge right now?" my mother asked.
"Lieutenant Dean here," came a different voice. "I'm the senior bridge officer at the moment. I'm sending a security detail to the conference room, Commander."
"Good idea," my mother said. "I'll try to maintain order until they arrive, then I'll come to the bridge."
The security officers arrived a few minutes later, and my friend Ray Barnett was one of the two ensigns in the group, which was good. What was not good was that the head of the detail was Lt. D'Sora. Jenna, my brain corrected. No, I decided, watching her arrive, walking purposefully, jaw set, eyes scanning the crowd, definitely Lieutenant D'Sora.
The blonde woman either didn't notice me in the room, or didn't care, because she went directly to my mother. "Commander Harris," she said. "Lieutenant, D'Sora, security. What happened?"
I had resumed my seat but was near enough to my mother that I heard every word either of them said. Mom related the same thing I'd seen – flashes of blue light, wardrobe changes, and then mass disappearance.
Jenna asked her if she had seen anything else suspicious.
Mom explained that she'd really been more focused on her notes, but that she hadn't noticed anything strange. "Everything was normal," she said, "until it wasn't." It was phrasing that wouldn't have been unusual coming from my mouth. Clearly, I was – I am – my mother's daughter.
"We're going to canvass the rest of the people in the room," D'Sora said. "Barnett, Costa, go to it. Commander Harris, is there anything else you can think of that might help?"
"There isn't," my mother said. "My daughter was sitting with Commander Data; you might start with her."
"Daughter?" the security officer turned.
"I think you know her," Mom said, maintaining a completely neutral tone. She glanced toward where I was sitting in the chair next to the one Data had… vacated. "Zoe, join us, please?"
I left my chair and joined them at the podium. "Mom?"
"Lieutenant D'Sora has a few questions for you."
"I doubt I saw anything you didn't," I said, "but, sure, okay." I turned to Jenna. "What do you want to know?"
"Tell me everything you saw," she said. "From the moment you walked into the room. Your mother said you were sitting near Data?"
"I was sitting with Data," I corrected. "We came together. We were chatting up until Captain Picard took the podium, and then for a few seconds after. The captain started his speech, got maybe five or ten words out, and then there were flashes of light. First, the senior officers were wearing hats – well, Data wasn't – but he was holding a turkey leg –"
"A… turkey leg?"
"Yeah, you know, like the food at a Renaissance Faire?"
"Data doesn't eat."
"Actually, he does," I said, surprised that she didn't already know, "when he wants to be social; he just doesn't have to. But I don't think he had any intention of eating it. First his hand was empty, and then it wasn't, and then he was dressed like a monk."
"A monk?"
"A medieval monk," I elaborated. "Almost as though he'd been ripped out of a Shakespeare play. His hair was even different."
"His hair?"
"Yeah, he had a bald spot, and a monk's haircut, and then there was another blue flash, and then he was gone."
"He didn't say anything?"
"It all happened pretty quickly. He seemed like he was about to say something."
"But you don't know what?"
"Not a clue," I said. "Oh! There is something else…"
"What?"
"There was a woman in the front row… probably about the same age as my mother. Dark hair, business suit… she vanished, too."
D'Sora's eyes narrowed, as if she didn't believe me, but her features smoothed into professional neutrality almost immediately after. "Do you know who the woman was?"
"I don't," I said. "I think she may have been talking with the captain before he went to the podium, but I wasn't really paying attention, because Data was asking me if I was joining him at the reception later tonight."
Her eyebrows lifted in either surprise or disbelief. "Data invited you to a formal event? Dressed like that?"
I couldn't help it; I rolled my eyes at her. "First, it's not a formal event, just drinks and chatter. Second, he said my 'attire is appropriate for the occasion,' and I'm pretty sure he wouldn't have said that if it wasn't true. If I'd known there was a reception when I invited him to this conference –"
She cut me off again. "You invited Data? So, you knew he would be here?"
"Well, yeah, but since the captain was the keynote speaker and people from this ship were among the presenters, it wasn't like he wouldn't have been here anyway."
"So, you knew the entire senior staff would be here. Did you have anything to do with their disappearance?"
"What?" I asked. "Are you crazy?"
"Answer the question, please," her voice seemed more brittle than it had before.
"Of course, I had nothing to do with it. That's the stupidest thing I've ever –"
"Zoe!" That time it was my mother cutting me off. "Lt. D'Sora," my mother said, using the command intonation I'd only rarely heard from her, "I think it's obvious that Zoe has told you everything she knows. As Captain Picard and the others are not on the ship, it should be equally obvious that a mere student could not have been involved."
Jenna gave me a less-than-friendly look but nodded to my mother, "Yes, sir."
"Zoe," Mom said to me, "Thank you for your help. Why don't you go quietly inform Guinan of what's going on, and that the official reception is being postponed? I want to keep this off the comm channels." She glanced at Jenna. "Does that meet with your approval, Lieutenant?"
"Yes, sir," D'Sora said again.
"If I don't find you in Ten-Forward by nine," Mom added, addressing me, "I'll see you at home."
"Gotcha," I said. "See you later, Mom." I flashed a smile at her, and also caught Ray Barnett's attention long enough to offer a tiny wave before I left the conference room.
(=A=)
I could have sworn the turbo-lift was empty when I got in it. If asked, I would have sworn that the blue flash I saw was just my imagination. In any case, I jumped when a male voice said, very near my ear, "That blonde woman really didn't seem to like you."
After a beat or two of recovery time, I took a look at my lift-mate. Male, tall, kind of average looking – too average? - and wearing… "You are not actually an admiral," I said, eyeing his uniform. There was something off about it. Something I couldn't quite place.
"Aren't I? Pips don't lie."
"No, but the people wearing them do… sometimes. Anyway, what business is it of yours if some security lieutenant likes me or not?"
"Excellent question!" he responded gleefully. "Everything is my business if I decide it is."
"You must be pretty desperate for entertainment, then."
"Mmm. Yes and no."
"Way to be cryptic," I snarked.
He peered closely at me, and I shivered. There was definitely something weird about this guy. I moved toward the far wall of the lift. "Oh, stop shrinking silly girl. If I haven't hurt you yet, I'm not likely to. You're not Starfleet… who are you?"
"Who am I? Who are you?"
"Q."
"Q? Q what?"
"Just Q."
"Like the character in the James Bond novels?"
"James… who?"
"Bond," I repeated, imitating more than one twentieth-century actor. "James Bond." I waited a beat, but he still didn't get it. "Fictional spy created in the twentieth century by a writer who'd been sort of a real spy..." his blank look finally penetrated my babble. "And… you have no idea what I'm talking about."
"Mercifully, no. In any case, I am Q… and you are…"
"On my way to Ten-Forward," I answered, recovering my equilibrium. "But my name's Zoe Harris."
"I don't remember seeing you before."
"Well, we have that in common," I said. "I'm pretty sure I've never seen you, either." He loomed forward, and then pulled back, and when he did so there was an almost palpable crackle of energy. "Did you do that?" I asked.
"I am that," he answered.
"You really get a kick out of speaking in riddles, don't you?" But the turbo-lift came to a halt, and the door opened before he could answer, and when I looked back, there was no one else there. Weird. I shook my head to try and clear my thoughts and headed into Ten-Forward.
Unsurprisingly, Guinan met me near the doors. "Zoe," she said staring over my head at… well, at nothing, as far as I could tell. "Are you alright?"
"I think so?" I said, not entirely sure if I was. "Sorry, there was a guy in the turbo-lift and… never mind. My mother asked me to relay a message that there wouldn't be a reception tonight. Can we go somewhere a little quieter?"
She nodded and led me to an alcove near the end of the bar. "This is about the captain not being on the ship, isn't it?"
"Seriously, is there anything you don't know?"
"Very little."
"Yeah, it's about that. There was a bunch of blue light and then there were costumes and then… then everyone was gone. Well, not everyone, obviously, but pretty much the entire senior staff."
"Blue flashes?" she asked.
"Yeah. Just like in the turbo-lift."
"Did the… guy… happen to mention his name?"
"He said he was Q… and he didn't appreciate my Bond joke."
"Q? Q is here?" I couldn't tell if the older woman was angry, afraid, or some combination of the two. "You spoke to him." It wasn't a question.
"He sort of… appeared… in the turbo-lift."
"He does that," she said. "You have a comm-badge, don't you?"
"I have one, yes," I said. "Sometimes I even remember to wear it."
"Make sure you have it with you, and if you see Q again… call security."
"Guinan…?"
"I'm afraid I can't explain right now, Zoe. You should go to your quarters."
She was confusing me, but at the same time, I could tell she was agitated. "Okay," I said. "Thanks." I turned to go, but she called my name again, and I turned back. "Guinan?"
"I'm not brushing you off. Q is much more dangerous than he appears. I promise to explain what I can when Captain Picard has returned to the ship."
I nodded. "Okay." The promise of a future explanation only made everything else seem weirder.
(=A=)
Mom finally returned to our quarters about midnight that night. "I'm sorry, kiddo," she said as she came through the doors. "Lt Dean, Lt. D'Sora, Lt. Barclay and I are trying to figure out where everyone went, and how."
"I know how," I said. "Or at least, Guinan does, and based on my really funky turbo-lift ride, I'm pretty sure she's right."
"You know…" my mother shook her head, her expression bemused. "So, daughter-of-mine, what's your oh-so-scientific theory?"
"Q."
"Q who?"
"That's what I asked him," I said. "But when I mentioned a stranger in the 'lift, and blue flashes to Guinan she said it was Q. I looked him up in the knowledge-base, but there isn't much that's publicly accessible. You, with your actual clearance, might find more."
"I've heard of Q," she said, sitting in front of the computer console. "He's supposed to be omniscient or omnipotent or something. Whatever he is, I'm definitely not comfortable with you being anywhere near him." She paused. "I know you're concerned for Data –"
"Not just Data –"
"- and everyone. But you need to get some rest. Maybe he'll be back by the time your class is supposed to start tomorrow."
"If he isn't… wake me up half an hour early? Someone will need to feed Spot."
"Security isn't likely to let you into an officer's quarters without explicit permission."
"Security won't have to. I'm still on his privacy lock."
"I didn't realize he'd added you in the first place."
"Data is nothing if not efficient. He didn't want me to be stuck in the corridor if he was late coming off-shift."
"That was nearly a month ago," Mom pointed out.
I shrugged. "I'm still there for music every Saturday morning, and video night on Thursdays – we skipped tonight in favor of hearing you and the captain speak at the opening of the conference, so, be honored, or something."
Her grin was as rueful as mine was wry. "When you put it that way…"
"Sorry, Mom. You know I love you and think you're awesome."
"Go to bed, Zoe, before this goes any further." But she wasn't irritated when she said it; she was amused, and as I passed her, heading to my room, she pulled me into a quick, fiercely maternal hug. "Sweet dreams."
That night, I didn't dream of Data or Lore. I dreamed of Lachlan Meade admonishing us to notice things. Notice everything in th'world around ye, and then y'ken reproduce it in yer performances, he'd said. But I had no idea what I was supposed to be noticing.
(=A=)
Stardate 44749.08
(Sunday, 1 October 2367, 10:00 hours, ship's time)
Three days later I was on my way to feed Spot again, when Jenna ran into me in the hall. "Data isn't back yet," she pointed out.
"I know," I answered. My first question every time my mother had returned to our quarters all weekend had been 'are they back?' "I'm just going in to feed his cat."
"Data has a cat?" she seemed surprised by the idea.
"He does," I said. "An orange tabby named Spot. I thought you were friends?"
"Less so, since last year," she admitted grudgingly.
The door opened as I approached, and I saw her take note of that. I hesitated in the doorway. "He's – they're safe, aren't they?" I asked. "I mean, that Q-guy had all the charm of a used flitter salesman, but I can't imagine he'd let them come to real harm. Would he?"
"I wish I knew," she said softly. Then the second part of my statement seemed to register with her. "You've met Q?"
I shrugged. "Briefly. In the hall outside Ten-Forward. He seemed disappointed that I hadn't heard of him before."
"Sounds about right," she snorted. "At least, based on what I've heard."
I took a long, appraising, look at her, and for a moment I didn't see a bitter ex-girlfriend, but a woman who was worried about a friend and trying hard to do her job with really nothing to go on. "If it matters," I offered, "no one among the civilians is afraid, and that means they trust that you're doing a good job standing in for Lt. Worf."
She managed the semblance of a smile and looked like she was about to say something when her comm-badge chirped. She stepped aside to answer it, and I moved all the way into Data's quarters, where Spot was curled up on the couch with her head propped on the arm, as if she'd been watching – or at least listening to – our conversation. I fed her and then popped into the bathroom to clean her litter pan while she ate. Afterward, I sat cross-legged on the couch, knowing she would come and sit in my lap.
"I know you miss Data," I told the cat, running my hands through her soft fur. "I miss him, too." Spot's response was to head-but my hand every time I stopped petting her. I stayed a few minutes longer, then moved the cat off my lap. "I'll be back to give you dinner, if he's not back by then, Cat-ling."
I refilled her water dish and picked up her empty food bowl, so I could recycle it. Just as I was stepping into the corridor there was another flash of blue light followed by and the somewhat bewildered voice of the android whose quarters I was leaving. "Zoe?"
I turned around to see him standing there, still in monk's robes – robes that were considerably dirtier than when I'd last seen them – "Data? Is it really you?"
"It is –" he started to say, but he was cut off by me barreling into him and wrapping him in an impulsive hug, one that he returned. "- me," he finished, once he had recovered. "May I ask why you were in my quarters?"
I stepped away from him, wrinkling my nose. "Do I get to ask why you smell like a barn?" But I didn't wait for an answer. "I've been coming here twice a day to feed Spot. You do know it's been two and a half days since you… vanished?"
He processed that information. "Interesting. It has been roughly half that time for us."
"So, Q can bend time?"
His gaze turned sharp. "You have been speaking with Q?"
"One brief conversation. He didn't seem all that powerful… more like, I don't know…bored and lonely."
"That is likely more accurate than you realize. However, he is also both powerful and extremely dangerous."
"Will you tell me about him, sometime? I get the feeling there are some pretty interesting stories."
"Another accurate assessment." The comm-system chimed, and he went to answer it, confirming that he would be heading to the bridge shortly. "I am afraid I cannot tell you any of those stories right now, Zoe. I must change and report for duty."
I grinned. "You might want to do more than just change, but I'll get out of your way. I'm just glad you're back. Although, I'm kind of wishing we'd stuck to just doing video night on Thursday."
"Your point is well made," he said. "Perhaps our next activity should be on a night other than a Thursday. It is my turn to choose."
"Works for me," I said, and then, even though he really was kind of rank, I stepped close to him again and kissed him on the cheek. "Spot missed you," I said softly. "I missed you, too."
He didn't answer, but the corners of his mouth quirked upwards and he brushed a stray strand of my hair out of my eyes.
I left the room with my spirits much lighter than they'd been in days, and by the time I got back to my own room, I was practically humming.
(=A=)
Stardate 44749.94
(1 October 2367, 17:30 hours, ship's time)
"Okay, Zoe, I'm turning into a prune," Ray Barnett said, hoisting himself out of the ship's pool rather than using the steps at either end. "I'm gonna go change. You about done?"
We'd been meeting on Sunday afternoons since my school year had begun, tracking the time so I could fulfill my physical education requirement for school. Surfing on the holodeck, it turned out, didn't actually earn credit. "I want to do six more laps," I said. I'd been pushing myself to increase my total every week.
"Dinner after?"
"I can't tonight," I said. "I'm having dinner with Mom and Ed and Data."
"Data?" he asked, only slightly surprised. "But isn't your vid night usually Thursday?"
"He comm'd with the invitation a couple of hours after he got back to the ship this morning. Apparently, he feels the need to thank me for taking care of Spot."
"Wow, Zo', dinner with the parents…" Ray teased.
"It's not like that," I said defensively. "You know it's not like that." I aimed a well-earned splash of water in his direction.
"Heeey," he said. "I'm teasing. I know you and Commander Data are just friends."
"I'm sorry. It's just… people keep talking and…"
"And I'm supposed to be on your side." His tone softened, and he squatted at the edge of the pool. "As your official 'brother from another mother,' I formally apologize," he said. "Finish up. I'll walk you home when you're done." He left for the changing rooms and I ducked under the water and did six more laps that way.
For a moment when I got out of the pool, it seemed like the hand offering me a towel didn't belong to Ray but was actually attached to the not-admiral from the turbolift. Q. He winked at me, and then he was gone, and my friend, back in his uniform, was watching me. "You sure you're okay, Zoe?"
I wrapped the towel around myself, and then squeezed water out of my pony-tailed hair. "I'm fine," I said.
I went to change, but my bright mood from earlier that day had become somewhat dimmer, and for the rest of the night I was convinced I was being watched.
Notes: REVISED 9 March 2018. This chapter takes place around the season 4 episodes "The Nth Degree" and "QPid." Ensign Anaya is a canon character; she was at the helm in the episode either just before or just after QPid. Lt. Jenna D'Sora is, of course, Jenna from "In Theory," (but in my version of the Trekiverse her attempt at a relationship with Data took place almost a year earlier than it actually does in the show.). Lt. Dean is an older lieutenant whom we first meet fencing with Captain Picard in the teaser some other episode. Ray Barnett is my own creation, originally introduced to Zoe by Wesley Crusher in Chapter 44 of Crush, though she sees him the first time in Chapter 43.