  METAMORPHOSIS

  BY

  JEAN LORRAH

  POCKET BOOKS New York London

Toronto Sydney Tokyo Singapore

  The plot and background details of

METAMORPHOSIS are solely the author's

interpretation of the universe of STAR

TREK[*THORN]: THE NEXT GENERATION and

vary in some respects from the universe as created

by Gene Roddenberry.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters,

places and incidents are either the product of the

author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

Any resemblance to actual events or locales

or persons, living or dead, is entirely

coincidental.

  An Original Publication of POCKET

BOOKS

  POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon and

Schuster Inc. 1230 Avenue of the Americas,

New York, NY 10020

  Copyright (C 1990 Paramount Pictures.

All Rights Reserved.

  STAR TREK is a Registered Trademark of

[*thorn] Paramount Pictures.

  This book is published by Pocket Books, a

division of Simon and Schuster Inc., under

exclusive license from Paramount Pictures.

  All rights reserved, including the right

to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form

whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books,

1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York,

NY 10020

  ISBN: 0-671-68402-7

  First Pocket Books printing March 1990

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  POCKET and colophon are registered

trademarks of Simon and Schuster Inc.

  Printed in the U.s.a. Foreword

  I would like to thank Gene Roddenberry, the

creator of Star Trek, which has been such an

important influence in my life; Hans

Christian Andersen, Melinda Snodgrass, and

Jacqueline Lichtenberg, all of whom provided

a measure of inspiration for this novel; and Dave

Stern, editor at Pocket Books, who

supported my efforts to finish this novel during a very

difficult time in my life. I have been a Star

Trek fan since 1966, when Classic Trek

first appeared. I learned to write through fanzines, and

have made many wonderful friends through Trekfandom. By this

time I doubt anyone can dispute that Star Trek: the

Next Generation carries on the dream that Classic

Trek first brought to life. Readers may be

familiar with my Classic Trek novels, The

Vulcan Academy Murders and The IDIC

Epidemic. To the many who have asked, yes, I do

hope to write more Classic Trek novels in the

future. However I do not see any discrepancy

between Clas- sic Trek and Next Generation; they

are both part of the same vision. The spirit of Trek

continues-I hope you v

  can feel it in this novel and in my previous

Next Generation novel, Survivors. If you have

not read Survivors, don't worry. These

books are written like Star Trek episodes:

If you have missed some you can still enjoy others. When you

catch earlier episodes in reruns, though, you may

discover new depths in the ones you have seen before. So

after you have read Metamorphosis, if you are

curious about the story of Tasha Yar and Darryl

Adin, referred to here, you may decide to seek out

Survivors, available wherever Star Trek books

are sold. If you have been a Star Trek fan for

years, you may already know about fandom. If you have just

joined us via the new series, welcome! Paramount

sponsors a fan club with a bimonthly newsletter

to tell you all the latest news about the movies, the

TV series, the actors, and the creators:

  The Official Star Trek Fan Club P.

0. Box 111000 Aurora, CO 80011

  But Trekfandom is not limited to the fan club.

If you write or draw or make music or

costumes or want to interact with other fans, you

want the original fandom: friends and letters and

crafts and fanzines and trivia and costumes and

artwork and filksongs [sic] and posters and

buttons and games and conventions-something for everybody.

The way to that fandom is not through me, or any other

author of star Trck novels. You want that

wonderful organization, The Star Trek

Welcommittee. Be sure to include a stamped

self-addressed envelope, as this is a volunteer

organization of people who love Star Trek and are

willing to answer your questions and

  put you in touch with other fans. Their current

address:

  The Star Trek Welcommittee P. O.

Drawer 12 Saranac, MI 48881

  In both Trekwriting and my other professional

science fiction, I have a strong belief in the

interaction between authors and fans. Authors want

your constructive comments. They cannot collaborate with

you, write the stories you want to tell (you'll have

to do that yourself), or critique your novels (they're

too busy writing their own). Neither can they write you

long, involved letters about how to write books; you can

find that information at your local library. You can't

learn to write that way anyway; you must learn

by doing. Get involved in fanzines and develop your

skills as so many of us did. Writing workshops can be

a great help, too-the authors conducting them have set

that time aside specifically for that purpose, and will

welcome you. All authors are happy

to receive comments about their books, and most will answer

questions-within reason. Authors have lives, families,

jobs, just like you, and book deadlines on top of all

that.

  Almost everyone who writes Trek novels also

writes other science fiction; if Trek novels

by a particular author appeal to you, you might very well

enjoy that author's other work. Chances are, the themes

he or she chooses to develop in Trek are the

same ones he or she treats in other books.

Ask at your booksellers for other books by your

favorite Star Trek authors. If you would like

to comment on this or any of my other books, you may

write to me in care of my vii

  publishers, or at P. O. Box 625,

Murray, KY 4207 10625. If your letter

requires an answer, please enclose a stamped,

self-addressed envelope. Keep on

Trekkin"!

  Jean Lorrah

  Murray, Kentucky

  Historian's Note

  Metamorphosis takes place in the second

season of Star Trek: the Next Generation,

beginning immediately after "The Measure of a Man."

Data had to fight for his very existence in that episode;

the experience has lingering aftereffects.

  "No, sir . . . I never wanted to compound one

. . . illusion . . . with another. It might be

real to Q, perhaps even to you, sir. But it would never be

so to me. Was it not one of the captain's favorite

authors who wrote, "This above all: to thine own

self be true'? Sorry, Commander. I must

decline."

  comLieutenant Commander Data, to Commander

Riker's offer of humanity, "Hide and.q"

  "You may find that having is not so pleasing a thing,

after all, as wanting. It is not logical, but it is

often true."

  comCommander Spock, "Amok Time"

  "Legends . . . are the spice of the universe,

Mr. Data, because they have a way of sometimes coming

true."

  comCaptain Jean-Luc Picard, "Haven"

  THE U.s.s. ENOUGH-RERPR-TSEvery swung in

orbit about Starbase 173, with only a skeleton

crew on duty. On the holodeck, a party marked

the homecoming of Lt. Commander Data-a celebration

as intense and cheerful as if it had been

months or years that he had been separated from their

ranks, instead of less than seventy-two hours.

  The holodeck was set to duplicate parkland on

an Earthlike planet; one entered by crossing

stepping stones over a stream, leading to a path through a

patch of woods. Beyond that there were open lawns with

blue sky, green grass, and a fresh breeze

stirring the trees dotted here and there in the landscape.

From a distance, as if a band were playing somewhere just out of

sight, music drifted pleasantly, not loud enough

to interfere with conversation.

  Of the participants, however, the one least cheered by the

music and laughter was the guest of honor. Data

smiled, and tried to keep up conversation with his friends, but

there were some who knew him too

  well to miss noticing that at least a part of his good

cheer was artificial. As artificial as I am,

he thought as he deliberately turned to answer a

question from Wesley Crusher, just to avoid addressing the

concern radiating from Geordi La Forge.

  "How does this work?" Wesley asked

excitedly, peering into the startube that Data had just

presented to him. From their acting ensign, the question did

not mean "How do I start it?" or even "How do I

change the display?" but "What is the

principle behind its operation?"

  "I suggest you examine it at leisure and when you

have figured it out, explain it to me," Data

replied, never forgetting his responsibility for

Wesley's education.

  The boy grinned. "I'll figure it out. Did

you build this, Data?" "No, I used the matter

transformer."

  "But did you design it? I've never seen

anything like it," Wesley added, holding the tube

to his eye and twisting its rings to bring various

starfields into focus. "It's as if it knows the

direction I turn it, and actually shows me stars

too far away to be seen with our instruments!" Dr.

Kate Pulaski came up to them as Wesley

spoke. She gave a puzzled frown. "Surely

it's a trick-a hand-held instrument that could read

distant stars would be invaluable."

  "It is up to Wesley to determine how-or whether

comx does what it appears to do," Data replied.

  "Ah-another lesson," the doctor said.

  "Data's lessons are fun," Wesley said,

grinning. 2

  "Technological, you mean," Pulaski said.

"I'm not certain you're getting the

well-rounded education you ought to have, Wesley."

  "I take history and music and literature

classes," the boy protested. "I just like science

better, that's all."

  Data took the opportunity to offer Dr.

Pulaski the gift he had chosen for her, carefully

wrapped in soft paper. When he had recently

resigned, his post, in an attempt to thwart Commander

Bruce Maddox's plan to take him apart, his friends

had given him a "goingaway party," complete with a

present from each of them. When he had returned so

soon, he had pondered what to do about those presents.

It seemed inappropriate to keep them, since he

had not gone away, and yet impolite to return

them. So he had settled on giving each of his friends

a present in return. They were displayed at one end

of a picnic table with a bright checkered cloth, while

food and drinks were laid out at the other end.

  Of the crew, he had known Dr. Pulaski for the

shortest time. She was also the person he understood

least, and he knew that the feeling was mutual.

Therefore, unable to choose a gift with personal

significance, he had opted for something he knew

to be universally admired: a bellflower from

Artemis Three, or as close as he could

come to reproducing one. The live plants did not

thrive outside their natural environment, and so were

never exported. For the past two centuries-since the

discovery of the delicate and precious blooms whose

soft chiming was said to relieve stress-artists,

artisans, and horticul turists had striven

to copy the bellflowers. Some came

  very close, and their work commanded great respect and

huge prices. The Enterprise computer contained the

DNA pattern of the bellflowers, but Data did not

want a cut flower that would die in a few hours.

He had quickly abandoned any idea of mutating a

living plant, opting instead for as near-perfect an

artificial replication as possible. A product

of the holodeck, the artificial bellflower would

seem as real and solid and beautiful as a naturally

grown plant with one exception-it would last forever. And

unlike an actual holograph, there was no need

to turn the "plant" on or off. It was a perfect

permanent fake. Data had wrapped the

asymmetrical shape in the softest of tissue.

  Other crew members gathered around as Dr.

Pulaski removed the wrapping. Loosed from the

muffling material, the bellflowers began to chime,

drawing "ooohs" from the audience, and the

attention of an uninvited guest. Mystery, a

Siamese cat who considered the entire ship her

domain, had been wandering about, garnering stroking or

bits of food here and there. There were many pets on the

ship, but they were supposed to remain in the living

quarters. Mystery, though, might show up anywhere at

any time, despite concerted efforts to confine her

to areas appropriate to animals. No one knew

how she got through or around doors, detectors, or

forcefields; hence her name.

  Now the cat jumped up on the table to examine the

source of the new sound. Pulaski ignored her,

looking from the flowers to Data. "They're

absolutely beautiful!" she exclaimed in genuine

amazement. "I hoped they would please you." 4

  "But, they can't be real," she said, gently fingering

one of the leaves. "Oh, Data-you wouldn't

reproduce something so lovely that would only wither and

die?"

  "It's a replication, Doctor," Geordi

explained, "created through transporter matter

conversion."

  "Really?" Wesley asked, tapping one of the

blooms. "It even smells organic."

  Mystery put up a hesitant paw, and

set the flowers chiming again. "If I have succeeded in

my attempt," Data said, "the flowers should seem

real to all human senses."

  Dr. Pulaski gave Data a smile with a

touch of sadness in it. "But you can tell the difference,

can't you, Data?

  "Only if I access other means of analysis

than the normal range of human senses."

  "To which," the doctor said flatly, "you usually

confine yourself. I don't understand why you should want

to limit your abilities that way." "I do," said

Geordi, laying a hand on Data's shoulder. "So

do I," put in Commander Will Riker. After being forced

to argue the case against Data's right to make his own

life choices, the Enterprise First Officer had not

intended to come to the celebration. Data had gone to get

him, understanding his uneasiness, but the usually ebullient

Riker had been uncharacteristically quiet thus far, as

if he hoped to escape notice. Geordi tensed.

Data knew his friend resented Riker's claim

to understanding. But Data knew Will Riker better than

Geordi did, had seen him take in

  stride new life-forms, customs, and laws, no

matter how bizarre. Unlike most humans,

Riker did not have to understand before he accepted;

he had accepted Data from the moment they first met.

  Irony was one human emotion Data understood;

it was ironic that the first person to whom the android had

confided his desire to be human was the very person forced

to argue that he was mere equipment, Starfleet

property. Riker had lost the case but won the

resentment of Data's friends. Even those he had not

considered close friends, for Kate Pulaski told

Riker, "You claim to understand Data, yet you

called none of us to testify at the hearing."

  "Did you think I wanted to win, Doctor?"

Riker replied. The woman's green eyes

flashed. "Do you think I would have wanted you to?

Commander, the disagreements I have with Mr. Data have

nothing to do with his autonomy. He is unique in

all history-and no experiment should ever be permitted

to threaten that uniqueness."

  "Then you think no more Datas should be built?"

Geordi asked, picking up Mystery just as she was

about to pounce on the bellflowers. He stroked the

cat, and she started to purr.

  "I have no objection to other androids being

built," Pulaski replied. "As briefly as

I've known Data, I know that his particular set of

positronic circuits and heuristic

algorithms have a distinct and individual

personality. So, I assume, would another

android, even if built in his image. Each would be

a different person, as unique as any human.

No, my differences with our friend have to do solely with his

desire to be 6

  something else, instead of exploring the

possibilities of what he is." Mystery

wriggled out of Geordi's arms and back onto the

tabletop. To distract the cat from the flowers, Riker

offered his hand. She rubbed against it, purring loudly as

she wove her way from his hand to Pulaski's, and then

to Data's.

  "There-you see?" Pulaski said.

  "See what?" asked Riker, Wesley, and

Geordi, almost in chorus. Data knew; it

happened every time he touched the cat, and he could not

explain it.

  Mystery was perfectly content to rub against Data,

to accept petting from him as she would from anyone else,

to take food from his hand . . . but when he touched her,

she did not purr. Up to now, no one else had

noticed. "Animals know," Pulaski affirmed.

"Mystery knows Data is a machine." "What do you

mean?" Geordi asked.

  "Geordi, I've heard you complain about finding

her on consoles in the Engine Room," Pulaski

said with a slightly smug smile. "Cat hair is

not beneficial to delicate components," he

replied. "Nor do I like it in my medical

instruments, yet not a week goes by that I don't

find that creature curled up on one of my

diagnostic units. Nothing I've tried will keep

her out of sickbay."

  "Mom gave up on it," Wesley said, "after

she discovered that Mystery never enters a quarantined

area. She says cats have senses we'll never

understand." "She may be right," Pulaski said.

"Cats like nice,

  warm machines, but they don't purr for them.

Mystery likes Data, but she knows perfectly

well what he is."

  Silence fell as everybody listened intently.

Mystery was still winding back and forth between Data's

hands, more rubbing him than being petted. He had

discovered this kept the animal with him longer than

attempting to impose his own ideas on her. Just now,

though, he wished she would go on to someone else, for

Dr. Pulaski was correct-the cat moved without a

sound. Riker broke the silence. "The fact

that Data is a machine was never the issue. He's

alive and sentient, and that's what makes him a

person." "My point exactly!" Pulaski

exclaimed. She turned to the android. "Data, it

disturbs me to see anyone trying to be something else,

instead of exploring his own potential."

  "I understand, Doctor," Data said. "Still, it

would be pleasant to be accepted without question."

  "Nobody has that luxury, Data," Riker

pointed out. "Everyone faces challenges."

  "Of course," Data said with a nod, "challenges

to one's ideas, one's skills, one's

authority-things one can prove or disprove. were I

a flesh-and-blood being, my consciousness would never be

questioned." "At least it's settled now," Geordi

declared. "No one can dispute it after the trial."

  "You are wrong, Geordi," Data said.

"Legal rulings are appealed every day, and

frequently overturned.eaI do not think Commander

Maddox will appeal, but there may easily come a time

when someone else with the authority to do so may have what

he considers a good reason."

  "Data, that was a landmark decision," Riker

reminded him. "It's not going to be overturned."

  "Perhaps not overturned, but given the

estimates of my life span the probability

approaches 100 percent that it will be challenged.

What I am has been debated three times in

only twenty-seven years: when I was first

activated, at my application to Starfleet

Academy, and again when Commander Maddox sought

to disassemble me. I did not question the necessity the first

two times. Now I realize that there will always be those

who are not satisfied. Judge Louvois put it very

aptly when she said that the question is whether I have a

soul. Even she admits that that is something that cannot be

proven."

  "No more for us than for you, Data," Geordi

said. "The difference," Data explained, "is that if

souls exist, you are automatically assumed to have

one, and I am not."

  "So you must keep proving yourself," put in Worf,

who had listened in silence to the previous conversation.

"Among Klingons, an unchallenged life is not

worth living."

  Data smiled at their security chief. "But I

am no more Klingon than I am human."

  "Maybe you're more than human, Data,"

Geordi suggested. "You're the only person I

know with a halo. Only saints have halos."

  What Geordi called his "halo" was nothing more

than the aura of electromagnetic energy generated

by his nonorganic components. Only the engineer

could perceive it, with the VISOR that gave him vision far

beyond the spectrum available to human, or even

android, senses. Geordi had teased Data about it

before-but Dr.

  Pulaski evidently didn't recognize the

attempt at levity. "All innocents are

saints," she said.

  Almost without volition, Data accessed his memory

concerning metaphysics and theology, and realized,

"If I am innocent in that sense-incapable of sin-

then I do not have free will, and the verdict of today's

hearing was wrong." There was a moment of stunned

silence. Then Riker said, "If you didn't have

free will, there would have been no hearing. You would have

accepted the transfer without question."

  As his friends seemed relieved to accept that

rationalization, Data didn't pursue the question

further. He stored it for future consideration, though.

Was he capable of wrongdoing? Not mistakes; having

to make decisions with insufficient information provided

frequent opportunity for those. Not disobeying

orders; there were times when any officer did

so, in the firm belief that some other factor

overrode the force of the order. But deliberate

wrongdoing, referred to in a religious context as

sin. Had he ever in his life placed his own desire

before duty? Was he capable of doing so? He had never

been tempted, he realized. I am simply

untested in that area of life, he told himself

firmly. Still- .iust then Counselor Deanna

Troi appeared on the path leading from the woods to the

picnic area. She stopped in her tracks, her

huge dark eyes even wider with surprise. "What

has happened? This was supposed to be a happy

celebration."

  "We just found out that Data's not a Klingon,"

Geordi said, still trying to lighten the mood.

  "But Worf is right," Data said. "I must

accept that the challenge to my sentience is one I can

never say I have won permanently." And what shall 1

do if I discover that Maddox was right? No, l do not

believe he was. Let it go for now. "However, I

did win this round, so I have cause for celebration.

Counselor, I have a present for you."

  The mood lightened, the rest of the presents were

opened, and the party settled down in!comfortable conversations

among people who knew and liked one another.

Data deliberately stayed with Troi and Riker

for a time, having observed that humans often understood

actions better than words. He knew that some would

think he had forgiven Riker, and wondered if there were

any way to show them there was nothing to forgive. They were

all Starfleet officers, after all; every one of them

must at some time have had to perform a duty against his will.

  Wesley teased Mystery with the ribbon from one of the

presents until the cat grew tired of the game and

disappeared as enigmatically as she had come.

Pulaski, Worf, and Geordi got into a heated

debate over the book Data had given Worf: a

copy of Moby Dick complete with

nineteenth-century woodcut illustrations. Data

knew the adventurestrevenge format would appeal to the

Klingon, and looked forward to discussing its literary

merits with him. Right now, though, Worf had other

things on his mind. Never one to forget his duty, the

Security Officer broke off his conversation with

Geordi and Pulaski to remind Wesley, "We

leave orbit at 0600 hours. You'll need a

full night's sleep if we are to trust ru tii

nwite"

  "Come on, Worf-it's a party, was Wesley

protested, thus proving to everyone there that he

must be tired indeed.

  Worf rose to his feet.

  Wesley was weary enough to complain, "Most of the crew

are taking shoreddleave on the Starbase-lots of them

won't come back till the last minute. I could've

gone-was

  Worf stalked toward the boy, a low growl sounding

in his throat. Wesley scrambled to his feet,

picking up the startube. "Okay, okay-I'm

going. Portal! Good night, everyone. Thanks,

Data!" and he darted out the nearest holodeck

door.

  Worf paused a moment, staring after him, then

turned to the others. "Perhaps this night I ought literally

to tuck him in. You have provided our charge with a most

fascinating toy, Data." He, too, made his

farewells, and one by one the others left until

only Kate Pulaski remained, carefully

picking up the bellflower.

  "It cannot break," Data assured her. "Shall I

carry it to your quarters for you?"

  "Thank you," she replied. "It's incredible how

you can put together something as complex as this, and that gadget

for Wesley, in a few hours. The people in Ship's

Supplies can't turn the designs for my

new medical equipment into reality when they've had

them for nearly a month now!" "Do you wish me to see

if I can help them, Doctor?" Data offered.

"No- That was a vpecom not a hint- It's not your

jnh, and the people in Supplies need to Icarn to do it."

Then, as they walked through the nearly-deserted

  corridors, she turned back to an earlier

topic of conversation. "Did you really think I

didn't consider you a person, Data?" "I did

not think about it."

  "Don't give me that. I've seen you react

to some of the things I say. I'm a blunt woman;

I generally speak my mind without thinking much about it

first." She sighed uncharacteristically. "You fascinate

me, Data. You are so much more than the sum total

of circuits, sensors, organic fluids, and

heuristic algorithms. I want to understand you as you,

not some imitation humanoid."

  "I am an imitation humanoid."

  "Nonsense!" she flashed. "The humanoid

shape is one of the most versatile; otherwise, so

many species would not have evolved along the same

pattern. You were obviously intended to be as

versatile as possible, hence your form." They stopped

before Pulaski's door, and she took the

bellflower from him. "Data," she said, "I wish

I could wave a magic wand and turn you human for a

few days. You need to find out that there's nothing so

special about us, so you can get on with being you. was With

that, she stepped into her quarters, leaving Data standing

by himself in the corridor. Data did not sleep. The

extra free time it gave him allowed him

to assuage his voracious curiosity with the computer or

on the holodeck. There was never "nothing to do" for

Data.

  Yet this night he found himself feeling alone.

  THE NEXT DAY, the U.s.s. Enterprise

left Starbase 173 with new orders: update

sector maps of an area of Federation space

Starfleet Command now planned to open to civilian

traffic. It was far off the usual routes, but led

to some of the oldest starbases still functioning com^th

responsible for monitoring the RomuIan

Neutral Zone.

  In his seat at the bridge Ops console, Data

diverted his attention from the primary systems

monitor to run a brief check on recent

Starfleet reports of the area they planned

to survey. He noted recurring mentions of border

disputes with the Waykani, a nonaligned,

technologically advanced race-something the

Romulans would undoubtedly take an interest in,

as the Waykani controlled territory close to both

Federation and Romulan space. Geordi was using the

long journey to run stress tests on the engines,

pushing the ship to warp nine for extended periods of

time. At those speeds the Enterprise devoured

parsecs at a rate faster than Wesley,

  manning Conn at the station next to Data, could

follow the tumbling numbers on his monitor. The

young ensign let out a sigh of frustration. "Change

the display to give you reports at onesecond

intervals," Data suggested.

  "You haven't changed it on your board,"

Wesley pointed out. "I can follow it, as can the

ship's computer. There are some things machines can do

better than humans, Wesley. Let them."

  Wesley gave him a curious glance, but

adjusted his display without further comment.

  Data's own board continued to show the Enterprise

on course for Starbase 32, all systems

normal. All was quiet on the bridge as well;

without turning, Data sensed Lieutenant Worf

manning the security station at the top of the bridge

horseshoe, while directly behind the

android, Commander Riker and Captain Picard

silently watched the warp-dilated starfield fly

past them on the main viewscreen.

  The captain had put in only a brief

appearance on the bridge yesterday, and today, though he

had resumed his normal schedule, he seemed a little

more relaxed than usual. Shipboard gossip in the

TenForward lounge had it that Phillipa Louvois

was responsible for the change in his demeanor. Data

knew only the bare facts of the captain's

relationship with Captain Louvois: She had been the

prosecuting attorney at Picard's

court-martial after he lost the Stargazer, and he had

not trusted her judg-ment thereafter . . . until her

decision as judge in

  Dafa' ease. It werned their friendship, and perhaps

something more, had now been revived. Data was

  glad of it; he did not know how to deal with

antagonisms among humans, particularly those he

considered his friends.

  He listened now as Captain Picard took

advantage of the lull in activity to bring his log

up to date.

  "Captain's Log, Stardate 42528.6.

Federation survey ships charted the star

clusters through which we are now traveling more than a

century ago, reporting no inhabited planets and

few with life form readings. The single exception is

a planet called Elysia, charted 107 Federation

Standard Years ago by the U.ss Clarion. Their

survey team reported intelligent and friendly

humanoid life. Yet after they had been there only

three days, they were abruptly asked to leave.

  "The sociologist's report suggests that the

crew unknowingly trespassed on sacred ground.

He theorizes that only an act which to the Elysians

was sacrilege could account for the sudden demand that they

depart, which the Elysians claimed was issued by their

gods. In accordance with the Prime Directive, the

Clarion crew left the planet at once. As

Elysia was at that time far from major space

lanes, the Federation never attempted to follow up

on that first contact.

  "There has been no official exploration in this

sector since. Today, however, with modern warp

drive systems and expanding trade, the geodesic which

skirts the Elysian solar system may become a

corridor between the Federation and the farthest extent of the

Romulan Neutral Zone, particularly

Starbase 32, which lies

  precariously far from federation neighbors- Whether

the non-Federation worlds near the starbase would

  Provide aid iri an emervnCy is an

unknown factor.

  Recent territorial disputes must be carefully

monitored test [he ferleration be drawn

into GOMM,

  "With the recent re-emergence of the Romulans

into galactic politics, the Federation have decided

to survey ,dome of the uninhabited worlds in this

quadrant to determine whether any are suitable for

colonization. The Federation Council believe such

colonies are a peaceful means of establishing a

Federation presence in a sector of space which is

currently unoccupied, at the dame time

alleviating population pressures on some of the inner

worlds.

  "Therefore the Enterprise is proceeding- His

  There was a flicker on Data's board, the

tumbling numbers halting so briefly before resuming

that even jthe ship's computer did not note it. Data

said, "Cap'tain, instruments show a variation in warp

speed."

  "What?" Picard sprang forward to look over the

[*thorngg'android's shoulder as Data

replayed the readings. The ,captain punched the

communications button. "Engi- beneering! Why did

we have a drop in power?"

  "No drop in power, sir, was came Geordi

La Forge's equals voice, sounding somewhat

puzzled. "Engines are running at optimum. his

  "Continuing at normal speed, Captain,"

Data reported, punching up current reports from

all systems. "The fluctuation in velocity did not

originate within the ship. There was a temporary

change in the gravitational field of this area of

space."

  "How?" Geordi asked. "What's going on up

there, Data? Giant meteor go by or something?"

  "Nothing so obvious," Data replied, too

concerned that his instruments gave no answers to remind

Geordi that it would have been the Enterprise going by a

lwdy in space- not the reverse- Something

rower1"ul enough to afect the speed of a

Galaxy-61,99 starship, even for a nanosecond,

ought to be instantly

  obvious. Instead, scans showed this sector of

space normal, as charted. "Well, Mr.

Data?" Picard demanded.

  Data shook his head. He was thoroughly

familiar with the feeling of frustration; it usually came

when he exercised his primary function as the perfect

data-retrieval instrument, and the captain cut him

off in midreport. Now, though, he experienced the

reverse: he was unable to provide information the

captain wanted.

  "Instruments show all systems normal," Data

said as he studied the replay of the fluctuation.

"Sensors indicate only that there was a brief

surge of-was "Shh!" the captain interrupted, laying

his hand on Data's shoulder. This time the shift was

stronger: a faint, momentary difference in the

subliminal hum of warp travel. It was gone in

an instant, but Data's perfect memory

automatically recorded it. Whatever it was, it was

real. Now Will Riker stepped forward to stand behind the

captain. "Whatever that was," he said, "it made the

hairs on the back of my neck stand on end."

  "What're you guys doing up there?" Geordi's

voice demanded. "Slaloming around star systems?"

  "Engineer, transfer to the bridge. Captain

out." Picard turned back to Data. "That was a

gravitational anomaly."

  "Agreed, sir. However, saying so is merely

to label equals t, riot to define it."

  "Then define it, Commander!"

  "I am trying, sir." Data set the ship's

sensors to scan at the broadest range,

attempting to determine the source of the surges.

  Two minutes passed before another occurred, but this

time Data pinpointed its origin. "Powerful

electromagnetic and gravitational fluxes are

being generItted in the vicinity of the planet

Elysia."

  "Elysia?" Riker asked. "A century ago

they had a Simple agricultural society. The

survey report indicated nothing to suggest the birth

of industry, let oLlone a technology that could

produce that kind of power." "It may not be

artificially induced," Data said as he refocused

the sensors. "Possibly the planet is undergoing

natural gravitational stresses. If so, the

populace may need our help."

  "If their . . . gods do not object," muttered

Picard. "What can you find out, Data?"

  "I have focused all sensors on Elysia.

We ought to be fible to determine the epicenter of-was

  i "Captain!" Worf interrupted. "We are

intercepting radio transmission. Subspace, but

not Starfleet frequency."

  "From Elysia?" Riker asked.

  "Open all frequencies," the captain

instructed. "It is from the direction of Elysia,"

Worf confirmed, phanging the configuration of his board

so that the Enterprise could receive any broadcast, not

merely Starfleet transmissions.

  "Dare! I can't hold course!" came a

voice over the bridge speaker. "We're caught,

too. Hang on, Poet! Maintain-was "I know

those people," Captain Picard said in a tone Data

recognized as meaning that he could not place the

circumstances under which he knew them. This time, he was

able to provide the information his captain sought.

  "Yes, sir, Darryl Adin and his

associates." He checked his sensors. "It

appears one of their ships is caught in Elysia's

gravitational flux." It had been. several months

since Data first met Darryl Adin and his band of

mercenaries, who at that time had been operating

outside the Federation. Only Adin, however, had ever

been a fugitive from justice: a former Starfleet

security officer falsely convicted of treason and

murder. Darryl Adin was also the man who had

rescued the Enterprise's late security chief,

Tasha Yar, from the hellhole of a planet

where she had been born, abandoned, and victimized.

Dare and Tasha had fallen in love-only to have their

plans destroyed when Dare was accused and convicted of

treason and murder.

  The evidence was false, but Tasha didn't know that

when, years later, she and Data met up with Dare

on a mission to the planet Treva. Tasha was forced

to arrest her former love. But when Data uncovered

computer tampering used to frame Adin, Starfleet

had cleared him of all charges. Tasha and her former

mentor made plans for the time when Tasha's tour

aboard the Enterprise would be completed . . .

plans that died with Tasha on Vagra II.

"What in God's name are they doing out here? Mr.

Worf, open hailing frequencies," Picard

directed, but even as Worf reached for the controls they

heard calamity unfolding.

  "Don't try to grab us, Dare-you'll only go

down with us, was Poet's voice, oddly calm,

came again. "771 try bouncing off the atmosphere

and into orbit. We who are about to- "You are not about

to die!" Adin's-Dare's-voice

  ordered. "You just make that orbit. Aurora and

I will merge our tractor beams to pull you- The

second voice was drowned in a burst of

static. Another gravitational flux vibrated through

the Enterprise just as Geordi La Forge burst out

of the turbolift. "What's going on up here?"

"That's what we called you to find out," Riker told

him. "We have discovered massive

electromagnetic and gravitational fluxes

emanating from the planet Elysia," Data offered.

"Elysia?" Geordi asked, transferring control

of Engineering to his bridge station. "Where the hell

is that?"

  "Where we're headed, Mr. La Forge-where you'll

have ample opportunity to find a reason for those

surges," Picard replied. "Hailing

frequencies open, sir," Worf announced.

Picard toggled open a communications frequency.

"U.s.s. Enterprise to Darryl Adin.

Maintain your position. We are within-was "Seven

minutes," Data supplied softly.

  "comseven minutes of your location. We have the power

to pull your companion's ship to safety. Do not

risk your vessels."

  Darryl Adin and his people had fine warp-capacity

vessels, the epitome of private spacecraft

technology, but their engines could not produce enough power

to break free of the gravitational surges that

barely affected a Galaxy-class starship.

  "We hear you, Enterprise," Adin replied.

"Thank God-we thought we were alone out here.

Poet, did you get that?"

  "We heard. Dare, my instruments are out. Ill

have to make orbit by eye. was "Be careful, Poet,

was a third voice-a woman'sinterrupted.

"Dare, we can track him on our screens,

maybe help- "And if there's another surge?"

Adin asked in frus tration. "Damn-we've got

to risk it. Aurora, swing out 120 degrees in

front of Poet, and I'll take a position

120 degrees behind him. With the cross-reckoning,

we won't lose track of him. his

  By this time Data had Elysia on the main

screen. Three ships, too small to be visible,

were indicated by blinking lights. The orbit of one was

decaying rapidly. It changed course, diving

toward the atmosphere in a maneuver not particularly

dangerous for an experienced pilot under ordinary

circumstances. But these were not ordinary circumstances.

  If the planet emitted another gravitational

surge while Poet attempted the maneuver, not

only his ship would be affected; the other two could be

pulled out of orbit as well.

  "Data," Picard said, "I want you on the

transporter. The instant we're close enough,

get a fix on the people-if we have to, we'll pull

them clear and let the ships go. Adin, how many in your

company?" "Eight four in my ship, two each in

Poet's and Aurora's. was As Data moved

toward the turbolift, Picard instructed, "Mr.

La Forge, ready tractor beams. Mr.

Crusher!"

  "Yes, Captain?"

  "We'll need that tractor beam enhancement of yours

on-line if we're going to be dividing power in

three directions."

  "Aye, Captain," the youngest bridge crew

member said as the turbolift doors closed the

bridge off from Data's hearing. In the corridor

outside the transporter room, another

gravitational surge shifted the floor beneath his

feet.

  Transporters were normally o@.-line during warp

travel, but Transporter Chief O'Brien had

orders to start operation the moment they made contact with

vessels in distress. While the systems checks were

being finished, Data took over the primary console,

all the while listening to the intercom from the

bridge.

  "comou of control." came Poet's voice. "

Rorydon't forget me. was "Enterprise, do you

read?" came Adin's voice. "That surge

blanked our instruments. We can't operate

tractor beams!"

  "Slow to impulse!" Picard ordered.

"Ensign Crusher- " Enhancement on-line,

sir!" The boy's voice cracked with tension.

  " Mr. La Forge, focus the tractor

beams. Data, do you have a fix on the people?"

  "Negative, Captain-the distance is too

great."

  "One of the ships is behind the planet, was Picard

said. "Change course to two one five mark

naught- his

  Data turned his primary attention from the bridge

conversation and concentrated on the transporter

controls. He cross-circuited, seeking

to locate lifeforms in what the sensors insisted was

empty space. Then there was the slightest flicker-

"We're breaking up! Enterprise, your tractor

beam's too powerful."

  "Survival suits," said a woman's voice

Data also recognized: Pris

Shenkley's. "Hurry--

  But by this time Data had a fix on two

life-forms. Engaging the transporter, he watched

apprehensively as two striped columns of light

appeared on the transporter platform, remained

fragmented for almost ten seconds, then, as his hands

nursed the controls, coalesced into two figures.

He had caught them unprepared. One of them, an

oddly nondescript man, was seated on nothing, his

hands poised over a nonexistent control board. The

other, a tall, slender blond woman, had one

survival suit slung over her arm and a second

in her hands, ready to drop into the man's lap. As

they integrated, the man fell backward onto the

transporter platform. But he was up in a flash.

He spun and caught sight of Data at the

console. "Did you get the others?" he demanded.

  At the same moment, Picard's voice came

over the intercom. "Data-we lost one ship! Did

you get those people aboard?"

  "Two aboard safe," he replied.

  "Thank God, was the captain replied.

"We've got the other ships in tow-they'll be in the

shuttle bay in another few minutes."

  The man and woman grinned at one

another, and then the woman came around the console

to hug Data. "Once more to the rescue. This is

starting to become a habit."

  "Welcome aboard, Pris Shenkley. I am

pleased that the Enterprise was available," Data

replied. "I shall maintain transporter readiness

until the other ships are safely aboard. Then I

will take both you and Poet"--he nodded a greeting

to the man-"to the shuttle bay."

  Data was pleased to see Pris again. They had first

met on the planet Treva, but at that time he had

been so enmeshed in his mission-concerned about Tasha

Yar's attraction to Darryl Adin-that he had

hardly responded to Pris's overtures of

friendship.

  Now, perhaps, he would have the chance to get to know her

better.

  The other two shuttles were brought aboard without

incident. Shortly thereafter, Data led Pris and

Poet to a reunion with the other members of Darryl

Adin's band in the shuttle bay.

  He had a reunion of his own there as well.

  "Mr. Data," Darryl Adin said, striding

over to meet him. "Thank you. That is twice I

owe you . . . or is it three times?"

Data saw a shadow appear in the man's dark

eyes on the last words. "Only twice," he

replied. "The last time was my choice. You owe me

no debt." Adin was referring to the last time he had

seen Data-several months ago, after Data had

delivered to Adin the personal farewell message

prepared by Tasha Yar for the man she loved. After

Adin had viewed the message, sharing memories of

Tasha, he had talked quietly for hours, never

questioning Data's understanding. The android had felt that his

responses were inadequate, and yet Adin seemed

somehow comforted-as much so as a man could be who had been

so often betrayed by fate.

  Data, like his human colleagues, was unable

to reconcile Tasha's senseless death with any kind

of justice in the universe. Slowly, in his search

to comprehend human nature, he was coming to accept that

  a primary characteristic of being human was paradox: not

understanding certain things gave him more in common with man

than understanding them did. The dark clothing, and Adin's

human-average brown-hairstbrown-eyes coloring,

might have caused another man to blend

inconspicuously into the background. But not Adin;

even in the middle of a crowded shuttle bay,

he was the center of attention.

  Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of

Captain Picard. "Mr. Adin, I'm glad

to see you in one piece."

  "I'm glad to see you as well, Captain-though

I must admit, these aren't the circumstances I'd have

chosen for our meeting."

  Picard nodded. "What are you doing here? This

isn't a recommended civilian space lane."

  "Starfleet opened it three months ago," Adin

replied. "It may not be recommended, but there's

nothing warning private craft away."

  "He is correct, Captain," Data added.

"This is the fastest route for any craft capable of

Warp Four or above to the quadrant of explored

space along the neutral zone. Small craft

are warned only that there are no inhabited planets

or space stations, hence no refueling or repair

depots. It might be foolhardy to take this route

in a single ship, but there is nothing to indicate that it

is not safe for three ships in convoy."

  Adin smiled. "I'm sure we can repair our

ships, Captain Picard-if you will permit us to work

here in your shuttle bay . . ."

  "Of course," Picard replied. "The

engineering staff are currently on alert, because of those

power surges from Elysia. Once we are back

to normal status I shall assign some of our crew

to help you."

  "There's no need--"

  "We owe you," Picard interrupted firmly.

  Adin seemed surprised; Data didn't understand

why, as Starfleet policy was to offer aid in

repairing any ship in distress. It was also

Starfleet policy to make good on its mistakes,

such as the one that had resulted in Dare's unjust

conviction.

  "Now, I want all of your crew examined in

sickbay, then assigned to guest quarters,"

Captain Picard continued. "Feel free to work on

your ships. And don't hesitate to ask for

assistance or equipment. In the meantime-was Picard

tapped his communicator. "Bridge-anything new

to report, Number One?" "It's stopped-as if

those surges never existed. was Riker's voice

hesitated. "Data, could your friends have done something

to provoke the Elysians?" "Nothing," Adin

asserted. "We were merely cutting through this sector

on the way to Braneherion. We had no intention of

coming near Elysia-the first surge pulled us

off course. The planet's listed on the charts as

pre-industrial and not desiring contact. We were

skirting the outer edge of the star system when it just reached

out and grabbed us."

  "I find it unsettling," Picard added, "that

something powerful enough to affect a starship can turn on and

off like that."

  "Perhaps it is artificial," Data suggested.

"But we did not show even radio transmissions from

Elysia."

  "Captain-can we risk going closer?" Riker

asked. "And if the surges begin again?" Picard

asked. "The Enterprise withstood them before and pulled

three other ships free," Data replied. "I

believe we can establish standard orbit and still

maintain the ship's 27

  safety. The question is whether we should risk an

away team." "We'll survey the planet from

standard orbit then, Number One," Picard

instructed. "And make our decision afterward." He

closed the channel to the bridge. "Data, see

what you can salvage from Mr. Adin's onboard

computers. With your permission, of course," he added

to Adin. The mercenary replied with a sardonic

smile, "Pass up the help of the best

computer expert I know?" He shook his head

sadly. "There's nothing to hide in those computers; the

question is whether there's anything left in them at all."

  For the next few hours, the Enterprise orbited

Elysia, circling the planet repeatedly with a

slight change of angle on each pass, as if

winding an invisible ball of yarn, thereby gaining a

complete picture of the planet below.

  Meanwhile, Data joined Darryl Adin's

crew in the shuttle bay. While the others tore

apart the instrument panels and demagnetized or

replaced the scrambled equipment, he and Sdan,

Dare's science expert, connected the shuttle's

memory storage to the Enterprise system. They

spent hours locating every byte of unscrambled

data, managing to recover most of the ships" logs.

Pieces of the ships' programs were recoverable, but

they would be far easier to replace than to debug.

  By this time, most of Adin's gang were growing weary.

Sdan, who appeared superficially Vulcan (but

did not act it because he was actually a mix of

Vulcan, Romulan, human, Orion, and

possibly other ancestry), also had Vulcanoid

stamina. He and Data spent 28

  the time until Data's next duty

shift restoring the navigational programs and began

the adaptation of the shuttlecraft operations program,

which would take many more hours of work.

  Data reported to the bridge, to find that while

he was occupied the survey orbit of Elysia had

almost been completed. Calling up the information on his

console at the fastest rate his positronic brain

could absorb it, he transferred the data to his own

memory within minutes, and was already sifting through it for

significant information when the captain entered the

bridge.

  "Mr. Data, Number One, Counselor

Troi, my ready room," said Picard. "And you,

too, Lieutenant," he added as Worf stepped out

of the turbolift. Data saw Wesley Crusher's

eyes follow the captain eagerly, but their young acting

ensign was certainly not going to be invited on an

away team to a potentially dangerous planet. At

the door, though, Picard turned. "Mr.

Crusher-was

  With a quick "Yes, sir!" Wesley was halfway

out of his chair before the captain finished his instructions.

  "comask Mr. La Forge and Dr. Pulaski

to come to my ready room, please. And Mr. Thralen

from Sociology.gg*thorn]

  The boy's disappointment showed, but all he said was

"Aye, Captain," as he slid back into position

and keyed the intercom to Engineering. As they waited for

Geordi and the ship's CMO, Data gave his

assessment of the planetary survey. "There can be little

doubt that this planet is artificially maintained.

Humanoid life could not have evolved naturally on

Elysia, for the atmosphere is made up of 29

  gases poisonous to carbon-nitrogen-oxygen

based lifeforms. Except for small areas of

extreme cold near the poles, Elysia is a

planetwide noxious swamp." "But there are

settlements of intelligent humanoid beings,"

Riker argued. "We have tricorder records from the

original survey team, who met and spoke with them,

and our own survey verifies their existence today."

"That is correct," Data said with a nod. "There

are nine inhabited areas, where the land is arable, the

atmosphere appropriate to a class-M

planet. Such a configuration is not possible under

natural conditions. Something must keep the poisonous

atmosphere from overwhelming the settlements. Something

must prevent the cloud cover which holds temperature

and moisture at intolerable levels over the

swamplands from blocking sunlight to and heat

radiation from the inhabited areas."

  Before Data could continue with his list of impossible

things "something" was doing on Elysia, Picard

interrupted to suggest, "Forcefields?" "None that

our sensors can detect," Data replied.

"Physical barriers, then?"

  "None, sir."

  The doors opened to admit Kate Pulaski,

Geordi La Forge, and the Theskian sociologist

Thralen, just as the captain challenged, "Magic?"

"Magic?" Pulaski repeated skeptically.

  "By the definition," Data suggested, "that any

technology sufficiently advanced as to be beyond our

comprehension may be defined as magic, then it

appears that yes, we may be dealing with magic on

Elysia."

  Seating herself across from Data, Pulaski snorted

  derisively. "We need to understand what is

happening on Elysia, not pin some obscure

definition on it."

  "I do not claim that the definition explains what

we have observed on Elysia, Doctor," Data

protested. "I merely agree with the captain that without

more information we cannot solve the puzzle."

  "That's always your answer, isn't it? Gather more

data." She pronounced the first syllable of the last

word with a short vowel. "In this case Mr. Data

is right, Doctor," Picard observed. "I

assume you've all seen the recordings of the

original survey team's encounters with the

Elysians, a century ago. What we've

observed from orbit indicates that nothing's changed.

The society is still agricultural, with no

evidence of industry. The gravitational shifts have

stopped, but as we've not been able to trace their

source-was

  "Captain," Data said, "we do not know their

cause; their source is in all probability the

single anomalous mountain in Elysia's terrain."

"How could it be?" Riker asked. "There are

undefined energy emanations from that region, but the

readings from the mountain hardly impact on the

sensors. It's probably just low-grade

volcanic activity."

  "Yeah," Geordi added, "there's nothing regular

about it. If it's natural, then it couldn't be

connected with the gravitational shifts or it would show

aftereffects. But if it's artificial, then it ought

to show the kind of regularity that you don't get

in nature, Data."

  "But it does," said the android.

  "Explain," Picard directed.

  Data turned the captain's computer terminal so

he could call up a holographic image of

Elysia. "First, the 31

  fact that the planet has only one mountain is

unique to my knowledge." "That's what I'd call

unique!" Geordi put in.

  "Otherwise," Data continued, "the topography

of the planet appears normal enough. There is the

expected gravitational bulge at the equator and

flatten- ing at the poles. There are various

hills and valleys, even though all but the gently

rolling lands in the protected habitats are within the

swamp. The valleys there are filled with water, the

hilltops emerging as hummocks or small

islands. The locations of the unexplained inhabitable

areas appear haphazard. . . until we change the

view from distopographical to topological." "I

see!" gasped Geordi, the only one in the group

with the engineering background to make it instantly

obvious.

  So the others could also see, Data adjusted the

display, flattening out the irregularities of

Elysia until the planet's surface was a

perfect sphere, with the exception of the single mountain.

With the unevenness smoothed out, the pattern became

apparent to everyone seated around the table: each one of the

nine habitats covered the same area of ground, and

all were equidistant from the mysterious mountain. "I

think this is sufficient evidence that the mountain is

central to whatever force maintains the habitats,"

said Data. "The design is patently

artificial."

  Captain Picard nodded and began soliciting

suggestions on how to proceed with the study of

Elysia.

  "Obviously, somebody has to go down there,""

Geordi said. "I volunteer." "As do I,"

Data added.

  "I don't recommend it," Riker warned.

"Your abilities would be extremely helpful, but

neither of you could pass for Elysian. We don't know

whether the natives will order strangers away, as they

did the people who offended them a century ago."

  "Mr. Thralen?" Captain Picard prompted.

  The sociologist nodded. "I have studied the

records of the original survey team very carefully.

As long as they remained within the inhabited

areas, the Elysians made them welcome. However,

although none of the great power surges we have witnessed were

recorded by the Clarion, they did note those energy

anomalies, and beamed several crew members down

onto the mysterious island. They attempted to climb

the mountain, and suddenly, wherever Starfleet per-

sonnel were on the planet, Elysians came and

informed them that they were no longer welcome."

  "So we steer clear of the mountain," Riker said,

"and try to keep the natives from equating us with the

Clarion crew. It's probably best to avoid

contact with the Elysians, but it may be impossible

to prevent it. I suggest that everyone who beams down

be capable of passing as Elysians. If we are

questioned we can claim to be from a different habitat."

  "Mr. La Forge, I'm afraid Commander

Riker is right," said Picard. "You've seen the

records: Elysians look much like humans, and

certainly do not have the technology to comprehend an

android, or even your VISOR. There is no

response to our attempts to communicate with them from

here. If it weren't for the danger these gravitational

anomalies pose to travel through this quadrant, we

wouldn't go near the native settlements at all."

  "Captain," Worf said, "I believe

there is an easier way to prevent the Elysians from

equating our away team with the Clarion crew."

  "What do you suggest?" the captain asked.

  "Send Data, Geordi, Thralen, and me."

  Pulaski broke into a moment's laughter, but

controlled herself at Picard's stern glance. "You have

to agree, Captain," she said, "Lieutenant

Worf is absolutely right."

  "Thank you, Doctor," the Klingon replied.

  "It's perfect!" Geordi exclaimed. "My

vision, Data's ability to accumulate information,

Lieutenant Thralen's knowledge of sociology to help

us with local customs, and Worf for security."

  Picard shook his head. "I'll consider you four

as a secondary team. However, I believe Commander

Riker's plan to avoid contact with the Elysians

is preferable. If you four were seen, even from a

distance, the natives would certainly investigate.

Mr. Thralen, do we have any indication as to whether the

Elysians intended to send away all strangers,

all humans, all Starffeet personnel, the crew

of the Clarion in particular . . . ?" He stopped,

a raised eyebrow asking the Theskian to choose an

option or provide one of his own.

  "No, sir," Thralen replied

calmly, in the clear, sibilant tones characteristic of

his race. The Theskians were related to the

Andorians, with similar slender physique and

high-strung nervous energy, but culturally they were far

more gregarious. The deepening of blue coloration in his

face and the slight quivering of the curved antennae which

thrust up through his furlike yellow hair indicated

Thralen's frustration. "It 34

  is not even clear whether the Elysians grasped

the fact that the Clarion crew came from off the

planet. The proscription could apply to any

strangers. On the other hand, it may no longer be in

effect-the presentday inhabitants may know nothing

about it."

  The captain rubbed his chin, then nodded. "We'll

proceed with our original plan, and go to Mr.

Worf s, in a different habitat, if the away

team encounters hostility."

  "Although I agree that we should not seek contact with the

Elysians," added Counselor Troi, "their

habitats are quite small. Encounters with the natives

may be unavoidable. Therefore I volunteer for the

away team to act as liaison."

  Picard nodded. Argyle from Engineering and

Johnson from Security were chosen to fill out

the team.

  "One final note," the captain added. "If we

discover that the Elysians or whoever keeps them here

in such an obviously artificial environment has

control over those gravitational anomalies, we still

must not violate the Prime Directive."

  "What will we do in that case, Captain?"

Pulaski asked. "Nothing," Picard answered.

"Absolutely nothing except to record every bit of

information, close this space lane to all traffic, and

refer the problem to the Federation Council."

  "And if the surges turn out to be a natural

phenomenon?" the doctor asked. "I can't answer

that until we know, one way or the other," Picard

replied. "So far as we can tell, the surges

don't affect life dison the planet's surface.

If the populace appear to be in danger, then

we'll deal with 35

  further philosophical questions. For now, let's

get the away team down to the surface and replace

speculation with facts."

  Once again, Picard asked Data to operate the

transporter. The away team, dressed in simple

homespun garments such as the Elysians wore,

beamed down less than an hour later to a

habitat that was not one of the three visited by the

Clarion crew. Dawn was just breaking there, allowing

them hours of daylight to complete their study. No

anomalies disturbed the beaming; indeed, there were no

traces whatsoever of the huge fluctuations of power that

had taken place only a few hours before.

  Once the away team reported that they had landed

unobserved on the perimeter of one of the protected

areas, Data returned to the bridge. The reports

came in on schedule as the hours passed-they had

located the dividing line between swamp and farmland and

avoided the attention of the natives; however, their

instruments could not identify what held the poisonous

gases of the swamp away or kept clean, fresh

air within the invisible boundaries. "Magic," Data

commented when the final report scheduled for his duty

shift came in.

  When Data's replacement was due, the android

turned to the captain. "Shall I stay at my post,

sir?".

  "No, Data," Picard replied. "Ensign

Gibson can take "no new information" reports

as well as you can. If anything does happen, you'll

be called. Go help your friends with their ships; at

least you're accomplishing something there."

  But Darryl Adin and his gang were not in the shuttle

bay. The ensign on duty told Data, "They

quit a while 36

  ago. Said they needed rest and recreation. I

recommended the Ten-Forward lounge, sir."

  Indeed, Data found his friends in that favorite

leisure spot. Sdan was at the bar, talking

to Guinan, the hostess who everyone aboard assumed

had as colorful a past as the Vulcanoid, although

no one, not even Data, could find out much about it.

  Over near the ports, through which Elysia could be

seen filling half the view, several tables were pushed

together so that some of the Enterprise crew could talk with the

famous "Silver Paladin." Kate Pulaski was

there, as was Pris Shenkley; Sandra Murchison,

one of the secondary-level history teachers; Worf

and three other off-duty security personnel; and

Wesley Crusher with two of his young friends from the

advanced science seminar Data conducted for the best and

brightest students among the families on board.

Adin's reputation as mercenary and adventurer

attracted most of the crew, Data supposed, but

those who had been close friends with Tasha Yar were

undoubtedly curious about this man who had loved her

and lost her, twice over.

  Tragic love, Data knew from cold

statistics, held great appeal for the human psyche.

Why, he could not comprehend. The pain of losing a

close friend was bad enough-he had experienced that and

did not doubt he understood it as much, or as little, as

any human. As he did not comprehend love,

however, he made no claims to understand what Adin

had suffered at Tasha's death, even though he had

observed the man at the time. And although he could

recite word for word such classics as Romeo and

Juliet, Data could not fathom the appeal of

vicarious suffering, unless it 37

  was the sense of community which sometimes resulted from

sharing such emotions.

  As the android approached, Adin broke off his

conversation. "Data-come and join us," he invited,

gesturing to a chair near his own. "What's happening

on Elysia? Or is it classified?"

  As it was not, Data told the group around the table

the frustrating findings, or lack thereof, of the away

team. "They will return to the ship soon," he added,

and frowned. "I cannot help thinking that they are missing

something. It is not possible that no barrier separates

swamp from habitat. Geordi might be able to see

something the tricorders do not, but he cannot do so

without his VISOR, which would identify him as

non-Elysian were he observed. I do not understand why

I cannot go, however."

  Not unexpectedly, that comment drew a snort of

laughter from Dr. Pulaski. "You don't think an

android would be a dead giveaway that we're not

Elysians?"

  "I had hoped," Data replied, "that you would be

willing to help disguise me, Doctor. I would not

be alone; if an encounter with Elysian natives

became unavoidable, I could remain in the

background and say nothing. Surely my skin could be

temporarily colored like that of a human."

  Pris Shenkley smiled at him from across the table.

"I could help you do that-but I'm afraid there's no

way to change your golden eyes, Data." "My

eyes are kept clean and lubricated by a fluid which

serves the same function as human tears," he

explained. "Therefore I could wear contact lenses."

  "I've never prescribed them except as a

tempo- 38

  rary protection while an eye injury heals,"

Pulaski said. "But they were once used for both

corrective and cosmetic purposes. Your

medical laboratory could easily

manufacture a set that would make my eyes

appear brown or blue."

  "Data's got you, Doctor," Adin said with a

grin. "I see no reason he couldn't pass for

human in a brief encounter, and that's all an away

team would allow."

  Pulaski shook her head. "He'd give himself

away with every act, every movement. No one would believe

for a moment he was a living humanoid." Adin

scowled at the doctor. He was a man used

to authority, but in this case Data sensed that something

other than having his opinion challenged disturbed him.

He looked from Data to Pulaski, and then asked

her, "How long have you known Data, Dr.

Pulaski? You weren't aboard when I was last on

the Enter-

  prise. his

  "I've been aboard for several months," she

said. Adin shook his head. "Well, you've hardly

gotten to know Data in that time, or you'd never question that,

at the very least, he is a "living humanoid."

Data, you have an open invitation to come and work with me

if Starfleet fails to appreciate you."

  "There are times when we could certainly use you,

Data," Pris Shenkley added, staring at

Pulaski with a glare that rivaled Dare at his most

glacial.

  The doctor, however, was intent on explaining her

position further. "I should have said "organic"

humanoid; Data has been designated a

life-form. That he is a sentient being, a person,

has been established 39

  by law, and rightly so." She turned her gaze

to Data. "But you're not a human being-and I'm

afraid I'll never understand your desire to become

one." The table fell silent for a moment. Data

saw no cause for offense at Dr. Pulaski's

words-after all, his desire to be human (impossible

as he knew it to be) was no secret-but he could

sense that Dare and Pris were upset. Pulaski

obviously sensed it, too, for she continued, "You can

all"-she spread her hands to indicate the table at

large- "anthropomorphize Mr. Data as much as

you wish, but he acts and thinks like a machine.

Elysians might not understand what he is, but they would

certainly recognize that he is not one of them."

  "Would you care to make a wager on that?" Adin

asked, baring his teeth with a faint smile.

  Pulaski rose to the challenge: "What do you

want to bet?" "My money's on Data,"

Pris put in. "I know how charming he can be when

he sets his mind to it."

  "And I have never observed him to misstep in a

fight," added Worf. "What is the wager?"

  Pulaski smiled sweetly at Worf. "What

do you suggest?" Data was astonished at the trust his

friends placed in an ability he was not certain he

had-but the point was moot, anyway. "I cannot join the

away team in an attempt to win a bet, and even

if the captain sent me for other reasons I could

certainly not attempt contact with the Elysians

merely to test your faith in my acting ability."

  Pulaski laughed. "We should have wagered-I'd have

won by default."

  "Oh, no," Adin said. "You don't get off that

easily, Madame. Or you either, Data.

Elysia may not provide the opportunity, but if

we reach a starbase or a Federation planet-was

  "You're on!" Pulaski said with that sweet

smile Data knew concealed supreme confidence.

"Like taking candy from a baby."

  Adin responded with an almost identical

expression. "Then we must agree upon terms."

  Data considered warning Dr. Pulaski that Adin

was an experienced gambler who rarely lost,

but decided against it, remembering the doctor's

skill at poker. Besides, he wished to attempt the

challenge. Appearing human might allow him

to understand human behavior just that much better. "It's

too bad you won't be going to Elysia, Data,"

Dr. Pulaski said. "Perhaps the forces you call

"magic' would be able to grant that desire of yours."

  "Unlikely," Data told her. "Whatever

forces govern Elysia, they cannot grant the

impossible."

  "Now isn't that funny?" the doctor replied.

"You recognize that you want the impossible. That's

about as good a definition of being human as I've ever

heard."

  "Doctor, we are in grave danger of being in

agreement," Dare said. "Data, your very desire

for the impossible makes you one of us."

  "Which is not what we were proposing to bet on," the

doctor reminded him. "The question is whether Data can

make strangers, not friends, accept him as the human

he is modeled on."

  "Done," Dare agreed, "the challenge to be

implemented at the first opportunity that does not

interfere with a mission."

  "Done," said Dr. Pulaski, reaching

across the table to shake Dare's hand. "Now-what shall we

bet?"

  The conversation was interrupted by the chirp of

combadges. "Mr. Worf, Mr. Data,"

Captain Picard's voice instructed. "Report

to Briefing Room Three for away team assignment

to Elysia."

  DATA FOUND GEOR-MORE LA FORGE already with

Captain Picard in Briefing Room Three. The

two were watching Commander Riker's away team giving

their report, which was being transmitted openly from the

outskirts of a small city the natives knew as

"Quinaria." Elysians stood all about them,

looking curiously at the tricorders but exhibiting

no hostility.

  "I sense open welcome from these people, Captain,"

Counselor Deanna Troi was saying. "If they

pose a threat to us, they are not aware of it." The

counselor's long hair was drawn back from her

face and fastened with a thong at the nape of her neck

in the same style Data could see worn by native

women in the picture.

  "Mr. Riker, please explain this situation."

Picard demanded. "Under no circumstances were these people

to be approached-was "We didn't approach

them, sir," Riker's voice interrupted. "They

came to us."

  The picture jolted for a moment, then steadied as

  their first officer apparently handed his tricorder

to someone else in the party and stepped into view. He

had combed his hair down into bangs such as the native

males wore; with the beard he had recently grown

he looked rustic enough to pass, as long as the hood of

his tunic hid the fact that his hair was much shorter in

the back than the Elysians'. Riker spoke again.

"We meant to pass on by them, exchange greetings

as per our orders, and then go back to our studies when

they were out of sight." "But it turned out," Troi

took up the story, "that they had been sent in search

of us-they had been told to expect a visit from

"strangers from a far land." But let Drahanna,

their Speaker, explain."

  Troi beckoned an Elysian woman into the

picture. She was tall, middle aged, with

iron-gray hair and hazel eyes that looked with

steady curiosity into the lens. "If I speak to this

object, your leader will hear me?" "I will hear you,

Drahanna," Picard replied.

  The only sign of surprise the woman gave was

a slight widening of her eyes. "The gods

told me of your magical implements, and that you are

on a Quest far greater than any of our people have

achieved. We have been instructed to make you

welcome, and told that among you are some who are very

different from ourselves. We are preparing a feast in your

honor, oh blessed of the gods. Please join us, and

allow us to aid you on your journey."

  "We are honored," Picard replied.

"'Thank you for making welcome those we sent ahead.

Now I must speak to my people."

  Drahanna moved away. After a moment, Riker

  said, "We're out of range, Captain. Whatever

it is the Elysians call gods seem to know a

great deal about us. We haven't detected them,

though. The natives apparently think we've come

across the swamp from another land, in some kind of boat.

They certainly have no concept of the size of our ship

or crew."

  "No," Troi confirmed. "They were amazed at

four of us "questing" together, as they see it. I've

gathered that quests are usually undertaken by one person,

or occasionally two. I am quite certain they would be

shocked to learn that there are more than, oh, perhaps ten of

us at most. Captain, I get no sense of these

"gods' at all, but from what they have told

these people, through Drahanna, it almost appears that they are

sending us instructions about the role we are to play."

  "And they'll throw us off the planet again if we

don't go along with it," Riker added peevishly.

  "We'll take what we can get," Picard said.

"These "gods' may be assessing our strength just as

we are attempting to assess theirs."

  "I sure haven't found any trace of them using

our instruments up here," Geordi added. "Or of

those power surges."

  "What if they're at the mercy of those power

surges as well, Captain?" Riker suggested.

  Picard nodded thoughtfully. "It could be that they

don't know whether they dare trust us enough to ask for

help. Very well, Number One. We'll play

along for now. They've set the stage for me to send

Data and Geordi down, and I know Lieutenant

Worf won't be satisfied with security unless

he's down there supervising it."

  "I suggest that you make no attempt to disguise

them," said Counselor Troi. "The natives are

prepared for people quite different from themselves." Within the hour,

Data beamed down, along with Geordi, Worf,

and the sociologist Thralen, in uniform and

undisguised. There was no one at the

beamdown point, which was close to where the undetectable

barrier kept the swamp from encroaching on the

habitat, but there was a road nearby that took them

to the village in less than half an hour's

walk. There, they joined the first landing party, as well

as most of the village natives. The Elysians were

friendly, but ferociously curious. They surrounded

Thralen first, for the Theskian's blue skin,

furlike yellow hair, and antennae were furthest in

appearance from the Elysian norm. But soon they

tackled Worf and Geordi as well, bombarding

each with questions. Data was intrigued to be the last one

noticed-and only for the color of his skin and eyes.

"I think Darryl Adin will win his bet," he told

Worf. "Agreed," the Klingon said, but they had no

time to discuss it further, with the Elysians plucking

at their uniforms, demanding to know how they made such

cloth, so different from any weave they knew.

Eventually, though, the away team was granted some

privacy. Drahanna led them all to one of the

houses in the village, which had been cleared for their

use. It was built of mud and wattle on a stone

foundation, the floor strewn with clean straw. The

construction was simple but sound, the roof made of

wooden shingles that showed no light except

for the central smoke-hole.

  The Elysians had not yet invented the chimney.

How could they be in control of forces that could shake a

starship?

  "Thralen," said Riker, "what do you think?"

  "Either the Elysians do not know of our

predecessors at all, or they have not connected us with

them. This is a very preliminary report-I was too

busy trying to think of neutral answers to their questions

to ask many of my own. As the novelty of our

appearance wears off, I hope to learn more." "What

did you learn?"

  was "Afar' is the only word they seem to have for

"not within this habitat." The great difficulty of

traversing the swamp apparently makes contact between

the habitats close to impossible, so they have little

idea what other lands are like. They find it much harder

to comprehend how we have come here than that we are so

different from them. For all they know, the other side of the

planet could be peopled with Klingons and

Theskians."

  "Here there be dragons," Riker commented.

  Data's automatic memory search showed him

maps of Earth from many centuries before, unexplored

regions marked with that phrase. "Yes,"

he said, "but not "Here there be androids." The

Elysians are incapable of recognizing me as a

machine because they have no machines more complex than a

plow or a pulley. They have not even invented

clockwork."

  "Why should they?" Geordi asked. "These gods of

theirs give them a protected environment in which they

don't have to do more than hunt, herd, plow, plant,

and harvest to live comfortably. There's no challenge

to them to create a technology."

  "If they did," Thralen added, "and thereby

increased their life spans, they could easily

overpopulate these small habitats. I need to go

out among them more, Commander," he said to Riker, "let

them get used to me so I can ask questions to determine

whether their population is stable, or whether the

habitats expand to accommodate an increase."

  They all tried to steer the conversations at the feast

prepared for them in such directions, but the Elysians

countered every question with a question of their own. The away team would

have been completely frustrated had not their instruments

given them some answers: Their tricorders and

Geordi's VISOR showed that the village had been

expanded over a period of centuries, even though the

style and method of building remained the

same. "No ingenuity," Geordi muttered

to Data. "Very little variety. Look at the

food-about as plain as it ever comes."

  Data nibbled at the food, always interested in

trying new flavors, but found nothing of special

interest. There was fresh fruit, a grain that had been

boiled in water to the consistency of cooked rice,

meat roasted over an open fire, and small

crystals of a sweet substance produced by a local

insect in the same way bees produced honey. But

there were no sauces, no spices, not even the concept

of blending ingredients into bread or cakes. Plain

fare, nutritionally adequate, but uninteresting.

  So Data did not take more than a taste of each

dish except for the meat, which he did not try. He

might not feel the revulsion some of his colleagues

did at the thought of eating meat produced by killing

animals,

  but he shared the same ethical considerations. Their

hosts were not offended, for Worf and Riker showed no

such reluctance. After the meal, things became much more

interesting. It seemed that on those rare occasions when

there were guests "from afar," tradition required a

ritual ceremony.

  Drahanna stepped forward and began:

"We welcome you, oh beloved of the gods. Feast with

us in praise of the gods who have suffered you to brave the

perils of the swamp, an honor few Elysians

are granted. Tell us, blessed ones, of your

journey to the sacred mountain."

  Riker frowned, clearly trying to decide how

best to respond. Troi spoke up for him. "We

have not reached the sacred mountain, Drahanna. We have

not come near to it."

  "The gods must have further tests for you then," said the

Speaker. "May you prove worthy, and some among you

be allowed the challenge when you have completed your arduous

journey across the Great Swamp."

  If Drahanna was to be believed, Thralen had

guessed right: The gods of Elysia wanted no one

attempting to climb their sacred mountain without

permission. Unfortunately, it appeared they would

find out very little about the gods and their relationship to the

mysterious and dangerous power surges by visiting

only the Elysian habitats. The "gods"

seemed determined to remain hidden.

  The away team had already determined to stay the

night, as if they were truly weary travelers

grateful for rest from an arduous journey. After the

conclusion of 49

  the ceremony, most of them were led back to their hut,

but Data and Thralen (who was too eager to gain more

information about this enigmatic culture to be interested in

sleeping) stayed behind, and spent the night talking with

Drahanna.

  By morning they had gleaned a few more facts about

Elysia's gods: each village had a Speaker,

who was attuned to the gods; he or she received the

messages the gods wanted delivered, which were usually

such things as when to begin planting, or to stop hunting a

particular animal until it had a chance

to repopulate.

  When Thralen asked how she received the messages,

Drahanna explained that the gods spoke to her, but

refused to explain further. After a time she must have

decided their questions indicated they were nervous about their

journey to the sacred mountain. "It is true," she

told them, "that some reach the sacred isle only to be

turned back, for the final test comes there. But be not

afraid: The gods have chosen you to undertake the

journey. That in itself shows their favor. Only one

or two of your group will be permitted the final quest

to the top of the mountain. I cannot tell you which ones-the

gods do not speak to me of you, any more than they

foretold your destiny to your own Speaker at

home." She smiled. "Your future shifts with

each thought; except for certain foreordained truths,

nothing is certain until it happens." At

sunrise the team left the hut, walked back to the

beamdown point, and transported up to the

Enterprise. Drahanna had conveniently instructed

the villagers not to accompany them to the edge of the

swamp; whatever the gods were, they obviously did

  not want their subjects to see people vanish into thin

air. Aboard ship, there was a briefing to decide

whether to try exploring another habitat.

  "I do not think we shall find further information about the

Elysian gods or the power surges among the

natives," Data said. "Mr. Thralen and I

did learn that the reason the landing party from the Clarion

were driven away was that they attempted to climb the

Elysians' sacred mountain without passing a test

of the gods."

  Thralen added, "I've played back and

carefully studied Drahanna's words. It appears

we would be in no violation of Elysian law if we

set an away team down on the island, at the foot

of the mountain. As long as we did not attempt

to climb it, we might be able to take readings

that would tell us something about the power surges."

  "I might be able to see something," Geordi put

in. "Captain, those same undetectable barriers

that keep the swamp gases from poisoning the

habitats also keep a habitable environment on that

island, yet we transport through it as if it weren't

there. As we haven't been able to detect the barrier,

we don't know how much it screens. Assuming the

island is its source, we may be able to find out

something there about these mysterious gods." Picard rubbed

his chin. "I would prefer more direct communication from

these "gods' about what they consider acceptable, but

we've hailed them on every frequency we can

transmit: If they don't want to be found, the very

act of attempting to locate them may be deemed

aggressive."

  "If so," said Riker, "how are we any worse

off?

  There's no reason to think they'll do more than order

us off the planet, like the Clarion crew. We can

give up, file a report, and close this convenient

geodesic to Federation traffic because of those damned

power surges. Or we can make one more attempt

to find the gods-that might even be the test Drahanna

spoke of. If we can locate them, maybe

they'll talk to us. If they either control the power

surges or can predict their occurrence, they may be

willing to send out warnings beforehand, so ships can avoid

the area." Picard nodded. "We need this space

lane open if we are to offer protection to our

colonies near the Neutral Zone. Very well,

Number One. Take Data and Geordi, beam

down to that island, and see what you can find out."

"Request permission to accompany them, sir,"

Worf said. "I also recommend that we take

phasers. We should not meet any Elysians there,

but we do not know what else we may encounter."

  The captain seemed about to protest, but finally

nodded reluctantly. Unlike the habitats, the

sacred island was barren and gloomy--or at least the

side on which they landed was. The mountain was so large

that it seemed as if they weren't on an island at

all; rocky beach stretched in either direction as gar

as they could see.

  Between the swamp and the foot of the mountain there was perhaps

a hundred meters of more or less flat beach, but

even that was difficult to traverse. It was made up

of rocks ranging from fist size up to giant

boulders, tumbled haphazardly, their sharp edges

unweathered in the still air. The stillness-that's

what made the place so

  strange. They were outdoors, yet the air

didn't move. It was as if they were in a holodeck

rather than on the surface of a planet. Data

noticed his human companions hunching and shivering

slightly. The temperature was nine degrees

Celsius, warm enough for humans to come to no harm, but

cool enough to be uncomfortable if they did not keep

moving. Data, of course, was unaffected, and if

Worf felt the chill he refused to show it. The

Klingon did, however, move out quickly, scouting the

territory as if he expected enemies behind every

rock.

  Riker walked toward the swamp, where they could see

the gray mist of poisonous vapors swirling against

the invisible barrier. Sounds came through, though: the

lapping of water moved by some breeze that stirred the

vapors, but stopped dead at the barrier. There were

other noises, too, but not knowing the fauna of this

planet, Data could not identify them. All

seemed to resound in a minor key. Such tones, he

knew, had an unsettling effect on humans.

  At the edge of the water, Riker put out a hand, and

was stopped. It looked as if he were holding back the

swamp vapors. He pushed, but succeeded

only in shoving himself backward. "Just like the barrier

around the habitats," he noted.

  Data tried all his own instrumentation, as well as

every detection device in his tricorder. All said

there was nothing between the swamp and the clean air on the

island. Yet the two remained sharply separated,

and the away team could not penetrate the barrier. Neither

could their tricorders detect life-form readings through

it, although they could see the swamp teeming with life.

  "Yet the ship's instrumentation read the Elysians

right through it, from orbit," Data pointed out. "There

should not be such a discrepancy." "It's not

natural," Geordi agreed. "I guess it's

our job to find out if it's supernatural."

  "Supernatural, Geordi?" Riker asked

skeptically. "Magic, sir," Data answered.

"Technology so far above ours it seems-was Riker

held up his hand to stop Data. "I get the

picture." He motioned them forward. "Come on."

  Both Data and Geordi could penetrate the mist

with infrared vision, and see farther into the swamp. It

was not an appealing place. Dark, dank hummocks

of rotting wood mingled with the roots of live trees.

Reptilian beasts slithered through the water, which in some

areas was several meters deep but in others just

a shallow layer over mud so saturated that it would

act as quicksand. Flying creatures sailed from one

gray tree to another on batlike wings. Data

saw one dive into the water, emerging with something

snakelike held between rows of sharp teeth. Its

victim put up a valiant fight as it twisted,

coiling about the flying creature until it bound its

wings, and the two, still entwined and struggling, fell into the

water and sank. No wonder the Elysians, with no

technology to build protected, motorized

craft, honored anyone who managed to travel

alive through such a place. Geordi, meanwhile,

had turned to study the mountain. "Commander!" he said

suddenly, and both Riker and Data turned.

"Riker, what do you see up there-about ten meters

up, just to the right of center?" "Nothing, Geordi, just

a sheer rock wall."

  "Data?"

  "The same-and the tricorder indicates solid

rock."

  "Tune it to my Visual Acuity

Transmitter," Geordi instructed, switching on

the addition to his VISOR which, for brief periods,

would allow their instru- ments to pick up exactly

what he was seeing.

  Data adjusted his tricorder to the frequency of

Geordi's transmitter. In the middle of the

solid rock wall, there appeared an uneven . .

. opening? None of the frequencies Data could

access with his own eyes showed it, but Geordi's

VISOR did.

  By this time Riker and Worf were on either side of

Data, looking over his shoulders at the tricorder

screen. "I wonder," Riker mused, "whether this

is the test. Are we supposed to go into the mountain rather

than climb it?" "Shall we attempt to enter,

Commander?" asked Worf. "Hold on a minute,"

Riker said, tapping his combadge. "Captain,

we've found what appears to be an opening in the

mountainside. I would like to explore it."

  "Not so fast, Number One," came Picard's

voice. "Get every piece of information you can without

approaching the mountain first, and report your findings.

Then we will decide whether to attempt to explore the

cave." "Roger." Riker closed the channel; at

his command, the four away team members spread out around

the mountain.

  Five hours later, they met back at the same

spot. None of them reported anything new. They

prepared to beam up along with rock samples

and readings, and

  STAR TREK: THE NEXT GENERATION

  recommend to the captain that they see if the cave

was merely that, or an opening into the realm of

Elysia's elusive gods. "Wait," Data

said as they moved into position for beamup. "There is a

life-form reading-but it is faint. No..." He

frowned at the faint flicker on the tricorder

screen, and turned up the gain. "Commander, I cannot

get an accurate directional reading, and on open

range your readings interfere." Riker nodded.

"We'll get out of your way, then." He tapped his

combadge. "Three to beam up, Mr. O'Brien.

Mr. Data to follow at his command." Data stepped

away from the other three. They dissolved in the

transporter beam, and he turned up the gain on his

tricorder again. Nothing. He turned full

circle, annoyed; he could not have been fooled by that

flicker- He was about to signal for beamup when he

heard a sudden splashing noise. Looking toward the

swamp, he saw nothing until he used infrared

vision to penetrate the fog. There was someone coming!

  It was a flat-bottomed boat, poled by a single

person whose slow efforts, head down, bespoke

desperate tiredness-yet over and over the

weary traveler retrieved the pole, placed it, and

shoved again. They had wondered how anyone could

traverse the swamp with its poisonous atmosphere.

Now Data saw that the boat was surrounded by a bubble

of fresh, clear air, obviously generated by the

same mysterious means as the atmosphere of the

habitats. That was what Drahanna had meant when

she said the gods "allowed" some Elysians to cross

the swamp: they 56

  provided such protection only to those they deemed

worthy of the quest to the sacred island.

  Fascinated, Data watched the boat with its lone

occupant approach the shore. Suddenly she looked

up, and he saw for the first time that it was a woman,

tired and bedraggled from her arduous journey. And he

also realized that she was now close enough to glimpse him

through the swamp fog. He backed off, reaching for his

combadge, intending to let her think weariness had made

her see visions in the fog- Too late. The

woman's eyes widened, her face was suffused with

wonder-and the pole she was using to steer the boat with

slid out of her grasp. Eyes still on Data, she

bent to recover it-and set the boat rocking from side

to side. The bubble of clear air around it quivered and

burst. Swamp gases poured in around her,

and she began to choke and cough, rocking the boat even

more wildly-attracting the attention of something that lived

in the water. Ropy arms reached into the boat to grab

at the hapless woman. Data dropped his hand to his

phaser, whipped it out and fired-or tried to. The

weapon was dead!

  That woman would be, too, if the thing pulled her

under, . or just held her in the noxious gases long

enough to suffocate.

  Data ran to help her, jumping from one sharp

rock to another and then into the water. He sank

ankledeep into swamp ooze with every step, but the boat

was less than ten meters from shore. If he could

only get her away from that thing and to the protection of the

island-

  He reached the boat, and grasped the woman about the

waist with one arm while he tried with the other hand to pry

loose the arms of the thing pulling her overboard. As

fast as he tore one tentacle loose, another

refastened on its victim-and some were now fastening about

Data as well. There was no use attacking the

arms, he realizedbut did the thing even have a head?

  Time was running out; the woman was unconscious,

her lips turning an unhealthy blue.

  Data lifted woman and beast together, and

struggled back toward shore. The swamp creature

wrapped some of its arms about tree roots, but

android strength prevailed. Refusing to give up

its victim, it was dragged, still clinging, onto the

rocky shore, along with the boat to which it also clung.

Data laid his burden down on a flat rock, and

began drawing in air again himself, for his system had

automatically turned off its oxygen-gathering

mechanism when he plunged into a potentially

corrosive atmosphere. But it was the woman he was

concerned abhad she breathed in enough poison to damage

her lungs?

  The swamp creature loosed its hold on the

woman, and allowed Data to pull its twining arms

off her without further resistance. It was shriveling in

an atmosphere that was poisonous to it, even as he

flung it back toward the swamp . . . and saw it

bounce off the barrier and onto the rocks. One part

of Data's mind realized that he had just gone through that

barrier and back again hmfbut he had no time

to contemplate the impossible 58

  when he had a life to save. The woman had

stopped breathing, but his android hearing told him her

heart still beat. Quickly, he pressed the poisonous

gases from her lungs, being careful not to lean

hard enough to do her harm. Then he began the process of

breathing air into her lungs. Maintaining the rhythm,

he tapped his combadge. There was no sound from it, not

even the normal chitter of opening the frequency.

He remembered that his phaser would not work, and after the

next breath picked up his tricorder to analyze the

woman's condition. That instrument, too, was

inoperative.

  Data's own instrumentation seemed to be operating as

well as ever-or was there some distortion that caused him

to see the woman take a breath on her own, then

another, and normal coloration returning to her

complexion far too rapidly for what she had been

through?

  Then she opened her eyes.

  "Oh, that I am so blessed as to look upon one of the

gods themselves! Have I offended thee? Forgive, please

forgive, for the sake of my people," she pleaded, trying

to sit up.

  "Do not try to move," Data told her. "I

am not one of your gods. I am-was he fell back

on the away team cover story, "coma traveler like

yourself, seeking the gods here on the sacred island."

It was the truth, after all. The woman broke into a

smile. "Then it is as was foretold! You are

the One from Afar who will join me in my Quest. I

did not understand at first. You are very different from my

people."

  She sat up, and tried to stand, despite

Data's

  protests. As she seemed fully recovered, as

well as determined, he helped lift her to her

feet.

  Standing, she took in his appearance from head to toe.

His uniform was still wet-and only now did it occur

to him how much danger he had placed himself in

to rescue her. He could not swim, and while he could

walk under water that went over his head, he could do so

only if the bottom were solid ground. If Data

stepped into a patch of quicksand, he would sink as fast as

a human.

  But, as he had not been harmed, there was no use being

concerned about it now. It was simply fortunate that he

had been available to rescue the young woman. His

current problem, with his combadge out of order, was how

to contact the Enterprise. They might beam him up

at any moment, once they realized he was out of

contact . . . unless, of course, the Elysian

gods prevented it. Considering the way they played with

that undetectable forcefield, they were

undoubtedly the reason his equipment would not function.

Perhaps, then, the Enterprise would be unable to detect

him at all, much less beam him up.

  Meanwhile, the woman was saying, "You are the One

from Afar the gods promised would await me here.

All is fulfilled, then-we will quest together."

Data remembered the way Drahanna's words had

guided the away team to what the Elysian "gods"

expected of them before. Perhaps because they had followed those

instructions in good faith there had been no protest

then, or when they beamed down to this sacred island. were

these more instructions? Did the gods want Data

to undergo their testing? He was certain they were

responsible for cutting him off from contact with the

Enterprise. He remembered a human 60

  saying which applied to such situations: "The only

way out is through." So he looked at the woman he

had rescued and nodded. "Yes," he agreed, "it

does appear that the gods have decided we shall undergo

their Quest . . . . together."

  THE WOMAN PusHim a strand of dark hair out

of her eyes. "My name is Thelia. I come from

Atridia."

  "I am called Data," he replied.

  "Data," she repeated, trying the sound.

"Your name is as different as you are. What is your

land called?"

  Stay as close to the truth as possible, he

remembered, and replied, "Starfleet."

  "Starfleet," Thelia said. "What a beautiful

name. Do the stars truly move more swiftly there?"

  "They do, in fact, appear to do so," Data

replied, bemused. "disIt must be a magical land,"

Thelia said, dreamily. It would seem so to you,

Data realized, but he did not say so aloud.

Despite his reticence, Thelia asked, "Are you

under a spell? Is that why you are questing?"

  "A spell? No."

  "Then is everyone in your land like you?" the young woman

wanted to know. "No, not like me," he explained, "but

many in

  Starfleet are very different from you." He assumed

that would not offend Elysia's gods, who had allowed

a similar explanation in the habitat the away team

had visited. "You have obviously had a long and

difficult journey," Data continued. "You should

rest before-was

  "The Quest begins now."

  Data spun around, but there was no one else to be

seen, no one else he could hear, even with his

augmented senses. Was this what Drahanna had

meant- that the "gods" literally spoke out loud to those

they had chosen to hear? Thelia's face again took on

a look of joy and wonder. "I am permitted?

Ah, blessed gods, let me pass through with the help of

this One from Afar, and reach your sanctuary."

  "This sanctuary," said Data. "There we will

meet the gods themselves?" "So it is spoken."

  He nodded. "That is what I came seeking."

He tapped his combadge again, but it was still dead, as was

his tricorder. By this time the Enterprise crew would have

used every means at their disposal to locate and recover

him. Elysia's gods must have blocked their

efforts-their technology was clearly comfar beyond that of the

Federation. They must have assessed the away team

members, decided they desired contact, and

determined that the android was best equipped to record

such a meeting.

  But he would not get that far if he did not succeed

in this Quest. The Elysian gods obviously

insisted that even visitors from other worlds play by their

regulations, something the Enterprise crew had

encountered

  on enough other planets to consider it the rule rather than

the exception. So Data said, "I am

honored to undertake the Quest. I hope we both

succeed." "May it be so," Thelia replied formally.

"We should begin the climb now, I think. Where are

your supplies?"

  "I have nothing else," he said, putting phaser and

tricorder into their holsters. They might be useless

now, but he was sure that once he had done whatever the

Elysian gods required they would function

normally again. "You have not brought food?" Thelia

asked. "Or did you use it up on your journey?

I will share mine with you if need be."

  Data decided to postpone further explanations

until they were better acquainted. Elysians were not

accustomed to machines at all, let alone sentient

ones. So, as she turned to the boat she had come in and

lifted out a pack designed to be worn on the

back, he said, "I will carry that for you, as I am

sure the way will not be easy."

  "Thank you," she replied, and reached for a pouch of

animal skin-a water bag, he realized. Of

course; she could not have drunk the water of the swamp.

But the container was nearly empty. "I was four days

in the swamp," she said, pulling the cork and offering the

bag to Data. He shook his head, and she

dran"kcarefully, he noticed, not

spilling a drop despite the awkward vessel,

taking only two measured swallows although he

suspected that after her exertions she was thirsty enough

to empty it.

  "There is a spring not far away," Data said,

remembering a flow of clear water they had seen

while circling the mountain. "We can refill that."

  "Yes," she agreed, and as they set off over the

rocks, she asked, "You've been here long enough

to explore, then? Did your Speaker tell you

to expect my arrival?"

  "No," he replied honestly, as he wondered

how, more than four days ago, the gods could have told

the Speaker in Thelia's land that a stranger would be on

the island when she arrived. But then, if they were capable

of detecting subspace radio messages they could

have known that the Enterprise was in the vicinity. Had they

deliberately lured it here with the power surges? Was

the rescue of Darryl Adin and his gang one of the

gods' tests? If Data concentrated on whatever

these gods required of him, he might earn the

opportunity to question them directly. He could only

hope he would also earn some answers.

  As Thelia struggled over the sharp boulders, she

could not help but notice the ease with which

Data jumped from one to another. "You are very quick and

agile," she said as he offered a hand to help her

across a wide gap. "It is my nature," he

replied. "I will explain, but it might be better

to wait until we have easier going."

  Thelia did not let go of his hand immediately. Instead

she spread his fingers, looked from his hand down to his

feet and then up his body to his face. She was

only a little shorter than he was; most of the

Elysian males the away team had met were taller

than Data, and broad shouldered from the hard work of

pre-industrial survival.

  "You are far stronger than you appear," Thelia

noted. "Have you already a gift from the gods? Perhaps from

one of your ancestors, as I have?" "Not in exactly

that way," he replied, "but yes, I am

physically stronger than the people I live among. I

  promise, Thelia, I will explain. I just do not

wish you to become frightened of me."

  "You are the One from Afar of the Speaker's

prophecy. You have already saved my life." She

smiled. "Do you think me a child, to fear your golden

eyes? Data, you have already proved yourself to the gods,

or you would not be here."

  Her confidence in her gods would make it easier,

he realized. But it was too early to tell her the

whole truth-and perhaps he was not intended to. Should he

try to pass for an organic being? Under the close

scrutiny of a genuine organic life-form he

doubted he could do so for long-but then, if Elysia's

gods did not want Thelia to know what he was, they

might help him avoid the issue.

  At the spring Thelia drank eagerly, and then

refilled the water pouch. Data was not thirsty, of

course; his cooling system did not operate

by evaporation as many organic beings' did, so he

required no replenishment of liquids after

exercise. He did wash the swamp mud off his

uniform-and saw Thelia's surprise at the way it

rinsed right off.

  "What excellent cloth," she said. "I wish you

were not from such a distant land. My people would be pleased

to trade for such material."

  "Do you trade with the people of other lands?" he asked,

for they had heard nothing of that in Quinaria.

  "Only with the people of Tosus, the land closest to our

own, and even that is very difficult. That is the

purpose of my Quest, Data-if I succeed,

I will ask the gods to unite our two lands,

for without each other's help our lands are dying."

  Progress! And the idea came from the Elysians

themselves, no taint of outside interference. "I shall

  do everything I can," he told Thelia, "to help you

succeed in your Quest." When Data started to lead the

way back, Thelia asked, "Do you know of an

easier slope to climb?"

  He stopped. "Do your legends say we are

to climb the outside of the mountain?"

  "What other way is there?" she replied.

  "There is an opening into the mountain, near where you

came ashore," he told her. was Ixt me at

least look into it-if it is a dead end, we will

climb the outside."

  But when they reached the spot from which Geordi had

seen the opening, Data was sure that they were meant to go

in. His infrared vision showed a definite cold

spot at the cave mouth, while around it the rock

wall reflected the warmth of Elysia's sun.

  Thelia stared. "There is no opening."

  "It is there," Data insisted, searching for

handholds on the steep rockface. Once he was

on the ledge, though, the opening was invisible once more

to the spectrum he could command.

  Undaunted, Data walked straight through what

appeared to be solid rock-only to be called

back by Thelia's startled shout of his name. She stared

at him, wide-eyed. "You walked through stone. You are

one of the gods!" "No, I am not," he told her.

"Thelia, it only looks like solid rock. Where

I come from, we would call it a holographic

projection. Come up and I will show you." He did not

tell her he could detect any ordinary

hologram, and that this was technology beyond anything in his

experience. Making contact with these Elysian

"gods," no matter how many questions were left

unanswered, was worth overcoming whatever obstacles

they placed in his way.

  The rock face Data had climbed was too high

for him to lift Thelia from below, or to reach down and

pull her from above. He had to let her find her own

hand- and foot-holds until she was within his reach; then

he lay down on the ledge and held out his hand.

  She looked up, panting. "I'll pull you

over."

  "No-I am well centered here," he replied,

for he had stretched the length of his body away from the

edge to counterbalance her weight. Thelia, though, still

sought her own way up. Only when she could

find no handholds suited to her organic strength

did she take his hand. Even then she scrambled up

much on her own, far underestimating Data's strength

and mass. Data was reminded of Tasha Yar. Although

Thelia had dark hair and eyes, and features more

gamine than Tasha's classic beauty, she

seemed to be about the same small size under her

loose clothing. It was the spirit and determination that

Data recognized, the ability to call up

emotional strength beyond physical ability.

  He recognized also the movements of an

athletelike Tasha, this woman had honed her

native abilities to their keenest edge in preparation

for her Quest.

  When she stood beside him, she frowned at the

apparently solid rock face, put out a hand-and

swallowed hard as it went right through. "The gods thus

show their presence." Squaring her shoulders, she

stepped forward. Data followed, and they found themselves

in a cave dimly lit by spots of fluorescent

lichen, the first life, other than themselves and the swamp

creatures, that Data had seen on the island.

  "You were right," Thelia said. "This must be the way we

are to go. It is different for each one who

  comes here, they say." She shook her

head. "I could not have found the opening alone."

  "The gods must be observing us, and matching their

tests to our abilities. When you were attacked, they

opened the barrier so that I could reach you. They disguised

the cave opening, but in such a way that I could still find

it. It appears that they wish you to trust me."

  "We must trust each other," she said. "We'd

best go on now, I think," and she started farther into the

cave.

  Data adjusted his vision to the dim light. A

steep trail led upward, easy for him, tiring for

Thelia. They climbed for over half an hour without

incident.

  Thelia sat down on a rock formation,, took a

drink, and again offered the water bag to Data. "I do

not need water at this time," he explained. "My

body does not excrete fluids to cool itself, as

yours does."

  "No, you're not perspiring," Thelia agreed.

"Your strength, and lack of need for food and

water-are these gifts of the gods, Data?" He

saw that she would keep asking until he gave her

an answer. How much of the truth would the Elysian

gods allow her to know? For that matter, did they know

exactly what Data was?

  Again he tried an abridged version of the facts.

"I have no gifts from these gods, Thelia. I

simply use energy resources efficiently.

Eventually I will need nutrients, but-was

  With hardly a warning rumble, the roof caved in!

Data shoved Thelia under a shallow overhang,

shielding her with his own body.

  It lasted only moments, and Data was not hit

by any rocks large enough to do him serious injury.

  When the deluge ended, Data and Thelia

scrambled 69

  up the steep trail to where they could look back on

the rockfall. It had been aimed specifically at

themthe fallen stones covered no more than ten square

meters.

  As they moved on, though, Data turned his

attention to a message from his diagnostics. He

looked down to see a glitter of circuits where the

skin on the back of his right hand had been scraped

aside. He was leaking chemical nutrients from a

ruptured conduit to that extremity. His automatics

had shut off the valve at his elbow, but what fluid

had been present continued to drip.

  Data covered his damaged right hand with his left as

Thelia came up beside him. "I am

unhurt," she said, "but you are bleeding!" for fluid

leaked between his fingers. She reached for his hand, and he

instinctively pulled it away. "Let me see,"

she insisted.

  "Thelia," Data said, "I think the gods have

decided you must know what I am," and he lifted his

hand away.

  A small gasp escaped her as she saw the

metal skeletal structure, the sensor mesh,

neural net, and control circuitry. She backed

off, and for the first time he saw fear in her eyes.

"What are you?" "I am an android. A machine."

  "No! Plows and wagons and windwheels are

machines! They do not move on their own. They do not

speak. You look like a man, speak like a man."

Holding his damaged right hand up, pinching off the leaking

conduit with his left, Data searched for an

explanation she might understand. He recalled the way

Will Riker often referred to him. "Are you familiar

with puppets, marionettes?"

  "Toys? Dolls with jointed limbs?" Thelia's

eyes 70

  widened. "You . . . you are such a creature

brought to life?" Sudden terror lit the woman's

dark eyes. Her gaze darted fearfully

back to where the rockfall blocked her escape

downward. Then she turned and tried to run the other

way, slipping in her panic, for the upward trail was

far steeper fi ow than a few moments ago.

  Data made no attempt to follow her, for the

gods were clearly determined that she not escape

confronting his nature. There was moisture on the

smooth rock that had not been there before; Thelia

struggled and scrabbled for purchase, only to slide

and tumble back to Data's side, gasping and

panting. She flung herself away from him, her back

against the rock wall, terror replaced

by resignation. "I was taken in," she said. "Kill

me, then, and be done with it.

  Data was astonished. "Thelia-I have no reason

to kill you! Why are you so frightened? What do you think

I am?"

  "A golem. A homunculus."

  Data accessed his memory banks: the legends

were ancient and inconsistent, but basically they dealt

with man-created beings, either soulless or animated with

evil spirits, which turned upon their creators to destroy

them-usually after murdering a number of innocents. The

Elysians, it seemed, had similar legends.

  "I do not know how to show you that I mean you

no harm," Data said sadly. "Can you determine

why your gods would choose to test you in such an

unusual fashion?"

  "They couldn't think I would trust you!" she

snapped.

  "Thelia, I did not lie to you," said Data, "but

I did not know whether your gods wanted you to know my

true nature. Obviously they do, but terrifying you

cannot help you succeed in your Quest. I am sorry

that you are frightened." He tried a different

approach. "Do you not trust your gods to protect you

from harm?"

  The fear in her eyes was replaced by wariness. "Which

is the test? How am I to know? Are you an evil

spirit, in the form of the dolls I so loved in

childhood? Or are you truly the One from Afar that

I was promised?" "Perhaps if you told me about your

dolls-?" Data suggested. "I had many as a child.

I loved them and made up stories about them, until

my mother heard me say one day I wished my

favorite could come to life. Then she told me the

tales of others who had made such wishes, and the

evil they brought upon themselves and others. I put my

dolls away then, and grew up." She looked him

up and down again, no longer panicked,

trying to make a reasoned decision. "Are you

temptation, in the form of my childish fantasies?

Or are the gods telling me it is time to set

aside old fears?" "I do not know how to resolve

your dilemma," Data admitted. "All I can

offer is to leave you to continue your Quest alone, and

return to where we entered."

  "You cannot get past the rockfall."

  "I can; I have the strength to lift rocks you could not

budge." "If I asked, you would go, and not return

somewhere along the way to oppose my progress?"

  "To interfere with your Quest would violate one of the

laws of my people," Data replied.

  "You would abandon your own Quest?"

  Data considered, and spoke truthfully. "Not

unless I am told to do so by the gods. I am very

eager to meet them. I will continue as far as they will

allow me, but I will not interfere with you."

  "And if I demand that you abandon your Quest?"

"You do not have that right," he replied. "The gods have

permitted me this Quest, and only they can revoke that

permission."

  Thelia let go a tensely held breath. "You are

not a toy to do my bidding. An evil spirit would not so

trust in the gods, nor would one unworthy

of the Quest. Yet . . . I fear to continue in your

company. Your solution seems best for both of us."

  So Thelia started up the trail once more-it was again

difficult, but no longer impossible to climb.

Apparently the gods approved of their decision. As

he turned back Data twisted a wire around the

leaking conduit to prevent the loss of further fluid,

but without the organic component his right hand lost a good

deal of sensory capacity. That, however, was not his

major problem.

  When he reached the rockfall, he found that he was

trapped. The blockage had originally been composed

of stones from pebbles to boulders, none too large for

Data to shift. Now it was all gigantic

boulders, packed so tightly into the passageway that

his android strength could not budge the first one.

  How had the Elysian "gods" done it? They had

to be using technology similar to that of the holodeck,

although Data's sensors insisted the rocks were

exactly 73

  what they appeared to be. But then, if he cared

to take the time, it would be possible to adjust the

Enterprise holodeck to compensate for android

senses. This was simply more evidence that the Elysian

gods had analyzed him very thoroughly.

  This whole Quest idea . . . it seemed

similar to games the holodeck provided: the

players entered an unknown environment armed with

general knowledge of such games, but had to discover the rules

specific to the current game as they went along.

It was too bad, Data thought, that he had had to part

company with someone who must know the general conventions for the

Elysian Quest.

  He stopped wasting effort on the pile of rocks,

verified that he could not climb out over the top, and

considered quietly following Thelia until there was a

branch in the path, where he would take the one she did

not choose. A scream-Thelia's scream-sounded in the

distance. Data raced back to where they had parted, then

up the steep trail and through a narrow passage.

Dashing down the smooth tunnel that led from it, he

found the trail empty until he came to the water

pouch lying against the wall. He accessed every

frequency of his vision and hearing. There were scuff

marks on the rocky floor, and in the distance he

heard the faint sound of something-or someone-being dragged.

He bolted forward-and came around an outcropping just

in time to see Thelia sink her knife into an

apelike creature trying to drag her along the

tunnel. The thing roared, and backhanded the

woman.

  Thelia struck the wall, but did not go down.

Data leaped between her and the creature. It roared again,

  baring vicious fangs, but it was distracted by the

knife in its flesh. Its hands had only four

fingers, Data noticed as he crouched in front of

Thelia, ready to throw the ape-being should it attack.

One of those hands closed on the knife and withdrew it,

but instead of trying to wield it just threw it aside.

Gouts of purplish blood spurted from the wound. The

creature yowled, looming over Data. He was

ready-but before the beast could lunge, something hitddit in

the side of the head. It looked beyond Data, and he

turned as it lunged past him, threatening Thelia again.

Data leaped on the creature's back with the impact

of his full weight at an acceleration no human could

achieve.

  The creature rolled, dislodging Data, and both

jumped to their feet at the same time. Now Thelia was

in Data's range of vision, swinging something. She

released it. Another rock hit her attacker

solidly on the head. This time the creature's cry

was more of fear or pain than threat. Weakened from loss

of blood, it put both hands to its head.

Then it turned and ran away down the trail.

  Retaining his audio input at its highest

range, lest the thing return with reinforcements,

Data turned to Thelia. She was readying another

rock in her sling. "Are you injured?" he asked.

  For a moment he thought she would fling the stone at him,

Then she let her arm relax. "Just scratched and

bruised. I am not succeeding well. The gring should not

have been able to sneak up on me."

  "Gring? You are familiar with this animal, then?"

"There are packs of them in the highlands, usually 75

  no problem except to solitary travelers. They

do not like people encroaching on their territory, and they are

afraid of fire. It never occurred to me to bring

torches, though."

  "There cannot be many such animals on the island," said

Data, "as there does not appear to be anything for them

to live on. I think we can assume that the gods

placed that one in your way." He picked up the

bloody knife, giving it to her handle-first. "You will

need this, I fear."

  "I am sure of it," Thelia replied, taking it

from him warily and cleaning it with a cloth she took from

her pocket. Then she looked up at Data. "You

did not leave."

  "My way was blocked-just as the gods made the

trail too steep and slippery for you to get away from

me before. I was considering what to do when I heard you

scream."

  "You saved my life . . . again." She spoke

flatly, as if she did not know what feeling she ought

to have.

  "You might have defeated it. You are very good with that

sling." "No," Thelia said firmly. "I never would

have-was She squared her shoulders. "It must be the will of the

gods. Please forgive me, Data, and continue the

Quest with me."

  "There is nothing to forgive," Data said,

attempting a brief smile. "I see that even

though you are not flesh and bone, you can be injured,"

Thelia said suddenly. Data followed her glance

to his hand, and saw that it was leaking again, his temporary

repair inadequate to his exertion. Thelia offered,

"I have cloth in my pack to make a bandage."

  "That will not be necessary. I can stop the leakage. If

I wipe away the fluid, the skin will bond well

enough to protect my circuitry until I can

repair it properly."

  Thelia found her pack, took out a cloth, and

insisted on cleaning away the organic

fluid. The conduit was not ruptured, but detached.

Tying it off was not an adequate solution.

  Data said, "I do not have the proper tools-and I

would ordinarily ask Geordi to help when I cannot

use both hands. But perhaps I can reattach the tube.

I lose some function in that hand without the organic

component." "Geordi," Thelia said. "The one who

. . . built you?" He could hear in her voice that

she was still disturbed by his mechanical nature.

"No-but he is a friend," Data explained. "Perhaps

you can help me. The principle is simple enough:

remove the retaining ring, stretch the tubing back

into place, and tighten the ring over it again."

  "Yes, I see. We can use my knife,"

Thelia said. "Perhaps I can pry the ring loose-but how

will you tighten it again?"

  "I cannot if you pry it loose. There is a tiny

slot for a tool to go into. If your knife tip will

fit into it, we may be able to loosen and then retighten

it."

  It would have taken less than five minutes with

proper tools. With only a knife, it took them

nearly half an hour in the dim light, complete with

losing the retaining ring twice-once down inside

Data's arm, and a second time onto the

cave floor. Finally they were able to tighten it about the

tubing so that Data could release the organic

fluids into his forearm again. With that restoration came

the unpleasant sensation that served, as pain did for

organic beings, to 77

  warn him that something was wrong. He reran the

diagnostics, cleared some unnoticed fluid out of

his sensory mesh, and slid the skin back into place.

It appeared whole but scarred. When he used the right

instrument on it back on the ship, it would meld together

as if it had never been torn. Thelia was shivering.

"I am sorry," said Data. "It still disturbs you

to know what I am."

  "No!" she said, shuddering even more strongly.

"I'm cold!" She began rummaging in her pack

as she added, "The gods are listening to us, Data.

I wanted to know what you are, so they showed me-and then

showed me that I need your help." She shook out a

cloak of some material much like wool, and wrapped it

about herself. "Be careful what you ask, here in the

gods' sacred place. Often, they give it, but

never without exacting a price." "I will," he

replied. "I think, though, that if there are other things

I should know about the Quest, you had better tell me

before we go on." "There are only two

others. A wrong choice brings a penalty, and we

must watch for guideposts."

  "Guideposts?"

  "Objects, or even living creatures which are

clues when there is a choice to be made. A white

animal must always be followed. But most guideposts

are more subtle, and if you miss one you will certainly

be delayed, and may even fail the Quest."

  "Let us hope that will not happen," Data said.

The temperature had dropped while they were working on

Data's hand. It made no difference to him, but

Thelia needed her cloak.

  "Can you go on for a while before you must rest?" 78

  Data asked her. "We may be able to find a

warmer spot, or some means to build a fire."

  "I am ready," she agreed, and they resumed their

climb. Their way continued to be lit by dim

fluorescence. Data watched for anything they might

use for a fire, but there was no organic matter

except the lichen. Thelia could not go on

indefinitely without rest, but the temperature was by now

low enough that she would be miserably uncomfortable, even

wrapped in her cloak. Sleep would benefit her

little under those conditions.

  The trail turned between high rock

walls, twisting so as to hide from their sight anything more

than a few paces ahead, winding and backtracking

incessantly. Although they took many steps, they

made little progress. There seemed no purpose in

such a passage except to tire Thelia even

further. She stopped at last, wiping sweat from her

brow, but shivering from a combination of the cold and

fatigue. "This has to be the right path," she said

uncertainly. "We have been offered no other

choice."

  "Are you capable of going on?" Data asked.

  "We must go on," Thelia insisted. "It is the

only way to succeed in the Quest."

  Thelia began to explain the lore of the Quest as

they walked along-but after less than fifty meters

of twists and turns their way was blocked by a wall

with two doors.

  "We must choose one," Thelia said.

  "Why not both?" asked Data, grasping a knob

in either hand. Both doors were locked. For the moment,

he did not try to break the locks. The gods were

aware 79

  of his android strength, so probably this was a test

of something else. "Do you know anything about a key?"

he asked Thelia. "If there is one, we

must have it with us," she replied. "I do not have one."

  "Nor I. Where I come from, doors open to one's

voice or palmprint, or just one's presence."

  "Really?" she asked. "Perhaps these are also

magical doors." She stepped up beside him.

"Doors, I am Thelia of Atridia. Will either of

you open to me?" The door on the left swung open,

revealing a meadow, some cultivated fields, a

patch of woodland, and in the distance a fair-size

town dominated by a castle that seemed to come straight

out of a fairy tale. "It's home!" Thelia

exclaimed. But when Data started to step through she

put her hand on his arm. "Nolook there." She

pointed to a pile of objects only a few paces

inside the door. It took Data a moment

to realize that they were primitive torches, stacked

next to a pile of firewood. .

  "Ah," he said, "you are cold. Shall we not

retrieve materials to build a fire?"

  "No," she replied, shivering. "It is a

temptation, Data. We must make do with what we

brought or what we find along the way. The Quest

would be finished for me if I stepped through the portal.

I would be at home, failed, all my journeying

gone for nought."

  Data nodded. She was the expert on Elysian

Quest lore, after all. "Very well. Then let me

try the other door." He spoke to it as if he

addressed the holodeck portal. "I am

Lieutenant Commander Data of Starfleet. Will you

open to me?"

  Sure enough, this door slid aside, just like the

doors on the Enterprise. It did not lead to the

ship that he 80

  called home, however. There was nothing but a whirling

dark mist that not even his android vision could

penetrate. As they watched, a vortex formed--and

within it distorted forms and faces: The stars. The

computer station in his cabin. Captain Picard.

Wesley Crusher. Tasha Yar. Darryl Adin.

And Geordi, VISORI-ESS, his sightless eyes

open and staring at nothing. Out of the mist, the figure of

Geordi gained substance and held out its hands.

"Data. My friend. When you have need to see beyond

sight, use this." His VISOR appeared in his hands.

Automatically, Data put out his hands-the object

dropped into them.

  But it was not Geordi's VISOR that Data

held as the door before them slid shut again with a

clang. It was . . . a metal cylinder,

apparently empty. Data peered through it, but saw

nothing except Thelia looking back at him.

"What is it?" she asked.

  "I do not know," he replied honestly. "Perhaps

we will discover a use for it later."

  "The one who gave it--do you trust him?" Thelia

asked warily. "With my life," Data replied.

  She nodded. "Then keep it. You will certainly

need it before your Quest is through."

  Data slid the cylinder into the holster beside his

tricorder-and when he looked up, wall and doors

were gone. The trail continued upward. "I think we

are intended to go on now."

  So they continued on the ever-steeper trail.

  It narrowed and the roof lowered until they had

to crawl single-file through a tunnel, coming out into a

  small cavern of crystal formations of exquisite

beauty. To one side was a smooth slab of rock

perfectly sized to make a camp for two people-if there

were only a way to warm it. To add to the chilling

effect, the formations looked only too much like ice and

snow.

  When Thelia dragged herself into the cavern, she did

not climb to her feet but sat with her knees

drawn up, huddled into her cloak. She was shaking with

cold and weariness. "We must stop," Data told

her. "You need sleep, Thelia." "It's t-too

cold," she protested. "The gods m-must intend that

we go on to a warmer area."

  "It may be that they are testing our ingenuity. My

body continues to generate heat. If we wrap up

in your cloak together, I can keep you warm enough that you can

sleep."

  "You are not tired," she said flatly.

  "No. I do not tire as you do, nor do I

sleep. I shall keep watch." "Then I am

delaying your Quest."

  "Thelia, it is obvious that the gods want us

to quest together. I thought you overcame your fear of

touching me when you helped to repair my arm. What do

you fear now?"

  She frowned. "It is strange . . . it is as

if my mother disapproves. Ali, I remember: when

I wished for the seja doll I slept with to come

to life, she took it from me, and told me all the

terrible legends of dolls brought to life. Do you have

seja in your land, Data?" No. "They are

animals with soft wool, and often children's toys are

made in their image. Mine was dressed like

a prince, and he was the one I made up the most

stories about. To me he was a handsome 82

  prince from a far land who rescued me from great

perils and then quested for permission to marry me and

join our lands." She smiled sadly. "Joining

Atridia with the land of Tosus was the great concern of

both my father and my mother, and everyone in our land, from the

time I can remember. As a child, I dreamed that someone

would come and solve our problems."

  "And now you have grown up, and are solving them

yourself," Data pointed out, wondering why this slight

young woman had been chosen to Quest for all her people.

For once, he curbed his curiosity: Thelia needed

to sleep, not tell stories. "I am not the doll

your mother took from you," he pointed out. "I am not

covered with wool, nor am I a prince."

  As he had hoped, Thelia laughed, though

wearily. Then she removed her cloak and draped it

over his shoulders.

  "I remember another ancient fable, but it was not

one my mother told me. It was about a woodcarver who

made a doll so lovely he wanted to marry her,

and quested that the gods might bring her to life."

Thelia took Data's hand. "But you are not carved out

of wood. You are living flesh over the

strange machin- ery inside."

  "My skin is designed to feel like flesh," he

told her, "but it is not. Thelia, if the doll

actually came to life in the story you know, then, in

some ways, I am like her."

  "Ah, I hope not," said Thelia, "for her story

is very sad. It's odd: when I was very young, I did

not realize how sad it was that she got everything she

desired, and yet never found happiness."

  As she talked, Data sat against the wall and

took 83

  Thelia on his lap, wrapping the cloak about them

both. She took food from her pack, dried fruit

and seeds and tough meat. Data drank some water to

disreplenish the fluid he had lost. If this Quest

lasted more than a day or two he would need sustenance,

but that did not mean depriving Thelia of the food her

organic system needed so much more.

  There might be trace elements he could take

directly from mineral formations, but with his tricorder

nonfunctional he would be safer with organic

nutrients. He had no need to taste the glowing

lichen in order to analyze its constituents; he already

knew that . the energy his system would use in filtering

out fluorescent elements would outweigh any

benefits he might gain from consuming such vegetation.

There was also the danger of some element his sensors could

not detect, like the drug Lore had once used

to render him unconscious, but that risk was minimal.

He wondered if the Elysian gods could tell from

their study of him what few elements were a threat

to his existence.

  After a time, Thelia got up and went out of the

cavern, back the way they had come. Data had

lived too many years among organic beings

to embarrass her by asking where she was going or what for;

besides, her desire for privacy indicated that she

regarded Data as a person rather than, as she perceived

it, a toy.

  The gods also respected Thelia's privacy;

nothing happened except that she returned a few

minutes later and came into Data's arms, shivering

with renewed cold. For once wishing he were not built

quite so compactly, he tried to keep as much of himself as

possible between her and the cold stone, for even a 84

  layer of warm woolen cloak was little protection

against the warmth-leeching rock.

  As she settled herself, Thelia asked, "Am I

too heavy on you?" "No," he replied. "My

design even precludes your putting one

of my limbs to sleep, as it were. Rest, Thelia.

There is no way you can harm me." She turned her

head to look sidewise at him, and with an odd

smile said, "No, I don't suppose there is."

  He expected her to fall off to sleep at

once, but apparently she was too keyed up from the

day's events. Her breathing remained uneven. She

sighed and shifted her weight. After a time,

apparently realizing that sleep was going to elude her

for the moment, she asked, "Data, what are you questing

for?" "To meet the gods," he replied.

  "Yes-but what gift will you ask of them if your

Quest is successful?" "Knowledge of great importance

to me and the people I live among," he replied. "What

will you ask?" he continued, before she could ask him what

that knowledge was.

  "I have inherited the gift of my ancestor who

quested before me-but it does my people no good unless the

gods allow the lands of Atridia and Tosus to be

joined," she replied.

  "As you said your people have long talked of. Why?"

"Because the people of my land are in dire need, while we

have things the people of Tosus need equally. When our

population was small, we had enough of the proper foods

to give everyone a healthy diet. But much of

Atridia is rocky highlands. We graze seja

  there, use their wool, their milk, their meat, and have

plenty we could trade with other lands for the grains and

fruits our land will not grow in the quantities our people

need. If the gods would but allow it," she concluded

sadly.

  "Why do the gods not allow it?" Data asked.

  "You don't know?" she asked in surprise.

  "No, I do not."

  "Do you mean that that story also has been lost in your

land? Or that you have never been told it?"

  "I have never been told it," Data replied,

avoiding admitting that he did not come from one of

Elysia's lands.

  "It is the oldest of stories," she said. "When

the gods first placed our people on Elysia, all were in

one great land. With the aid of the gods, the Elysians

grew and thrived--until they began to quarrel with one

another over the best land, food, property, even

marriages. The quarrels grew into a great

conflict, and the Elysians began to kill one

another. "The gods saw that our people were still as children,

to fight over what should be decided according to the common good.

Therefore they divided the people into many separate

lands, with the great swamp all in between, so that none might

do battle with another land. It is said that the people were so

enamored of war that they tried to defy the gods,

raising armies that died attempting to cross the

swamp for no reason other than to kill people they thought

were their enemies."

  Thelia shook her head at such inexplicable

foolishness. "After a time, the attempts were

abandoned. Each group of Elysians learned

to survive in their own land. Peace brought

prosperity, and the gods smiled 86

  upon them once again. Eventually a few were allowed

to cross the swamp and undergo the Quest, but only those

who proved themselves worthy. And so it is to this day."

  Thelia's voice grew softer, and a yawn

interrupted. But she continued, "In Atridia, we

understand how foolish it is to fight over what may be

properly divided by peaceful means. We hope the

gods will understand . . . that we . . . have grown up."

Her words trailed off. Thelia snuggled sleepily

against Data, growing relaxed and heavy as she

settled into slumber. He held her, pondering the

story she had told, wondering if the gods would

allow what she was asking, considering that they had

separated the Elysians in the first place.

The legend corroborated what Enterprise

sensors had discovered: the planet could not have evolved

its population, and the habi- tats could not exist

naturally.

  Could these "gods" possibly be a surviving

colony of the legendary Preservers, who had once

gathered endangered intelligent races from around the

galaxy and "seeded" them on uninhabited planets?

What a discovery that would be! Starfleet had been

searching for further information on the Preservers for over

two hundred years.

  There was little enough in Data's memory banks about the

Preservers. He accessed records on similar

guarded colonies, of which there were few. As usual

when one accessed Starfleet exploratory

records, he came quickly to the name Enterprise, this

time their own vessel, but Data did not have to call

up Starfleet reports on the planet of the Edos;

he had been there. Annoyingly, the being or beings those

people called God had taken a great deal of information from

him, 87

  but given little in return. They had not

demonstrated as much power as these Elysian gods-but

then, they had not had occasion to, for the Enterprise had

backed off at their mere approach. Data

added another question to the long list he would ask the

Elysian "gods" if this Quest finally did bring

him face to face with them.

  Thelia slept on, secure in Data's arms.

Nothing disturbed them as the hours passed, although

Data had set his sensors to bring a full scan of

their surroundings to his central consciousness every ten

minutes while his attention was occupied elsewhere.

Finally, though, he had followed every lead he could think

of, and had no more information to access. Although there was

nothing more for him to do than wait for Thelia to waken,

Data was not frustrated at his forced inaction. He

recalled how Tasha had found the inability to take

action the most frustrating of all situations . . .

and then realized that that was not the reason Tasha Yar had

come into his mind.

  It was the feel of a woman asleep in his arms that

reminded Data of Tasha once again. She was the

last to have rested there. It had felt good to have her

trust, her friendship, to know he had given her

pleasureand it had taken many months after her

unexpected denial for them to become close friends

again. He was unutterably glad that they had done so

before her death, and that when they were assigned together on the

mission to Treva they had overcome the last

lingering obstacles and resumed, even deepened, their

friendship.

  If that mission had not reunited Tasha with

Darryl Adin, her first love, it might have led to-

Data broke away from such thoughts. There were times when

he was glad to be a machine, with heuss 88

  ristic algorithms he could control instead of a

subconscious he could not. Fond memories, on

the other hand, were something he shared gratefully with his

human friends. Not just factual memory, which for him was

far more accurate than for any organic being-no, it

was what he had come to describe as the "flavor" of the

moment that he had learned to savor. The metaphor

he chose to describe it came from a conversation he

had once had with Tasha, when she had described how

associating certain foods with pleasant occasions

made her appreciate them more when she encountered them

again. That was when Data discovered that, without being

consciously aware of it, he did the same thing with

all sensory experiences: they were neutral to him

until associated with specific company or

occasions, whereupon they were forever after pleasant or

unpleasant.

  So, although he had not known Thelia long enough to do more

than admire her spirit and determination, and her

courage in overcoming superstitious fears, he

felt pleasure in holding her because of his memories

and associations. As the hours passed, though, and

Data reviewed what had happened thus far on his

unplanned Quest, he recalled that the Elysian

"gods" had provided images not only of his

crewmates, which they could easily take from the

Enterprise in orbit, but of Tasha. He had not

spoken of her to Thelia; could they have accessed his

memory banks without his knowledge? To Data, that was a most

alarming thought.

  On the other hand, the Enterprise logs contained

gigabytes of information on all present and former

crew, including a transcript of Data's

recent trial at Starbase 173. The

holographic image of Tasha was 89

  back in his quarters. The "gods" could have gotten

the information for their series of images without invading

Data's memory banks. He assumed that either they

could not invade his mental privacy, or that they conformed

to an ethical system that would forbid it.

  Wherever the truth lay, he realized that for the moment

there was nothing he could do but proceed with the Quest, and

hope that in the end he would receive answers to his questions.

  When Thelia stirred awake, she smiled

shyly at Data. "Thank you," she said. "I would

have been most uncomfortable without your help. As it

is, I rested well, and am ready to go on."

  The trail continued steep and difficult for more than

two hours, but at the end of that time the temperature

finally began to rise. Thelia repacked her cloak.

As the temperature continued to climb, her quilted

vest joined it in her pack, and she stopped often

to drink from the water bag. "It must be a further test

of your endurance," Data said. "We have been winding

around the outer edge of the mountain; if the heat were

geothermal, it would be higher at the core."

  "I do not care where it comes from," Thelia said,

wiping the sweat from her brow, "so long as it does not

stop us."

  "An increase of many more degrees will not harm

me," said Data, "but the temperature is now

close to upper tolerances for organic beings." "How

hot must it be to harm you? Would the fire not burn you?"

Thelia asked.

  "Not unless I were foolish enough to leave my hand in it

for several minutes."

  "The heat of the smith's forge?" she asked. "It

melts iron and steel." "Oh, that heat could

damage me," Data agreed. Recalling

that the Elysian gods appeared to tailor their tests

according to what they overheard from the questors, though, he

did not elaborate. Actually, a forge such as

Thelia's people could build would not do more than external

damage; that could be temporarily incapacitating if

it destroyed his sensors or motor functions, but

such damage was repairable. It would take the heat of

an atomic firestorm to endanger his most vital and

well shielded components. They had stopped again.

Thelia took another measured drink, then shook her

head. "I cannot help but envy your strength and

endurance."

  Data smiled sadly. "I envy your spirit, your

creativity, your belief in a purpose to your

existence. I would gladly give up all my

mechanical strength and sensory acuity to be

human."

  "You are not happy as you are?" she asked him.

"I . . . do not truly comprehend happiness," he

admitted. "I find satisfaction in performing my

functions. I understand friendship and loyalty. But there

are things that will be forever beyond me, experiences I

observe in those I live among, but can never

comprehend."

  To his consternation, he found her smiling

at him. "Do you not realize that that is true of

everyone, Data? No one is ever truly

satisfied." Data recalled Dr. Pulaski's

remark that lack of satisfaction was a good definition

of being human. Unfortunately, he was not

satisfied with the definition.

  Thelia was still panting, but she continued, "We must go

on now. The gods wish to test us, not destroy us."

  Data opened his mouth, then closed it again. She was

right: there was no reason for the gods, as she had

described them, to use "test to destruct" on their

people. That they would not, judging from Thelia's confidence, was

apparently part of her knowledge of Quest lore. The path

narrowed to another tunnel, which opened into a

rectangular chamber, obviously artificial.

To the left was an archway through which they could see

caverns glittering with ice; Thelia gravitated

toward the cool breeze wafting from it. To the right the

trail led upward, but blasts of heat poured from that

narrow entrance.

  "Burn or freeze," Thelia said. She moved

deliberately away from the coolness and toward the

entrance from which came the hot air. She could not even

reach the archway, but threw her arms over her face and

retreated. "It is too hot, Data.

I cannot go in there."

  "Then it must be the other way," he replied. "I

can keep you warm if necessary." He strode forward into the

ice cavern. Here the formations were real ice. Thelia

put her vest and cloak back on. The trail was

level and easy, compared to the climbing they had done

for the past few hours. Thelia said, "Let's run.

That will keep me warm-was Data jogged easily beside

her, noting that she knew how to pace herself. They

continued this way for perhaps twenty minutes-until

Data realized, "Thelia, we are going in

circles."

  "What do you mean? I see nothing we have passed

before."

  "The formations change, but we remain on the same

level. We are making no progress. The scenery

changes, while we waste time and energy running the

same path repeatedly."

  She stopped, and turned to him, breathing heavily.

"You are certain?" "I am certain."

  "Then we must go back," she said. "I don't

know how I can stand that heat, but I must."

  When they turned back, though, the scenery changed

again. The smooth path became uneven, and suddenly

there were rock formations in their way that had not

been there before.

  "A penalty," Data said, "for making a wrong

choice. I am sorry." "How could you know?"

Thelia gasped, slipping down the side of an icy

rock to land beside him. She rubbed her chapped hands

together. Data took Thelia's hands between his. "You

should have brought gloves." "Whats?"

  "Coverings for your hands." He filed away

another piece of information as to the level of culture

of the Elysians: they had not yet even invented

gloves. Little wonder they believed in magic.

  They continued doggedly backtracking. While they

remained on one level despite clambering over

obstacles, at least they were not descending. The

caverns closed in on them again-and there was the archway,

up ahead. "Thank the gods!" Thelia exclaimed,

and hurried

  toward it. Data kept pace with her, and they

moved through together-but not into the chamber where they had made

the choice. There was no other archway, only the

trail straight ahead of them, leading upward. "This

is not-was Data began.

  The rest of his sentence was drowned by the slam of a

metal door falling behind them, centimeters from their

heels. There would be no backtracking from this

choice.

  "We have but one way to go now," Thelia said. She

started forward-and the ground opened under her feet!

  Only the speed of Data's reflexes enabled

him to pull her back as a chasm yawned.

  The earth shook with the throbbing crack of tearing

rock. They backed against the door, with less than a

meter of rock to stand on, the gap growing- Data could

jump it, but if it kept growing it would soon be beyond

even his ability. "We must get across at once,"

he said as he swung Thelia into his arms, crouched-

A wall of flame roared up out of the chasm,

yellow, then blue-then white!

  A firestorm of unbearable heat poured over them.

Data's back was to a solidly shut door, he was

walled off from turning right or left, and before him

whitehot flames threw off such heat that Thelia

turned from it with a whimper, shielding her face against his

shoulder as the odor of her singed hair set off his

warning sensors: fire, smoke-death to humans, and

heat of such intensity that in seconds it would do

irreparable damage to Data himself!

  SPEED wAs THEIR only chance. Data said,

"Hold your breath!" not breathing himself lest

superheated air affect delicate

internal components. He wrapped Thelia's cloak

over her head, and leaped through the firestorm. Every

microsecond of the passage through the flame

registered on Data's consciousness, warnings first of

danger, then damage- He landed running, sensors

in discordant uproar. Ignoring them, he sprinted

away from the blast- furnace heat until finally the

trail turned and he could no longer hear the roaring

flames.

  The massive temperature differentials turned

the caverns into a wind tunnel; sand and small

rocks scoured Data as he fell to his knees,

still shielding Thelia.

  He could not tell the temperature: after blasting his

circuitry with messages of destruction, his

surface sensors had gone dead. But when he drew

in a cautious breath, internal sensors told him

the air was 95

  tolerable. His automatics set about preserving his

systems as the heat his skin had absorbed penetrated

into his body.

  When the wind died, Data sat up and opened his

eyes. Leaving his automatics to restore his own

systems, he pulled the scorched cloak away from

Thelia. She was unconscious, but alive.

When Data tried to adjust his vision to examine her,

he found that it was limited to the human range he had

accessed when the light increased. That indicated

damage to the sensors that served him as eyes-but at

least he could see well enough to tell that Thelia was

alive and breathing. Her face, which had been pressed

against his chest, was unharmed, just as the front of

Data's body was undamaged where she had shielded

him. The backs of her hands were reddened and blistered,

for where she had clung to him they had been protected

only by the single layer of her cloak. The sleeves

of her heavy shirt, though, had put another layer

between her arms and the terrible heat; they seemed to have

suffered little damage. Her legs and feet were covered

by trousers and sturdy boots, and her hair had

protected the back of her neck. If her lungs

were not scorched, she would recover. Data reached for his

tricorder, wondering if the gods would allow it to work

for purposes of medical diagnostics-but pulled his

hand away with a lightning-quick reflex. The

tricorder, fully exposed to the firestorm, was

red-hot.

  The sensors on Data's palms and fingers,

protected by his hold on Thelia; had come through

unharmed, 96

  and his systems were slowly adjusting to compensate for

lost function. Thelia stirred, coughed, and opened her

eyes. She sat up, wincing as she put one hand

over the back of the other. Data recalled that the pain

of burns was the most severe that humanoid beings could

suffer. But although she frowned as she flexed her hands,

she quickly said, "I'll be all right." Her voice

was husky, and she coughed again. Then she looked at

Data and her eyes widened in concern. "Oh-you are

badly hurt!" "All my damage can be

repaired." It was not just a reassuring lie;

replacements for his surface sensors were readily

available aboard the Enterprise, and after he and

Geordi were satisfied that everything was once again

functioning properly, Dr. Pulaski would

replace his full synthoskin if necessary. A few

hours of work, and there would be no evidence that he had

ever been damaged.

  Thelia coughed again, but Data recognized throat

irritation, not the lung damage he had feared. He

found the water bag-dripping the last dregs of their

supply.

  Thelia stared. "How could that be damaged? It is not

burnt." Data examined it. "The extreme heat

turned the water to steam and burst the bag.

So we are without a way to carry water. We had

best assess the rest of the damage," he added, handing

her her pack.

  Data had wrapped the cloak about Thelia, not

  giving a thought to the pack or water bag. The

pack had protected a section of his left hip and

back, but it was thoroughly scorched, and so were its

contents. 97

  Thelia's food supply was a blackened mess,

as were what had apparently been spare garments.

  Only the leather sling did not crumble when Thelia

picked it out of the ashes. She brushed it as clean as

she could, looped it over her belt beside her knife,

then looked up at Data and said, "The gods will

supply our needs. Let me see how badly you

are hurt, Data. Perhaps there is something I can . .

. repair."

  "We have no tools or replacement parts," he

said. "Please do not be concerned, Thelia. The

damage is superficial and will be quickly repaired

when I get . . . home."

  But Thelia insisted on examining him. She

confirmed what his sensors-or lack thereof in some

areas-told him. On much of his back, the sides of

his legs, and the backs of his arms, the

synthetic material of his uniform and skin had melted

and fused together. His hair had melted, too, but had

done its job of protecting the delicate sensory

components housed in his head. Subdermal sensors were

out in the fused areas, but other than the damaged

circuit that . restricted his vision, his other

sensory apparatus seemed to work now that it had

cooled to its range of function. He could not see his

face, but could feel that the skin of his forehead had

bubbled. It probably looked like that on the back of

his left hand: like organic skin horribly scarred.

The rest of his face had been pressed against

Thelia's cloak for the leap across the chasm; it had

suffered little or no damage. The previously

damaged skin of the back of his right hand had burned

away entirely, though, leaving the skeletal

structure and neural net exposed. After much

argument, he was able to persuade

  Thelia that he could go on, and they continued their

climb onward. "The gods temper the wind to the

shorn seja," observed Thelia, and Data realized

that the temperature was within a normal range for

humanoid comfort for the first time since the rockfall.

  He almost began to answer her quote by telling her

that his people said the same thing about shorn lambs,

but remembered the unspoken agreement with Elysia's

gods not to inform their people of other worlds. Then he began

to wonder whether his strangeness was being repeatedly

demonstrated to Thelia to determine whether her people were

ready to be introduced to that very concept.

  The trail continued upward, until Data

judged that they were more than two-thirds of the way up the

mountain. Thelia lagged, though, licking her lips in

thirst. She must also be hungry; the sensors that

informed him of the state of his organic components were

prodding Data with reminders that they should be

replenished. Stress of this magnitude to his

electronic components affected his organic parts,

creating excessive electron resistance across the

neural filaments at the mechanical-organic

interface. Without that interface, his positronic

brain could not function.

  It was impossible for an android to "starve

to death." However, if Data could not replenish

certain organic nutrients soon, his safeties

would shut him down. He would remain in stasis

until found by someone who knew how to reanimate

him. Inside Elysia's sacred mountain, that could

mean forever. He wondered if Elysia's gods

knew that. After all, his design was

unique- Even if they had encountered other androids,

they might not know his personal specifications.

  So he said to Thelia, "We are in need of

nutrients and water." "There is no choice but to go

on until we find some. It is a test of

endurance."

  "Humans are capable of going on beyond their

endurance," Data said. "What do you mean?" she

asked.

  "If you refuse to give up, you cannot be stopped

short of death. There are situations, though, in which my

will has no effect: I am designed with

safeguards which will stop my function so as to retain

my systems in a state from which I can later be

revived."

  "Do you mean you cannot die?" she asked.

  "Oh, no, I can certainly die. In fact,

my friends remind me often that I am not

indestructible. If I had fallen into that flaming

chasm I would have been as dead as you. However, I cannot

die from attrition. If my power source is

damaged, or when in the future it simply wears

out, if it cannot be immediately replaced my systems will

shut down to preserve my memory banks for

revival when power can be restored. The

same is true of my organic components."

  "You have not eaten since our Quest began," said

Thelia, "and you have been injured. If you do not find

food you will-?"

  "Cease to function," he supplied. "To you it would

appear that I was asleep or unconscious."

  "Is this about to happen?"

  "The nutrients in my system have reached the

  critical level, giving me a thirty-minute

warning. If I do not restore the balance in that time

my systems will shut down."

  Thelia nodded. "Continuing to climb hastens the use

of . . . nutrients?"

  "Yes." There was no use trying to explain that

what he needed were trace elements. They might be

readily available in the rocks surrounding them, but the

gods had apparently made certain Data would not be

able to ascertain that without his tricorder.

  "You must stay here and rest while I seek ahead

for food," Thelia told him. "There may be

dangers-was

  "Not dangers beyond my capabilities, if I

am alert," she replied. "The gods do not

require that which we are not capable of, only that which

tests us to our limits."

  Data remembered how she had driven off the

gring. Yet she was a small woman, frail,

flesh and blood, and had needed his aid to pass every

obstacle. But then, that might be the test. If he were

human, it would be a test of pride. Or perhaps it was

of trust, that the Elysian gods could indeed

provide what an android required. "Go, then,"

he told her, sitting down with his back against one of the

ubiquitous rock formations. "I trust that the gods

will not ask what you cannot provide."

  Thelia stood, checking the knife and sling at her

waist, and started purposefully up the path. She

disappeared around a twist in the trail, but Data

turned up his hearing to keep track of her

footsteps. They did not fade out, but paused. He

heard softer noises-apparently she had to crawl

through another tunnel.

  Suddenly Thelia's laughter drifted back

to him. "Data!" she called, her voice echoing

hollowly, "come and join me."

  Wondering if it were a trap, he went somewhat

cautiously around the bend in the trail and stooped

  crawl through the tunnel that appeared before him. There

was bright light at the other end.

  He emerged into daylight.

  No-it was the kind of "daylight" projected on a

holodeck when no specific planet had been

selected and so the program did not place a sun

in the sky. It was a generic pastoral scene: a

lake, a few trees, and strategically placed

woods and hills so that one could not see off into the

nonexistent distance.

  Thelia knelt beside the lake, drinking from her

cupped hands. She looked up when he joined her,

saying, "The gods provide. Look."

  There were plants growing in the water, some of them

bearing blossoms, others fruits ranging from green

through red to purple. Thelia plucked two purple

ones, handing one to Data. "Do you have pears in your

land?" she asked.

  "Not exactly like these," he hedged, accepting the

fruit and taking a small bite. His sensors

analyzed it as containing some of the components he needed,

in small quantities, so he ate it as she did,

leaving the core. Thelia tossed the core of hers, with

its seeds, back into the water. "More will grow," she

said.

  Dr would if this were a real place, Data thought,

but did not contradict her. He tossed the

core of his own fruit into the lake, then drank some

of the water.

  Thelia plucked another water pear, and ate it as

she walked over to a nearby tree. "Look," she

said, "gring nuts. But people like them just as well." She

started to climb the tree, but Data came over and

picked her up so that she could reach the clusters in the

branches overhead. When she had both hands full,

he set her 102

  down and she looked around. "Nothing but rocks

until we need some," she commented.

  "Rocks?" Data asked, puzzled.

  "To crack the nuts open," Thelia explained.

  "Ah," said Data, taking one from her and

squeezing it between his fingers until the shell cracked.

Then he separated it neatly into two halves and

handed it to her.

  Thelia laughed again. "I forget how very strong you

are. Eat now, and restore yourself."

  But Data needed only a few nutmeats along

with the fruit he had already consumed. Interestingly, they

provided exactly the electrolytes the pears were

missing. Despite the drain of maintaining the

organic interface with mechanical components

operating at low efficiency, he would not

need to replenish his organic nutrients for some time

now. When Thelia had eaten her fill, she

pocketed the rest of the nuts and said, "I need

to sleep again, Data. What about you? Do you not

sleep even to heal after injury?"

  "No. I shall keep watch again, although I

suspect that you are right: The gods have provided us a

place of refuge to restore ourselves before we go on."

  She stared at him. "I did not say that, although I

was thinking it." She took his right hand, studying the

exposed mechanical components. "You say that you were

made, like a doll, and magically brought to life.

Yet you think and act like a person." She raised

her dark eyes to his. "There is only one thing you can

be questing for, is there not?"

  "I have told you, L wish to meet the gods."

  "Yes-for only the gods can give you a soul."

  "That is not possible," he said.

  "Anything is possible for the gods," Thelia

insisted. "But," Data asked, "is not the soul, if

it exists at all, a consciousness capable of existing

beyond the limits of the physical body?" "That is not

the wording taught in my land, but the idea is the

same." "Then a soul is not something that can be

manufactured and installed. It must exist

from the time a person becomes self-aware.

Actually," he added, "I have official permission

to attempt to discover whether or not I have one. Perhaps

I should add that to the list of questions I shall ask the

gods." Data's Starfleet colleagues would

probably have considered that statement facetious, but

Thelia's eyes widened. "You do not know whether you have

a soul?"

  "I have consciousness. I share in common with humans

the question of whether that consciousness will continue after my

body ceases to function." "Oh, I hope yours

is not a sad story, like that of Calatina." "Is that

the doll you mentioned earlier, whom the gods brought

to life?" Data asked. "Please tell me. I

do not know that story."

  "A woodcarver made a doll so beautiful that

he fell in love with her, and even gave her a name,

Calatina. So great was his devotion that the gods

permitted him to Quest, that Calatina be brought

to life. When he returned home again, lo, there she

was, walking and talking, but . . . like you, Data,

she was not living flesh. She was still made of wood, but

even more beautiful now that she could move and speak and

dance. But the story says she had no soul. The

104

  woodcarver loved her, but she could not love him in

return."

  Data was familiar with that lack. He understood

friendship and caring, but he often felt set apart from that

elusive emotion humans call love. "I know

how she felt," he replied. "Did she then

Quest for a soul?" Thelia smiled. "You said you did

not know the story."

  "If she were sentient, having been taught that that was

the reason for her lack, she would undoubtedly

attempt it."

  "Yes, Calatina did attempt it-and she

succeeded. When she faced the gods in their

sanctuary, she asked that she be made capable of

loving, comt she might marry a living man and make

him happy.

  "The gods agreed-and she found herself back in her

homeland, in the body of a flesh and blood woman."

  "Intriguing," Data said. "She quested for a

soul, but instead was given a body. It appears that like

so many others, your people believe that only those of flesh

and blood have souls."

  Thelia frowned. "I never thought of it that way.

All of the stories about inanimate beings brought

to life are unhappy ones. In most, the

creature is a monster who turns on the one who

brought him life. Calatina is the only one

depicted as a nice person, but even she is

foolish."

  "It is no wonder you were afraid of me," said

Data. "Your culture says I should not exist.

In my . . . home, although there are indeed stories

in which such creations turn on those who made them, there

is a story similar to yours in which a woodcarver

makes not a woman, but a little boy, Pinocchio."

  Data told Thelia the story, adding, "A friend

introduced me to that story, and has reminded me of it

since. Pinocchio first came to life because of an old

man's love, but became a flesh and blood

persongained a soul, as I suppose you would put

it-only after he had undergone many trials and

adventures. But his story has a happy ending,

Thelia: he was reunited with those who were family

to him, able to be the son his human father wanted."

Thelia smiled. "What a beautiful story. I

wonder why it is not known in Atridia? I shall

tell it when I get home."

  Oh, no, Data thought, what have 1 done? But

could introducing a story so similar to those that the

Elysians already knew break the Prime

Directive any more than letting them know of the

existence of androids? The Elysian gods, not

Data, had forced Thelia to face that. Nor had they

interrupted his telling of the story. So he said,

"Tell me the rest of the tale of Calatina." "It

is different from your Pinocchio story. Both the

woodcarver and the woman he created went on selfish

quests, and each was granted precisely what he

asked for. Calatina carne to life, but could not love

him. Her quest made her capable of loving-but it was

not the woodcarver she came to love. On her way

home she met a handsome young man, and fell in love

with him. However, he did not desire her."

  "A triangle," Data observed.

  "A tragic one. The man Calatina fell in

love with did not love her. The woodcarver loved

her, but she did not love him in return. She pined

after the other man, while the woodcarver pined for her.

Calatinacd not accept that the man she loved did not

want

  her, until he married another. On his wedding

day she finally became free of his spell and

returned to the woodcarver. But by that time he had grown

so ill from unrequited yearning that he lay on his

deathbed. "Calatina came to him in

tears-the first tears she had ever shed-vowing her love.

He whispered his to her as he died. With one last

sigh, her heart burst, and she fell dead upon him-but

the story says they are together now, for in that one moment

of love's unity, their souls were at last joined."

Data shook his head. "That is a sad story."

  "What it's really about is the reason for questing,"

said Thelia. "Neither the woodcarver nor Calatina

asked for what they really wanted, because they did not

understand what that was. He asked for her to come to life,

when what he wanted was for her to love him. She

asked to be made capable of love, when what she

wanted was to love the woodcarver." She smiled.

"I suppose that means she did not have to be flesh and

blood to love."

  "Yes," Data mused, "that fits a story my

gr-a teacher of the man who made me once told

me. It was about a man made of tin, who yearned to have

a heart. He, too, went on a quest, only

to discover in the end that he had had a heart all

along."

  "He was not transformed?" Thelia asked.

  "No, but he was satisfied," said Data, who

had looked up the entire story. "Yet you wish

to be transformed."

  "Yes, Thelia, my fondest wish is to know what

it would be like to be human, but what happens in

legends and fairy tales is one thing. What can

happen in actuality is quite another."

  "Data, do you wish to offend the gods? They give

such gifts as the Voice of Power or the Kiss of

Bonding-surely nothing is beyond their power." "More

folktales?" he suggested.

  "No. I have personal knowledge of these gifts. No

one can disobey the one with the Voice of Power, while the

Kiss of Bonding binds the one kissed in total and

selfless love. These are rare and dangerous gifts,

and seldom bestowed, for they may cause mischief,

even disaster, if misused." "Those gifts are easy

enough to understand," Data replied, knowing the power of

suggestion on unsophisticated people like the

Elysians. "They operate because people believe they

do."

  "They also affect those who do not know of their

existence," Thelia said. "If I-was She halted,

curbing the first signs of anger Data had seen in

her. Obviously he had offended her with his

skeptical attitude toward her sacred beliefs.

"Data," she went on, "if you do not believe in the

powers of the gods, how can you quest?"

  "I know they have great powers," he assured her.

"That is why I wish to speak with them, to try to understand

how they do what they do. But I will not ask for the

impossible."

  "Nothing is impossible for the gods," she

asserted. "Even gods cannot break the laws of

nature, Thelia."

  Thelia looked into Data's eyes with concern.

"Be very careful what you wish for, Data. If you

deny your true desire, you will find the gods' gift

no boon at all."

  Thelia seemed confident now that they would both make

it to the sanctuary. Data was aware of the dangers of

overconfidence, but as Thelia sleepily made a

nest of her abused cloak and prepared to rest,

  Metamorphosis

  he realized that he was coming to agree with her. She

knew the powers of these gods after all. What might

happen if he did ask for his true desire? As

he had told her, even severe damage did not

cause him to require sleep. were two organic

being on this Quest, he was sure there would be a test of

alertness at this point, when both would be exhausted.

Weariness, however, was another human experience

Data could only observe without understanding.

He could malfunction from damage, but not from being

overtired. Data left Thelia to sleep, and

explored the small habitat they had been

provided, to determine which way to go when they left it.

On the other side of the lake he could see a trail

that seemed the most likely exit. It was a small

lake; Data should be able to walk around to the other

side in less than. fifteen minutes. When he

attempted to round the end, however, he rare into the

wall of the illusion.

  With his sight restricted to human range, he could

not see even a holodeck wall at the moment-but the

Elysian gods produced illusions he could not

detect even with all sensors fully functioning.

He turned in the opposite direction, but encountered

a similar wall at the other end of the lake. They were

not to be allowed to walk around it. They must either build

some kind of boat, or go through the water. Swimming

such a short distance would be no problem for Thelia,

Data was sure, but he hesitated to go into the water

with one gaping hole in his protective synthoskin

and the molecular structure of other areas weakened. With

so many of his sensors inoperative, Data could not

detect flaws in areas of 109

  synthoskin he could not see, or tell

whether some interior insulation might have melted or

charred away entirely. Exposed circuits could

short out in contact with water.

  Once Data had discovered the perimeter of their

little habitat by bumping his nose on it, he saw that

the trees they might have built a raft from were all

beyond their reach, part of the illusion of background

scenery. Only the gring-nut tree was "real," but the

widest point of its trunk was hardly as thick as his

neck. Even if Data had had the tools to cut it

into lengths to build a raft, he doubted it would

provide enough buoyancy to counteract his density.

  However, the gods had certainly scanned him

thoroughly by now; they might not know all his

capabilities, but he was sure they had discovered every

detail of his physical structure. Possibly

that tree would yield a raft just barely able to float

Data across the lake. If so, what would he fasten

the logs together with? The closest thing to ropes he could

see were the tangled stems of the water pears. When he

tested them, however, they broke at the slightest

tug.

  Another test, it seemed. Data could attempt

to cut up the tree, but the only tool available was

Thelia's knife. His strength might allow

him to complete the task with such an inadequate

tool, but not without dulling it beyond function. Before he

risked that, he had to know if there was any use in the

exercise.

  Data chose a tree limb slightly bigger

around than his arm, and twisted until it splintered

away from the trunk. He stripped away leaves and

twigs, and dropped the limb into the lake.

  It sank.

  That wasn't possible.

  His sensors could not be so garbled that he would not have

felt it to be excessively heavy. And organic

material almost always floated. Is this an answer

to my assertion that even gods cannot break the laws of

nature?

  But then, if Elysia's gods wanted to have

trees too dense to float, they could do so here, in

their own domain. It was nothing more than a holodeck

program could achieve. But their powers surely could

not affect anything beyond Elysia, any more than a

holodeck figure could walk out into the corridors

of the Enterprise.

  Apparently the gods were determined that Data go

through that water. He would send Thelia across first, he

decided. She must not be in the water at the

same time, in case his circuits shorted out. He

would not allow her to risk electrocution. Once

Thelia was safely on the opposite shore, Data

would walk across on the bottom of the lake. If it was

not too deep, perhaps he could keep his right hand, with its

gap in the synthoskin, out of the water entirely.

  He wondered how deep the lake was at its

center. With his normal range of vision, he could have

seen it. Geordi would certainly have known with a glance-

Geordi.

  Suddenly Data remembered the cylinder the

Elysian gods' version of Geordi had given

him. "When you have need to see beyond sight, use this. was

Data had put the cylinder into the holster with his

tricorder. It was still there, undamaged. It hadn't

shown him anything before, but perhaps it would only work at the

time it was intended for.

  Data peered through the cylinder at the lake. Yes

. . . he could see beyond surface reflections now,

  beyond the water pears' tangled stems and the murk

beneath. The vision grew clearer. The bottom. sloped

gently downward for perhaps ten meters, then dropped

off sharply.

  Data waded out until the water was

nearly up to his knees. From there he could see into the

depths . . . bottomless depths. The chasm beneath the

lake went down beyond the measurement capability of the

instrument he held. Its sides were sheer

verticals, as smooth as glass. Not even Data

could climb such a wall.

  The chasm was a good fifteen meters across, a leap

that would test Data's ability on dry ground. With the

drag of water against- him, it was far beyond his tolerance.

The chasm extended the entire width of the lake; there

was no skirting around it in the shallows.

  So, Data was stopped here. If the trail on the

other side of the lake was the way the Elysian gods

intended them to go, he had failed the Quest. That did

not seem likely, however. Thelia said that the gods

did not expect more than questors were capable of.

They would have to leave the way they had come in--and chances

were, the gods would have a new trail, with new

challenges, waiting for them.

  Data waded out of the lake. Nothing in his legs

had shorted out, but his undamaged anterior warning

sensors informed him that water had leaked into his legs

and feet. Where the synthoskin on the backs of his

legs had melted and fused with the material of his

uniform, he discovered cracks. Now the

water was seeping out again.

  Data pressed gently, meaning to temporarily

widen a crack on his left ankle just above the top

of his boot, 112

  to let the water out more quickly. Instead, the entire

section of fused synthetics came loose in his hand,

the water pouring out with a soft "sploosh." Another

section of his internal workings was exposed. He did

not tamper with the back of his right leg, but made his way

toward the tunnel through which they had entered this temporary

shelter. When he squatted down to try to see the

tunnel, though, the skin of his right calf could no

longer stretch to accommodate the movement. It,

too, peeled away. He now knew the effects of

cold water on the areas of synthoskin melted by the

firestorm. So must Elysia's gods. They would have

to provide him with alternatives to going into the lake.

  He quickly discovered that the alternatives did not

include going back the way they had come. The

mysterious cylindrical instrument located the back

wall of this holographic illusion, but nowhere did

it reveal tunnel, doorway, or any other

exit.

  And when Data turned around, the scenery had

changed. The lake was still there, its contours

unchanged. Gone, however, were the water pears, the

grass, the gring-nut tree. The scene was

desolate wasteland, rocks and sand with a few

scrubby bushes clustered around the lake. There was an

orange sun in the sky now, causing the rocks and

hills to cast maroon shadows.

  Thelia still slept, unaware of the change, and

Data went to sit beside her, reassuring himself that she

was safe. In the short time he had known her she had

proved courageous, capable, flexible, and loyal.

What did the gods expect of her now? Or of

Data? They had 113

  effectively trapped him here, it seemed. He

accessed everything in his memory banks on the

archetype of the Quest, and found that while the questor

often had companions for much of his journey, there always

came a point at which he or she must face a final

test alone.

  Perhaps Thelia must go on without him. If that were so,

he could only wish her well, and hope that when the

gods released him from this trap, they would allow him

to continue alone until he had earned answers to at

least some of his many questions.

  Dismissing his own concerns, Data considered how

to send Thelia onward with the best chance of

success. The change in the scene obviously had

meaning. Would there be a threat to Thelia now? If his

vision was not functioning fully, his hearing was; he

set it again to highest level and 360-degree

scan, alert for poisonous reptiles or insects

such as might inhabit a desert wasteland.

  No such menaces threatened, but off in the distance

Data heard faint, harsh cries. Far on the other

side of the lake two creatures circled in the

air-birds or flying reptiles his curtailed

vision could not discern. When he looked through the cylinder

again, it acted as a telescope. They were birds,

raptors with curved beaks and vicious claws. They

seemed not to have noticed Data and his sleeping

companion, but given their purpose here he doubted that

lack of notice would continue.

  Data kept an eye on the birds while he

maintained a close watch, expecting something

to happen nearby if he allowed his attention to be

fixed on the other side of the lake. As an android,

Data did not exhibit 114

  tension through sweating or nervous gestures or

stomach pains, but he shared with humans the frustration

of sensing that something unpleasant was inevitably going

to happen.

  Thelia slept on, and after a time Data decided

nothing would happen until the gods were sure she had

had enough rest to maintain health, if not a sense of

well-being. Having thoroughly explored the

habitat, Data remained at Thelia's side

until she woke.

  When she stared at the changed scenery, he

explained what had happened, and led her to feel the

walls that would not allow them to walk around the lake.

She ate the handful of leftover gring-nuts while

she verified what Data had discovered.

  "We must swim the lake," she said at last.

  "Thelia, I cannot swim, nor can I walk through the

lake because of the chasm. The tunnel has closed behind

us. It appears that this is where you and I must part

company."

  "Data-no!" Thelia exclaimed.

  He smiled at her as reassuringly as he could

manage. "It is your Quest, Thelia. I was on

the island, so the gods let me help you for a time. You

have overcome your fear of me, although they have shown you

all my strangeness. Now they have placed a barrier

which you can cross easily, but which is impossible for

me. Perhaps," he added, "to show you that every being, no

matter its strengths, also has its

weaknesses. I have considered every possibility and

probability, Thelia. There is no choice for you but

to leave me here."

  "But what of your Quest, Data?"

  "Perhaps mine is an impossible request. Or

per- 115

  haps the gods have other plans once you have gone

ahead. One thing the gods have certainly made clear:

unless they plan to carry me miraculously across that

lake, I cannot go with you to the other side."

  "Oh, Data," said Thelia, tears in her

eyes, "I shall miss you. I am sure the gods will

allow you to complete your Quest. I just wish we could

go on together."

  "So do I. But you must go now."

  She nodded. "Yes. I have come to depend on you,

as I dreamed as a child of having a protector. My

mother made me leave such foolish dreams behind and

learn to depend on myself. Now it is time to do so again.

I shall miss you, Data-far more than I missed the

seja doll that was only a prince in my imagination.

You are real-and I hope that the gods will grant that which

you most desire."

  "I wish the same for you, Thelia," he told her

solemnly. "If my Quest is

successful," she added, "if two lands are united,

and we show that we will not go to war again-then one day the

gods may allow travel more easily between distant

lands. Perhaps we shall meet again." "I wish that could be

so," Data replied honestly. Thelia wrapped her

boots in her battered cloak, and balanced the

package on her head. She walked to the edge of the

chasm, then pushed off and swam easily across. She

was a strong swimmer; she walked out the other side,

turned as she wrung out her clothes, and waved

to Data- Who suddenly saw movement behind her?

  "Thelia! Look out!" he shouted.

  Out of nowhere, it seemed, the two raptors dived

from the other side of the lake.

  Thelia turned, and ducked quickly as they sailed

right by her. The birds were gigantic!

  Unable to judge distance with his handicapped visual

sensors, Data had thought the birds perhaps the size

of eagles. Now he realized that they had been much

farther off than he had thought-and that they were as big as

horses!

  Nothing that big could fly on wings that size. But

here inside their sacred mountain the gods of Elysia

broke the laws of nature as they pleased-why not the

inverse-square law? Data's fear was for

Thelia; it never occurred to him that the predators

might see him as dinner until one of them dived

directly at him. He heard Thelia's shout, but

her warning was of no more help than his own. There was no

place to hide. He stood and braced himself, striking

out at the biid as it reached for him- The creature

grabbed his arm in one claw, and his waist in the other.

  To his astonishment, the bird carried him off as

if he weighed no more than a rabbit!

  He battered at the creature's leg and breast with

his free arm, to no avail. The raptor might as

well have been built of the same material as the

android.

  Even as it registered that that was the case, Data

had no time for speculation; the other bird was closing

on them, screaming avian curses as it delivered a

blow to Data's bird's neck with its sharp beak,

then grappled in midair, trying to grab the

android's dangling legs.

  Data kicked and squirmed, seeing a chance

to escape-until he looked down. They were over the

lake!

  He ceased struggling and tried to grab the claw that

gripped him, just as the attacking bird dealt another

blow to his captor's head. Stunned, the

bird loosed its grip and plummeted. Data's

only chance was to dive for the shallows.

  He let go, twisting out from under the great falling

body and trying to use wind resistance to fall at an

angle, but his weight was too much for friction to have much

effect in the short distance he fell. He landed in the

chasm, reaching desperately for the side, kicking with

all his strength: The water closed over his head as

exposed circuits shorted out and his sensors

exploded in overload.

  His hands struck the side of the chasm,

mirrorsmooth and slippery. Clawing for a

nonexistent hold, Data sank.

  WATER FL4WED INTO DATA. His

circuits went berserk. His body twitched

helplessly, convulsing, diminishing to occasional

spasms as he sank into the chasm beneath the lake.

  So this is death.

  Claws grabbed him.

  One of the birds had dived in after him!

  He was dragged helplessly upward, twitching and

writhing, water draining from fissures in his

synthoskin. As the last sparks spit and sizzled,

the bird gripped him more firmly. His damaged skin

could take no further abuse; what was

left on his back flayed o@." and fell away as

water poured out of him.

  Data was vaguely aware that they were no longer

over the lake, but his remaining sensors could not give

him an accurate reading. He hung helpless in the

bird's claws, limp as a puppet with its strings

cut.

  He heard shouting, could not make it out-then the bird

carrying him screamed.

  It was a scream of pain, not challenge.

  The claws loosed their grip. 119

  Data fell again-this time onto a rocky

surface. Unable to break his fall, he landed on his

side with a jolt, one leg flung over the other,

arms spread wide, eyes and mouth open. Dust from the

impact entered his eyes, nose, mouth. Sensors

warned" of potential damage, but he could not blink

or move his jaw.

  After far too long a pause, the fluid which

cleansed his eyes emerged--too much, dripping over

his nose and cheek as he lay helpless. Finally he

could blink, although there was a perceptible delay between his

autonomic system's issuing the order and its being

obeyed.

  He struggled to close his mouth. . . and

slowly succeeded. There was sand between his teeth.

  Footsteps, a shadow. Thelia's voice.

"Data! Data, are you alive?" He was aware of

his body vibrating slightly seconds before the feel

of her hand on his shoulder registered. Thelia

scrambled over him, to peer into his face. His eyes

focused on hers. She saw that, and smiled.

"You're alive! Oh-1 hope that means you can be

repaired!"

  By whom? he wondered, but could not say it. With a

supreme effort, he moved the arm that was pinned beneath

him a few centimeters, allowing him to fall over

onto his back.

  Unfortunately, that movement drove even more sand

into his exposed components. Some seconds later,

his diagnostics confirmed it. The sand might be bad

news, but the fact that some part of his diagnostic

system was still operative was good.

  He had no strength to use the vocal apparatus

which made him sound like an organic being. With an

effort, he managed to say, "I . . . must . . .

recover." To his

  ears, the words sounded like mistuned subspace

radio through an ion storm. What must they sound like

to Thelia?

  She understood, though. "As you did after you jumped

through the flames?" she asked. "I understand. I'll

guard you."

  Guard? he wondered, but could not focus on the question

because systems which should operate automatically demanded

conscious attention. His damaged repair system could

not function without his guidance. Sensors came

on-line, one by one-only a small fragment of the

hundreds of thousands in his normal operation. But if

there were enough for him to get around, assuming he was able

to move, he could continue to the point at which the

Elysian gods decided he had either passed their

tests or should be released to return to the

Enterprise.

  Thelia watched over him, mopping water and

eyecleansing fluid from his face. Lake water was still

dribbling out of him. When he was finally able, with great

effort, to sit up, his undamaged uniform front,

no longer connected to a back, peeled forward off his

undamaged chest and the front of his arms.

  His movement did not go unnoticed. One of the

raptors still circled above them, determined not to be

cheated of its prize. Sighthawks, he recalled,

were often intrigued by shiny objects. The glitter of

his exposed metal attracted it.

  His software, Data realized, seemed to have come

through unharmed. But his hardware was not cooperating. He

tried to say, "Cover me with your cloak" to Thelia,

but could not get it out before the bird dived for him.

  Thelia was on her feet, sling in hand. She

flung a stone, and the bird missed its mark and

slanted upward.

  Thelia squatted beside Data, saying grimly,

"I need something besides a sling, Data. The gring was

no real menace, but I cannot fight this creature with just

rocks."

  "Cov--" he tried again, but Thelia was on her

feet, flinging another stone at the oncoming raptor.

It struck the bird's breast, but did not stop it.

Claws raked across Thelia's shoulders as she

ducked barely in time to escape death. The back of

her shirt was shredded.

  The raptor whirled and dived again, too fast for

Thelia to impose herself between it and Data. "No!"

she shouted. "No-you won't hurt him again!" The

claws came straight at Data, the cruel beak

ready to strike. The best he could do was fall back;

he could not even roll aside. Not two meters above

Data, the raptor gave a sudden shriek, feathers

floating behind ichor as the bird rose,

shrieking and flying in wobbly circles.

  Thelia had managed to hit the creature in the

eye. Fortunately, the giant bird chose

safety over revenge, winging off into the distance as

Thelia bent over Data once more.

  But there had been two of them. "Where. . . is the

other. . . bird?" Data managed to whisper.

  "You didn't see?" Thelia asked. "When it

fell into the lake with you, and the fire came out of you-it

seemed to have a fit, and then it sank. It must have

drowned."

  Electrocuted, Data realized, but there was no

use

  trying to explain that to Thelia. Had it been

organic, then? Probably it had been

programmed to react like an organic being. They were

apparently safe from the raptors for the moment, but he

was not sure what good that would do them if he could not

move.

  However, some of his function was returning. He

sat up again, his arms obeying better than before.

Cautiously, he pulled his feet under him, and

tried to stand.

  "Don't!" Thelia ordered, while instinctively

trying to support him. Data sat back

down slowly. "My . . . self-repair units

. . . are functioning," he explained. "Rerouting

commands through . . . undamaged circuits."

  "Then stay still until you are healed," Thelia

told him. "There is no time limit to the Quest."

  It took almost an hour before his diagnostics

informed him that all possible self-repairs had been

completed. He was able to stand and walk, but the main

connectors to the flexors that served him in lieu of

muscles were inoperative. With only the

auxiliaries working, he could not exercise android

strength for lifting, shoving, or leaping. He hoped

there would be no more chasms to jump.

  As he tested his limbs, Thelia smiled in

relief. Then she chuckled. "You look like a

scarecrow." At least that is what his translator

circuits made of what she said.

  Data was sure whatever birdlike creatures

Elysians tried to frighten from their fields were not

called crows, but the concept of placing some model

of a person amid the newly-planted fields was

ubiquitous in agricultural societies.

  "I did not frighten that creature who tried to carry

  me off," he pointed out, grateful that his speech

circuits no longer created perceptible

pauses.

  Nor did he frighten Thelia, although he wondered

if he might not frighten himself if he could see the

damage. From his eyebrows down, the front of his

body had escaped the firestorm, so that skin

remained in place. From his eyebrows back over the

whole of his skull, though, and down his back to his

waist, skin and hair that had been burned and fused

had fallen away, leaving his skeletal structure,

neural net, sensor mesh, and insulation exposed.

From his waist halfway to his knees, his sides and

back had been protected by Theliars pack and water

bag. That skin and uniform remained intact, but the

insides of his legs showed from there down to where his feet

disappeared into the protection of his boots.

  The top part of the front of his uniform still hung

loose. Data was not sure he could have torn that

strong synthetic when he had his full strength; he

certainly could not now, so he wrapped what was left

of his sleeves around his waist to tie at the back.

The fronts of his trouser legs flapped loosely

as he and Thelia started out once more on the clearly

marked trail. "We must be more careful what we

say," Thelia remarked. "Why?" Data asked..

  "The gods are listening. You said you could not

get to this side of the lake unless they sent something

to carry you. Next time, ask for a boat. Or a

bridge."

  "I shall keep that in mind," he replied.

  As he labored to climb a hill that would

ordinarily have taken no effort, Thelia looked at

him with concern again. "Data, do you feel pain?"

  "Not exactly. To inform me of a malfunction, my

sensors create signals which cannot be ignored. The

sensations are extremely unpleasant until

repairs are set in motion. Once that is done,

there is no further need for unpleasant sensations, and

so they cease."

  "People feel pain all through the healing process.

Yet you wish to be human."

  "Not in that sense."

  "But you said you were willing to give up your strength,

your special senses, to be human, Data. The

gods were obviously listening to you. Isn't that what

they are testing now?"

  "So it appears," he was forced to agree.

"Thelia, your gods do not seem to be bound by the laws

I comprehend. You are correct: I shall tell them

of my wish to know what it is to be human. The worst

that can happen is that they will be unable or

unwilling to grant it."

  They hiked over the top of a rise, and saw the

trail ahead disappear into the mouth of a cave. "How

much farther?" Thelia asked. "What more can they ask of

us, Data?"

  "I think," he replied, "we must leave that up

to the gods."

  Inside the cave the climb became steeper yet.

Data tried to help Thelia, but had not enough strength.

They struggled on, Data hampered by his own

weight as he labored up the steep slope.

  His sensors might be unreliable, but they had to be

very near the top of the mountain now.

  At last they reached the top of a rock formation, and

faced a level cavern out of which led . . . seven

archways.

  "I do not know," Thelia replied. "We have never

been given so many choices before."

  They moved closer. Through the first archway they could

see a patch of woods with a small stream running

through it, and stepping stones on which to cross the stream.

"Water," Thelia remarked.

  "No," Data said, putting a hand on her arm.

"You were not to enter your home when it appeared before. That

is my home," for he recognized his own

favorite holodeck recreation of a nature park

on Earth. "Your land is lovely," Thelia said.

"But you are right; we must not go that way."

  Their other choices were less obviously right or

wrong: more rocky passageways, desert scenery,

frozen caverns, two closed doors . . . and a

mirror.

  Thelia gasped. "I have never seen such a huge

looking-glass!" Data was more startled to see what a

ragamuffin pair they looked. Thelia was scratched,

bruised, sunburned, her hair trailing wild

wisps from the sensible braid she had started with, her

shirt torn, face dirty, eyes huge with

wonder, but underlined by dark smudges of exhaustion.

But he, normally imperturbable, impeccable in

Starfleet uniform-no wonder Thelia had called

him a scarecrow! His face was stuck incongruously

on the front of the metal skull protecting the

sensors in his head; his chest was a pale triangle

streaked with dirt, and his uniform hung in shreds. His

arms and legs showed the rods, tubes, and mesh of his

internal structure, with the occasional diode

flickering weakly.

  He was . . . absurd.

  Of all beings in the universe, Data

should have the least concern over appearances. Yet he

felt disturbed at this distortion of his usual neat

image.

  Distortion? No-this mirror showed what he really

was: a physical housing containing a consciousness that

had somehow developed the same vanity as humans,

even while it sought to understand their nobler virtues.

How ridiculous. How- How funnyFrom

  At the spectacle, and at the revelation of his own

smug pride . . . Data laughed.

  Thelia chuckled. "We are a sight, aren't we?

But it doesn't matter. We've come this far, and

we'll make it the rest of the way."

  Data's laughter faded as he realized that

Thelia had no idea of his revelation.

  Nor could he attempt to explain. So he said,

"This is surely the last obstacle. Is there nothing

in your Quest lore to help us decide which path

to take?"

  As if on cue, a woolly white animal

suddenly darted out of the passageway from which they had

come, and sped past them through one of the arches. Data

saw a collar of gleaming jewels about its neck.

"Follow the white seja!" Thelia exclaimed,

sprinting after it. Data followed, but his

auxiliary locomotion systems could no longer

propel him, as quickly as Thelia could run. No

matter-she would tire, and he would, catch up. He

heard her footsteps echoing ahead as they traversed

a narrow rocky passage that twisted and turned every

few meters. He came out into a long, straight

pass, seeing Thelia perhaps twenty meters ahead of

him, still pursuing the 127

  animal. But hardly had he glimpsed them when a

door slammed down in front of him, so close and

so fast that with his impaired reflexes Data ran

into it. He bounced off-into a second door that had

closed behind him! He was trapped in a featureless

box of stone, the top only centimeters over his

head, the width in any direction not enough to stretch his

arms out. When he stood still, he could hear nothing,

even with his audio input on its highest setting. A

patch of the ubiquitous fluorescent lichen gave

him dim light, but there was nothing to see.

  Testing the limits of his prison, Data tried

the walls in every direction, then the ceiling, to no

avail. Even with his normal strength, he doubted

he could have broken free. Certainly not if the

Elysian gods did not want him to.

  What danger was Thelia rushing into now,

without his help? A memory surfaced, unwanted:

Tasha Yar forever striding bravely into danger,

until that time on Vagra il when she had met death

before Data's helpless eyes. These Elysian

gods had powers the Enterprise crew could not

comprehend. Had those powers made them as corrupt as

the creature that had killed Tasha? were they toying with

their people's lives? Thelia's life? "Let me out of

here!" Data demanded.

  To his amazement, one of the doors slid upward.

It was not, however, the one that led to the path Thelia had

taken. "If you want to be literal," he said, "you

have picked a worthy opponent. Let me go

to Thelia."

  "That is not permitted. You have completed your

Quest. She must he permitted to complete hers.

If she 128

  succeeds, you will be allowed to see one another before you

are returned from whence you came."

  Shocked at getting an answer, Data did not

realize for a moment . . . "Completed my Quest?"

  "The pathway will now lead you to the sanctuary-was

Data found himself smiling. He had passed the

tests-now he would be able to ask all those questions he had

been storing!

  The path no longer twisted and turned. It was

smooth and easy to walk, but it went on and on, through

caverns, then gardens, and only after almost an hour of

steady walking into a courtyard leading to a building that

seemed built of rainbows.

  "Data!"

  He turned. "Thelia!"

  She had come in at another entrance, as bedraggled

and unkempt as before, but radiant with happiness.

"We have both achieved the Quest," she said. "I was

so afraid for you when I reached the labyrinth and

realized you had not followed."

  He recalled that labyrinths were common in the

Quest motif, but said truthfully, "A maze is

no challenge to me. Was that your last obstacle?" A

slight frown crossed her face. "There was something

else-the white seja led me to my childhood

prince, but-was

  When she hesitated, Data said, "I understand.

I, too, experienced something I cannot explain to you,

But I could not have reached that point without your help, your

knowledge of Elysian Quest lore."

  "Nor I without your strength and kindness."

Suddenly she took his hand, looking at the exposed

mechanical components. Then she looked

up, into his eyes. "I can never thank you enough,

Data. I have 129

  nothing to give you but my friendship. You will be forever

welcome in the land of Atridia." She threw her

arms about him, oblivious to the exposed metal and

synthetics her arms embraced. Then she studied his

face again, as if to memorize it. "Surely it is

safe for me to accord you a token of affection."

  And saying that, she leaned forward and kissed him on

the cheek. For an instant, Data felt something.

Something like what he'd felt for Tasha, but different

....

  "Come now," Thelia said, smiling. She took his

hand. "Let us go into the sanctuary."

  There was no door; they passed through a rainbow into a

place of glowing color. The patterns playing over

the floor formed a circle of white light at the

center.

  "Thelia of Atridia. his

  Letting go of Data's hand, Thelia stepped into the

light circle. "In your Quest, you have come to know

your strengths and your weaknesses. You have overcome your

fears and demonstrated that you can work with another, no

matter how different from you. When he was injured, you

protected him at your own risk. When you

proceeded alone, you avoided the temptations we

placed in your path. Your request is granted.-

Atridia and Tosus will be joined, and your people will

prosper. his

  The circle of light began to pulse, as if a

transporter were in operation. Within the glow, Thelia

changed, her injuries healed, her clothing

transformed from the rough shirt and trousers to a

magnificent gown of gold and white. Her dark

hair was arranged in an elegant style, surmounted

by a small golden crown.

  She was beautiful.

  And then, before Data could even say good-bye, she

faded away. It was a transporter, he realized.

By now Thelia was safely at home in her own land.

"Data of Starfleet."

  Data stepped into the circle of light.

  The voice declared, "Although a stranger to our

planet, disy have obeyed our taws and aided one of

our people. For this alone we would ofer you our gratitude.

But beyond that, you, also, have expanded your limitations. That

you may understand the nature of what you perceive as

limits, we grant your fondest wish."

  The Elysian transporter effect pulsed around

Data, and in a moment he was standing, off

balance, on one of the tilted rocks littering the beach

below the mountain. When the beam let him go he staggered,

could not maintain his footing, and fell forward, landing on

hands and knees on the pebbled shards. Data pushed

himself quickly to his knees-to an increase of

unpleasant sensation in one place, a decrease in

another. Pain, some analytical portion of his mind

informed him, increasing in his knees when he put

pressure on them, decreasing in his hands when he

relieved the pressure there. His hands . . .

Data stared at the backs of his hands. And saw not

metal rods and mesh showing through gaping holes, but

skin. And the sleeves of his uniform, whole and clean,

came neatly down to his wrists as usual.

  As usual?

  He tried to process what was wrong-and could not

access his diagnostics.

  His hands were the wrong color: a pinkish hue with a

few dark hairs showing near the wrists.

  Numb with disbelief, he staggered to his feet and

stood swaying-his sensory balance was off-as he

turned his hands over and saw sharp pebbles embedded in

the palms. He brushed them away and looked at his

hands again, and a strange pounding rose in his ears.

  Through numerous small cuts on the

palms of his hands welled bright red blood.

  DATA STOOD STARING at the blood on his

palms, feeling the pain in his hands and knees. Sheer

disbelief fought with wonder in his mind. It could not be

real! He could not be . . . real?

  . . . human?

  What he felt was different from any previous

experience. He was used to feedback circuits

bringing the results of diagnostics immediately to his

con- scious attention. Now there was no indication of the

type or extent of his damage, just this extremely

unpleasant sensation calling his attention to the four

points of his body that had taken the brunt of his

fall. The sensations began to fade. That must mean he

was not badly hurt, as he would not expect a human

to be from a similar mishap. A human . . . but

even if it were true, he had duties. Guilt

stabbed him. He had been sent here to study the island,

the mountain-not indulge his personal desires! He

was on the rocky beach from which he had first

  spotted Thelia, facing the swamp. He turned

toward the mountain, looking for the entrance to the caverns,

but he could not see it. Not sensor damage:

organic eyes simply could not access the

frequencies necessary to locate it. He

reached for the cylinder Geordi had provided for his

Quest-but it no longer hung beside his tricorder in

its holster. Still, he knew where the opening was.

Traversing the uneven ground took as much effort as

he had needed to walk when confined to auxiliary

locomotive power. The farther he went, though, the more

effort it took. He grew uncomfortably warm as

he worked his way to the sheer rock wall, and almost

fell several times as he searched for the hand- and

foot-holds that had been so easy for an android.

Finally, panting and sweating, he pulled himself onto

the ledge and faced the entrance.

  Or where the entrance had been.

  His hands touched solid rock: pushing on it only

made the cuts on his palms burn. It occurred

to him to try his tricorder. It now worked, but read

exactly what he saw: solid rock.

  Data stood back and looked up toward the top

of the mountain. "Gods of Elysia!" he shouted.

  There was no answer.

  Had he really expected one?

  They had given him what he had asked forand now they

were through with him.

  He had passed their tests, and now he was- A

sudden bubble of painstpleasure rose up

inside him, and he felt himself smile. Why was he

fighting it?

  He was human!

  For better or for worse, he truly was what he

had longed to be. It terrified and delighted him at

the same time.

  For long moments Data stood rapt at the very

idea of being human, feeling his flesh react as he

shivered in the cold air, before the habit of duty

prompted him again. If his tricorder was working, then-

He tapped his combadge. "Data to Enterprise. his

  Worf s voice said, "Captain- his

  Before the Klingon could continue, Picard's voice

exclaimed, "Data! Are you all right?"

  "Yes, sir, but-was

  "Transporter room-get a lock on that

signal and beam Commander Data up at once!"

  "But the power surge-was protested the transporter

chief's voice. "Get him aboard before there's

another one!" Picard ordered. Data was caught in

the familiar sensation, the mountain fading, the

Enterprise transporter room coalescing before

him. Yellow Alert lights were

flashing-.-presumably combecause of the power surge they

had mentioned. Data suddenly realized what

Elysia's power surges were: the "gods"

exercising their power for something as seemingly impossible

as turning an android into a man. He must proceed

directly to the bridge and inform the captain-

Transporter Chief O'Brien frowned at something

on his console, looked up, and slapped the alarm.

"Intruder alert! Security to Transporter

Three!"

  Data was too stunned to get a word out before two

guards appeared, phasers trained on him. With them

  flanking him, O'Brien stalked forward. "Who

are you?" he demanded. "What have you done with Commander

Data?"

  "I am Data. Chief O'Brien, you know

me-I cannot appear that different-was "What kinda

game are you playing? How'd you get Data's

uniform and equipment? If you've harmed him, there'll

be hell to pay, bet on it! Now hand over that

phaser--and no tricks!"

  As Data gingerly unholstered his phaser and

proffered it handle-first to one of the guards, the doors

slid open again, this time admitting Picard, Worf,

Troi, and Riker. Picard stared, then glared.

"Who are you?" he repeated O'Brien's

first question. "Where is Data?"

  "Captain, I am Data," he tried again.

What had the Elysian gods done-placed his

consciousness in a body that looked nothing like his android

appearance? His uniform fit, his hands had the same

slender fingers that had always belied his android strength .

. . but from the reaction of his friends, his face must be that

of a stranger.

  A stranger they assumed had brought harm to one of

their colleagues. He saw anger on every face in that

room, except- Deanna Troi put a hand on

Picard's arm. "Captain," she said, "this man

absolutely believes what he is saying. He

is bewildered at our reactions. He truly

believes he is Lieutenant Commander Data."

  "Thank you, Counselor," Data said in

relief. "Captain, I can explain. The

Elysian gods-they might as well be truly

supernatural for all we are capable of understanding.

They put me through their tests, and 136

  because I aided one of their subjects . . . they

granted my fondest wish. That was the source of the

power surge you experienced just before I contacted you:

they must access tremendous power to do what to us

appears impossible."

  "Good God!" Riker whispered. "Is it

true?"

  Data grasped at the opening. "Commandersurely you

can verify my identity. Ask me something an

impostor could not know, something not in the ship's logs."

  Riker studied him for a moment, then asked, "Where

did we first meet?" "On the Enterprise

holodeck."

  "What song were you singing?"

  "I was not singing; I was trying to whistle "Pop

Goes the Weasel."" "You told me about wanting

to be human. What did I say?" Riker asked.

Human or android, Data would never forget his

feelings when he accessed the reference. "You said,

"Nice to meet you, Pinocchio," and I knew that

I had been right to tell you. You understood then.

Please understand now." Riker stared at him a moment

longer. Then he said, "Captain, I can't imagine

how it could be done . . . but it appears our

Pinocchio has become a real, live boy."

  "Or someone," Worf growled, "has accessed

all of Data's memory banks." "No,"

Troi said. "This is definitely an organic

being. It would not be possible to transfer an android's

entire memory into an organic brain."

  "You prefer to believe," the Klingon said

skeptical- 137

  ly, "that someone waved a magic wand and turned an

android into a man?" "There was no magic wand

involved," Data supplied helpfully. Picard

started. "That's Data. Or at least he reacts

like Data." He folded his arms across his chest and

stared at Data again. "We're getting nowhere standing

here. Take him to sickbay and see if Dr.

Pulaski can sort out who he is."

  It had not occurred to Data that his friends would not

recognize him. Strange feelings coursed through the

alien body he now wore. It was breathing hard,, and

he could feel a pounding in the chest-the heart beating

too fast, he realized. His android body had never

reacted to his feelings, but he knew that human

bodies did. Strange how he had fantasized

about a heart skipping with joy, but never thought of it

pounding in fear. What if they could not verify his

identity? Would . they return him to Elysia,

abandon him there? Or, thinking he had done away with the

second officer of the Enterprise, try him for

murder, or at least kidnapping? The truth

verifier at a formal trial would reveal that he

believed what he said-he could be placed in

a hospital where doctors would attempt to cure

him of what they would certainly believe was insanity!

None of these difficulties had ever occurred to him.

Why should they? He had never dreamed of really being

human.

  By the time they reached sickbay, Data was

trembling. Of all people, the pragmatic Dr.

Pulaski was the, least likely to accept his story.

When the doors opened, the CMO was turned away from

them, studying a chart of Data's specifications

  on the screen behind one of the diagnostic couches.

Geordi La Forge was with her, also refreshing his

memory.

  Hearing the doors swish open, Pulaski said,

"It's about time. I don't care who it is, when a

crewman is missing for more than 48 hours he is

to be checked out in sickbay before . . ." She

turned on her last words, eyes widening to find not a

single android, but Picard, Riker, Troi,

Worf, O'Brien, two security guards, and...

  Pulaski's eyes traveled up and down

Data's frame, then back to his face. She

frowned, squinting slightly. "Data?" she said in

wonder. He nodded. "Yes, Doctor."

  "What happened? No, I can see what's

happened but how?" "Doctor," said Picard, "you

recognize him?"

  "Don't you?" she asked, as if surprised.

"Captain, he looks exactly the way Data

would if-was

  Geordi, who had been standing immobile all this

while, his mouth hanging open, stepped forward to finish

the statement. "comif Data had been born human.

Data, how-was Geordi clasped Data's

shoulders with both hands and stared into his eyes, shaking

his head in wonder. "It's you, isn't it? It's

really you." "It is I, Geordi," Data said,

the corners of his mouth twitching upward in an

involuntary smile. Relief shot through every pore of

his body at his friend's acceptance of him.

  Geordi smiled back, and gripped him harder

around the shoulders. "It's really you."

  "You have said that already, Geordi," Data pointed

out.

  "I still don't see it," Riker said.

"Doctor, can we verify his identity?" "Of

course I- Oh. No DNA scan."

  "Yes there is," Geordi said, "but it still may not

match. Data has-had-organic

components."

  "Of course," Pulaski responded. "Data,

please lie down on the diagnostics couch. Mr.

La Forge, it looks as if I won't be needing

help from engineering, but if you'd like to stay-was

  "You couldn't drag me out of here with a tractor

beam." Geordi helped Data onto the

diagnostics couch. "Data, what happened to you?"

"It is a long story, Geordi," Data said,

feeling his heartbeat slowing now, as the fears passed.

  "You've got time to tell it, Data," Dr.

Pulaski said, stepping to his side. "These tests

will take a while."

  "Yes, Lieutenant, tell us," Picard

agreed. "Computer, record the statement being given

by the person claiming to be Lieutenant Commander

Data." Between pokings and probings, Data told his

story. By the time he was finished, Dr. Pulaski

had her report.

  "My findings agree with what Data has just

told us," she said. "His fingerprints are the

same. The computer identifies his voice and

inflections. His DNA is not a perfect match for

that of the nutritive fluid in his android body, because

that fluid, although organic, was not human.

If, however, someone were attempting to create a

human clone of Data, keeping as much of the

original DNA pattern as possible, this man's

DNA would be one potential outcome."

  "Then you're saying these Elysian gods created

a clone of our Data, and transferred his

consciousness into it?" Picard asked.

  "At a guess," the doctor replied. "From

what Data has told us, his android body might

have been damaged beyond repair."

  "No, Doctor," said Data, sitting up on

the couch. "There was no damage you and Geordi could not

have repaired--so it certainly could not have been beyond the

capabilities of the Elysian gods. They chose

to do this to me. Do you remember how it seemed they were

sending our away teams instructions through the Elysian

people? It appears that they listen to their own people in the same

way. Time after time, the tests that befell us came out

of things that Thelia and I had spoken aloud."

  "And of course at some point," Riker surmised,

"you told her of your wish to be human."

  Data nodded. "Yes. I did verbalize my

desire to meet with these "gods," but they chose

to ignore that."

  Picard nodded. "Unsurprising.

Gods rarely commune with mere mortals. You have had

far more communication with them than we have managed

to achieve. So far as our sensors can perceive,

Elysia's "gods" might as well be purely

mythical. They will not answer our messages on

any frequency-and we tried every method short of

smoke signals when we lost contact with you." "I

know, sir," Data replied. Then he shook his

head. "I hope you believe that I did not intend

to place my own desires above my duty. To be

honest, I did not believe even the Elysian

gods capable of making me . . . literally

human." He looked down at his hands again, still

hardly believing that it was true.

  "You told us they appeared to be able to change the

laws of nature," Geordi mentioned, "at least as

we 141

  know them, Data. Remember, only four

centuries ago the best human scientists thought they

had absolute mathematical proof that

faster-than-light travel would violate the laws of

nature. Look how far we've come since then.

These Elysian gods might not be any more advanced

over us than we are over twentieth-century

scientists."

  Dr. Pulaski nodded. "They gave you a

brand-new, perfect body, Data, perhaps by cloning,

perhaps by some technique we haven't yet dreamed of.

You have no scars, not even calluses." She shook

her head. "I can't imagine doing it. We

certainly don't have the technology. We could

produce a clone, yes-but to transfer consciousness?

My God, we're still trying to figure out what

consciousness is!"

  Through all this, Captain Picard had kept his

mind on the main issue: the safety of his ship and

crew. "You are satisfied, then, that this is Data?

He could not be held captive somewhere, and his

memories duplicated rather than transferred into this

body?"

  "Captain, I do not think so," Troi said.

"Memories alone do not make personality-the

personality that Data feared losing if Commander

Maddox had been allowed to experiment with him. I

think it is obvious to all of us that the person we have

been talking with here for several hours is indeed our

Data."

  "Of course he is," Geordi said.

  "I agree," Riker added.

  "So do I," Worf seconded.

  "That's what my instincts tell me as well,"

Picard added. "Doctor, are there any other

tests?"

  "We could do a brain scan," she suggested,

"although a negative result would be

inconclusive."

  "Try it," instructed Picard.

  So Data was subjected to yet another test-but the

captain's instincts were sound. "Look at this!"

Pulaski said excitedly.

  She had the graphs on two screens, side

by side: a scan of Data done when they were using him

as a model to activate Lore, and the results of the

present scan. At first glance they appeared

incompatible, but the doctor explained, "The

electromagnetic activity of a positronic

brain and an organic brain are completely

different, but when we remove everything but the line that

represents conscious thought patterns-was

  The wildly different red, yellow, pink,

purple, and green lines disappeared from both

graphs, leaving only jagged blue lines. Although

they were not identical, the similarity was obvious.

  "You won't get perfect correspondence in

thought patterns," Pulaski forestalled the

objection, "not even from the same person at different

times. No one thinks exactly the same thing in

exactly the same way except in a trance or

dream state. But the overall pattern, the way this

person thinks, is not the way a human does. He

is still attempting to access and process information like

an android. Captain, I don't think there can be

any further doubt."

  "Well, Mr. Data," said Picard, "you have

been through a shock, and I'm sorry we added to it

by doubting you."

  "I understand, sir," Data said.

  "Doctor," the captain asked, "is he fit for

duty?" "He's in perfect physical health,"

she replied. "Data, I want you to report

back here in forty-eight hours for another brain

scan. We mustn't miss this 143

  opportunity to study the process of your adapting

to a human body. And if before then you feel the

slightest discomfort, I want you in here on the

double."

  "Yes, Doctor," he replied. "Captain,

shall I report for duty?" Troi intervened. "Not

yet. Captain, Data is human now; he will

need some time to adjust."

  "I agree, Counselor. Data, take the

next twenty-four hours off, and then report for

limited duty."

  "Yes, sir."

  "I would also suggest adding your name to the regular

exercise and self-defense sessions," Worf said.

"An organic body does not maintain itself without

effort. Sir."

  "Let's give Data some time to adjust to his

new body before you start throwing it around the holodeck,

Worf," Dr. Pulaski suggested. The captain

nodded agreement, and everyone then left except

Geordi and Pulaski.

  "Time to adjust, Data?" Geordi teased.

"Time to celebrate-show you some of the things you've been

missing. I think we'll start in Ten-Forward-was

Pulaski held up a hand, and turned away.

"Count me out of this one. I've got work to do."

  Data bent down to put his boots on, wondering

if Geordi would think him rude if he, too,

asked to be "counted out" of this one-and was suddenly

seized with the sensation that the room was moving. He rabbed

hold of the couch to steady himself, and Geordi was there at

once with an arm about his shoulders, lifting him to his

feet. "What's wrong, Data?

Doctor!" Data blinked. He had never felt

anything like this

  before. "The room appears to be turning. Is this

dizziness?" "My God," Geordi said, "he

probably has no immunities, Doctor. Can

he have caught something that fast?"

  Pulaski came at him with her scanner, concern

clear in her eyes as she said, "He showed nothing

only hours ago-was Then she looked at the readings

and chuckled. "Low blood sugar. Of course-the

body scan showed nothing in your digestive system,

Data. You've been under stress bordering on shock

for several hours, running on adrenaline. All you

need is some nutrition." Geordi guided Data

to a chair while Pulaski brought him a cup of

fruit juice. "Drink it slowly," she warned.

"Have some soup in an hour or so, and something easy

to digest, like custard, before you go to bed. If you don't

have any problems, go to solid foods tomorrow. Do you

want me to give you an appropriate maintenance

diet?"

  "No, thank you, Doctor. I am familiar with

foods appropriate for humans," Data

replied, sipping the juice.

  Suddenly his awareness focused on an

entirely new sensation. As an android, he had

assumed that his senses were more acute than those of

humans. He could take a sip of something like this

juice and analyze instantly its pHave, chemical

structure, density, temperature, and viscosity.

None of that information was available to him now-but something

far more amazing was.

  The liquid seemed to explode on his tongue,

sending little pleasurable sensations up into his nasal

  cavity, then down inside his body as he

swallowed reflexively. Yes-he remembered that

aroma was a major constituent of flavor for

humans. That was why he felt it in his nose.

  But the "why" no longer mattered. The experience was

nothing like his former analysis-by-sensor. It was

pure delight, untinged by logic or reason.

Eagerly, he gulped more of the juice.

  "Easy-easy, Data!" Geordi warned him.

"If you're that thirsty you'll shock your stomach.

Sip it slowly."

  Curbing his desire to increase the pleasant

sensations, Data lowered the cup and smiled at his

friend. "It just-tastes so good!" he explained inade-

quately.

  "You sound surprised," Dr. Pulaski

observed.

  "I am. I had no idea how . . . how

different it would be. Because as an android I could

analyze more specifically, I always assumed that

human senses were less powerful. I never expected

to find them so overwhelming!" "You ain't seen nothin'

yet!" Geordi told him with a grin. "Data,"

Pulaski said, approaching him with a hypodermic,

"I'm giving you the standard broad-spectrum

inoculation all human crew members receive." There

was a slight stinging sensation as it hissed against his arm.

"There should be no occasion for you to leave the ship for the

seventy-two hours required to be certain it has

taken effect. I will inform the captain of that

restriction, and also my recommendation that you not

attempt anything beyond the most routine duties

until both Counselor Troi and I clear you for

  full duty status." She put the hypodermic

away, asking, "You keep a personal log,

don't you?"

  "Yes, of course I automatically-was He

stopped, realizing, "It is gone." "Gone?" she

asked.

  "It was in my memory banks."

  "Of course," she said. "Well, use the

computer, like everyone else. Your experiences are

unique-please don't neglect to record your

feelings, your reactions, your descriptions of what

has happened to you. I realize that some of it will be

too personal to share, but I would ask that you grant

access to an edited version-senior officers only,

if you prefer."

  "Certainly," he replied, feeling some

relief. "I always stored such an edited version in the

ship's computer before. So all my records are not

gone, after all." He frowned. "Why did I not

think of that immediately?" "After what you've been through?"

Geordi sympathized. "How can you possibly be

thinking straight?"

  "Geordi's right," Pulaski agreed. "How do

you feel now?" "Normal?" he asked. "No

physical discomfort? I am sorry, Doctor-I

do not yet know how I am supposed to feel when in

optimum condition." "Pretty much the way you do

now, but without the stress caused by shock," she

replied. "I'm releasing you, then, but don't

hesitate to come back here, or call for help if

anything happens that you don't understand." So

Data rose, and found his legs steady. The spray

Dr. Pulaski had used on his cuts had stopped

even that slight pain. .

  "I guess Ten-Forward's out for now," Geordi

said ruefully. "Yes," Data nodded. "I think

I will just go to my quarters." "Do you want me to come

with you, Data?" Geordi asked. "I have not

forgotten the way," he replied, more harshly than he

intended. Geordi stared at him, hurt etched on his

face. "I did not mean--" Data began, then

shook his head. "Forgive me, my friend," he said

sadly. "I think I want to be alone for a while.

This is all so new-let me find out what it feels

like to be human without trying to hold a conversation at the

same time. I think, later, we will have much to talk

about."

  "Sure, Data," Geordi replied softly.

"I understand."

  It took more effort than Data was accustomed to just

for the simple act of walking the corridors of the

Enterprise. His door did not open at his

approach, for when he had left the ship the computer

had routinely ,placed it on privacy lock. When

he palmed the keyplate, though, it accepted his

identity and the door slid open.

  "Computer," he instructed, "discontinue

privacy lock." No one on board the

Enterprise would enter his quarters without invitation.

Only Bruce Maddox had ever done so, in the

belief that Data was not a person and therefore not

entitled to privacy.

  If he could see me now. Oh, yes, there was one

person who would be sorely disappointed at what had

happened to Data-but Data himself was at the beginning

of a whole new life, a little frightened, but 148

  also eager to see what else besides taste he had

been missing for twenty-seven years.

  The first thing to do- With trepidation, Data walked

to where he could see himself in the full-length mirror

on his cabin wall. He stared. No wonder his friends

didn't know him! Who was this dark stranger?

  But that was just a first impression. Actually, he was

pale, but no longer android-pale. His skin had the

color of human flesh untouched by the sun, a rather

sickly light pink hue. It was as Dr.

Pulaski had said: he was brand new. But the ship's

lighting was designed to provide the spectrum of

light required by the various species aboard, without

including harmful radiation. Soon his skin would

acquire a more natural color without any

effort on his part.

  The impression of darkness came from hair and

eyebrows and a shadowy hint of beard. He felt his

mouth twitch at the idea that he would have to shave, and

saw his reflection smile back at him. His lips

were darker pink than his skin, and therefore appeared

fuller. Instead of sketchily molded in pale

lines, his eyebrows were heavy and thick, and his

hair-to It wasn't darker, exactly, but more . .

. shadowed than it had been. His android hair had

been all of one shade; organic hair had depths

and highlights. Furthermore, it waved, and

despite being cut in the same variation of Starfleet

regulation style that he had worn as an android, a

strand fell over his forehead in an unkempt

fashion. Automatically, he pushed it

backsucceeding only in dislodging even more

recalcitrant strands. Abandoning the attempt

to control his hair, he

  studied his figure. There were no changes that he

could detect; his uniform fit precisely as it always

had. He stepped up to the mirror for a closer

examination of his face.

  His eyes, he was startled to discover, were blue.

Why that should surprise him he could not

fathom; it was the second most common eye color

among humans. Probably, he decided, he would

have been equally surprised to find them brown, green,

or hazel comany color except the gold that had

always looked back at him.

  Just then Data felt the vibration of the ship

change. They were leaving orbit-and accelerating to high

warp speeds. It did not take android senses

to feel the increasing stress as the great vehicle was

pushed to its limits. Without thinking, Data turned

and left his quarters- Only when the turbolift

doors opened to deliver him to the bridge did he

recall that he was off-duty.

  Captain Picard looked up from his center seat.

"Mr. Data, you are not scheduled for this shift."

  "Yes, sir. But why are we proceeding at

highest warp?" "Commander," the captain said

dangerously, "you do not have bridge clearance at the

present time."

  Wesley Crusher was at the helm. At that he

turned, and stared wide-eyed at Data.

  The scene was tense, but the viewscreen showed nothing

but passing stars, and the ship was not on alert status.

Data backed off. "You are correct, Cap-

tain. I shall be in my quarters."

  When he had returned there, Data did what he

now realized he should have done in the first place:

called up the bridge log on his computer.

  The Enterprise was responding to a priority

directive from Starfleet Command: a planet in the

Samdian Sector reported attacks from a

race of beings called the Konor. Their attempts

to engage their attackers in any kind of dialogue

had failed. They knew only that their people were being

slaughtered.

  None of the three planets in the Samdian

Sector were members of the Federation, or even

allies. They had always been fiercely independent,

trading with one another but showing no interest in the

Federation or any other culture. However, they were

calling for help now from anyone who might be willing

to heed their plea. As "anyone" included Orions,

Ferengi, and possibly even Romulans, the

Federation had a vested interest in responding to their

call for help.

  The Enterprise was the closest Federation ship with

personnel qualified to take on the job. Their

orders were to contact both sides and find out what the

dispute was about, in hopes of finding a peaceful

solution. The messages from the Samdians

indicated they had no idea why they were being

attacked. There were no messages from the Konor.

  Even at top warp, it would take several days

to reach the Samdian Sector. Data was glad;

he had lost nothing of his insatiable curiosity, and was

determined to be back to full duty status by the time

they arrived. That might be more difficult than he had

thought at first. His faux pas in going to the bridge just

nowsome of his automatic programming must have

translated as habit. As an android, had he

been instructed to remain off duty for a specific

period, he would have placed a temporary "cancel"

on his "in case of 151

  emergency, unless otherwise instructed report

to the bridge" response. But as a human, he had

no way to cancel a conditioned response except

to keep his mind carefully on his first priority:

getting accustomed to his new physiology so that he

could return to duty as quickly and efficiently as

possible. He instructed the computer to inform him of

any new developments, and returned to his

personal objectives.

  Data had the strangest sense that there were a thousand

things he ought to do next, and he could not think of one of

them. His new body was throwing sensations at

him, but none seemed particularly overpowering. His

impressions were mostly visual, it seemed, so he

shut his eyes. His feet hurt.

  Not particularly alarming, but both feet had

slight, unpleasant burning sensations. He had no

calluses, he remembered; climbing over the

rocks and then up the cliff wall in his

unsuccessful attempt to contact Elysia's gods

had given his new body quite a workout.

  Now it had a sort of vague overall ache.

  Data realized he was experiencing tiredness, and

sat down to take off his boots. He rubbed at one

annoying ache, and discovered how good that felt. Data

had given massages in his life as an android, but

had never received one. To an android body, it was

pointless.

  He smiled at the world of simple pleasures

opening to him. He pulled his socks off, knowing that if

there had been any real damage Dr. Pulaski's

instruments would have indicated it, but still needing to see for

himself. Like his hands, his feet were the same size and

shape as before, but there were red marks across the toes and

on each heel.

  They also gave off an odor. Humans bathed

daily, Data knew. He had only ever

needed to do so when he got dirty. Now he must add

bathing and shaving to his daily schedule.

  He stood and unzipped his uniform-to discover a

veritable coat of fur on his chest! What other

surprises lay in store? He stripped, and

turned in front of the mirror. Yes, it was his own

familiar body shape beneath the human coloration and the

extra hair. He decided to clean it and cover it

up again.

  The sonic shower warmed and vibrated his abused

muscles as it whisked him clean. Officers'

quarters included water showers as well. Data had

occasionally used water for cleansing when that was the method

provided on a planet, but aboard ship he had

always used the more efficient sonics. He was tempted

to try the water shower, aware that humans considered

water more pleasurable than sonics, but his stomach was

sending him a message he recognized from

sickbay: he was hungry.

  So he completed his shower quickly, tossed his used

uniform into the cleaning unit, and put on his spare.

But he didn't want to put his boots back on.

  . He didn't own slippers; android feet

did not require changes of footwear. What

else did he need? There was nothing in his

closet now but his dress uniform; his other everyday

uniform would be cleaned and returned automatically.

  The carpeting felt good beneath his bare feet, so

Data padded to the food dispenser. Soup, Pulaski

had said. But what kind? "Give me a menu of

soups suitable for human consumption," he

instructed. "Alphabet, apple, argramine,

asparagus, beta153

  resnis, cavistat, cheddar cheese, chicken

broth, chicken consomme, chicken noodle, chicken

vegetable, cream of asparagus, cream of

broccoli-was "Stop!" Data ordered. Eating was

obviously going to be an adventure. He might as

well begin at the beginning. "Alphabet soup," he

instructed, trying to remember what that was. He

wasn't sure if he had ever known. How much

memory loss had he suffered in liis

transformation? Enough to impair his performance as a

Starfleet officer? That was the most frightening thought he

had had yet.

  The dispenser provided a steaming bowl of soup.

Data carried it to his computer console, and punched

up the analysis of Elysia's power surges that

he had begun before they had received the distress call from

Dare's gang. His fingers flew over the

keyboards as naturally as ever. That was a relief.

He also understood everything on the screen; his

mathematical competence seemed unimpaired.

  However, he had to slow the information feed; his human

brain could not assimilate data so quickly. While

he watched the information scroll, he picked up the

bowl of soup. It smelled wonderful, and the combination of

heat and melded flavors proved delicious. It was

a vegetable broth laden with pasta shaped like letters of the

Roman alphabet. Hence, he assumed, the name.

But why had anyone thought to form the pasta that way? It

added nothing to the flavor.

  Suddenly Data realized that while his attention

had drifted to the soup, two screens of information had

  passed by without his assimilating them. When he

tried to access that information, as he had formerly been

able to do with any data passing within range of his

sensory apparatus, there was nothing there. He

scrolled back to pick up the thread of the analysis

again, and frowned. Someone else had continued it after he

left the ship. He called up the user's I.d.:

Wesley Crusher. Of course.

  Data smiled at his star pupil's diligence.

If he had known he would be gone for days,

he would have given Wesley that assignment. The boy

had done well. He had not solved the problem of

tracing the source, but he had eliminated several

approaches. Data doubted he could have done more in the

same time, although he would not have considered some of

Wesley's more imaginative attempts.

  Satisfied that his basic knowledge and skills were

intact, Data called up from ship's stores the

list of items available for crew quarters. He

chose "Toiletries and Clothing" from the main menu,

and the subcategory "Suitable for Humans."

  He already had hairbrush, comb, and tooth

cleanser. The latter, though, was designed for android

use; he ordered a toothbrush and the first dentifrice

on the list. Data chose an automatic shaver,

then watched with increasing wonder as the list of other

possibilities scrolled by. Although with a sonic

shower soap and shampoo were unnecessary, the ship stocked more

than twenty varieties of each. Data let those

pass for the time being. He also passed by perfumes and

colognes, but having discovered how sharp his own sense

of smell 155

  had become he ordered a deodorant by the same

process of designating the first on the list:

  He skipped past cosmetics, but

paused over nail clippers and files, realizing that

his nails would grow now, and it would be up to him to keep

them at a utilitarian length. He ordered those

implements, beginning to wonder how, with all the care it

took to maintain a human body, he would ever find

time to do his work.

  Brushing that tickling strand of hair off his forehead

again, Data backtracked to hair-care products.

While he had no interest in changing his hair

color, or molding it into some fashionable style, he

could use something to keep it in place. This time he

did not choose the first thing on the menu, but consulted

with the computer as to Commander Riker's preference, and

ordered that.

  Foot comfort? Sexual enhancements? Skin care?

The list was endless. Data decided he would wait and

order further items as he identified a need for

them.

  From the clothing menu he ordered a pair of soft

slippers, and hesitated over sleepwear, reminded

that he would have to sleep, too. Probably he should do

so now, except that he was still too excited to feel the

need. He was glad to have lived among humans for

long enough to understand that this was a normal state of

affairs.

  When he did sleep, though, he would need a bed.

That was not something the dispenser could provide, so he

called ship's stores directly for a cabin

refit, then turned back to the dispenser menu.

  He knew that human taste in sleepwear ranged

from nothing at all to some very exotic and ornate

Costumes. Best to take a middle course until

he found a 156

  personal preference: he ordered a set of

Starfleet issue pajamas and bathrobe.

  That was enough, he decided, and instructed

implementation. When he walked over to retrieve the

items from the dispenser, he became aware of a heavy

sensation low in his abdomen. It wasn't a pain, but

he sensed that he ought to do something to alleviate it.

  His mind still operated logically: juice and soup

meant an accumulation of more liquids than his body

needed. He knew all about human anatomy-his

degree in exobiology included study of all

Federation races. However, he was going to have to learn the

feelings from the inside now; things commonplace to a

small human child were alien to Data. He hoped he

could learn enough in the twenty-four hours Captain

Picard had given him that he would not embarrass himself

in public.

  Having successfully put into practice what he

had previously known only from theory, Data

considered again what he ought to do next. When was he

due on the bridge?

  For the first time in his life he hadn't the slightest

idea what time it was!

  The computer, of course, informed him immediately upon his

request. At this time the bridge crew of his duty

shift would be on free time. Data could probably

find some of his friends in Ten-Forward. Wesley should be

studyingperhaps Data should go and discuss the boy's

work on the Elysian mystery with him.

  Just then the ship's intercom chimed. "Data? Are

you in?" came Darryl Adin's voice.

  "Yes, Dare, I am here."

  "We just heard the most incredible story about 157

  what happened to you on Elysia. Are you up

to company, or would you be uncomfortable to have some of us come

and gape at you?" "I suppose I had better

get used to it," Data said. "I think I might

welcome some company just now. Be warned: what you have

heard is true." Dare, Poet, Sdan, and

Pris came to visit, hard on the heels of the

crew who set up Data's bed. Data was glad

of the sudden crowd: the two ensigns from

ship's stores were encouraged to exchange the modular

components and leave without satisfying the curiosity

betrayed by their surreptitious glances. Poet

shook his head, looking Data up and down. "What

a piece of work. Don't know why you wanted a

ticket to this ruddy vale of tears, but welcome

any- way."

  "Don't be so cynical, Poet," Pris said.

"Data hasn't had time yet to learn the

advantages of being human." She went up

to Data, adding, "Let me give you a proper

welcome to humanity." She put her arms about him

and kissed him. Data was swamped with sensation: her

warmth, her scent, but most of all her femaleness.

Too startled by the way his body instantly

responded, he could hardly do more than bring his arms

stiffly around her. Before Data could muster his thoughts,

Pris stepped back. She smiled. "Data,

you're blushing. First kiss?"

  "No. But the first since . . ."

  "How strange!" she said. "I'd have thought all

your female colleagues would've welcomed you home

by now. But then, I suppose they're bound by some

sort of rules."

  "Starfleet protocol," said Dare,

who had moved in past the others to usurp the comfortable

armchair. 158

  That left Data and Pris the small sofa.

Poet and Sdan leaned over Data's computer,

engrossed. The ship's vast library was at their

disposal; of course, it would release to them only

information on the security level Data had coded

to their voice prints when he began helping them

repair their ships.

  Meanwhile, Dare was saying, "What are you going

to do with yourself now, Data?"

  "I do not know," he replied honestly. "I have

hardly had time to think about the future. If I am

still fit for' duty, I shall certainly serve out my

current tour in Starfleet. Right now, I cannot think

beyond tomorrow." "That sounds like a sensible approach. I

trust you haven't lost your logic."

  "I hope not," Data said.

  "Then let me admit that I have come here for a

selfish reason: I need you to use your persuasive

powers on Captain Picard."

  "Why? What has happened?"

  "While we've been stranded here-no, Data, it

was not your doing. We couldn't have had our ships

spaceworthy by now anyway, and if it

weren't for the Enterprise we'd all be dead. But before

we got caught by those Elysian power surges, we

were due at Brancherion in three days' time. Now

we're late, and the Brancherions are calling for an

explanation."

  "And we have just warped off in a direction al most

opposite to that in which Brancherion lies,"

  Data realized. "But Dare, we are under

Starfleet priority orders. We cannot divert

to deliver you to Brancherion. his

  "I understand that," Dare replied. He had once

been a Starfleet officer himself, so Data knew

he truly 159

  did comprehend. "But Captain Picard has

placed the entire crew on alert status. That

means no one is available to help us complete our

repairs." "And so," Data concluded, "the longer

your repairs take, the longer it will take you to get

from the Enterprise to your destination."

  "All that's left," said Sdan, "is debugging

the navigation computer program. If you're

off-duty anyway-was

  "I shall help you," Data said. "However, I

return to duty tomorrow. I think I could persuade

Captain Picard to let me work with you under

ordinary circumstances, but given my current

status I must be retested for standard Starfleet

skills. I shall have to practice to bring some of them up

to standard. I am afraid my free time will be very

strictly limited." "Especially if you add time

in sickbay, after that Worf character wipes up the

holodeck with you," said Dare with his wolfish smile.

Data could not help but agree; although he was sure the

Klingon would not actually harm him, he was concerned about

his Security testing. At his grim silence, Dare

added, "I'll help you with that if you like, Data.

Before you face your Chief of Security, I'll show

you a few tricks for handling larger, stronger

opponents."

  "Thank you, Dare," said Data. "I wish I

could do more to help you." He thought a moment. "Alert

status does not relieve Wesley Crusher of his

studies. I shall assign him the practical

application of his navigation skills, helping you with

your repairs."

  "That child?" asked Pris.

  "Believe me," Data said, "Captain

Picard would

  not trust the helm to our acting ensign if he were not

qualified." "To fly the ship,

certainly," said Dare. "Kids his age have great

reflexes, so long as there is a cool head to keep

them from running straight into trouble. But we don't

need a pilot; we need a computer expert."

"Try him," Data suggested. And yawned.

Another new experience, this one neither pleasant nor

unpleasant. When he realized everyone was staring at

him because he was sitting silently analyzing, Data

said, "Forgive me. I believe the day's experience

is beginning to tell on me. Tomorrow, before my duty

shift, I shall help you. At this moment, Wesley can

do you more good than I can. This is his study time. Let

me call him, and assign-was Another yawn

interrupted him.

  "We'd better go," Pris said. "You're

exhausted, Data. You've been through so much today-it's

normal letdown setting in."

  "I'll give you a lesson in unarmed combat

tomorrow, too," Dare said. "Reserve the holodeck for

an hour."

  When his guests had left, Data managed

to make the holodeck reservation and then call

Wesley, who was delighted at the new assignment.

Data suspected it had more to do with getting to work with the

Silver Paladin's gang than with the rather

tedious computer program adaptations. Weariness was

overtaking Data with a vengeance now. It took

immense effort to clean his teeth and change into the

pajamas he had ordered. Finally he was able to lie

down and pull the cover over himself-a most luxurious

feeling of comfort.

  "Mrrowrr?"

  Something poked the side of the bed.

  Data opened leaden eyelids to find two round

blue eyes staring at him from a dark brown mask.

  "Roorrr?" Mystery queried as she stretched a

paw to tap his arm. "How did you get in here?"

Data asked the cat. She had never come visiting his

quarters before.

  She took that as an invitation to jump up on the

bed, where she proceeded to stare Data solemnly in

the eyes as she kneaded the bedclothes, purring.

Tentatively, he stroked her. She rubbed herself

against his hand, her purr increasing in volume.

  Data smiled. So Mystery granted him

humanity. Her soft fur felt lovely under his

hand, but she did not allow him to pet her for long.

She settled down on the pillow next to his, her

purring soothing him as sleep claimed him at last.

  DATA woxEvery, orsoxnccrrnm He

did not know where he was, what time it was, or why

he had been turned off:

  When he sat up, unfamiliar feelings shot through

his body. His sensors had gone wild! He could not

access his diagnostics! The feelings resolved

into aches, and the stiffness of his body recalled what had

happened to him. A rush of cool air hit his skin

as he threw back the cover.

  He was in his own quarters aboard the Enterprise,

and he had not been turned off. For the first time in his

life he had . . . slept. It was not an illusion

or a fantasy. He was human, with all the slings

and arrows that flesh was heir to.

  Something was wrong with that reference-but he didn't

care. He felt himself smiling, then grinning, as he

looked at his hands and feet, felt the bristle of

beard when he rubbed his chin, stumbled into the bathroom

and found a human face surrounded by rumpled hair

staring back at him from the mirror. It took him quite

some time to prepare for the day. Shaving was more complicated

than it looked, but 163

  despite Geordi's contention that it should be

regarded as "a human art form," Data adjusted the

shaver until it gave him a clean, comfortable, and

completely

  automatic shave. so.

  When he was finished with his preparations, he was the

image of a proper Starfleet officer: face

cleanly shaven, hair neatly in place and treated

to stay that way, uniform unwrinkled, and boots shined.

With practice, he hoped to get his morning routine

down to a few minutes. Only then, with a brief

moment's panic, did he think to check the time with the

computer. To his relief, he was not due on the

bridge for almost seven hours; he would have time to help

Dare and his gang as he had promised, and keep his

appointment with the former Starfleet Security Officer

on the holodeck.

  Mystery had been in his quarters last night-unless

that had been a dream. Odd. . . he did not

recall anything else that might be a dream; hours

had simply passed without his being aware of them. There

was no sign of the cat now; perhaps she had learned

to make automatic doors open for her.

Meanwhile, Data was hungry. He had forgotten

to eat again before going to bed. Instead of using the food

console, though, he decided to brave Ten- Forward.

  The smell of coffee drifted through the lounge. As

an android, Data had not drunk coffee or tea;

they contained no nutrients, and his organic

fluids had had no use for stimulants.

  However, the aroma was very pleasant, so Data sat

down at the bar and asked Guinan to pour him a cup.

She looked at him with her enigmatic smile and

slight 164

  slow shake of her head. "So you got what you

wished for. That can be very dangerous, Data."

  "I know," he replied. "I am trying to . .

. ease into the human condition" Both smile and head

shake became broader. "It doesn't work that way,

my friend. We're all thrust into the world, willing or

not, kicking and screaming. From then on, we must make

the best of it."

  "I seem to have no choice but to do likewise,"

he said, and took a sip of his coffee. It was so

bitter he could hardly swallow it. "Gah!" he

said involuntarily, and stared at the steaming liquid.

"How can something that smells so good taste so terrible?

I had the impression that people found it pleasurable."

  "Many do. It's an acquired taste, Data, but

there is no need for you to acquire it today. If you

want a hot drink, try some tea-and I suggest

milk and sugar in it at first."

  "I will try it. Have you any suggestions for

breakfast?" "What a challenge,"

Guinan said. "Both balanced and palatable to someone

just experiencing true tastes for the first time." She

gave him juice, a small portion of a warm grain

porridge, and a delicious spiced meat on flaky

pastry.

  Data ate it all, and found the tea with which she

followed it up far more palatable than the coffee.

"Thank you," he said. "There are so many choices, and

little of my previous experience seems to carry

over."

  "Yes," she agreed, "but you really have no more

choices than before. They are merely different."

  "Perhaps," he said. Even when he had attempted

to

  resign from Starfleet to avoid Bruce

Maddox's experiment, Data had perceived only

limited possibilities. Leaving Starfleet had

appeared to negate far more than half his options.

  Now . . . the possibilities were endless. He

could continue his career, join Dare or other

adventurers, or decide to live on a planet

somewhere. As with Pris last night, Data found himself

intense ly aware of Guinan as female. For the first

time it

  dawned on him that he had an entirely

new option: within Starfleet or without, he could form

or join a family unit. I am no longer

merely mechanically functional. I am capable of

fathering children! He blinked and deliberately dismissed that

overwhelming thought. Less than one full day

human, he was hardly ready to think of taking on that

responsi- bility.

  Data excused himself, and went to the shuttle bay.

Only Sdan was there now. He looked up from the

program he was working on with a wicked grin.

"Data, that kid you assigned to us is great. Bright,

disciplined as a young Vulcan, with imagination and

intuition to boot. Look at the shortcut he came

up withfor figuring geodesics."

  Data examined Wesley's work, and found it both

sound and innovative. The boy had obviously

figured out how the startube Data had given him

worked, for he had applied its technology to the

navigation program. "I shall congratulate him on

his efforts. I think you can see now why we are

challenging Wesley to channel his abilities in

positive directions. Before Captain Picard

put him on the bridge, his curiosity and talent

frequently caused mischief, even when he did not

intend it."

  Sdan nodded. "I hope Startleet doesn't

stifle him. Only thing I see wrong with him is that

he's too damned polite. Yes sir, no sir,

if you please sir." He shuddered. "Makes me

feel like his grandfather, or his instructor at the

Academy. Maybe workin' with us'll get him

to relax a little" "I do not think so," said Data.

"Wesley's life is geared toward Starfleet."

He took up the programming when he reached the

point to which the debugging was complete-only to find

Sdan growing impatient with his slowness. While

Sdan claimed to have an unlikely mix of Federation

and even nonFederation races in his ancestry, his

appearance and intelligence were Vulcan. As an

android, Data had been able to compute faster than

any organic species. As a human, he was

easily outclassed by any of the Vulcanoid

races. "Data, it's obviously four pi to the

twenty-third! What's the matter with you?" Sdan

demanded.

  Data looked up at him, and answered deadpan.

"I am only human. was Instead of provoking the

laugh he had intended, the words brought a stricken

look to Sdan's face. "Hell, I'm sorry!

Course you are, and I wouldn't treat

Poet that way. I was just used to the speed you

calculated at before. You're still faster'n keyboarding

in the equations."

  The end was in sight by the time Data had to leave for

his appointment with Dare on the holodeck.

  "I miss this technology," Dare admitted as

he looked around the bare room. "As active as we

are, we can get rusty practicing only with one

another-and wealthy as we are we'll never afford a

ship capable of supporting a holodeck."

  "Starfleet has not closed the option for you

to return if you wish it," Data reminded him.

  "Oh, no," the mercenary replied. "I couldn't

live with such regimentation any longer. I enjoy my

independence too much." He grinned

self-deprecatingly and added, "I also enjoy command.

Few Starfleet security chiefs ever move up

to captain."

  "Few live long enough," Data said-and was

immediately sorry. He had been thinking of Tasha

Yar, of course, and forgotten for the moment that Dare was

not only the man responsible for setting Tasha on

that career path but also the man who had loved and

planned to marry her. But Dare only said, "Too

true," veiling his eyes as he turned

away. Then he took off his jacket, and began to do

warmup exercises. They were familiar moves

to Data, who had often seen Tasha do them. However,

this was the first time he had had reason to try them himself.

  Data found at first that he suffered twinges of pain

left over from yesterday, but as he bent and stretched in

imitation of Dare's moves they became less

noticeable. He was clumsy, but Dare pointed out

proper positions and after a time he began to understand

what was meant by "getting a feel" for an

activity.

  "You can bend further," Dare told him as Data

touched his fingertips to the floor.

  "I am doing what you did," Data replied.

  "Yes, but you are years younger than I am and have

never had your back broken. No-don't bounce!"

Dare warned as Data tried to force his human body

to do what his android body would have done easily.

"Never force-that's how you get injured," Dare

explained. "Let your body's own weight stretch

you."

  It did seem that his muscles stretched, and soon

he was able to put his palms flat on the floor.

"Excellent!" Dare told him. "Up slowly,

now-don't lose your balance."

  Data straightened, feeling the slight disorientation

of changing pressure in his head, but he was not

dizzy. He found Dare studying him with a frown.

"Did I do something wrong?"

  "No-but you mustn't let yourself lose that

flexibility, Data. Children are born with it, but

almost every human loses it by age twenty. It's one

advantage a smaller man has over opponents

with greater strength and weight." He glanced upward.

"Computer: padding on floor and walls, and a

safety field." The padding appeared immediately; the

safety field would activate only if either of them

were thrown so hard as to suffer injury despite the

pads. "All right, Data, let's start by finding out

what you already know." And Dare lunged for Data's

throat.

  Automatically, Data brought both hands up

inside the other man's forearms, and struck them

aside. That did not stop the mercenary, however, he

twisted a shoulder into Data's chest. Data went

down with the impact, too stunned at how easily he

had been bowled over to recover before Dare had bounced

to his feet and planted one boot on Data's

Adam's apple. Dismayed, Data simply lay

there, realizing for the first time how helpless he

was against anyone who knew what he was doing. Dare

removed his foot, and offered a hand up.

"Analyze," he instructed. "I-I never learned

that kind of combat. I had no need of it."

"Negatives won't help," Dare said. "Your

first move

  was right. What was wrong with your second move was that

you didn't make it."

  "I . . . beg your pardon?"

  "Attacking an android the way I just did you,

I would have sprained, perhaps broken my shoulder, while

the most I might have accomplished was to stagger you.

Right?"

  "That is correct. Worf could probably, have

knocked me over, but even he might have injured

himself"

  "But now we're both flesh and blood, and

pretty well matched in size. Come at me the

same way," Dare instructed.

  Data did so, expecting the first move, turning

slightly when his hands were knocked apart just as Dare

had done, and trying to ram the man- But Dare

simply turned aside and let Data becarried on

several steps by his own momentum!

  "That works once, was Dare warned him.

"Unless your opponent is drunk or very stupid,

don't try it a second time. Come at me again."

  This time Dare moved only slightly to one side,

grasped Data's arm, and tossed him over his hip.

The safety field caught him and provided a soft

landing.

  Data climbed to his feet, feeling exactly

where Dare's hands had gripped him. "Let me try

that."

  The first time, he succeeded only in bringing the two

of them to the mat in a tangle; Dare twisted and had

him pinned. The mercenary let him up, saying,

"Spread your feet to keep a solid base for your

own balance-was On the second try, Data threw

Dare, who got up, laughing. "You're a

natural, Data. If you had to trade that finely

honed machinery for flesh and blood, at least you got

good resilient flesh and blood."

  "Dr. Pulaski says I am in perfect

health."

  "I don't doubt it. But it will be up to you to stay

that way. Let's see you do that a few more times,

until it feels natural."

  Twice more Data threw Dare, but on the third

try Dare suddenly swerved and kicked his

legs out from under him. Data found himself on the mat

agbut Dare was down, too. Data bounced up and

dived for him, only to get two feet in the chest and

be tossed with such force that the safety field had

to catch him before he hit the wall.

  Nonetheless, Dare was saying, "Good instinct,

Data. Always take advantage of a weak moment.

Now let me show you the right way to do it." The hour

sped quickly. It seemed no matter what move

Data learned, though, Dare always had a counter

move. So would Worf, he was sure. "Of course

he will," Dare agreed. "That's his job, Data, but

it isn't yours. It could be, but I know you

science-minded types. You'll settle into a routine

of minimum physical maintenance, stay reasonably

healthy and fit, but you'll begrudge every minute of it.

  "I do not begrudge this past hour," Data said.

"Thank you, Dare. At least now, with practice,

I have some hope of having Lieutenant Worf

clear me. Perhaps after my duty shift-was

  "No more today, Data," Dare told him.

"You're going to feel that workout in a few hours.

Hell, I may feel it. I don't often go a

full hour like that anymore."

  Data was hot and sweaty again. He

hadn't antici pated that when he made the

holodeck appointment;

  he barely had time to shower and change clothes again,

appeasing his stomach with a simple chicken 171

  sandwich, apple, and milk. Even so, he was

fascinated by how different the flavors were, and had

to pull himself away from savoring the meal. He had

hardly left the turbolift, though, when Picard

turned and said, "In my ready room, Mr.

Data."

  When they were in the captain's ready room with the

door closed, Picard said, "Sit down,

Data."

  Data sat on the couch, his hands folded in his

lap. The captain, however, remained standing, neither

taking the armchair nor retreating behind his desk.

  "You assigned Wesley Crusher to help your

friends with their computer." "Yes, sir. Wesley is

not cleared for priority duty, and so does not come under

your proscription."

  Picard shook his head. "You did not break any

regulations. I am concerned about the effect on the

boy's progress."

  "Practical application of his lessons can

only enhance his education. As a matter of

fact, he discovered a formula for computing

geodesics that I intend to test myself. If it

proves as useful as it appears, I will

incorporate it into our own navigation program."

  Picard folded his arms, then lifted one hand

to rub his chin. Data recognized the gesture as

indicating that the captain was debating as to whether to say

something unpleasant.

  A movement caught Data's eye. He looked

down, to see his fingers twitching nervously.

Deliberately, he forced them still.

  The captain said, "Mr. Data, I have no

doubts about your judgment concerning the boy's education.

Under your tutelage he has made remarkable --

  progress. What concerns me is his exposure

to . . . certain personality types."

  "I . . . beg your pardon, sir?"

  Picard sighed. "I have no objection

to Wesley's interaction with anyone who comes aboard

the Enterprise, provided other crew members are

present. How- ever, he has come to the bridge today

full of the most outrageous stories of what he

appears to consider high adventure."

  "Ah," said Data. "He was working with

Sdan and Poet. They were quite impressed with

Wesley, as well."

  "That," said Picard, "is precisely what

concerns me."

  For a moment Data didn't understand. Then he

realized, "You cannot fear Wesley might run off and

become a mercenary?"

  "Adin's people have seen his potential, they are

flattering him, and they are filling his head with tales

of intrigue and heroism. What do you think they have in

mind?"

  "Providing him with an enjoyable experience in

exchange for the help he is giving them," Data

replied. "Captain, I know these people. Even if

Sdan or Poet thought it a good idea to tempt

Wesley to join them, which I do not believe is the

case, Darryl Adin would not hear of it."

  Picard nodded. "Yes, I am sure you are right

about that. I am more concerned about Wesley's

feelings."

  "We cannot protect him forever. He lives among

people he respects and admires. If he even thinks

of joining Dare's gang, they will quickly disabuse him

of the idea. That may hurt him, but he has weathered

173

  disappointments before. If we do not let him grow

up, he will be severely handicapped when he enters

Starfleet Academy."

  Picard stared at him. "You've developed

tremendous wisdom in one day as a human."

  "I would have said the same thing as an android,"

Picard nodded. "Of course you would. Perhaps I am

being a bit . . . overprotective. Still," the

captain said, turning to face the stars visible in the

viewport beyond him, "if anything happens

to Wesley, I will have to answer to Beverley

Crusher."

  "I would not envy you that task, Captain."

  Picard turned and gave Data a puzzled

frown. "Thank you, Mr. Data. Continue

assigning Wesley's lessons as you have done thus

far. You may return to your post. If you have time,

run the navigation test programs; I want you

requalified as rapidly as possible."

  Requalified? Data had understood that his

physical abilities and emotional health were under

question, but not his ability to fulfill his day-to-day

duties. He started to protest, but quickly changed his

mind; after all, he didn't know what gaps in his

active memory might have been left

by his experience on Elysia. The fact that he had

not yet found any did not mean there were none.

  The requalification process was required of

any officer who had been away from active duty

on a starship for six months or more. Picard's

applying it to someone coping with an entirely new

physical structure was only common sense.

  But how long would it take? And . . . what if the

process should reveal deficiencies that could not be

quickly remedied? If he had to return to the

Academy 174

  for retraining, he could be assigned to another

shipbut the Enterprise was where he had found a

home, made true friends, and-now quite literally-come

alive,

  "Yes, sir," Data told the captain, and

headed for his post, determined to requalify as

rapidly as he could. If there was any way

to prevent it, he had no intention of losing his home,

and friends, aboard the Enterprise.

  DATA wAs BACK ON DUTY at

navigation. The regular rotation of crew members

had brought Ensign Serena Gibson to the Ops

position. As they were in routine flight, the standard

rotation, designed to give all qualified

personnel bridge experience, would continue until

they came within range of the conflict. After that only

experienced officers would man the bridge. Gibson

looked over at Data as he took over the helm

from Wesley Crusher, who moved to the science post

on the upper bridge. "If you have any questions,"

Data told her, "feel free to ask."

  She dropped her eyes. "I'm sorry; I

didn't mean to stare at. you. What happened to you is

all over the ship. I will save my questions until after

duty shift." And she turned her full attention

to the board in front of her. Data frowned at his

board. He had not meant to imply that she should ask

personal questions on the bridge; in familiar

surroundings he was, in fact, starting to forget for

minutes at a time that anything out of the ordinary had

happened to him.

  Until he was forcefully reminded. He keyed his

I.d. into the navigation console, and the helm log

scrolled past in the blink of an eye. Hoping no

one had noticed, he set it to human reading speed,

and brought himself up to date.

  They were on course for the Samdian Sector, just

below maximum warp, all systems normal. The

viewscreen showed only passing stars.

Data glanced over at Gibson. He did not know

her well, could not recall ever having a conversation of

any length with her. Did that mean they had never had

one, or that his memory had human gaps in it?

Surely. he would not have forgotten such a lovely

woman. Gibson was blond, and wore her hair

softly loose on her shoulders. Starfleet

uniforms left no one's figure to the imagination, and

hers was lithe and graceful. She smelled of something

cleanly sweet and- "Am I doing something wrong,

Mr. Data?" she asked when she noticed him

studying her.

  "Oh-no. Just keep on with what you're doing,"

he replied, turning back to his board in

embarrassment. He would have to cultivate the human

ability to shut out the overwhelming load of sensory

information when he was on duty. Determined not to be

chased off the bridge when the Enterprise reached its

destination, Data called up the helm testing

program and began going through the exercises. It was

programmed with random situations, designed to test the

user in a variety of navigational situations. Of

course the tests would instantly disappear from the board

if sensors detected any reason for the helm

console to be operative. Data did not have

to worry about his frightening inability to divide his 177

  attention like an android; the ship was designed

to compensate for human fallibility.

  Data was becoming accustomed to-the perceptible time

lag in his performance. To his relief, when he

called up his scores he found his reaction times

well within Starfleet tolerances. As he settled

back in his chair, he became aware of someone behind

him, and found Will Riker looking over his shoulder.

"Good performance, Data," he said. "First try?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Excellent, then. You're obviously

qualified for helm duty. I will so note it in the

ship's log."

  "Thank you, sir. However, it is not navigation

or to Ops or science skills that concern me most,"

Data admitted, having gained confidence from the ease

with which he had passed this first test.

  "Worfl" Riker asked softly.

  "I do not know if he will clear me for active

duty."

  "Want me to give you some practice before he

tests you?" Riker asked. "Thank you, Commander, but

Darryl Adin is already doing that." "From what I

hear," said Riker, "he used to be damned

good. Probably still is, since he's still alive.

Get him to help you with target practice, too,

Data. His record as Starfleet sharpshooting

champion still stands." For the first time Data experienced

the feeling described in the human clichd, "his

heart sank."

  He had never given a thought to target practice,

for as an android he had accessed the same

telemetry that controlled the ship's phasers and

photon torpedoes. 178

  The only way he ever missed was if his target

moved unexpectedly after he had fired.

  Now all that was gone. It would be as if he had

never had a phaser in his hand before.

  Despite a suddenly dry mouth, Data

managed to say, "Thank you, Commander. I will ask

Dare to help me with that, too." But he could not help

feeling that when the Enterprise came within range of the

Samdian-Ifonor conflict, Data would find

himself off the bridge, assigned to some assistant's

position in science or engineering.

  Toward the end of the duty shift, Captain

Picard returned to the bridge and took the command

chair to bring his log up to date. Then he said,

"Mr. Data, the bridge log

indicates that you have proved your competency at

navigation. Trade assignments with Ensign

Gibson next shift."

  "Yes, sir."

  From his position on the upper bridge, Worf

said, "When will you be ready to qualify on physical

conditioning, weapons, and unarmed combat?" Data had

to force his voice down into its natural register as

he attempted to conceal his fears. "Those particular

requirements are the ones most affected by my change

in, uh, status. I respectfully request

further time to practice before testing."

  "Sensible," Worf replied, but his tone of

voice made it an insult. "Inform me when you are

prepared."

  "I hope to be ready before we reach the Samdian

Sector," Data told him. "Data,"

Counselor Troi said gently, "I do not think you

realize yet how much you are affected

psychologically. 179

  You cannot be ready for away team duty so soon."

  "But I-was Data broke off. He had never

argued with his fellow officers before; if he started doing

so now, they would surely think him emotionally unfit.

  "I shall of course abide by your judgment,

Counselor-but I feel compelled to add that-was

  "Don't worry, Data," Troi interrupted,

giving him an understanding smile. "We'll try

to clear you for bridge duty as soon as possible.

And don't try to control your emotions so harshly.

After what has happened to you, it's normal for your

feelings to be in warp drive. Suppressing them will

only cause greater stress."

  Damn her Betazoid empathy! She must have been

eavesdropping on everything he had felt since he

came on the bridge. Oh, no-that would include his

lapse in attention to duty when he had been diverted

by the sensory impressions from Ensign Gibson.

  Data felt his face grow hot, and knew he was

blushing again. Troi, however, said nothing more, just gave

him her understanding smile. Somehow, that only made him

feel worse.

  Their relief crew began appearing on the

bridge just then, and Data was free to make a

strategic retreat. Having sat still for several

hours, he felt the aches Dare had promised from

their workout this morning. Those aches would respond to the

sonic shower; he did not know what would assuage the

growing ache in his conscience.

  But as Data entered the turbolift,

Wesley Crusher hurried across the upper bridge

to dart in beside him. "Data, can I change my

lesson for tomorrow?" "For what reason, Wesley?"

  "Working on the gang's computers, I got an

idea for improving our own navigation equations."

  "I know. I plan to study your discovery."

  "No-not the star charts," the boy protested. "That

was yesterday. This is a new idea. Let me show

you," he added as they walked along the corridor

leading to both their quarters.

  Wesley still occupied the senior officer suite

he had shared with his mother, for the other officers now

responsible for him wanted him to remain nearby.

  Knowing Wesley's enthusiasm, Data realized

that if he allowed the boy to start working at Data's

computer he would have a guest for the next several hours.

So he paused at the door to Wesley's quarters,

saying, "Very well. Show me."

  But although Wesley started the program on his

computer he did not immediately sit down and start to work.

"You hungry, Data?" he asked. Data was

startled when, before he could speak, his stomach answered

with a distinct gurgle. Wesley laughed. "That sounds

like a "yes." Any preferences?" "I

am . open to suggestions."

  The boy grinned. "Mom always let me have one

dessert per day-but I'd rather have it as an afternoon snack

when I can appreciate it than after a meal when

I'm not hungry anymore."

  Data assumed that the boy still followed his mother's

regime, for he was obviously healthy, and growing like

the proverbial weed. "That sounds like a good idea,"

he agreed.

  Wesley stood before the food dispenser. "Let's

see--do you like chocolate, Data?"

  "I do not know."

  "You're human now. You've gotta like

chocolate.

  What would be the best way to introduce you? I know

. . . Computer, two hot fudge sundaes!"

  When Data tasted the concoction Wesley handed

him, he was astonished. Only the chocolate sauce

was hot; it was ladled over frozen ice cream,

creating an incredible blend of hot and cold, bitter

and sweet, matched visually by the dark-brown

chocolate against the almost-white ice cream. "A

study in contrasts," Data observed in a pause

between mouthfuls. "Wesley, I think you have just taught

me something about human art."

  Caught with his mouth full of ice cream,

Wesley choked on his laughter, his eyes watering in

the struggle to swallow. When he had succeeded, he

laughed openly.

  "Did I say something funny?" Data asked.

  "Not really--except that you're the first adult

to agree with me that chocolate ought to be considered an

art form. I'm glad you like it, Data. Next time

I'll introduce you to chocolate mousse."

  It took nearly an hour for Data to study the

equations Wesley was working on-something he could have done

in minutes as an android. Leaning over the boy's

shoulder, he felt the stiffness in his muscles again by the

time he agreed that Wesley should continue that line of

research. Then he headed for his own quarters, yearning

even more for the relief of a sonic shower. He had

hardly reached his cabin, though, when Geordi was at

the door. "Well?" his friend demanded with a grin.

"How'd it go on the bridge? At least you didn't

do anything requiring an emergency call

to Engineering." "I suppose it went well enough,"

Data said. "There

  is just so much, Geordi-so much I never gave a

thought to. Wesley Crusher may be a senior

member of the bridge crew before I am

again."

  "Oh, come on now," Geordi said

sympathetically. "It's not that hard to be human."

  "Perhaps not if you were born to it," Data

responded. "Geordi, how do you remember what you

are doing, when you are constantly bombarded by sensory

information? I can no longer store extraneous information

for later recall-when I look for it, it is gone.

Whenever something new engages my attention, I lose

track of what I was doing before."

  "Data, that just takes experience. In a few

days you'll learn to sort out what's important and

what isn't. If it's really significant, but you

can't deal with it immediately, tell the computer to store it

for later recall." "Yes," Data agreed, "you

are right. That is an excellent way to decide what

is important: if it should be recorded, it is;

if not, then I should ignore it. Thank you,

Geordi." Then he added, "Do you have difficulty

ignoring the . . . sensory impact of . . .

women?"

  Geordi laughed. "I should have known-you've lost

your halo, Data. Welcome to the world of

temptation. There's no reason to ignore the more

delightful aspects of the opposite sex

when you're not on duty. But you'll learn the time and

place to indulge yourself. You're obviously a fast

learner." Then he sobered. "May I make a

suggestion that might smooth your path in that area?"

"Please do."

  "I shouldn't have said indulge yourself, Data.

Indulge the lady. Look, I'm hardly a great

expert, but I know this much. Until you get a whole

lot of experience, 183

  let her set the pace. Never assume; let her

show you what she wants. I don't think women know

they go around tempting men just by being female." "Then

my reactions are not abnormal," Data said with

relief. "Not at all. But don't act on them

until the woman in question tells you she wants you

to."

  "I hardly have time to think about that at the moment,"

said Data. "That is why I find it disturbing that

women are so . . . distracting. I shall consider it a

normal human response, and ignore it until

I have resolved my other concerns."

  "And what concerns are those?" Geordi asked with a

smile Data didn't quite know the meaning of.

  "Requalifying for full duty status. The

Enterprise is headed into a difficult

situation, and her Second Officer is not fit either

to go on an away team or to take command of the

bridge."

  "Well," Geordi said, "what have you

accomplished so far?" "Officially cleared on

navigation. I am scheduled to test out on Ops

tomorrow."

  "A good start. What are you worried about, then?

You'll be back to full duty status in a few

days."

  "Not if Lieutenant Worf and Counselor

Troi have any say in the matter." "Worf s not

as tough as he pretends," Geordi reassured

Data. "He'll growl a lot and talk about

IC-LINGON superiority, but if you show reasonable

com- petency he'll pass you. Hell, I pass

his checks, even though he takes great pleasure in

wiping up the holodeck with me before he grudgingly

clears me for continued duty. He doesn't

expect of the regular crew what he demands of his

security people."

  That was true. Data realized with intense relief

that he was already as good as Geordi at unarmed combat.

That left weapons. Thank goodness ordinary crew

members were not required to be expert with a

variety of exotic weapons, as the security

personnel were. If Data could conquer phasers,

he would pass. Which still left Counselor Troi.

  "Data, don't push yourself so hard," Geordi

said. "When you get checked out on everything else,

you'll feel confident-and Troi will sense that. She'd

be wrong to clear you for full duty before you've had time

to adjust. Think about it: would you want the

responsibility for leading an away team right now?"

  "No," Data admitted. "Especially not after

the fatal mistake I made last time."

  "What do you mean?"

  Data got up and walked to the mirror. "Look

at me, Geordi. You can see it better than

anyone else. My . . . self-indulgence

destroyed the balance of the Enterprise senior crew.

There is nothing I can provide as a human that you and

Picard and Riker and Pulaski do not already have between

you. As an android I had strength, speed, and

instantaneous access to information. Now I provide

nothing special at all."

  "Nothing but your skills, your experience, and the

indefinable things that make you you, was Geordi said.

"Data, you have no reason to feel guilty. Good

God, man, do you think I would have given

one second's thought to the value of my special

vision to Starfleet if I'd been in your shoes?

If I'd earned my fondest wish, the way you

did? If you think anyone resents your taking your

chance, forget it. Now come on-we're off duty.

Let's go to Ten-Forward for a drink, and see who's

around for some more cheerful conversation."

  In the lounge, Data spotted Darryl Adin

sitting alone at a table near the viewports,

looking out at the stars. While Geordi ordered

drinks, Data went over to him, saying, "Sdan will

complete the computer repairs in a few hours, and you

will be free to go."

  Dare looked up at Data with a sardonic

smile. "It doesn't matter any longer. A

message from Brancherion reached us today: as we did

not arrive in time, the people we were to train and organize

were forced to face their enemies without us. And won. It

turns out we were not needed after all." "Have you another

assignment?" Data asked.

  "Oh, yes. There is always work for the Silver

Paladin. Starlleet won't be very happy about this

one, though." He pulled a small tricorder from his

pocket and inserted a message clip. com"...allyr

ship's security delivered this to me, still

scrambled to my code. But Captain Picard has

the right to know." It was a plea from the government of the

Samdian Sector for the aid of the Silver

Paladin in resisting the Konor. "They are seeking

help from everyone who will listen. Will you go to their aid?"

  "I hate lost causes," said Dare, "but I

cannot resist a challenge. Problem is, I cannot

determine which this is."

  Just then Geordi joined them. He set a tall

glass of light brown liquid in front of

Data. "Arcturian cider. Guinan suggested you

try it, Data. If you don't like it, there are

plenty of other things to try."

  "Thank you, Geordi. Dare-?"

  "Oh, join us, Geordi. I'm not keeping this a

secret. I'm sure Captain Picard will make

a fair decision, after I've made mine."

  "What decision?" Geordi asked.

  "Whether to let us ride at the Enterprise

maximum warp, and arrive when you do, or to drop us

off as soon as our ships are repaired, leaving us

to trail you into the Samdian Sector by several

days." While Dare brought Geordi up to date,

Data tasted the cider. It was tangy-sweet with a

hint of some odd but pleasant flavor beneath

the fruity essence.

  He pulled his attention away from the drink when

Dare asked, "What unclassified information can you

two give me about this conflict?" Data's

automatic attempt to access still occurred when people

asked him direct questions. There was nothing to access.

"All I know is that the Konor are attacking the

planet Dacket in the Samdian Sector,

apparently without provocation."

  "That information is available on the public news

services," Dare replied dryly.

  "I don't know any more than that, either," said

Geordi. Data had not lost his curiosity with his

android body; he was seized with a compelling need

to know. "Let us move to a computer terminal," he

suggested.

  Ten-Forward was intended for leisure pursuits;

however, just across the corridor were smaller recreation

lounges complete with terminals. They found an

empty one, and Data called up information on the

Samdian Sector. It was a trade community of

three planets colonized many centuries ago by a

single humanoid race. To this day they had only

subwarp space travel. They had a thriving

culture and trade among their own

planets, but did not seek or encourage interaction

with the rest of the galaxy. Before the Federation was even

formed, the three

  planets had joined forces to fight off an

attempted Klingon takeover. After that, they had

been pretty well left alone, as even when the

rest of the galaxy developed faster than light

travel they were technologically advanced enough to be

difficult to conquer, and their planets offered nothing like

gold or dilithium to tempt invaders.

Cultures seeking conquest turned to easier

pickings, and the Samdians continued to live in

peaceful isolation. There were a few pictures, a

generation out of date. The few Samdian artifacts

the Federation had were confiscated from Ferengi or

Orion pirates, who were occasionally successful in

attacking Samdian ships on the outskirts of the

sector. Such raids were one-time affairs, however;

repeated attempts were met by wellarmed resistance.

The three planets always supported one another.

  Because of the Samdians" isolationism, which

deprived them of the intercultural feedback that made

the Federation so vigorous, surrounding cultures had

outgrown them technologically. It might have been

possible within the past century to conquer the

Samdian Sector without major sacrifice of

life and equipment-except that before anyone tried the

Federation and the Klingons had made peace, and the

Ferengi, Orions, and other aggressive

cultures recognized that an attack on such a

peaceful population was not worth the risk of having it

interpreted as the first shot in a war of aggression.

  Few cultures cared to test the combined strength of the

Federation and the Mingon Empire. And so, possibly

without knowing why, the Samdians continued to live in

peace-until the appearance of the Konor.

  According to the reports received from Dacket,

approximately five Federation Standard Years

ago the Konor began attacking the Samdian

Sector ruthlessly, taking the planet Jokarn with

brutal efficiency. Now they were moving on

Dacket, with Gellesen obviously their next

target. The Konor did not take goods or raw

materials. They took planets. Like the

Klingons, they were all warriors, but unlike them

they appeared to have no compunction about attacking unarmed

opponents. They quickly and efficiently killed men,

women, and children who opposed them, and enslaved the rest.

Then they settled into the ready-made homes, took

over whatever agriculture and industry there

was, and acted as if the planet had always been

theirs. Dare shook his head. "This is far beyond my

capacity to handle. Have the Federation ever met up with

these Konor before?" Data searched for references.

"Nothing," he said. "Data," said Geordi,

"doesn't it seem odd that the Samdians haven't

sent more information on their attackers?"

  "Perhaps they do not know any more than this," Data

reasoned. "But where did the Konor come from?" asked

Dare. "Negative information," Data replied after

another fruitless search. Then he frowned.

"Computerspherical scan of inhabited worlds within

fifty light years of the Samdian Sector."

  "Working."

  "Give us a visual display."

  Over the table before them, a holographic

representation of that quadrant appeared, inhabited

worlds 189

  indicated by dots of white light. Dare said,

"Revolve it, Data." He did, first on a

vertical, then on a lateral axis. "This should not be

possible," Data said, for there was no direction the

Konor could have approached from in which they would not have

passed dozens of inhabited worlds. "Computer, have

any of the inhabited worlds on this display

reported attacks by the Konor?"

  "Negative."

  "Then," said Dare, "they came specifically

to attack the Samdians." "A peaceful people who have

not ventured outside their own Sector in

centuries?" Data asked.

  "Wait a moment," Geordi said. "You said

inhabited worlds, Data. The Samdian planets

are class-M. Computer, delete from the display

all inhabited planets which are not class-M."

  About a quarter of the lights winked out, but it was still

clear that no matter what direction the Konor had

come from they would have passed by numerous worlds as suitable

to their needs as those in the Samdian Sector. "It

is not logical," said Data. "Their actions

suggest that they are seeking worlds to occupy, and yet they

have ignored all these potential planets. Why?"

  "Perhaps," said Geordi, "because they want

exactly the cluster of similar worlds, near to one

another, that the Samdians have."

  "Or they're afraid to pick on their equals,"

Dare added. "Strategically, the Samdian

Sector is in an excellent position. If the

Samdians had had the sense to keep up

technologically, and form alliances with their

neighbors, they wouldn't be in this predicament. 190

  What weapons do the Konor have? What kind of

ships?" "Negative information," the computer replied

unhelpfully. "Damned fools don't even know

how to ask for help," Dare grumbled. "We need every

piece of information they can give us to form a defense

strategy." "We?" questioned Geordi.

  "We're all on the same side, I should

think," said Dare. "I hope Captain Picard will

let us continue to hitch a ride on the Enterprise.

Although there probably won't be anything in it for us,

come to think of it. This situation appears to be a clear

case of Starffeet rendering aid to people under attack

by an unprovoked aggressor."

  "Sure looks that way," Geordi agreed.

"Data, I think we should tell the captain what

we've learned."

  "May I join you?" asked Dare.

  "Your input may prove beneficial," Data

said. "Computer, where is Captain Picard?"

  "Captain Picard is on the holodeck."

  As a matter of fact, most of the senior officers

were on the holodeck, which was configured as a

tropical holiday resort. Picard was sitting with

Kate Pulaski at one of several

small tables on a sun deck overlooking a

swimming pool. Will Riker was in the water, watching

Serena Gibson do a rather shaky dive, then making

suggestions to improve her form and encouraging her

to try again.

  Pulaski looked up as Data, Geordi, and

Dare approached. "Oh, no," she said, "just when

I persuade the captain to relax a little, here comes

trouble." "Not trouble," Geordi said. "Just

information."

  "Can't it wait?" asked the doctor. "In

three days we will enter a situation that is certain

to take everyone's concentration. Data, don't use

the captain as a model in this. Use-was she glanced

around, to see Riker laughing as Gibson splashed

him, "comCommander Riker. He knows relaxing when

he's off duty makes him more efficient when he's

on."

  "Doctor," said Picard, "how can I relax

while wondering what information is so important as

to cause two of my officers to track me down on

the holodeck? Let's go inside, gentlemen."

  The holodeck obediently gave them a

well-equipped conference room, where Data showed the

captain what they had learned about the

Konor and the Samdians.

  Picard studied the display, pursing his lips.

"So the origins of the Konor are a mystery. We have

no records of them or their ships. Curious."

"Intriguing," Data agreed.

  Picard gave him one of his snorting smiles.

"Nothing will change your love of a mystery, will it,

Data?"

  "I do not think so, sir. It is a trait we

seem to share."

  "Ye-es," drawled Picard. "Now, Mr.

Adin-why are you here?" Dare explained what had

been in the two messages he had received. "Our

ships are almost ready," he said. "They're the

fastest private space vehicles available, but

no match for a Galaxy-class starship. From what

we know of the attack on the Samdians, I can't

see how the Federation could refuse to render aid. Still,

I must answer the call. If you put us off,

we'll arrive several days after you, probably just in

time to watch the last of the Konor shove off' for wherever

  they came from. A waste of our time and power. If

we may continue to ride with you, however-was

  "Of course you may," Picard

replied. "But don't assume that we are going

to enter into a war."

  "Oh, I haven't forgotten my lessons in

Starfleet," Dare said. "To be forced to fight is

to have lost the first battle. However, this war has begun

without us. The only possible way you could stop it without

entering in is if the Konor either retreat or agree

to negotiate when the Enterprise shows up." "We

can hope for that," Picard agreed. "It appears we

will be first on the scene, but the Klingon cruiser Pagh

will arrive within eight days, and other ships are on the

way. If the Konor are not true berserkers, as

appears from their settling into domesticity once they have

taken a planet, they may bow to superior force."

  "If our force is superior," Data said.

  Picard gave him a questioning look, and Data

continued, "The Samdians have provided no

visuals of Konor ships. Are they cloaked?

Or are they so many and so powerful that the Samdians

fear even the Federation might not be willing to send the

ships and personnel necessary to overcome them?" "Find,

out, Mr. Data. Search for clues to Konor

origins. Get me something Troi and her psych team

can work on, or something I can hand over to Thralen in

Sociology. We need some idea of what

the Konor care about besides killing. I'm tired of

dealing with shadows."

  "Yes, sir," Data said, and got up to leave.

  He was at the door when Picard suddenly said,

"Data!" He turned. "Yes, sir?"

  "Not now, dammit. I'm sorry-I forget you

are not a machine anymore, and apparently you also

forget it.

  "I am frequently reminded, sir."

  "Yes, well, you came off duty and jumped right

into a computer search for the information you've just given me.

Now I want you to relax for a few hours, get a

night's sleep, and start fresh in the morning.

Meanwhile why don't you join us here? Take a

swim."

  Oh, no-another Starfleet requirement. "I

cannot swim, sir."

  "Well, here's a perfect opportunity

to learn. Geordi?" "Come on, Data," his friend

urged. "No time like the present." They did not have

to leave the holodeck to change into bathing trunks;

they were conveniently available in the changing rooms beside

the pool. By this time Riker and Gibson were lying on

lounges beside the pool, both apparently asleep.

Geordi dived in cleanly, his VISOR

as well insulated against moisture as Data's

android workings had been. Data hesitated at the

edge, feeling oddly nervous. That did not make

sense. He would have been perfectly safe in this

pool as an android; had he fallen into the deep

end, he could simply have walked the bottom to the

shallows. Now he was light enough to float, so where was the

problem? "Come on in, Data!" Geordi urged,

and Data sat down on the edge, letting his feet

down into the water. It felt cold.

  Steeling himself, he slid all the way in, and

stood shivering in the chest-deep water.

  Geordi swam over, and stood up fireside

him with a frown. "You're really scared, Data.

Why?"

  "I-I do not know. Human instinct?"

  "No-fear of water is a learned response in

humans. Babies learn to swim without a second

thought. What happened to you the last time you were in this much

water?"

  "It was on Elysia. I was already severely

damaged, and the water got through my insulation and shorted

me out."

  "Of course-no wonder you're scared! But think a

moment. It can't short you out anymore, can

it?" Geordi asked reasonably.

  "No. Now all it can do is drown me."

  Geordi laughed. "Not on the holodeck. The

water would simply disappear if anyone started

to drown. This is the safest place in the world to learn.

First you put your face under and hold your breath, then

you learn to float-and after that, the rest is easy."

  Easy for Geordi, perhaps. Data felt

hideously awkward as he doggedly imitated what

Geordi demonstrated. He knew perfectly

well that human bodies were less dense than water

and would therefore float, yet when he lifted his feet

from the safety of the bottom and stretched out in the water

he fully expected to sink like a stone.

  He didn't.

  The feeling turned from astonishment to exhilaration as

the water cradled his body. It was another of those

unexpectedly delightful sensations, being suspended

weightlessly, rocked gently by the movement of the

water- Until Geordi moved abruptly, and the

water splashed into Data's face.

  He collapsed, went under, and came up snorting

and coughing. Geordi was laughing at him. Data

splashed him in return, and his friend retreated into the

deep end of the pool. "Point your hands

ahead and kick with your feet," he instructed,

floating on his back and moving effortlessly with the

occasional flip of a hand or foot.

  Having proved to himself that he was not going to drown,

Data began trying to swim. Before long he was able

to propel himself from one side of the pool to the other without

putting his feet down. Once he learned the

simple expedient of keeping his mouth shut and breathing

out through his nose when his face was under, he stopped

choking and made some progress. Suddenly the water

churned with activity. Data surfaced to see three

new people in the pool: Poet, Aurora, and Pris

Shenkley. Apparently Dare's gang had been

invited to join the party. Dare was still up on the deck,

talking amiably with Picard and Pulaski.

  Pris swam over to Data. "Dare said you were

learning to swim. It looks to me as if you don't

need much teaching." She sounded disappointed. "I still have

a great deal to learn," he replied. "I must be able

to swim six lengths of the pool to fulfill

Starfleet requirements."

  "You mean they're making you pass all your tests

over again?" she asked. "It is necessary. If they did

not, I could be left unfit for duty in some

undiscovered way. On an away team

assignment, or even on the bridge, such a flaw

could prove fatal, to me or to a fellow crew

member."

  "You're right, of course," she agreed. "You

don't seem to be having much trouble adjusting."

  "In many ways the physical adjustments are

easier

  than the mental ones," he told her. "The

Elysians gave me a body in perfect health.

Dare says I will probably not keep it in the peak

of condition, and he is probably right. I'm not

security; I will not want to devote more than a

minimum time to exercise. There is so much to do, and

humans are robbed of almost a third of their time by the

requirement of sleep."

  She laughed. "But sleep is one of life's

pleasures."

  "It is? I don't even remember it, only the

moment of panic when I woke up this morning thinking

someone had turned me off."

  "You'll see," she said. "May I show you some

strokes?" Data suddenly remembered Geordi,

but his friend had made a strategic retreat and was now

sitting on one of the lounges at the edge of the pool,

talking to Riker. So Data accepted

Pris's offer. She taught him only one stroke,

something called a crawl even though it was one of the most

efficient swimming strokes humans could use. After

a great deal of splashing and sinking, he finally got his

arms, legs, and head working together, and he and Pris

swam side by side for a time.

  "I think I'm shriveled up enough," Pris

announced. For a moment Data didn't understand, then

saw how his own skin had wrinkled up from the

exposure to the water. It began to smooth out again the

moment they got out of the pool.

  The sonics in the changing rooms dried them

instantly. Pris emerged in a soft blue dress

the color of her eyes, her hair a halo of

blond curls. Data's hair was also free of

anything to tame it, for he had not brought any such thing

with him. Neither had Riker, he noticed; apparently

after swimming it was acceptable to be rather disheveled; for

although the first 197

  officer had changed back into his uniform and was now

up on the deck with the captain, his hair fell in a

fringe over his forehead. "Would you like to have dinner here?"

Data suggested to Pris. Tempting food smells

floated in the air, and after the exercise he was quite

hungry. The deck above the pool had been

transformed into an outdoor restaurant through the

magic of the holodeck.

  Data allowed Pris to suggest the menu, and

discovered that he liked roast beef and baked

potato, that his palate seemed neutral toward

carrots, and he did not care at all for the taste of

either mustard or horseradish. More "acquired

tastes," it seemed. His salad, though, was the first

thing that tasted as it always had-the raw greens had little

flavor, while the texture felt the same to a

human as to an android.

  As they ate, Data found himself able to hold a

conversation at the same time, as well as maintain a

free-floating awareness of Pris as a beautiful and

desirable woman. He remembered when they had first

met on Treva, how intrigued Pris had been with

him. He recalled accessing his flirtation files

for a pleasant interlude that had led nowhere.

  Tonight, he discovered, he was flirting without the aid

of data banks, and enjoying it. ,

  Until Tasha crossed his mind. If he had

been human then, he would have responded to her in this

strange new way. Or if Tasha were still alive-

She would be over there with Dare, he realized, taking

the opportunity to be with the man she had

loved since the day he rescued her from the hellhole

of her home planet. In fact, by this time they would

probably have gone off to be alone together.

  "Data?" Pris questioned. "Where did you go?"

  "I am sorry," he replied, his pleasant

mood broken. "Please forgive me, Pris. I

am still learning to be human, and sometimes I don't do

a very good job of it.

  She smiled. "I think you're charming. You just have

to learn how to relax when you're off duty."

  Accepting her rationale, he said, "I am tired,

something I do not yet know how to cope with."

  "Try getting some sleep," she suggested,

apparently not at all perturbed. "There's always

tomorrow, Data comseveral tms for you and me to get to know

one another better, you know. Captain Picard has

agreed to let us ride along to Dacket."

  "Yes, I know," he said. "Then you will excuse

me?" "Certainly," she replied. "I'll see you

tomorrow."

  "I will look forward to it," Data replied,

honesty compelling him to admit to himself that he spoke the

truth, even though some confused emotion suggested it was

wrong to be attracted to Pris. Logically, he

did not know why it should seem wrong, but many

aspects of human emotion had always been a mystery

to him. Perhaps it would be best to avoid women for the time

being, at least until he had completed his

requalification.

  He returned to his quarters, but although he was

physically tired after the long and active day, he

did not feel ready to sleep. Something led him to the

shelves behind his computer console, where he displayed those

objects that had somehow acquired importance to him.

He picked up the crystal hologram base and

set it on his desk, hesitated, then turned it

on. The image of Tasha stood before him. Dark

emotions churned within him, more intense

  than any he had known as an android when Dare

had reentered Tasha's life; his sorrow at her

death; his guilt when he had revealed the secret

Tasha had asked him to keep, in order to preserve

his own life. Captain Picard had said Tasha would

understand, and Data was sure he was right-yet he still

felt as if he had betrayed her trust.

  Someone triggered Data's door signal. Without

thinking, he called, "Come." The doors slid

open. Someone walked across the room toward him, and

halted abruptly.

  Data looked up, to find Darryl

Adin staring at the figure of Tasha, his expression

a painful mixture of surprise and sorrow. Then

his eyes narrowed. "What are you doing with Tasha's

image, Data?"

  "We were . . . friends," Data replied

hesitantly, but his voice betrayed him.

  Dare's gaze moved upward from the holographic

figure to Data's face. "Oh, my God," he

said in a voice devoid of inflection. "You were in

love with her."

  DATA sAT FROZEN, unable to confirm or

deny what Dare had said. He didn't know if he

had loved Tasha, knew no more now what love was

than he had known as an android.

  He saw a flicker of raw anger deep in the

mercenary's eyes, and prepared to be thrown across the

room.

  But it didn't happen. Instead, he watched as

Dare's anger faded and was replaced by sadness.

  "I'm sorry, Data," Dare said; his voice

roughedged. "Dammit, I knew you were capable of

friendship, loyalty, sympathy-I should have realized it

when you brought me Tasha's farewell: you under, stood

what I was going through because you suffered the same loss."

  "We were never-was Data began. But

Dare did not deserve a lie. "You were the one

Tasha loved," he said truthfully.

  Dare came to Data's side of the desk, looking

at the image of Tasha. He said nothing for a few

moments, 201

  then reached out and turned off the display. Without

looking at Data, he said, voice tightly

controlled, "If Tasha were still alive, you and I would

be rivals. Especially now."

  "I told you-was Data tried to reassure him,

but Dare interrupted him. "It's ironic: because the

woman we both loved is dead, instead of rivals

we are closer friends. I should have realized it when you

said you needed my companionship as much as I did

yours when you brought me her farewell." Data

breathed a sigh of intense relief. "I am glad

you see it that way." "As you have always done," said

Dare, giving Data his rare sincere smile. "I

wonder-will you be able to remain so selfless as a

human? You risked your life to clear me of

treason and murder. No one would have known the difference

if you had done nothing, and I would have been out of

Tasha's life again, for good."

  "Had I been human, I could not have done it,"

Data pointed out. "Only a

positronic brain could interface with a starbase

computer and access deleted and altered files." He

got up, leading the way to the comfortable chairs at the

back of the room, deliberately turning his thoughts

away from what his transformation had cost Starfleet.

"What did you want to see me about, Dare?"

"Captain Picard has invited me to act as

advisor in the Samdian situation. He told me

to work with you." The mercenary smiled again, this time in his

usual sardonic way. "I take it that's a

polite way of keeping me aboard the

Enterprise?"

  "I'm afraid so," Data replied. "I will be

confined to 202

  the ship for some time. But you are a free man,

Dare. You can always take your ships and leave."

  "You're right, of course. Actually, this puts me

in an enviable position: Enterprise computers and

scanners will provide the most accurate information,

we'll arrive at Dacket in the shortest possible

time, and if for some reason the Federation should refuse

them aid, we'll be right there to offer ours." "I

don't think the Federation will refuse," Data said.

"However, your experience may prove invaluable if

we are forced to fight. Which reminds me,

may I presume on our friendship for further

lessons? Commander Riker tells me your accuracy

with a phaser still stands as a Starlleet record."

"Does it? After all these years?" He was

obviously pleased. "All right, Data, I'll

help you with that, too. It would probably be a good

idea to alternate days of practice at weapons

and unarmed combat."

  They made an appointment for the next morning, and

Dare got up to leave. He paused, glancing

toward the crystal holograph base still on

Data's desk, then turned back. "Data," he

said, "you know it is no betrayal of Tasha's

memory to interact with other women, perhaps eventually

find someone . . . special." "As you have done?"

It was out before Data realized what he was saying. But

Dare's mouth only quirked up in a one-sided

smile. "Probably," he replied, and Data

understood the veiled admission that he had little success

following his own advice.

  Dare continued, "Pris likes you, Data. She

wouldn't expect commitment from a Starfleet officer,

but you seem to enjoy one another's company."

  "I enjoy hers," Data admitted.

  "And you've met twice already within the past

year. The galaxy is not so large as the

planet-bound tend to think." Dare paused. "When you

left the holodeck so abruptly, I thought you

might have feared I would object-not that any of my people

would allow me to influence their personal affairs. But

when I found you. . ." He shrugged. "Enough. You and

Pris are both adults. There is a great deal

to be said for an . . . intimate friendship."

  The next morning Data awoke disoriented again,

but this time without panic. He knew that he had dreamed

. . . and yet, peculiarly, he could not recall

what he had dreamed. He thought of consulting

Counselor Troi, but instead called up information

on human dreaming from the ship's computers and was quickly

reassured that his was a perfectly normal

experience. That made him smile. He would tell

Troi; it was evidence that his psychological state

was settling into a human norm.

  But he had work to do. He dressed, called up

breakfast, and settled at the computer.

  Three hours later he logged off in frustration,

when the computer reminded him of his appointment with Dare

on the phaser range. There was nothing in Starfleet

records that he could connect with the Konor. If the

Samdians did not insist that they were

attacking their planets, there would be no reason

to believe they existed. On the phaser range,

Dare started Data with a fixed target. "Loose

grip," he instructed, positioning Data's fingers

around the weapon. "Your thumb points at the 204

  target. Most people push down with the thumb, which jerks

the hand and spoils the aim. The secret is to hold

the thumb steady and squeeze with the fingers. Try it."

  Data concentrated, aimed-and missed the target

by a meter. Then by half a meter in the opposite

direction. "Hold it loosely," Dare kept

telling him, and "squeeze-gently, gently!" but

Data could not seem to follow the instructions. He

eventually began hitting the target, but the Ploink!

Poot! Ping! Thud! told him even before the computer

confirmed it that his shots were all over it with no

consistent pattern. Holding the bursts too long, in

order to drag them onto target, he finally

exhausted the charge. "Damn," he said,

transferring the phaser to his left hand and wiping his

cramped and sweating right hand on his uniform. If he

had gripped the weapon that hard with android strength,

he would have crushed it. Dare stood back, watching

him, saying nothing, For some reason it seemed like

heavy criticism to Data, and in

frustrated anger he threw the phaser at Dare,

demanding, "You're the expert. Show me!"

  It was the small, light hand phaser, although it hit

Dare dead center in the chest, it would not even cause

a bruise. The mercenary caught it as it bounced off

him, stared down at it for a moment, then at Data-and

burst out laughing.

  "It's not funny!" Data exploded. "My

career in Starfleet is at stake." "No-no,"

Dare gasped. "I'm laughing at my own

stupidity, Data. I watched you eating last night

and should have realized it then, but I didn't see it

until you chucked that weapon at me. I put the

phaser in 205

  your right hand when we started. I should have realized:

you're left-handed!"

  Data had been aware that humans favored one

hand over the other, the majority of them the right, but as

an android he had of course been ambidextrous.

He looked down at his hands, recalled eating,

shaving, brushing his hair, cleaning his teeth . . .

Dare was correct. He instinctively used

implements with his left hand. "Let me try again,"

he said, reaching for the phaser with his left hand this time.

  As Data put the exhausted phaser

back in its charger and took a fresh one, Dare

said, "Wait a minute, Data. I want you

to try something." "What?"

  "Pretend that fiasco didn't happen. It was

my fault, not yours. Relax for a moment, take some

deep breaths. Let the tension drain away."

Data tried to do as he'd been instructed, relaxing

his muscles. "Good," Dare said. "Now, forget that

you're human."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Nothing has happened to change your shooting

skill. You've always been dead-on with any weapon,

the way you hit me dead-on when you threw without thinking

just now. So don't think. Use the same instincts

you've used all your life. Goo"

  Data fired, not consciously aiming. Ping! Ping!

Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping! Burst after burst hit

dead center of the target. He stopped shooting, stared,

looked over at the computer results. They confirmed

it.

  He tried aiming as he had earlier, and although he

  did better than he had with his right hand, he

scattered shots over much of the target.

  "Data-was Dare began.

  "An experiment," he replied. "That is what

happens when I try to aim. But if I let my

automatics function-was He resumed firing-and again

scored a perfect round.

  Dare increased the distance, and said, "Do it again."

  Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping!

  Dare clapped him on the back. "I think you've

got it!" Data wondered, "How could that possibly

carry over? I don't have automatics

anymore."

  "Of course you do: they're called reflexes.

Don't question it," Dare warned him. "Just use it.

Let's try moving targets."

  As with the fixed target, Data proved as good as

ever, as long as he simply forgot that anything was

different from the last time he had used a phaser.

Dare drew one also, and they practiced

back-to-back security maneuvers, letting the

computer keep score. Together, they drove it

straight up to the limit of human reaction time,

never missing a target they aimed at and only

beginning to miss tracking some when the machine went

into lightning barrage, sending targets at a rate

even the fastest human reflexes could not match.

When they were forced to give up and end the

program, Data called up their score-and found

they had surpassed the Enterprise record. Dare

looked up from the screen with a wolfish grin.

"Data, can you delete that record?"

  "I can, "Data replied, "but I will not. It is

part of the ship's log." "Of course," Dare said.

"Well, then, we'll have to move quickly, before

Lieutenant Worf routinely reviews phaser

range scores."

  "What are you planning, Dare?" Data asked

suspiciously. "Just a little wager. Computer: give

me Security Chief Worf's phaser scores."

  "You are not cleared for that information," the computer

reminded him. "Give it to me, was Data said.

  Dare studied the scores and gave a low whistle.

"He's good! It will be a close contest. Hmm.

You're never going to match a Klingon in unarmed

combat skills-that's not an insult, as neither am

I-so here's how we'll set it up-was

  After one last session with Dare, Data informed

Worf that he was ready to test for requalification on

security skills. He had requalified at

Ops on his last duty shift; security clearance

would put him back on the senior bridge crew if

Counselor Troi approved it. Data

was feeling much more confident by now, and was certain she would

fulfill her earlier promise. Geordi was on the

bridge, making some adjustments at his engineering

station. The long journey at a steady warp seven

allowed minute relativistic distortions to be

detected.

  When Data approached Worf with his proposal,

Geordi looked up. "Are you sure you're ready,

Data?"

  "As ready as I'll ever be, probably," he

replied. "Don't you think I can do it,

Geordi?"

  Geordi's VISOR made the exact meaning of

his frown uncertain, but he said, "Sure, Data.

You can do anything you set your mind to."

  Worf looked down at Data from his imposing

height. "After only three days' practice, you

think you are ready to qualify at unarmed combat?"

"Both unarmed combat and phaser accuracy," Data

replied confidently. "Darryl Adin has been

helping me. He says I am capable of

qualifying at the required Startleet level.

After all, I am not seeking a post in

Security." "So Mr. Adin thinks you're

ready," Worf growled skeptically.

"We shall see. 1600 hours on the holodeck."

  As Data headed back toward Ops,

Counselor Troi said, "I sense that you are

completely confident, Data. Is it possible that you

are overconfident?" "I do not think so,

Counselor," Data replied. "Would you care

to wager that I cannot do it?"

  "I'll take that bet, Deanna," said Commander

Riker. "I don't think Adin would encourage

Data to attempt to qualify if he wasn't

ready." "Men!" Troi said, exasperated. "You have

to make a game of everything. Data, why did you ever

allow this man to teach you to play poker?" "It was a

challenge," Data replied. "But the current

issue is not poker. Will you wager, Counselor?"

  "I don't, usually," she replied. "However,

just to temper your egos-was There were very few, though, who

bet against Data, as the wager was simply on his

qualification. Everyone knew Worf s growl was

worse than his bite when it came to non-Security

personnel. Because he was judg 209

  ing, Worf did not bet. Everything was going

exactly as Dare had told Data to expect.

  The news spread, and by 1600 hours so many people had

bets on the contest, and therefore wanted to see

it, that the holodeck could not hold them all. As the

odds were grossly in Data's favor, no one

stood to win much; Data was sure curiosity about how

he was handling being human was at the heart of their

interest. Still, interactive ship's communications were

hooked in, so that bets could be placed at each step

in the qualification process. Dare and his gang had

wangled their way onto the holodeck. Riker,

Pulaski, and Geordi were also there, as was the ship's

counselor, even though she protested that she needed

to gauge Data's emotions during the test, and had

no interest in encouraging gambling. If the captain

was watching the event, it was from the privacy of his

quarters.

  The mats and safety field were in place.

Data felt a moment's trepidation as he faced

Worf. But he didn't have to beat him, Data

reminded himself; he only had to demonstrate the

required skills. If he performed them properly,

Worf would allow the takedowns.

  Worf began with the simple standard attack basic

to all such lessons. On Dare's advice,

Data used the unorthodox maneuver of stepping

aside. Worf wasn't expecting it-and to the

Klingon's annoyance, his stumbling two

steps beyond his smaller opponent drew a laugh.

  Worf turned and lunged again-and for a moment Data

feared he might be annoyed enough to skip to a degree

of difficulty that Data couldn't cope with. But no,

Worf would never betray his sense of honor. When

  Data executed the proper turn and tossed the

Klingon over his hip, Worf went down

gracefully-to a round of applause. Data

hoped their chief of security understood that it was more for

his sportsmanship than for the minor skill Data

had demonstrated.

  The next skill Dare had had Data

practice with the holodeck warrior projection, for the

mercenary was not large enough himself to pick Data up as

Worf could, and throw him. When an opponent had that

kind of size and strength, it was best to let him toss

one out of reach, then come back with speed and

flexibility moves in an attempt to exhaust

him. So Data did not struggle when Worf grabbed

him, but spent his effort on landing without injury,

to bounce up and come at the Klingon from behind. By this time,

the spectators were making new bets. "Fifty that

Data takes Worf down twice more!"

  "I'll take that!"

  "Twenty-five that Worf can pin Data."

  "Naw-he's too fast. Look at "im!"

  But Data could not listen to the crowd. Dare had

warned him, "Your only concern is to qualify. Do

the very best you can, and don't let anything distract

you.,"

  As a result, he performed the required moves

adequately if not expertly, and as a good

instructor Worf allowed himself to be bested when

Data demon- strated the correct technique.

  As the match continued, Data heard the bets on

his ability increasing, and didn't understand why.

Surely these people knew he was nearing the limits of his

skills. To his amazement, he heard Pris

wager, "One hundred that Data pins Worf!"

  That, anyone ought to know, was impossible. A

  man of Data's size might knock a larger

skilled opponent off his feet-but never keep him

there! In a genuine fight, he would try to exhaust

or befuddle such a man, and then either escape, find

a weapon, or simply survive until help

arrived.

  None of those options was available in a test

situation, so it was not long before the tables turned. The

next time Data attempted to use

Worf's own weight against him, the Klingon grabbed

Data's wrist and pulled him over, twisted, and

kicked the smaller man into the safety field with such

force that had he connected with the wall he would have been a

mass of broken bones.

  Even with the safety field, it knocked the breath

from him, and before he could recover Worf had him again.

Data struggled gamely, but all his moves were

elementary; Worf countered easily, and in seconds

he was pinned helplessly beneath the Klingon.

  There were moans from those who had lost their foolish

bets, but Data's attention was on Worf, who

carefully removed himself without hurting Data, then

offered him a hand up. "You qualify," he said, no

hint of a grudge in his voice. "If you learned that

well in three days, I'd like to see what you could do

with advanced training."

  Worf was not even breathing heavily. Data was

panting, dripping sweat, his heart pounding. Still he

managed a smile. "Thank you, Mr. Worf."

He paused to gulp down more air before he could

continue, "However, I do not wish to transfer

to Security."

  Worf glared. "I didn't say you were that good."

  Their audience laughed, and people who had won

sensible bets came up to congratulate Data.

He was 212

  surprised to see Dare and his gang paying off quite

a number of crew members. Dare, of all people, should

have known his limitations. Before moving on to the next

test Worf and Data took time to rest and drink some

water, then Dr. Pulaski ran her scanner over

them. Worf, to no one's surprise, showed no

effects at all. "You've got a few bruises

and strains," the doctor told Data, "but nothing

serious. So you won't stiffen up, go take a

sonic shower before you move on to the phaser range."

  When some of the audience protested the delay,

Pulaski said, "You want Data to have his best

chance, don't you? Give him ten minutes to get his

breath back, then."

  Data was glad of the break. The holodeck

provided sonic showers on request, of course, as

so many people took exercise there. The shower cleansed

both Data and his clothing, and the massage effect

relieved the aches Worf had caused him. By the time

he reached the phaser range, his audience was waiting

eagerly.

  Before Worf could set up the target, Data

turned to the Klingon as Dare had

instructed, and asked, "Why don't we make this a

contest, Mr. Worf?" "Data!" Counselor

Troi exclaimed in a tone of surprised warning.

"What did you read?" Pulaski demanded.

  "Data believes he can outshoot Worf,"

Troi replied. "He is actually supremely

confident."

  "You don't think he can?" Dare asked.

  "How could he? You have proved an excellent

teacher, Mr. Adin. I'm sure you have made

Data competent, or you would not allow him to test, but

  bring him up to the level of a Starfleet

Security Chief in three days? No, I do not

think so."

  "I'll wager that he can win over Worf," Dare

challenged. "Will you take the bet, Counselor?"

  "If she won't, I will," Worf said. "I am

not judging this contest; the computer is."

  In moments wagers were flying. Dare and his gang

bet on Data, but most of the Enterprise crew

bet on Worf. Except for Dr. Pulaski,

who asked, "Data, aren't you going to wager?"

  He hadn't thought of it. But he recalled,

"Worf says one should always bet on a

sure thing. Yes, one hundred that I will win."

  "If you are that certain, then I will also bet on

you," said Pulaski. "One hundred."

  It was not a suspenseless contest; Worf was the

Enterprise champion, and could not miss a fixed

target. After six rounds at various distances, with

both contestants making perfect scores, it began

to get boring. They went on to moving targets. By this

time people were marveling at Data's surprising

ability, but there were no complaints, as it was an even

match. It took more than half an hour, with

targets appearing at faster and faster speeds. Would

they reach beyond the range of human reflex before there was

finally a miss? What about Klingon reflexes?

  At the thought, Data felt his hand spasm, and

almost missed a shot. Desperately, he sought

to retain the state of mind in which his hand automatically

tracked the targets without his conscious volition. Then

the "sky" was filled with flying missiles, and there was

no hope of hitting them all. Again Data lost

himself, firing rapidly in as efficient a pattern as

he 214

  could see. All around them "explosions" indicated

missiles that had gotten past them, but he closed out

the noise and flashes and kept firing . .

. firing- The sky went black.

  Data dropped his shaking hand to his side, almost

losing his grip on the phaser.

  The audience remained hushed, waiting, until the

computer's voice announced, "Lightning barrage

scores: Lieutenant Commander Data, 37;

Lieutenant Worf, 36."

  A cheer went up from the assembled audience.

  Worf turned to Data. "Congratulations," he

said. "You pass." The Klingon then turned

to Darryl Adin, saying, "Could you tell me, sir,

how it is possible to so successfully transfer

one's skills to one's students?" "If I knew

how to do that consistently," Dare replied, "I would

know the secret of the universe. Data is something

special."

  "Indeed you are, you little hustler," Pulaski said

softly, coming up next to Data.

  "Hustler?" Only then did he realize the

game Dare had played. He had understood that his

mediocre performance in unarmed combat would encourage

bets against him on the phaser range, but had not

anticipated the gang's wagers on the impossible.

Now he realized they had driven up the size of the

later wagers.

  "Don't play innocent with me," Pulaski was

saying. "I can smell a hustle-but I'm not

complaining, as I won a pretty penny on you."

She shook her head. "If I hadn't just scanned

you, I'd swear you'd turned back into an android.

How'd you do it, Data?"

  "That is exactly what I did, Doctor:

Dare told me to

  forget being human, and shoot as I had all my

life. I don't know how it works without the

telemetry, but it does."

  "And how did you get Deanna to play along in this

little game?" "I didn't, and I don't think

Dare could have. Her reaction to my confidence was . . .

fortuitous."

  "It could as easily have blown the game,"

Pulaski said. "Your friend Mr. Adin is a master

con man, Data. Be careful how you let him use

you." "He came very near to losing," Data

replied. "In the lightning barrage, aim is

less important than the pattern of attack."

  "Only when the contestants are as good as you and

Worf," she told him. "So the score could have gone

either way. In the end, I won by . . . luck."

Other people came up to congratulate Data;

even many of his crewmates who had lost money wished

him well as they paid up. He sensed no hard

feelings; the match had been truly close. Dare

might have "hustled" to increase the size of the bets, but

he must have known that either of such evenly matched

opponents could have won. He and his gang could have lost

just as much as they had won.

  Now that the test was over, Data found he was both

hungry and tired-and learning to distinguish between different

kinds of tiredness. He did not need to sleep; he

needed a meal and some time sitting down, preferably

in pleasant company.

  That was easily arranged: Pris Shenkley left

the knot of people still paying off bets, and came over

to Data. "Congratulations. You did beautifully,

Data. Do you have plans for this evening?"

  "No-would you care to introduce me to more new

foods?" "Certainly. Where shall we go?"

  Just then Counselor Troi came over to them.

"Data, you have passed all objective tests

to requalify you for bridge duty, and I have

observed no extraordinary emotional instability.

Your confidence was justified. I think you should resume

all your duties now, except away team

assignments." "Thank you, Counselor."

  "So even more congratulations are in order. Will you

come to Ten-Forward for a drink to celebrate?"

  "Certainly."

  As they walked through the corridors, Pris

asked, "Why shouldn't you go on away teams if

you've passed all the tests?"

  "Bridge duty is relatively predictable;

away team duty is not. In only these few days,

how can I know how this body will react in new

situations? Furthermore, should any crew member

on the bridge fail in his duty, he can be quickly

replaced. That is not true of as away team

member. Pris, I have no complaints; look at the

progress I've made already."

  He . did not add that, aside from the android

strength and information retrieval abilities he had

lost, his job on away teams included the

scientific skills in which he had majored at the

Academy. Those he had not yet been retested for,

as he had been concentrating on what was. . .

humanly . . . possible in the brief time he had:

achieving active bridge status. "You're right, of

course," Pris agreed. "Let's go celebrate

your achievement."

  The party in Ten-Forward was fun. Data

tasted 217

  champagne, and found that it tickled his nose as it

had his nasal sensors as an android, but was not

particularly appealing in taste. There were a good many

toasts, though, and after a while he began to feel

slightly . . . intoxicated. It was a pleasant

feeling, so he just let it happen. After a time, the

party began to break up. Pris asked, "Are you

hungry, Data?"

  Yes, he still was, now that he thought about it.

"Let's go get something to eat," he agreed,

climbing to rather unsteady feet. Out in the corridor,

he realized he didn't know where they were going.

Pris seemed to. He let her lead him, enjoying

the pleasantly muzzy sensation of his head seeming

to float just slightly above his body. He was

vaguely surprised when they reached his quarters.

"You want to eat here?"

  "You have a food dispenser, haven't you?"

  "Oh, yes. Only the best for Starfleet

officers."

  "Excellent," she said, and while Data

watched, bemused, she started ordering, not food, but a

lace cloth for his worktable, settings of crystal and

china, a rose in a bud vase, and more

champagne. The bottle arrived chilled but sealed;

Data got the wrappings and wire off, and laughed as

he popped the cork and the champagne fizzed up.

  Capturing the bubbling fluid in glasses, he and

Pris drank another toast before she turned back

to the food dispenser. "Let's have some oysters," she

said.

  "And quetzi ramekins," Data added.

  Pris turned to stare at him with a surprised

smile. "Marallel fowl with sennabar sauce."

  "Aldebaran wine," he suggested.

  Pris giggled. "I think the champagne will be

enough. I don't want to get drunk, Data, just

. . . friendly. Let's have some freshly baked

bread-I love the variety you can order here on the

Enterprise. Our food synthesizers are very good, but

nothing compared to these."

  They ate, talked of inconsequentials, and

laughed a good deal more than Data had thought possible

over things that were not to his knowledge funny. But he felt

good, successful, even triumphant with his restoration

to active duty. Everything smelled and tasted

wonderful, and Pris was so lively, so beautiful-

After they had eaten, they moved to the couch with one last

glass of champagne. Pris sat close

to Data, and it seemed the most natural thing in the

world to put his arm around her. In response, she

snuggled up against him. It felt good. He breathed

in the clean sweet scent of her hair, and beneath it the

lovely aroma of woman.

  Pheromones, something from his android past analyzed.

Shut up, Data told the analytic response.

I'm human and I'm off duty. I have a right

to enjoy myself

  For a while they continued to talk and sip

champagne. Then Pris sat up, set the

glasses aside, and came back into Data's arms

in a position from which it was very easy to touch her lips with

his. So he did. He remembered Geordi's

advice: let the woman show you what she wants.

That was nothing new; as an android he had never

initiated such a situation. Then he didn't need

advice from anyone as Pris got up and led him from

his workroom toward the bedroom.

  The next morning Data was wakened by his door

signal. He started out of an unsettling dream, but

its content disappeared the moment he came fully

awake, leaving him with only the sense that it had been

unpleasant indeed. "Wha-his Who's there?" he

asked, fumbling for his robe. "It's

Wesley. We have a lesson, remember?"

  Data remembered-but how could it be so late?

  Covering himself, he went into the outer room, saying,

"Come in, Wesley." As the boy entered, he

continued, "I am sorry. I seem to have . . .

overslept."

  Wesley stared first at Data's disheveled

appearance, then past him at the worktable still covered with the

lace tablecloth and place settings for two. "You

had a rate last night!" he said as if

surprised. Then he blushed. "Well, why shouldn't

you? I'm sorry, Data-I just never thought of you as

. . . well, I'm growing up, too. I understand

what it's like to notice girls. Sometimes it's hard

to concentrate in my classes, when certain girls

sit next to me." "I know exactly what you

mean," Data said, clearing the evidence of last

night's carousal into the recycler. Now he understood

why Pris had insisted on leaving several hours

ago. Embarrassed as he was, it would have been far

worse if Pris were still here.

  Data put Wesley to work at the computer,

reviewing the Samdian-Konor situation. That

took long enough for Data to set his quarters to rights and

prepare for the day.

  When he returned to the computer, Wesley looked

up. "It's all one giant dead end."

  "Any ideas for getting out of it?" Data asked.

"I don't know. It isn't like an equation in

quantum

  mechanics. That I could solve. This is . . .

trying to prove a negative, which is impossible."

  Data frowned. "Who is trying to prove a

negative?" "The Konor. They've covered their

trail so completely, it's as if they don't

exist. Data, have you tried the starscope you gave

me on this problem?" "It cannot do anything the ship's

computers cannot."

  "I know. I figured out how it accesses the star

maps. I meant, have you had the computer check the

charts from the Samdian System outward to the limits

of explored space? I don't see any record

of it here."

  "It's not feasible. Such a task would tie up the

computer for-was He drew an utter blank.

  It would be an impossible amount of time, but Data

could not say if it were days or months. His mind could

no longer grapple with such mathematical com-

plexities.

  "Computer," said Wesley, taking

Data's lapse as a teacher's pause for student

response, "how long would it take to examine star

maps from the Samdian Sector outward in all

directions to the limits of explored space?"

"Parameters of examination?" the computer asked.

"Locate class-M planets which-was He looked

up at Data. "What do we look for? Evidence

of wars or conquests? Movements of fleets of

ships?" "A trace of class-M planets

yielded nothing. Beyond that, we do not know what to look

for," Data explained. "That is why the computer cannot

do it for us. Even if we knew what to ask it

to trace, the star charts vary from as recent as our last

update from Starfleet to more than a century old.

If the Konor made their move out of a quadrant

that has not been 221

  mapped since they did so, there would be no evidence

in our records." Wesley sighed. "You're right,

Data. I would have wasted time on an impossible

task."

  "So we must find a different approach," Data

said. "You often find new approaches that people with more

experience don't consider, Wesley. That's why I

wanted you to see these studies."

  "But this isn't what I'm good at,

Data. If you want me to build or repair

something, or invent a device, that I can do. This is

more in your line: solving a mystery."

  "Wesley, do you think your Starfleet duty will

consist only of things you are good at?"

  "No, sir," Wesley replied, chastened, and

turned back to the screen. "Maybe I should try

an opposite approach,"

  "In what way?"

  "Look at the Samdian System itself. Try

to see what those three planets have that the Konor

want. Then we could check the star maps for planets

that have the same thing, and see if they have ever been

approached by the Konor." "Good thinking,

Wesley," agreed Data, and together they went to work.

At the end of two hours, although Wesley had had a

thorough workout in the practical applications of set

theory, they had been able to isolate nothing about

Jokarn, Dacket, or Gellesen that was not common

to a thousand other class-M planets. Wesley

had to leave for history class, and Data went

to Ten-Forward for a combination of breakfast and lunch before

reporting to the bridge.

  It was now only hours before they would reach 222

  Dacket, and Data was no closer

to solving the mystery of the Konor than when he had

begun. Last night's triumph had ebbed away;

he might be able to pass the minimum requirements

for a bridge officer, but he was third in command of this

vessel, not an ensign on first assignment. More was

expected of him than minimum abilities.

  He should not have overslept; he would have to learn

to discipline himself, to resist temptations like last

evening's. Pris was a beautiful woman, but . . .

something nagged at the back of his mind, something he could

not-bring to his consciousness to be examined.

Memories of Tasha? Or something else? He

didn't know; but deep inside him was a sadness, a

yearning for something beyond his reach. Something he

desperately needed, and yet couldn't even name.

  DATA HAD ANOTHER APPOINTMENT before his

duty shift: Dr. Pulaski was recording his

physical adjustment to humanity. "You're doing

fine," she told him. "Your muscle tone has

improved, but I don't suppose we can expect

much more now that you've passed your security

qualification."

  "Probably not, Doctor," he agreed,

remembering what Dare had said. "Well, that's

refreshing honesty," she said. "Hmm

comdespite the exercise, you've gained almost a kilo

of weight. What have you been eating, Data?"

"Orange juice, alphabet soup, kosa

juice, Secarian meat rolls, verne

porridge, an apple, a chicken sandwich,

milk-was He paused. Was that the day he had first

tasted roast beef? "I am afraid I can no

longer recall everything precisely."

  "It doesn't matter-you're certainly getting enough

variety! But cut back on the portions,

especially if you're not going to keep up your

present level of exercise. It's far better

to avoid becoming overweight than to have to diet back

from it. And continue the 224

  swimming lessons; swimming exercises the whole

body, and you still have to pass that test before you can be cleared

for away team duty."

  The mention of swimming, though, brought up the image

of Pris, and along with it the odd feeling that Data

had somehow treated her unfairly. He could not "put

his finger on," as the human expression had it, the

reason for his sense of ingratitude.

  Dr. Pulaski did another brain scan, and

showed him the comparison with the first. "Some change," she

said, "but you still think like an android," She

shrugged. "Perhaps those thought patterns will never change

completely. That also doesn't matter, Data,, so

long as you are able to function." It crossed his mind

to say that he was indeed functioning fully, but he

didn't. The thought was not amusing today.

  As Data was getting ready to leave, the doors

opened to admit two ensigns with an antigrav

trolley piled high with equipment. "Here are your

new diagnostic consoles, Doctor."

  "Now?" Pulaski objected. "I gave

Ship's Supplies the specs weeks ago. So

now, when we're hurling headlong into potential

danger, when in the next thirty-six hours I could

have this place full of casualties, now you decide

to tear my sickbay apart to install new equipment?"

"We're just following orders, Ma'am," said one

of the ensigns. "Well, you just follow these orders,"

the doctor said acerbically. "March all that stuff

right back to Supplies, and tell Lieutenant

Carson in the future to do her job on time."

  As the two ensigns struggled with the unwieldy

  trolley, Pulaski continued, "And you also tell

Carson that if I have any problems before this Konor

situation is resolved, that could have been

prevented if you had installed this equipment while we

were in transit, I'll hold her personally

responsible!"

  In their eagerness to escape the doctor's scathing

tongue, the two ensigns were working at

crosspurposes. The Vulcan at one end had

kept his head and was attempting to reverse the controls

to remove the trolley without turning it. The human

at the other end was attempting to do just that, his fingers

hastily punching the control buttons to make the

trolley rotate. "No, Tom," said the

Vulcan, "we don't have to turn it. Just reverse

the controls."

  "Reverse the-"repeated the very nervous human comand

began hitting all the switches in turn.

  "No!" exclaimed Data, who could see what the

man was doing. The Vulcan's vision was obscured

by the pile of equipment. "Not the inertia and

friction-was But it was too late. The forcefields which

increased friction and reduced inertia to keep the

components in place shifted to do exactly the

opposite. The trolley was still moving; the Vulcan

could not stop the rotation Tom had started.

  And Tom, by reflex, did exactly the wrong

thing when Data yelled at him: he hit the

Emergency Stop.

  With friction reduced and inertia increased, the

components tumbled off the trolley and into the ship's

Earth-normal gravity. A sharp-edged metal box

on the very top pitched off, right toward Dr.

Pulaski. Data darted forward, caught the falling

equipment comand was propelled backward off his feet

as efficiently as if Worf had slammed into him.

  Put there was no safety field to catch him here.

Data fell, the equipment slamming down on top

of him. It was sheer luck that the flat side struck

him, father than a corner or an edge, which might

literally have cut him in half.

  As it was, he had the breath knocked out of him.

Then he felt a wave of unbearable pressure, which

swiftly changed to pain as his already bruised ribs

protested with renewed anguish.

  Then Tom and the Vulcan ensign were lifting the

weight off him as Pulaski warned, "Data,

don't move!" A second later, she was bending

over him with a scanner, white-faced and thin-lipped.

  He couldn't have moved if he had tried. In his

brief human life he had never known such pain!

He struggled to draw air into his lungs.

Pulaski studied her readings and said,

"Thank God," in a tone of relief. "Nothing's

broken, Data, but you have four slightly cracked

ribs.and a badly bruised diaphragm and

spleen." She turned to the two ensigns from

Supplies. The human was pale and quaking, the

Vulcan standing with hands folded behind his back, face

impassive, the posture of intense emotional

control. "You two-get that junk out of here." Then

she raised her voice. "Selar! Get in here and

help me get a patient onto a treatment couch!"

Data gritted his teeth, helpless to stop the tears

that leaked from his eyes or his gasps of pain as they

moved him, but once Dr. Pulaski turned on the

treatment field, his pain disappeared and he became

able to think again. The doctor adjusted the controls and

studied the readouts. Finally she announced, "Dumb

luck,

  Data. You're far less hurt than you deserve

for that stunt."

  Despite the pain-relieving field, Data still

could not pull a full breath into his lungs. "Is

that--comthe thanks I get-for saving your life?" he

managed to ask.

  Pulaski shook her head. "Thank you," she

said. "But you didn't have to risk injury to do

it. I'll go tell the captain you'll be late for

your duty shift. You think about how you should have handled that

emergency."

  By the time she returned, Data had no

alternative solution. "I didn't realize

equals I would be hurt," he agreed. "But I

could not-let the equipment hit you."

  "You are still thinking like an android," said

Pulaski. "No, not your thinking, your reflexes.

Data, you are human now. If you can't think of

yourself in those terms, suppose you had not been there.

Suppose Geordi had been in your place. What

would he have done?"

  When it was put in that way, Data saw the answer

instantly. "I should not have attempted to catch the

equipment. I should have moved you out of its way."

  She nodded. "It would have taken a flying tackle,

I suppose. As an android you would never dare use

such a move on a human; your impact would have

injured me as surely as being hit by that machinery. But

if a human knocked me aside, the most I would

have suffered would have been a few bumps and bruises.

No more than you got from your bout with Worf."

  "I understand," Data said.

  "Yes," the doctor said with a nod, "I

know you do. But understanding isn't the problem. Breaking the

habits and reflexes of a lifetime-that's the

problem." She shook her head. "I don't know,

Data. Your adjustment to being human may be more

difficult

  than any of us imagined." She studied the

readouts again. "On the other hand, you weren't hurt as

badly as you might have been, and you're healing

nicely. They say the gods protect fools and

children. In some ways you're a child, Data, only a

few days old. We can hope that you will grow

to develop proper human reflexes."

  But Data wasn't listening. His mind had

suddenly flashed back to Elysia's caverns, and

Thelia saying, "The gods temper the wind to the shorn

seja." He wondered how she was, feeling an

oddly pleasurable pang at the thought. Perhaps when he

had the time, he would return to Elysia, and seek

her out . . .

  No. She had undoubtedly forgotten him by now, and

was swept up in solving the problems of her land. He

would never know what had become of her, and whether she

found being rewarded by Elysia's gods as mixed a

blessing as he did.

  Data was back on the bridge,

injuries healed, when the Enterprise came in

range of Dacket's communications.

  "Chairman Tichelon of the Samdian

Planetary Council hailing you, sir," Worf

announced.

  "On-screen," Picard instructed.

  Tichelon was a middle-aged Samdian, a

lavenderskinned humanoid with bluish hair and

beard, whose brightly colored flowing garments were

distinctly at odds with his mood.

  "This is Captain Picard of the U.s.s.

Enterprise. We have come in response to your

signal."

  "Thank Providence! You must help us. The

Konor have taken all the southern continent, and are

moving toward the capital, killing any who try

to stop them. was 229

  "Our sensors will soon verify that," Picard

answered. "We have tried to contact the Konor, but

either they do not receive our signals or they ignore

them."

  "They ignore ours, as well, "Tichelon said.

"We have tried to negotiate, but they kill our

emissaries. Captain --comthey will not even accept

surrender! In the city of Eskatus, the

Konor so far outnumbered our people that they laid down

their weapons-and the Konor slaughtered them. Only a

few escaped to tell us what happened-and is still

happening as we speak! You must use your starship's

weapons to destroy these aggressors!" "Let me

investigate," Picard replied. "When we have seen

these Konor for ourselves, we will decide what aid

to offer."

  "They will kill you if you go among them!"

Tichelon warned. "We are peaceful people, Captain

Picard, but the Konor are an abomination upon the

face of the galaxy. There is nothing to do but destroy

them!" Picard shook his head. "First, we must seek

a peaceful resolution of the problem. Have you any

pictures of the Konor, their ships, their weapons?"

"Why . . . no. To approach closely enough

to obtain pictures is to be killed."

  "Captain-was Troi interrupted softly.

  Picard cut the voice transmission. "What do

you sense, Counselor?" "Tichelon is telling the

truth about the destruction, and the refusal of the Konor

to respond to negotiation or surrender. He is

truly terrified of them. However, his anxiety

level peaked when you asked for pictures. I think

it is true that they kill anyone who

attempts to 230

  record them, and yet . . . I do not think it is

true that there are no visuals."

  "He did say some people escaped," Riker pointed

out. "They've seen the Konor. If no

recordings, there must be descriptions, drawings."

"Which Tichelon does not want us to see?" Picard

walked forward toward the viewscreen, as was his habit

when dealing with people he did not trust. Data wondered

if he thought closer inspection would reveal details

unobservable from the command chair.

  "Open frequency." Picard told Tichelon,

"We will reach orbit in one point three hours.

We will contact you when we have investigated these

Konor for ourselves. Picard out."

  The captain turned to Data, who was back in his

customary place at Ops. "Mr. Data,

prepare for a detailed scan of the area of the planet

the Konor have conquered."

  "Yes, sir," Data replied, and moved to the

science station. "Mr. Worf," the captain continued,

"full sensor scan of space around Dacket. I

want to know about any vessels in orbit-even if

they're cloaked-was "Aye, Captain."

  Data, made his preparations while

listening to the talk going on about him-and suddenly

realized that he had regained the ability to do two

things at once, if one of them was as routine as

setting up a sensor scan of a planetary

surface. He smiled to himself. Dr. Pulaski was

wrong: he would develop human reflexes. If

only he could do it without further lessons as painful

as the one this morning.

  Worf was soon growling at his equipment and his

  assistants, for sensors could detect no ships

in orbit around Dacket. Eventually he said,

"If there's a cloaked ship in orbit, it's using

technology we don't know. But I'm sure there

is no ship, Captain. I've even done a

gravity scan. The power required to maintain a

cloaking device for so long would be an unacceptable

drain on a ship's power. Either the Konor arrived

in ships that they landed on the planet, or a mother ship

left them there and departed."

  "Sensor scans will show any ships on the

planet," Data said, and began providing orbit

coordinates to put them directly over the southern

section of the continent which the Konor were taking.

  In the far south, the terrain was typical of an

inhabited class-M planet: cities

and farms, crops in the fields, electrical power

in operation, numerous humanoid life-form readings.

  "But something . . . is missing," said Data,

unable to determine what it was.

  "Ships, for one thing," Riker observed. "The

only deep-space vessels grounded there are

Samdian sublight trading ships. If the

attacks began at the southern end of the continent, the

Konor ships should have landed there. Your theory of a mother

ship may be correct, Mr. Worf."

  But Data still felt something was missing. As the

scan continued northward, the cities were not in such good

condition; many buildings lay in rubble, al- though

roads were clear. Here, too, the farmland was being

cultivated. As they neared the edge of the territory

the Konor had taken, though, the fields were uncared

forandthe cities lay devastated. Heavy equipment was

clearing the worst of the destruction. It was as had been

  reported: The Konor defeated the populace,

and then took their homes and lands.

  The level of technology was quite high--powered

vehicles sped through the air and along

well-designed highways. There was no evidence of

radiation, not surprising if the Konor were

seeking planets to colonize. But there was still something

missing! Data was becoming thoroughly annoyed at

what he now recognized as a "mental block,"

until the scan crossed over into the territory the

Konor had not yet reached, and the missing element

suddenly leaped into prominence on his screen.

  "Communications!" he exclaimed.

  "What was that, Mr. Data?" asked the captain.

Data swiveled his chair around. "Captain, throughout

the lands held by the Konor I can detect no use

of long-distance communication. No radio on any

frequency, no wires carrying electronic

messages, nothing."

  "You can't coordinate a planetwide assault

without communications," Riker said.

  "I know, sir, but at least we now know why the

Konor do not respond to our attempts

to communicate with them: whatever means they use is so

incompatible with ours that our sensors do not detect

it. It is therefore reasonable to assume that they never

received the messages sent by either the Samdians or the

Federation. It is even possible that they misunderstood

attempts to surrender."

  "That is true," Worf said. "Tichelon said his

people laid down their weapons. There is a

Klingon form of challenge in which the challenger lays a

weapon down and backs away, daring the one he

challenges to reach 233

  for it. If the Konor could not understand the

Samdians" words, they could misinterpret the

gesture as a similar challenge."

  "Thank you, gentlemen," said Picard. "Data,

optimize those scans so we can get a good look

at the Konor. If we watch them, perhaps we can

determine how they communicate. If we can talk with

them, there may be hope of ending this conflict."

  Once again the captain called for the skills of

Thralen, the Theskian sociologist, taking

Riker, Data, Geordi, and Worf into his

ready room to study the enhanced scans of the cities

the Konor held. "There are many ways of

communicating besides the words and gestures we are

accustomed to," Thralen said. "I take it we have

eliminated sound on all frequencies?"

  "Detectors find no sound-transmission

equipment operating," Data assured him.

"Samdian telecommunications devices are still in

place, but inoperative. If the Konor use a

visual code, such as heliograph or

semaphore, our energy scans would not

necessarily detect them."

  "Visual symbols are the second most common

means of communication among intelligent species,"

Thralen continued. "If we can see these people at their

day-to-day activities, we will quickly see any

evidence of a visual language. You remember

studying the Verwar, Mr. Data."

  "The . . . Verwar?" Data had no memory of

that name. "The classic example of visual

language: they communicate by color change. They

do not have eyes as we have, but visual sensors in many

areas of their 234

  bodies so that their range is as complete as our

range of hearing." His antennae swiveled

to demonstrate.

  Data, however, was staring at the tabletop in shock.

He had majored in exobiology at the

Academy, Thralen said casually that the Verwar were a

"classic example," and yet Data had no

memory of ever having heard of them! How could he

perform efficiently at navigation and Ops, and then

discover such a formidable memory gap in his own

specialty? Data dragged his attention back to the

display Geordi was working on. Large pixels

vaguely sketched what might be a street

scene in a city, but there were no details until

Geordi carefully focused it. The pixels

divided and subdivided until the image resolved

into a clear picture, and began to move. It was

indeed a street in a neat, clean city. People were

walking and riding in vehicles-people who must be the

Konor. After all the secrecy, they were certainly

getting an excellent view of them now: except for

sandals to protect their feet from the heat of the

pavement, the Konor wore nothing at all.

  Data did not know what any of them had expected

comsome kind of brutal monsters, surely. Instead,

they saw humanoids with serene faces: men, women,

and children going about their business like the most peaceful people in

the galaxy. There were no soldiers in evidence, no

weapons, and no rushing or pushing among the people moving

efficiently but politely across the screen. The

Konor looked superficially like the Samdians,

except that their skins were golden-green, their hair

lavender. They were also more slender and willowy, and none

wore beards.

  Not only were they unclothed, they were also

unadorned. There was no jewelry, no makeup, not

so much as a flower in anyone's hair. They had no

need of such enhancements, for all had the

attractive quality of good health. "These are the

brutal killers Tichelon is so terrified of?"

Riker asked, astonished.

  "We haven't seen them in contact with the

Samdians," Picard reminded him. "Thralen, can

you make out how these people communicate? I don't see

any gestures."

  "No," the sociologist replied, "and also no

speech. They hardly look at one another. Scent

is not probable; they do not sniff at one another,

either. I've never encountered scent as the primary

method of communication among humanoids, and these people

are too well organized not to have long-distance

communication. Scent will not communicate in crowds or

over distances." "Or through the vacuum of space,"

Geordi put in. "I think we must hypothesize

that they are telepathic," Thralen said.

"Telepathic!" Riker exclaimed. "Thralen,

telepaths are rarely aggressive unless they're

psychotic-to harm or kill someone forces a

telepath to experience the other person's pain, fear,

death."

  "Then you tell me how they communicate,"

Thralen said. "Perhaps they are psychotic,"

Geordi said. "Data, can you call up

what's happening in Eskatus?"

  "What was happening there approximately an hour

ago," Data agreed, and switched the image to one

of the last ones their scan had recorded.

  The city of Eskatus lay smoking in the aftermath

of battle. There were bombed-out buildings,

overturned vehicles, and bodies both Samdian

and Konor-but Samdian corpses far outnumbered

Konor ones. Some of the Konor wore shielding

clothing, heavily padded suits with helmets hanging

at their belts. They were heaving Samdian bodies

onto trucks-and as the Enterprise officers

watched, horrified, one of them discovered a

Samdian alive, calmly slit her throat,

and with the help of another Konor soldier slung the

body on top of the others. "Earlier reports said

they took slaves," Picard said. "This looks as

if they kill everybody."

  "There are only adults among the dead,"

Thralen pointed out. "The people of Eskatus may have

sent their children to cities farther north at the approach

of the Konor. Among societies which practice

slavery, though, children are often separated from adults.

If we scan further, we may find that the Konor

have the Samdian children in a secure area."

  "We saw no Samdians in the earlier scene,"

Data recalled. "Neither adults nor children."

  "We don't know how they treat their slaves, if

indeed the reports of slavery are true," Thralen

replied. "People may cling to the hope that missing friends

and relatives are alive, by assuming those unaccounted

for have been captured. We have only the Samdians'

word for what the Konor are like-and those reports are

hardly comprehensive."

  "Hardly," Riker agreed grimly. "You'd

think they'd have reported that they can't communicate with the

Konor because the Konor don't have a spoken lan-

guage!"

  "But slavery is inconsistent with telepathy,"

Geordi pointed out. "Thralen, are you sure the

Konor are telepaths?"

  "No. It is simply the only means of

communication I can hypothesize without going down among

them."

  "No one is going down there," Picard stated.

"Not until we know a great deal more. What we see

here confirms the reports by the Samdians: We could

expect an away team to be killed before it could

communicate--especially as we are not certain how

these people communicate."

  "Then let's beam up one of the Konor,"

Geordi suggested, "and try talking to him. Or

whatever they do. In that situation he'd surely try

to communicate with us, and the translator might be able

to work out what his method is." "Mmm," the captain

mused, "that is a possibility. Do you think you could

isolate an individual and bring him up

safely?" "Not at this distance. We can only enhance

the images after we've recorded them. We could send

someone down into a sparsely populated area to get a

lock on someone, and beam them back together."

  "Risky," Picard noted, "but it may become

necessary. Go find Transporter Chief O'Brien and

sort out the specifications, but don't do anything

without my order. Number One, consult with

Security about precautions should we decide to bring

one of the Konor aboard. Data, Thralen, I

want you to study everything on all the scans-search for

clues to Konor motivations. If we do decide

to bring one of them aboard, what will persuade him

to cooperate?" "Yes, sir," Data said as the

meeting began to break

  up and everyone rose to go to his assigned task.

"We will set up in Briefing Room Three."

  "Very good," the captain said, a hint of

weariness in his tone. "If you'll take something from my

years of experience," he added, "you have the most

important task. We're going to have no success

in dealing with the Konor until we can talk to them.

I've asked Darryl Adin to act as advisor.

He has direct experience with a wide variety of

aggressive species, both in Starfeet and in the

private sector. See what suggestions he

might have." Dare brought Aurora and Poet to the

briefing. "Our communications and tactics

specialists," he explained. "If you don't

want them here for security reasons, though-was

  "I think we can use everyone who wants

to help," Data cut in. "Thralen?" 441

.1.

  They began with the first scene, the serene Konor

occupying the Samdian city just as if they had always

lived there. "The serpent underneath the rose, eh?"

Poet said. "You're sure these are the bloodthirsty

Konor we've heard so much about?"

  "Oh, yes," Data replied, and called up the

scene in Eskatus. "Cold bastards, aren't

they?" Dare observed. "I take it with this evidence

there won't be any problem with the Federation offering

aid?" "I don't think so," Data

answered. "We are trying to avoid fighting.

They're civilized. There should be some line of

reasoning they'll listen to." "Except they don't

speak," Dare observed, "so they probably don't

listen. How do they communicate?"

  "Our best guess at the moment is telepathy,"

Thralen said. "Telepathy!" Dare exclaimed.

"Telepaths don't act like that. Unless-Data,

I think Sdan should see this. There have been

aggressive Vulcans, although I don't think

there's anything that coldblooded in their history. But

he knows how telepaths react, better than any

of us."

  The Vulcanoid member of Dare's gang

studied the scenes and said, "It's possible-but they'd

have to be mighty sick. "Suffer the death of thine

enemy' is an ancient Vulcan tradition, even

though most Vulcans are only touch-telepaths.

Even that made pre-Reform Vulcans very

selective about killing-it had to be worth accepting

the other's pain. But these Konor act as if they

don't feel what they do to the Samdians. They'd

have to be so jaded that pain wouldn't affect them.

Madness." He shook his head. "I can't see how

they can be so vicious to the Samdians and then

so calm with one another." As the computer enhanced the

other scans, they got a larger picture of

Konor activity, but not a clearer one. Just as they

were about to give up, though, one dramatic scene

increased the mystery. It was again a street scene, on

the edge of a city captured by the Konor but not yet

rebuilt. Two adult Konor, a male and a

female, led a group of a dozen or so small children

into a plaza with bombed-out buildings on two

sides. Like all the Konor they had seen so far, this

group did not talk to one another, although the children

looked about them, wide-eyed. "Those kids look

surprised," Poet observed. "I wonder why."

  Some of the children began to cry. "There's definitely

something wrong," Dare said.

  The group stopped, the adults lined them up, and just

stared at them, it seemed. Most of them stopped

crying, but one little girl shifted from sniffling

to wailing. An older girl turned and put her arms

around the crying child-and her mouth moved. "That child is

speaking!" Data exclaimed. The crying child said

something back.

  "The children have a spoken language and the adults do

not?" Dare questioned. "That makes no sense."

  "Unless," Thralen said pensively,

"those are not Konor children." The scene continued. The

two adults came to the children who were conversing,

separated them, forced their struggling hands down to their

sides, and put gentle fingers on their lips. Each

one then stared into the eyes of the child he or she was

calmingcomforting?-and the little girls' tears abated.

  All the children moved obediently back into line, and the

procession continued.

  "Bloody hell!" Sdan said in a vehement

whisper. "That's the way Vulcan parents help their

kids learn emotional control. Little doubt now that the

Konor are telepaths."

  "But those children spoke, was Thralen said. "Data-was

"Look!" Poet pointed excitedly, as the little

girl who had cried so hard suddenly broke from the

line of children and ran back across the plaza the way they

had come.

  They watched, mesmerized. The man led the other

  children away, while the woman doubled back after the

fleeing girl. The picture followed the child and her

pursuer, taking them into an area unseen before, where

perhaps thirty more children were held in cages. "Bloody

bastards!" Poet swore as he viewed the

picture of terrified children caged like animals, some

beating futilely on the bars, some crying,

and some huddled hopelessly on the floor of their

prison. The little girl ran to a cage where a boy

a bit older sat against the bars. When she came up

to him, he thrust his hands through, and she grasped them,

sobbing.

  The boy spoke to her, then tried to push her away

just as the woman caught up and grabbed the little girl

away from him.

  The child fought, kicking, scratching, biting-but not for

long. After a moment she stopped, screaming as if she

were herself in pain, while the woman who held her set

her down, put her hands on the child's shoulders, and

stared into her face with a smug expression. The girl

subsided into hopeless weeping. The woman turned

to the boy staring in anguish . . . and spoke to him.

  "They can speak!" Aurora exclaimed. "But-how

can they treat children that way? It's inhuman!"

  "These cannot possibly be Konor children," Thralen

said. "Data, I thought you had accessed all

records on the Konor."

  "Everything in the computer, which is practically

nothing."

  "What about the Samdians?" the Theskian

asked. "I got the same briefing as everyone

else," he

  replied, and suddenly swallowed hard as he

realized that he had not followed through on it.

  Data should have had the biological specifications

of the Samdians ready at hand, but he didn't. As

an android he had had all data on all

species known to the Federation in his personal memory

banks, adding to it as new life-forms were discovered;

there was no need to access the information until there was an

application for it.

  As a human, though, he should have called it up from

the ship's computer immediately. "I'm sorry," he

said. "I have allowed this investigation to proceed on

incomplete information."

  The scene they had been watching ended with nothing more

dramatic than the woman leading the grim-faced little

girl away.

  "Computer," Data addressed the ship's system,

"biological briefing on the Samdians."

  And there it was, the missing information that made sense

of what was happening on Dacket: The Konor had

not arrived from some unknown sector of the galaxy, but from

right there in the Samdian Sector! Samdians, it

seemed, were all born with green-gold skin and

lavender hair. That coloration continued until

puberty, when under the influence of the

atmospheric conditions and sun's emissions on

Dacket, by the time they reached early adulthood their

skin coloring deepened to lavender and their hair

to blue. Conditions on Gellesen turned

Samdian skin dark green and hair a reddish

brown. Only on Jokarn, the planet the Konor

were reported as having "taken," did skin and hair

remain the same color as in childhood.

  "I knew it couldn't be their own children they were treating

that way," Aurora said. "It's Samdian-or rather

Dacket children they're enslaving and separating. Those were

probably brother and sister we saw."

  "Standard slaving technique," Thralen agreed,

"separating family members to prevent mutual

emotional support."

  "I. . . am sorry," Data repeated, wishing

he could melt away from the heat of embarrassment

pouring through him.

  "It was my mistake, too, Data," Thralen

said. "I studied all the information on Samdian

culture and customs, but did not think to look for

clues in the biological information."

  "Because that was my job, and you assumed I had done

it," Data said flatly. It was an incredibly

stupid mistake-something an ensign

straight out of the Academy would be severely

disciplined for. Forcing himself to face up to his

responsibility, and ignoring a cowardly impulse

to run away and hide, he said, "If you will excuse

me, I must report this piece of information to the

captain."

  "You don't have to go in-person, Data," Sdan

said. "Just call and tell "im."

  Dare said, "Let him go, Sdan. He's a

Starfleet officer with a duty to perform. Data, we

will-- That is, Mr. Thralen, I suggest we inform

the First Officer of this finding."

  Captain Picard was in his ready room.

"What's wrong, Data?" he asked in concern when

his second officer entered. "Is everything all right?"

"No, sir," Data said grimly. "It is not."

And he told the captain what he had so belatedly

discovered.

  "Has Commander Riker been informed of this finding?"

"Yes, sir."

  "Very well, then. The error has been

corrected, and we are now proceeding with all

appropriate information at hand."

  The words seemed tantamount to a dismissal.

Data was tempted to grab the chance to run,

but his first duty was to the Enterprise and Starfleet.

"Sir, I must report myself unfit for active

duty. Perhaps for any Starfleet duty at all."

  "Why, Data? Dr. Pulaski reports your

injuries healed, and you have passed all the tests for

return to active bridge status. We all

make mistakes from time to time-was

  "I almost got myself killed, and then I nearly

ruined our mission, both in one day," Data said

wretchedly- 6.i-,5

  "Data," the captain said softly, "sit down."

As Data did so, Picard got up and went to the

food dispenser. "Coffee? Tea?"

  As his mouth was very dry, Data said, "Tea,

please." Then, as an afterthought, "Uh-with cream and

sweetener."

  "Milk, Data," Picard admonished.

"Cream is for coffee. With tea you have milk." He

turned to the dispenser and ordered; "Tea. Earl

Grey, hot. One with lemon, one with milk and

sugar."

  Data accepted the tea, took a sip, and set

the cup down. "Captain," he tried again, "I

think I must be removed from duty. I cannot function

as I did before."

  "No, of course you can't," Picard said, "but

that's

  no reason to give up your career. Tell me

precisely why you think you are not fit for duty."

  "I no longer function efficiently."

  "Understandable. You are going through a period of

adjustment such as the rest of us cannot even imagine. But

if I take you off the duty roster, how will you

regain your efficiency?"

  "I don't think I can, sir."

  "Why not?"

  "My strength is gone. So are my special

sensors. But we have machinery to compensate for those. The

most important thing I have lost is my total

recall and direct access to information. I made a

foolish mistake today-was "Two, I believe, but

you are referring to your error in not informing us upon first

sight that the Konor are a branch of the

Samdians." "Yes, sir."

  "And what did you do when you discovered your error?"

"I called up the missing information from the ship's

computer." "Data, as an android, when a piece of

necessary information was not in your memory banks, what did

you do?"

  Data blinked. "I . . . called up

the information from the ship's computer." "And what did you

learn from today's experience?" "That I should not assume

my own memory will provide the cross-references

I need, but should always look up the applicable

files."

  Picard smiled. "Will you make that mistake

again?" "I hope not, sir. But what other

mistakes will I 246

  make? I have discovered important gaps in my

memory."

  Suddenly the captain was seriously concerned.

"Oh? What kind of gaps?" Data frowned. "I

am beginning to cope with the way human memory fades

and distorts with even a brief passage of time. Still,

I have an . . . awareness that events occurred, so that

if it were important to trace, for example, what

I had eaten forty-eight hours ago, I know that the

information on what I ordered from the dispenser exists, and

I could ask the computer to locate it."

  "But you have had an instance in which you did not know that

certain information even existed?"

  "Twice now," Data admitted. "Thralen

gave an example of a species supposed to be a

"classic example" that I could not remember

even having heard of. And then the Samdian

biological specifications."

  Picard frowned. "That is a potential problem.

Yet your memory, both intellectual and

kinetic, proved accurate enough to pass the helm and

Ops tests at a first try. Those are very stringent

tests, as you well know: a starship cannot have someone

liable to error at either post during sensitive

maneuvers. Have these two instances of memory lapse

anything in common, Data?"

  When he compared them he realized, "Yes-both are

the kind of information that was simply dumped into my

memory banks at the Academy, without my

consciously examining it. I think . . . I seem

to remember; or at least know that at some time I had

contact with, those things that I have either personally

experienced or accessed into my consciousness.

Material 247

  stored in my memory banks that I've never had

occasion to access . . . is lost."

  "Is it, Data?" Picard asked softly.

  "It's all in the ship's computer, of course,

but-was "But you have to remember to ask for it, just like any

other organic crew member." The captain

smiled. "It takes time to develop new habits,

but you'll learn."

  Data nodded. "I must not assume information does

not exist without first asking the computer. Yes, I can do

that. Still, my efficiency-was "comis not expected to be

up to your usual standard at present. I will assign

you no more unsupervised duties for the time being."

  "Yes, sir," Data said glumly. "I am

sorry. My self-indulgence on Elysia cost

Starfleet a valuable asset."

  "Data," Picard said, "Starfleet was started

by humans. Its membership is still more than half

human. Most of the officers of this ship are human,

including myself."

  "All with unique qualifications for their

positions. I threw away my uniqueness."

  "But not your value. There is no reason you can't

perform as well as any other officer in the fleet.

From what I observe, your desire to perfect yourself

has carried through your metamorphosis in full

force. That means you will be better than most, if you

don't allow yourself to accept "I'm only human'

as an excuse for shoddy work."

  "No, sir," Data said, beginning to feel

better. Of course the captain was right; if he

took Picard and Riker as his models, he could

become as valuable to Starfleet as he had

ever been, if in a different way. "Thank you,

Captain. I know what to do now. The 248

  Prime Directive forbids us to take sides

in what we now recognize to be a civil war

among the Samdians, but we have been asked for

help. I shall delve into their history, culture,

philosophy, and biology to try to find some way

we might legitimately persuade them to settle

their differences in a more peaceful way."

  "Work with Thralen," Picard directed.

"Ordinarily I would tell you to take time out for

relaxation first, but-was

  "I've done too much relaxing the past few

days," Data stated firmly. "My priority now

must be to stop the Konor conquest of Dacket-before more

people are killed."

  DATA AND THRALEN redoubled their efforts

to decipher the mystery of the Konor, working at the

computer complex in Data's quarters. They were poring

over all the information on the Samdians when

Data's intercom buzzed. It was Pris

Shenkley. "Would you like to have dinner together, Data?"

With a start, he realized he was hungry-he and

Thralen had been working for hours without a break, but

he couldn't stop now. "The captain gave

me an assignment, Pris. I'll be busy all

evening."

  "I understand, was she replied easily. "Why

don't you call me when you're free. his

  "Uh-I don't know when that will be, Pris."

  "Hey, was she said, "7'm a pro too, you know.

Just remember when you have a break, I il like to spend

more time with you. was "I'll remember," Data

assured her. It was the truth: he certainly would

remember. But not for the right reasons.

  Data couldn't fathom why something he could only

  identify as conscience prodded him each time he

recalled the events of last night. Ethically, he

had done nothing wrong: two consenting adults with no

beliefs opposing intimacy, and no ties to anyone

who might be hurt by their actions, had shared a most

enjoyable experience. So why the nagging doubts?

  Perhaps they had to do with his right to involve anyone in his

life when his future was so uncertain. If he

performed his duties during the present crisis with no

further lapses, he would probably look forward with

pleasure to seeing Pris again.

  Meanwhile, he had more urgent things to occupy his

mind. Data and Thralen took a break only long

enough to order food from the dispenser, and took it

back to the computer screens.

  "We are overlooking something," Thralen said. "I

don't find that difficult to believe," Data

replied, "but what is it? These records are

extremely sketchy. The Samdians have been

isolationist up to now."

  "There must be another approach," Thralen said, his

antennae extending and retracting in frustration.

"We need to know why Jokarn suddenly began

attacking Dacket."

  "The call for help said the Konor had taken

Jokarn," Data pointed out. "From what we saw

earlier, they appear to be natives of Jokarn.

Why would they say that they had taken their own

planet?" "The people of Dacket may have put it that

way in an attempt to guarantee our coming to aid

them," Thralen said. "But there is nothing here

to indicate that the Samdians possess ESP.

Yet what else could account for what we witnessed?

The people of Jokarn must have recently developed

telepathy. Yet . . . telepaths are normally

nonaggressive."

  "What if not all of them developed it?" Data

asked. "The name "Konor' does not appear in the

historical information on the Samdians.

Could the powers of a few have frightened the people of Jokarn?

Galactic history certainly provides enough

instances of people with new powers being persecuted. Could the

Jokarn have hurt them so badly that they were driven

to revenge on all Samdian non-telepaths?"

  "Possibly," Thralen agreed. "Giving a

group of people a new name is a way of distancing them,

"making them less than yourself so you can mistreat,

even kill them."

  "Let's find out," Data said. "Computer:

language banks. Morphemic structure of the

Samdian language."

  "Working."

  "What is the historical meaning of the word

"Konor"?" The computer took several seconds

to access the information before reporting, "It is an

archaic word, believed to derive from the language of the

ancestors of those who colonized the Samdian

planets. In that language its base meaning is

"human.""

  "That can't be right," Data said.

  "Provide context," Thralen prompted.

  "People: sentient, sapient organic beings.

Persons, as opposed to animals."

  That was why Data had heard it as

"human," the generic term for "p" as used casually

by the more specifically human people he had spent most of

his life among. Still, Data found himself frowning.

"Why would the Samdians call the Konor that? It

must be the Konor's own word for themselves."

  Thralen nodded. "But just "p"' is strange.

Computer: analyze by connotation. Does the word

"konor' have implied meaning, such as "enlightened

people," "chosen people," or similar semantic

layering?" "Working."

  There was an even longer delay as the computer

utilized the universal translator's most

detailed comparative analysis. Finally the reply

came. "Denotative, not connotative. In the

language from which the Samdian language derived,

the meaning of the morpheme "k-nr-" is

"soul." Root derivation of "konor' is "those

who possess souls."" "Gods," Thralen

whispered, the blue of his face paling to a washed-out

hue. He pushed himself up out of his chair, and began

pacing behind the terminal. "If that is what we're up

against, we haven't a chance." Data turned to stare

at him. "I don't understand."

  "History, Data. The fiercest wars in all the

history of the galaxy have been fought over

religious differences. What ought to be the balm and

consolation for the trials of life is made the

instigator of fury and grief." Thralen stopped

pacing, and rested his hands on the back of Data's

chair.

  "In my own family, those who denied that the Great

Mother literally gave birth to the world, who understood that

the story is a beautiful symbol of creation-we were

cast out of our Ancient Den for daring to examine the

facts of the universe as She presents them to us."

  "I am sorry," Data said, recognizing that the

Theskian sociologist was sharing something very painful.

Recalling the sorrow he had felt when he had thought

himself forced to leave the closest approxima 253

  tion to family he had ever known, Data could

only guess at the agony of exile from true

family that one had grown up in. Thralen shook his

head. "I believe in the Great Mother as strongly as

those who seclude themselves on our home world and claim

that the rest of the galaxy is Outer Darkness. We

agree on the most basic tenets of our faith,

Data, and yet those of us who have ventured beyond our

home planet are considered heathen." His antennae

retracted slightly. "Today, of course, the vast

majority of Theskians, both on

Theskia and on colony worlds, perceive the Great Mother

as a manifestation of the generative force of the

universe. But for some reason, She sent my spirit

to be born into a family of the Old Faith." He

sighed. "If I was meant to enlighten them, I

failed. When my studies led me to Starffeet

Academy, they cast me out."

  The Theskian paused, as if waiting for a

response, or perhaps contemplating what he considered

a failure. Data was far out of his element here.

Still, he had to say something.

  "At one time, I had stored in my memory

banks gigabytes of information on gods throughout the

galaxy. I could quote it, but it never meant more

to me than any other information. Then I met up with

some "gods," and experienced what many would call a

miracle. I do not understand any better now than i

did before."

  "Those were not gods as I believe in a God,"

Thralen replied. "One day we will understand the kinds

of powers those Elysian "gods' possess. But

beyond us, beyond them, beyond anything the 254

  sentient mind can comprehend, there is a force that

drives the universe. While we are alive, we

can only understand it in some familiar form, such

as the Great Mother. But when we leave this state of

existence, we will experience that force directly. I

will go to the arms of the Great Mother; Mr. Worf would

say that he will enter the Black Fleet. We both

mean the same thing."

  "But you believe in an existence after death. You

believe you have a soul."

  "Oh, yes. There is no doubt of it."

  "I do not know if I have one," Data said.

  Thralen smiled. "7 know you do," he replied,

"and you did not get it on Elysia." Then he

sobered. "But galactic history is full of

atrocities committed by those who could not recognize

that people unlike themselves have souls. If this particular

group of Samdians, the Konor, refer to themselves as

"those who possess souls'-was

  "Then," Data realized, "by implication the other

Samdians do not possess souls, and may be

rightfully treated as animals or . . . property.

Oh, yes, Thralen," he added grimly, "I

understand that reasoning."

  Thralen's coloring had returned to normal, and

his antennae unfurled. Data recognized that the

invocation of his religious beliefs was something sustaining

to the Theskian.

  "We must go down to the planet," Data said,

rising. "We need more information to verify our

conclusions. What do the Konor call the other

Samdians, for example? Are they really

telepathic, or are we misin- terpreting what the

scans picked up?"

  Thralen nodded. "And how can a telepath think

other intelligent beings are not people when he can 255

  perceive their thoughts and feelings? You're right,

Data-let's take this information to the captain.."

  Captain Picard contacted Chairman

Tichelon, who provided the information that the Konor

called the other Samdians "Ikonor"-which meant

simply "not Konor," he explained.

  "It is more than that, Captain," Thralen said.

"It confirms our fears, for it means "those without

souls.""

  It was obvious from Tichelon's expression that he

had not expected them to derive the root meanings.

He immediately went on the offensive, protesting, "The

insults they cast at us are not the issue. Our people

are being murdered, Captain. You have been here for almost

a day, and done nothing."

  "You could have speeded our investigation, and therefore

potential action, by telling us the truth,"

Picard replied. "The Konor are your own people.

We cannot become involved in your internal affairs."

  "They are not our people! They might once have been, but

they are the ones who deny us. Rave you seen them?

They do not respond to our pleas-they only kill!"

  Picard took a controlling breath, and said, "We

are going to attempt to communicate with the Konor.

If we succeed, will you accept representatives of

Starfleet as mediators? May we say you have

agreed?" "Yes-yes, of course! But they will not

listen to you. Do you think we haven't tried.?

Approach them with a well-armed force, for they kill

even those who offer surrender. his

  So Captain Picard called another strategy

session in 256

  the observation lounge, with everyone who had been

involved in previous discussions taking part. It was

decided that a small away team would transport

down to the city where the Konor were well settled in,

and things appeared peaceful.

  "I should be included in the away team,

Captain," Deanna Troi stated. Picard

pursed his lips. "I'm not sure that's a good

idea, Counselor. This is potentially a very

dangerous situation."

  "Sir, we have no full telepath in our

crew," Deanna insisted. "I may be our best

chance to communicate."

  She was right, of course-in fact, if the

Konor's lack of response was due to accepting

none but telepathic contact, she was their only chance.

Her training in mental communication was the best both

her home planet and Starfleet Academy had

to offer. Still, Data understood why the captain

hesitated to send this gentle woman, untrained in

any but the most basic of Starfleet

self-defense, into such a dangerous situation.

Data watched Will Riker watch the captain, the

commander's "poker face" betrayed by a slight wince

when Picard nodded.

  "You'll need the best protection we can give

you," the captain continued. "Mr. Worf, Number

One." He looked around at the rest of the group

assembled there.

  Again Data felt inadequate; once, he would

have been the automatic next choice.

  "Captain," Thralen said, "I should be there." His

antennae quivered nervously. "If I have

misinterpreted 257

  what we saw, I may be able

to correct any errors before they cause

diplomatic chaos. And even if Data and I are

right, on direct contact I will certainly see more."

  "Agreed," Picard said. He shook his head.

"I still don't like it, but we know they're not receiving our

messages. Data, you and Chief O'Brien handle

the transporter. I want all communications left

open, and a tricorder channel providing a visual

to both the bridge and the transporter room. At the

first sign of a threat to the away team, they are to be

beamed up instantly."

  "Yes, sir," Data said, glad to have at least

some part in the mission. "All right," Picard said.

"Are there any questions?" "Only what else

Chairman Tichelon might not have told us,"

Worf growled. "I doubt there is anything. left

to tell," Troi put in. "The Samdians do not

seem to understand the Konor any better than we do."

  "What about the fact that they go naked?" Worf

asked, grimacing slightly. "Should we beam down

unclothed?" The idea obviously pained him, but as

Security Chief he had to consider every possibility

to keep the away team safe. "We cannot go unarmed,

and we certainly will not be mistaken for Konor. But

what if there is some taboo against clothing,

as the Ferengi have against clothing women?"

  "An excellent question," the captain noted.

"Meff Tichelon may know the answer."

  "We go naked before Providence when we pray, was

the Samdian explained when they contacted him. "The

Konor pervert our beliefs by displaying their nakedness

in secular activities. his

  "But did anyone ever attempt to approach the

Konor nude?" Riker asked. "Oh, yes,"

Tichelon replied with a grimace. "Yes, some

broke our own taboos, and were murdered in the midst

of their error. Aping the Konor's sacrilege will not

save you from their madness. You will see: the Konor are

raging beasts which must be destroyed before they kill us

all. his

  So finally, ill-prepared as they might be, the

away team gathered, fully clothed and armed, on the

transporter platform. Geordi had made

detailed and enhanced scans, to locate the place

within the city most likely to be the seat of government.

Data and O'Brien each kept one eye on the

transporter console, to make certain the team was

tracked for immediate pickup, and the other on the drama

playing out on the viewscreen.

  With the direct communication link through

combadges and tricorder, they could see and hear

everything that happened. Riker, Troi, Thralen, and

Worf materialized on the steps of the building the

city's traffic pattern indicated was the center of

local government.

  They never got through the doors.

  At first, people nearby just stopped, stared, but did not

move or speak. Then suddenly, from all sides,

Konor men, women, and children converged on the away

team.

  Looks of astonishment crossed the faces of all

four Starfleet personnel. Thralen's antennae

retracted reflexively, and Worf put. his hands

to the sides of his head.

  "Do you hear them?" Troi asked, smiling, her

eyes huge and unfocused.

  "Yes-inside my head!" Riker replied in

tones of utter amazement. "Deanna-no!" he

exclaimed suddenly as the counselor stepped ahead

of the others, hands outstretched toward the Konor before

her. Data knew Troi must be projecting a

message of peaceful greeting to the Konor, using

Betazoid techniques. If what the Konor

required was telepathic contact, surely her

sincere attempt would at the very least get

them a hearing.

  But if they understood Troi's message, none

of the Konor surrounding the away team gave any

indication. They stalked closer, faces angry.

"7 hear you, was Troi gasped, the look on her

face changing from joy to confusion to horror. "Such

terrible anger-but why? Why wilt you not listen to me?"

At the same time, Riker gasped, grasping the

sides of his head for a moment before he regained

control. Pain was clear in his movements as he kept

to Troi's side. ThraIen staggered, his skin paling

and his antennae retracting again as his mouth opened in a

grimace of pain. Even Worf winced-but the

Klingon did not lose stride. He put his hand on

his phaser, ready to draw at the first sign of

attack. The Konor converged on Troi, the

serenity of their faces gone, although their looks seemed

more disdainful than angry.

  "We must beam them up!" Data exclaimed.

  "They're moving, and there are Konor too

close-was O'Brien began, fingers playing over the

controls.

  "Bring the Konor along, but beam them up!"

Data ordered, activating his own controls as

Picard's voice came over the ship's

system, "Get the away team out of there!"

  Even as they tried, the Konor attacked. The

away team became four rapidly shifting foci.

  Worf and Riker drew phasers, and two people

trying to grab Troi fell, stunned.

  That did not stop the Konor. The crowd converged,

parcels suddenly turned into weapons, then stones and

bricks passed in from the outskirts of the mob.

  Data and O'Brien fought for a fix on moving

bodies. "Get Troi out first if we can't get

them all at once!" Data instructed. She was

both the focus of the Konor attack and the least

skilled of the four at self-defense. She was also

lithe and quick, moving just fast enough to constantly change her

coordinates.

  Worf knocked aside a brick aimed at him,

which threw him slightly to his right-just far enough off

balance for the split second it took a Konor

to thrust a metal rod past him, toward Troi.

  It wasn't a weapon, but some kind of building

material. That made it no less lethal.

  Troi stumbled back, and the attacker missed

spearing her. He shifted his grip and swung his

improvised weapon up, ready to bring it down on the

woman's head. With the power of his fury behind

it, it would split her skull.

  Riker, cut off by other Konor, shouted "

Deanna!" and lunged desperately toward her.

  Worf raised his weapon to stun the attacker, but

another Konor struck his arm. The shot went high.

  From the other side, though, Thralen did what should

have been exactly the right thing: he flung himself at

Troi in an attempt to knock her out of harm's

way.

  The crowd surged against them. Thralen slammed

into Troi, but they did not go down.

  The blow fell with full force on the Theskian's

head, shearing off one of his antennae. He

collapsed forward onto Troi, red blood

spurting over his yellow hair and blue skin.

  And in the second of horrified stillness that

followed, the transporter finally found its fix and

beamed the away team up. Thralen's assailant

came with them. The moment he congealed on the platform,

he raised his bloodstained weapon again-Worf

fired, and the Konor collapsed, stunned.

  "We've got them aboard, Captain,"

O'Brien reported. Data ordered, "Medic

to transporter room!" and dashed from behind the console as

Worf tapped his combadge and called for

Security to come take the prisoner.

  Riker and Troi bent over Thralen, but

Riker's concern was divided. "Are you all right?"

he asked the counselor. "Those thoughts and emotions

they were sending were painful enough to me. With your

sensitivity-was "I am learning to deal with pain," she

replied. "What they projected at us was not real,

although it was extremely disorienting. No wonder they

have found it so easy to win their battles."

  "All the less reason for them to slaughter people,"

Riker added. Data, meanwhile, picked up the

fallen Theskian's tricorder, set it to medical

scan, and checked out Thralen's vital signs. His

heart had stopped and he was not breathing. Data quickly

checked the head wound-concussion and severe nerve

damage where the antenna

  had been ripped off, but the brain was undamaged.

It was shock that had stopped his heart and respiration.

At worst, if prosthetic help were not possible,

Thralen would be deaf on one side. The thing to do right

now was to save his life.

  "Help me," Data said, straightening

Thralen's body while he tried to remember how

to do CPR on a Theskian.

  Oh, damn, damn, DAMN! The knowledge

had disappeared into one of the gaps in his memory!

  "Counselor," he pleaded, knowing she had a good

knowledge of physical medicine as well as her expertise

in psychology. "Please help me revive him."

  As he spoke he made sure Thralen's

breathing passage was clear-at least that step was the

same for all air-breathing beings. Troi knelt beside

him. "He's stopped breathing?" she asked.

"Data, what is his-?"

  The doors swooshed open to admit Dr.

Pulaski, followed by two assistants with an

antigrav gurney. "How badly is he hurt?"

she interrupted, seeing from the tricorder and scanner

lying separately on the platform that Data had already

assessed the damage.

  "We must resuscitate him," Data said. "I

will breathe for him if you will try to restart his heart."

  "Data-no!" Pulaski exclaimed, aghast.

  "Doctor-it's less than five minutes," he

protested. "We can save him!" Troi put a hand

on his shoulder, saying softly, "Data, we can

revive him, but we must not."

  He stared at her gentle face, anger welling

up. "He saved your life! How can you let him

die? Doctor," he turned

to Pulaski, horrified to find her also standing back,

refusing to render aid. 263

  "Data, Thralen is Theskian," she said.

"You know their beliefs. At the moment of death, they

believe the soul leaves the body and cannot return.

If we were to resuscitate Thralen, he would never

forgive us . . . nor would he be likely

to survive long. He would be an outcast from his people, for

they would believe him to be a body without a soul."

  Riker put in, "He would believe that himself,

Data. Let him go now." Data swallowed hard

over a lump in his throat. He should have known that about

Theskians; he had been programmed with information

on what to do-or not to do-in an emergency concerning

any race in the Federation. He looked down at the

body of his colleague. If he had been alone he

would have done everything to revive him . . . and if

Theskian internal physiology were similar enough

to human, he might have succeeded. Which to Thralen would

have been worse than death. Data sat on the edge

of the transporter platform, feeling worse than

useless, while the medical team took away the

remains of what had been a friend, and the security team

took away the Konor. He couldn't think. His

mind leaped from one image to another,

incoherently.

  Counselor Troi remained behind. She knelt

beside him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Data,"

she murmured, "it is all right to cry. Let out your

sorrow. We have all lost a colleague, but you

knew Thralen better than any of the rest of the

bridge crew."

  Only then did Data realize that unshed tears

burned

  in his throat and behind his eyes. When he stopped

fighting them and let them fall, they brought physical

but not emotional relief. He looked up at

Troi. "Thralen believed that he would go to the arms

of the Great Mother. I . . . hope he was right."

  "I hope so, too," she replied. "In any

case, his belief was a great comfort to him in his life,

Data. He never feared dying, and he died

bravely."

  "And not without purpose," Data agreed. "He

gave his life to save another."

  But as far as their mission went, Thralen's loss

was pointless. They had had no success in

communicating with the Konor. "Mr. Data,

Counselor Troi, report to sickbay, "came

Commander Riker's voice over the

communications system.

  Troi sighed. "I'm all right, but I suppose

Kate won't be satisfied until she checks me

out for herself."

  But what does Dr. Pulaski want with me?

Data wondered. As it turned out, neither Troi

nor Data was the patient: the doctor had insisted

that Worf bring his prisoner to sickbay, where the.

Konor was just now recovering from the phaser stun.

  Pulaski had placed him in a restraint field

used to protect hallucinating patients who might

otherwise harm themselves or others. The Konor could

sit up, but not get beyond the forcefield that kept him

on the examination couch. It was a one-way field,

however; the doctors and nurses could reach through it

to treat the patient.

  Picard, Riker, and Worf were already there. The

  captain turned as Tr6i and Data entered,

saying, "Counselor, are you well enough to work?"

  There was dirt on Troi's usually immaculate

face and clothing, along with Thralen's blood, which

stained her pale skin and deepened the wine color of

her uniform. Her long hair was in disarray, but she was

unhurt except for minor bruises and

abrasions. "Yes, Captain, although I don't know

what I can do."

  "See if you can get through to this man, one-onone."

  "You've done it with me, Deanna," Riker

reminded her, "and I'm not telepathic at all."

  "Nor am I," Worf added, "but down on the

planet I also heard these Konor inside my

head. There is no doubt that they are telepathic."

  "They are broadcast telepaths," Troi said.

"They do not seem to be receptive, like

Betazoids."

  "Try," Riker urged her. "Here, in

private, without a crowd to drown you out, you may get

through to him."

  By this time the Konor was pushing himself up groggily

onto his elbows, looking around.

  Dr. Pulaski moved toward him, saying, "You

are in our medical unit. We are not going to hurt

you. We just want to find out why you fight everyone who

tries to contact you."

  Ikonor animals! I understand your primitive

noises, but, thank Providence, the Konor have no

need of such. We communicate soul to soul. You may

be powerful enough to kill me, but you soulless beings will never

defeat the Konor.

  Data was astonished. He had never before felt .

. . heard . . . there was no word he knew for receiving

  another's thoughts inside his head. The words were

accompanied by the Konor's scorn at being forced

to deal with a lower life-form. But Dr. Pulaski was

undaunted. "We'll leave the state of our souls

to the theologians. Right now we are trying

to communicate. I'm Dr. Pulaski. Will you

tell us your name?"

  Konor have no need of names. We identify one

another by the essence of our souls.

  Troi stepped forward. "He is sincere," she

said: "But then, you could ail feel that, couldn't you?

Let me see what I can do." Data could see her

concentrating, but he did not receive any thoughts she

tried to transmit. At first.

  Then, faintly, it seemed he heard her gentle

voice inside his head, feeling with it her sweet

emotional presence. Is this the communication you need

to recognize us as your equals?

  Data glanced at Riker, saw him smile

proudly at Troi. Captain Picard looked

surprised, then pleased. Pulaski smiled as

Data remembered she had done when the boy

from the Genetic Research Station on Gagarin 4 had

communicated with her telepathically. Worf almost

allowed a smile, then caught himself and took up his

most military stance. There was no response from the

Konor.

  Do you not hear me? Troi asked. She was even

paler than usual, and strain showed around her huge

eyes. Her "voice" still seemed very faint to Data,

but surely that was because he was not a telepath. Still no

response from the Konor.

  After a third try, Troi turned away,

trembling with

  the effort. "Doctor, this man is adept at

shielding his feelings-a common ability among

telepathic races. However, it prevents me from

telling whether he does not hear me, or whether he

is simply refusing to respond." "That's easy enough

to test," Pulaski said, and set her instruments

to measure the electrical impulses of the

Konor's brain. They quickly found the problem: When

they spoke to the Konor, his response indicated that

he heard and understood what the universal

translator transmitted to him. When Troi

broadcast to him mentally, al- though her

crewmates received her thoughts there was no

indication that the Konor heard them at all.

  Pulaski frowned. "I don't understand this."

  "We don't know how telepathy works," Troi

said. "It doesn't operate on any frequencies

we can measure; that's why it cannot be artificially

reproduced."

  "Perhaps this man's telepathy operates on a

different frequency from yours?" Data suggested.

  "I suppose you could use that analogy," Troi

said with a tired smile. "It's not a physical thing,

though, Data. I shouldn't have used the word

"frequency'but whatever the reason, while the

Konor can broadcast to Samdians, humans,

Andorians, and Klingons, they cannot receive Betazoid

thoughts."

  She turned to the Konor, who lay

impassively waiting for their next move. "Let

me make certain we understand your beliefs. You

believe that the ability to communicate without speaking

is evidence that a person has a soul?"

  That is correct, but you speak of belief,

while we know. We communicate soul to soul.

  "How can you claim we have no souls if we can

understand you?" The soulless recognize our state. It

is their own they refuse to accept.

  "And what do you think our "state" is?" Troi

demanded. You Ikonor are to the Konor as beasts of

burden are to you. Providence created you to pave the

way for our coming. You have built well, and we are

pleased-but now you foolishly attempt to deprive us

of what was built for our use. We are forced

to destroy you, when you might have pleasant and

productive lives in our service.

  "Never mind that," Commander Riker broke in.

"What would prove to you that we are as much people as you

are?"

  Any among you who can respond soul to soul are

recognized as Konor. We have rescued many from

among the Ikonor on Dacket. "That's what was

happening with those children," Data realized. "They were

separating out any telepaths among the Dacket

children, and making slaves of the others."

  Troi asked, "If we can find someone who can

communicate with you, "soul to soul' as you put it, would

you accept that person as your equal and listen to what

he or she has to tell you?"

  Certainly. Providence may have created Konor

among other races than the Samdians. We would

welcome contact with them. Troi turned

to Pulaski. "Then there is a chance we

may find an ambassador the Konor would

respect. I suggest you try Dr. Selar's

Vulcan abilities."

  "She's not a very strong telepath," Pulaski

said. "That's why she's a physician instead of

having taken the training to become a Vulcan

Healer." "All Vulcans have enough telepathy and

training to broadcast to other telepaths, even if they

must touch to do so. We must try, Kate." "Of

course," Pulaski agreed.

  However, although Dr. Selar also received the

Konor's thoughts clearly, she, too, failed

to reach him mentally. So did two other Vulcans from

among the ship's families, whom Selar

recommended as having stronger ESP than hers.

  Data, meanwhile, called up from the computer the

names of all crew and family members with high

ESP ratings. One after another, they tried

to contact the Konor; one after another, they failed in

their attempts. When they had tried thirty people of a

variety of races, all with the highest ESP

ratings, Captain Picard called a halt.

"It's obvious we're not going to succeed at this.

Prepare that man to be returned to the planet."

"Captain," Worf said, "is that wise?

You heard what he said: his people think all the

technological advancements made by non-Konor

are theirs for the taking. Now he will report what he

has seen here, and the Konor will want starships."

  "They knew of the existence of starships before our

arrival, but they hardly have the technology to take

them from us, Mr. Worf," Picard said. "Now,"

Worf growled. "What about a generation from now?"

Picard stared at nothing. "We can only hope,"

he said, "that by then we shall have found a way to 270

  convince them they are not masters of the universe

by divine right." Before beaming down the Konor in

sickbay, Picard tried to do just that one last time.

  The Konor stared defiantly. This is

nonsense. We have proof of who and what we are.

Providence provides. Dacket is ours by right,

as (okarn is and Gellesen will be.

  Data spoke up. "You have no right to take other

people's lands and property. Might makes right only

until greater might comes along." After the Konor

was taken back to the transporter room and returned

to Dacket, Captain Picard called a meeting in

the observation lounge. "We have now done everything that

Starfleet allows," he explained. "The

Samdians have obviously heard of the

Prime Directive. They knew we couldn't

fight the Konor for them once we knew it was a

civil war, that's why they tried to keep us from

discovering that it was their own people attacking them."

  "Captain," Dr. Pulaski said, "we can't just

desert the people of Dacket!" Geordi added,

"Surely the Prime Directive will allow us

to stop the Konor before they kill or enslave all the

other Samdians!" "You know it will not,

Lieutenant," Picard replied. "It does not

permit us to aid some planets even in case of

plague or natural disaster." "That's only when

such aid would interfere with their natural

development," Pulaski said. "That's not the case

here; the Samdians have star travel, even if it is

sublight, and are perfectly aware of progress

made elsewhere in the galaxy. We would help if

they were 271

  suffering an epidemic or an earthquake. This

situation is as bad. We have to help them,

Captain!"

  "I agree," Geordi said. "The development

of this broadcast telepathy-couldn't we say that's a

medical emergency?" "You would have us break the

Prime Directive?" "This is a clear

case in which it would be wrong to invoke it," Pulaski

argued.

  "Doctor," said Picard, "there have been rare

instances in which Starfleet officers ignored the

NonInterference Directive and were ultimately

exonerated. But those cases have never included

interference in the politics of a planet. Perhaps

Starbleleet Command was wrong in not punishing those who

gave aid in cases of epidemic or natural

disaster, no matter what the mitigating

circumstances. The consequences are that we sit here

arguing over a clear-cut situation in which we are

strictly forbidden to take sides: war between two

opposing forces from the same culture, plain and

simple."

  "But it is not plain and simple," Darryl Adin

spoke up. "This is not a dispute over laws or

lands or resources. When both sides choose

to fight, it's none of our business to get involved.

Or when people allow themselves to be mistreated, because they

are afraid to fight for their own rights, it's not our

place to do for them what they will not do for themselves. "But

when a mighty force rises up and destroys a weaker

populace, those who are killed and enslaved don't

make a choice, any more than those who die

in an epidemic choose to be attacked wasdisease.

The Samdians are fighting; they are simply

outnumbered by the Konor, and unable to match them in

viciousness."

  "Mr. Adin is right!" Pulaski agreed. "The

Konor's prime weapon is this form of broadcast

telepathy, intangible but deadly when they use it

to disorient those they attack. They're more like an

epidemic than an attacking army."

  "Or locusts," Geordi added, "gobbling up

what other people have worked hard and long to cultivate."

  There were murmurs of assent all around the table.

Picard looked from face to face, his features

hardening. "Listen to yourselves!" he demanded. "My

God, don't you realize that you are doing to the

Konor exactly what they do to those they call

Ikonor: refusing to see them as people? They are people.

They are not bacteria or viruses, Doctor.

They are not insects, Chief Engineer. They are people,

and part of the natural population of the Samdian

Sector."

  "Natural?" Dare scoffed, his voice taking

on the tight nasal quality it had had when Data

had first met him, when he had been a disillusioned

fugitive from Federation justice, convicted

of a crime he had never committed. "Is it

natural to turn on your own kind, Captain?"

Picard said sadly, "From galactic history it

would appear that it is only too natural. I am

sorry, my friends, but the Prime Directive

forbids our interference in the internal conflict in the

Samdian System."

  "But it doesn't forbid mine," Dare said.

  Data was startled, but realized at once he

shouldn't have been. "But what can you do, Dare?" he

asked. "Eight people, two ships, a few weapons?"

"And many years of experience," the mercenary replied.

"I'd advise the Samdians left on Dacket

to refugee to Gellesen. That should give them some

breathing space while we train them. Sdan knows

  mental techniques to avoid letting telepathic

transmissions disorient people. We all know how

to devise defense systems. We can prepare."

"When the attack comes, and it will," Data said, "it

will be the population and resources of two planets,

Jokarn and Dacket, against one, Gellesen. I

thought you did not take on lost causes."

  Dare gave him his old non-smile. "Who

says this is a lost cause? And who says

everybody will be as reluctant to help as

Starfleet?" Picard's mouth was a thin line. "There

is no way we can stop you from involving yourselves in this

dispute, Mr. Adin. If you plan to stay here, I

suggest that you remove your ships from the shuttle bay

before we leave orbit."

  "Oh, we'll leave immediately," Dare said, his

voice acerbic. "Thank you for your hospitality,

Captain."

  When Dare and his gang had gone, Riker said,

"He's going to escalate the situation. Captain,

you know Adin's reputation: he'll deal with anyone

to accomplish his ends. The Klingons will honor the

Prime Directive, but the Ferengi will have no

qualms about selling him weapons. We're close

to the Neutral Zone, too. This dispute among

three minor planets could erupt into interstellar

war."

  "Number One," the Captain said grimly, "the

moment we found ourselves helpless to resolve the

situation peacefully, interstellar war became a

distinct possibility. Any act on Mr.

Adin's part will have little or no influence in the

matter."

  DATA COULD NOT SLEEP that night, could not

stop thinking of Thralen, or any of the

events of the last few days. He was not invited to the

holodeck for Thralen's farewell to his

colleagues, as he had really only gotten to know the

Theskian sociologist during their work on the

Samdians. The personal loss of a colleague was

aggravated by the general sense of failure hanging

over the Enterprise: They had left Elysia without

solving the problem of the power surges, causing

Starfleet to warn anything smaller than a starship

to make a costly detour around that system, and now they

had failed to make peace among the Samdians.

  It was far from the first time in Starfleet history that

a starship was forced by the Prime Directive

to refuse aid to oppressed people, but it was the first time

Data and his fellow crew members had had to face

such a situation. It felt like betrayal.

  After his duty shift, Data found his quarters

oppressive. He felt closed in, confined.

All the other senior 275

  officers' quarters were on the outer hull, with

viewports. Data's were as large and

well-equipped as theirs, but on the opposite side

of the corridor. Androids did not suffer

claustrophobia. But he wasn't an android

anymore.

  Wanting a sense of open space, he went to the

nearest observation lounge-only to find Will Riker

there before him. The first officer turned when the doors

swooshed open.

  "I'm sorry," Data said, starting to back

away. "No, it's all right-come on in,

Data," Riker said. "You probably need as

badly as I do to be reminded of what we're out here

for." He looked back at the motionless stars.

"Exploration. Expanding horizons." Data

realized that the view from the first officer's quarters,

on the other side of the ship, would include the planet

they still orbited. Riker continued, speaking with little

inflection, "New knowledge, new life, new

civilizations. We have to balance that against the hard

choices."

  Data could hear that Riker had not yet restored that

balance after the events on Dacket. Trying to find

a point of contact, he offered, "Experiencing

personally what had been only theoretical knowledge is

some- times . . . painful."

  "God, yes," Riker replied, still staring out at

the stars as if he could not face Data and say what

he had to say. "Do you remember when we found the

Portal of the T'Kon Empire,

Data?"

  "Yes. The first time we had direct contact with the

Ferengi." Riker nodded. "And they accused us of

obstructing commerce, withholding technology and

defenses from backward planets."

  "We have to do that," said Data. "It would be

unforgivable to put modern weapons into the hands of those

who do not understand their potential. They would destroy

themselves."

  "Oh, yes," Riker agreed. "That application

of the Prime Directive is easy to understand. But this

is the other side of the coin, Data, that we know is

there, but somehow never expect to turn up. The side

that forces you to walk away, when you know the strong and

violent are going to close in behind you and devour the

weak."

  Data could think of nothing to say to that. "Perhaps,"

he suggested after a pause, "Dare's plan will

work."

  Riker turned to look at him. "You don't

really think so any more than I do. Adin will be

lucky to get his own people away from here alive."

Data opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again.

Adin was a survivor, but he had lost followers

before. Data didn't want to think what this

job might cost his friend.

  So he just stood for a time, looking out at the

panorama of space, trying as Riker was doing

to remind himself of the reason they were all out here. After a

time, with little improvement in his attitude, he left

the first officer of the Enterprise still staring out at the

unresponsive stars. He ate dinner with Geordi

that night-although neither had much appetite. For once the

two friends could find little cheerful to talk about.

To avoid more useless rehashing of the Samdian

situation, Data told the engineer about the gaps in his

memory. But there was no escaping the topic

uppermost in everyone's mind.

  "I learned today that there can be things worse than

to let someone die," Data concluded. "I don't

know, Geordi. Is there an analogy there to what

we are having to do-or rather not do,-about the Samdians?"

"We probably won't know in our lifetimes,"

Geordi replied, and turned to a subject on which

he could offer advice. "You really didn't

remember that Theskians aren't to be

resuscitated? That's in the required Social

Anthropology course at the Academy,

Data."

  "I didn't take that course," Data

now remembered. "There were a number of courses in which

the subject matter was just to be memorized, that I

didn't have to take."

  "But you must have tested out of it. I tested out of

basic math and science, and went straight into the

advanced courses."

  "It was different for an android," Data

explained. "I didn't come there with that knowledge, as you did

with math and science. But when a course was nothing but

facts and statistics, the Academy computer just

downloaded them into my memory banks. There was no

need for me to take a test afterward; the information was there for

me to access any time I needed it. The courses I

had to participate in, and which I found very difficult,

were the ethics and other philosophy courses-the ones

without clear-cut right and wrong answers."

  "Yes. You still keep looking for neat solutions

to messy problems. But don't feel bad, Data;

so do people who've been human a lot longer than you

have."

  "What about the messy problem of not knowing where there

are gaps in my memory?" Data asked.

"Geordi, the next one could kill someone, or

jeopar- dize the ship."

  "Well, plug the gaps, man!"

Geordi said in tones of annoyance. "You know

what's missing; it's all on your Academy

transcript. Study the texts for all the courses

that you originally downloaded, and then take the tests.

What's the matter-you too lazy to take a little of the

medicine you dole out to Wesley?"

  "No. I will do that. At least I can resolve

those problems that do have neat solutions."

  There was a moment's silence. Then Geordi said,

"I think this time Starfleet is wrong. The Prime

Directive is a neat solution sometimes, but the

Samdian situa, tion is a messy problem.

Dammit, why can't the Konor just stay in their own

territory and practice whatever beliefs they have

among themselves?"

  "Because they believe in manifest destiny," Data

replied. "To the Konor it would be wrong not to take

what they believe to be rightly theirs. You weren't in

sickbay, Geordi. That Konor wasn't making

excuses for selfish acts. He honestly

believes that Providence is . . . providing.

To him, we are an annoyance to be dealt with as

efficiently as possible. That means if we, and

everyone else who cannot project telepathically the

way the Konor can, don't knuckle under

and become their willing servants, they'll just kill

us."

  "Unless we kill them first," Geordi said.

  "That," Data said flatly, "is genocide."

  "So we warp away and let the Ferengi or the

Romulans or the Orions do the dirty work."

  "This is why I was so confused by the ethics

classes

  at the Academy," Data said. "Sometimes there

is no right solution, neat or messy. The best we

can hope for is not to be caught in such a situation.

This time we didn't get the best we could hope for."

He stood. "Good night, Geordi."

  Data left for his quarters, intending to start

restoring the Academy coursework that had disappeared

along with his memory banks. Instead, when he

passed the shelf of personal belongings at the entrance

to his computer area, he picked up the crystal

holograph base, set it on his desk, and conjured

up Tasha Yar.

  He had been far closer to Tasha than

to Thralen, yet although her death had caused him

sorrow, he had not known the aching grief he felt

today. Tears slid down his face, unbidden. As an

android he had had tear ducts, but they had

functioned only to lubricate his eyes. How

absurd he had been then to think he could comprehend

human feelings! The old grief washed over him,

joining with the newer anguish of loss and failure. This

was what it meant to be human: to feel pain, to know

loss, to suffer failure, and eventually to die, perhaps

as senselessly as Tasha had. Why did I want

this? Data asked himself.

  Honest to a fault, he admitted that comprehension

of the human condition, not the flesh with all its

dangerous pleasures, was what had always beckoned,

just beyond his reach.

  Why? Why would anyone desire such pain? How

did humans live with it? "Tasha, Thralen," he

whispered, "you are well out of it."

  But Data was still here, with a life to live, with

duties to fulfill, and without the companionship of those

friends lost along the way. Another memory

surfaced with the clarity of a computer log, this time from the

mission he and Tasha had been assigned to on the

planet Treva. There Tasha and Dare had been

reunited. Then, Data had controlled his

response without much difficulty. Now, he

wondered if he would have been able to or if, as Dare

had said, they would be rivals if Tasha were

still alive.

  But she was not. He would never see her again,

except in the hologram, frozen there forever young and

strong and beautiful. As artificial as he had

once been.

  For the first time, Data wondered what his own fate

would be. Was he a survivor? Would he grow old,

outliving all his friends and colleagues, the fate he

had accepted would be his as an android? Or would he

die young, like Tasha and Thralen?

  Which was worse, dying before one had fulfilled one's

potential, or living not only to lose friends but

to experience the kind of frustration that lay like a shroud

over the Enterprise tonight as they waited, impotent,

for orders to abandon their assignment on Dacket?

"I remember how frustrated you used to get when you

could take no action, Tasha," Data said. "The

Samdian situation is worse than anything we

encoun- tered while you were alive."

  But those memories were dimming. Only the ones that

decided to intrude on him surfaced from his human

mind of their own accord. Tasha looked at him

  out of the hologram, but when he tried to remember

her on board ship, or on a planet, the images

were blurred.

  Wanting her to seem more real, he touched the switch

that put the hologram into motion. Unintentionally, he

hit the sound setting as well, and Tasha's last

words to him sounded in the small room: "You see things

with the wonder of a child, and that makes you more human than

any of us." Horrified, Data hit the switch

to turn off the hologram. "Oh, Tasha," he said

wretchedly, "you have no idea how wrong you were.

I'm glad you never knew."

  Data put his head down on his arms, and wept.

Worn out emotionally, he fell into uneasy sleep.

His door signal woke him.

  Data felt feverish and headachy, and regretted

the automatic "Come in" almost before it had passed his

lips.

  His visitors were Darryl Adin and Pris

Shenkley. "We've come to say goodbye," Dare

said. "Or-was "Come with us, Data," Pris said.

  "We may die trying," Dare continued, "but we

are going to do something for the Samdians. We would

welcome you along for the fight."

  "What good would I do you now?" Data asked.

"As an android I had unique strengths and

skills. Now I'm just another human."

  "Like the rest of us," Dare replied.

"For one thing, you shoot as well as I do. You've

got Starfleet training, which I admit is the best

basis there is for a life like ours, once you strip

away some of the naivetd that goes with it. There's

probably not a computer in the galaxy that you and

Sdan couldn't finagle between you." He attempted a

smile. "I don't ask very many people to 282

  join up with us. We have to depend on one another in

too many life-or-death situations."

  "Thank you for your confidence, but I think not,"

Data said. "At least not now."

  "If you change your mind," Dare said, "it's

never difficult to locate me. Pris, I'll

see you at the ships."

  Pris watched the door close behind her, then

turned to Data. "I'll miss you," she said.

  "I-was Some new human sense warned him not

to tell her honestly that he regretted their brief

liaison and could not for the life of him tell why. And

he certainly could not say that for the past twenty-four

hours he had completely forgotten her existence.

  Fortunately, she mistook his fumbling, saying,

"Don't be embarrassed-I'm not holding you to any

promises. Neither of us made any, did we?"

"No. It's best that way, when we don't

know if we'll ever meet again." "We will,

Data-I'm sure of that. And I hope it will be under

happier circumstances." She smiled, but it was a

sad smile. "Think of us when your current tour of

duty is over. You may be ready to leave

Starfleet once you've proved you can still handle

anything they throw at you." Again he allowed her

to misinterpret his motivations, let her kiss him

softly on the cheek, and say good-bye.

  He recognized his emotion, but not its source.

There was no reason, no reason at all, that he should

react with embarrassment to Pris. He liked her!

He honestly found her attractive and appealing, and

yet he had been unfair to her.

  When that thought surfaced, he examined it more

closely. What had he done that was unfair

to Pris? She

  was not in love with him. She liked him, he liked

her, and they had spent a most pleasurable time together.

How was that unfair to her? Too tired to think, and

yet with the thoughts repeating in his head, Data decided

he ought at least to try to sleep. By habit, he

turned to put everything in his outer room back

into place before turning out the lights-and saw the

hologram base still on his desk. For the first

time he realized how much Pris was like Tasha. Both

were slender, blond, intelligent, and assertive.

Both had chosen a life of action and danger.

  Is that it? Did I accept Pris because she

reminds me of someone I cannot have? That would certainly

be reason enough to feel I have been unfair to her.

  Accepting that as a working hypothesis, Data

decided that tonight he would not think further about his

mistake, except to vow never to repeat it. He also

refused to let his mind return to the Samdian

situation. While the rest of the Enterprise crew

might have to invent ways to take their minds off their

inability to help the Samdians until permission

came to abandon their mission, Data had necessary work

to do, restoring the knowledge he had lost. He ordered the

computer to set him a course of study to begin in the

morning, and went to bed.

  By Data's next duty shift, Starfleet had

given the Enterprise a new assignment, and everyone

breathed a sigh of relief as the reminder of their

failure swung off the viewscreen.

  In routine flight, Wesley Crusher returned

to the helm. Midway through the shift, Captain

Picard sent Data to the science station to study the

records of seismic activity on Beta

Tharsis Four, where a mining 284

  colony needed help in reinforcing their underground

compound before it collapsed from shifting gravitational

stresses. Ensign Serena Gibson came to take

Data's place at Ops. As before, he noticed-

how lovely, how female, she was-then caught

himself. Another slender blonde. Was this an

obsession?

  The time it took to examine his reaction kept him

lingering beside the Ops console long enough to notice

Wesley look over at Gibson, blush, then

return determinedly to close inspection of his own

console-on which, as they were in routine flight, he had

absolutely nothing to do. Data went up to the

science station, and soon became immersed in the problem

of Beta Tharsis Four. He took his conclusions

to Geordi, and by the time the Enterprise reached its

destination they had designed a method of reinforcing the

mining colony without forcing the inhabitants

to evacuate. From there, the Enterprise went

to Starbase 92 for vaccine to deliver to Ghandi

Seven. After that, they ferried a bevy of scientists

to the science colony on Nisus.

  No one missed the pattern: The Enterprise was

being given obviously beneficial

assignments as a reminder that Starfleet missions

seldom ended in the kind of frustration they had known in

the Samdian Sector. Slowly, tensions eased and

people regained confidence.

  Data completed his self-imposed refresher

course, retested in his personal specialties, and

was recommended by Captain Picard and First Officer

Riker for restoration to full active duty. But the

medical personnel disagreed. 285

  Dr. Pulaski was concerned that Data's blood

pressure was elevated. "It's not above the human

norm," she told him, "but it's consistently higher

than it was when you came aboard from Elysia. So are

your cholesterol levels. They're not dangerously

high, Data comb if they continue to rise this way, in

a few months I will be forced to take you off the duty

roster." "Surely they'll level off," he said

diffidently. "You said I couldn't stay in the state

of perfect health the Elysians gave me."

  "Are you exercising?" she asked.

  "Every one of Mr. Worf's required sessions-was

  "Then what are you eating""

  "Oh, I don't know. A variety," he

replied. That was true as far as it went, but his

appetite had never returned to the state of

his first days as a human, when everything had been fresh

and new. When his stomach reminded him that he needed

to eat, his mind frequently rejected the idea of a

balanced meal. Sometimes he craved spicy foods,

and sometimes he placated his stomach with endless cups of

tea instead of the nutrition it was signaling for. He

sometimes woke in the middle of his sleep period with

unpleasant sensations he had identified as

indigestion. Ship's stores provided remedies,

and Data deliberately ignored the warnings

to report frequent need to the CMO. He simply

swallowed a tablet or two and went back to restless

sleep.

  Often, usually after an afternoon's lesson,

Wesley would introduce him to another new concoction

  featuring their acting ensign's favorite flavor

and secret vice: chocolate. Data discovered a

"sweet tooth," and sometimes cut back on other

foods to 286

  allow himself those treats when his uniform started

getting tight around the middle.

  Nightmares plagued him, yet on some nights

he had dreams that filled him with joy. Oddly, although

he would waken with a sense of great pleasure, he could

not remember the good dreams any more clearly

than the bad ones. To be human, Data had known

in the abstract, was to have a subconscious mind.

Whatever his was doing, it was skilled at hiding from his

consciousness. It was a new and frightening experience not

to be able to access information that he was perfectly aware

did exist somewhere in his mind.

  When Pulaski would not give him an

unconditional medical clearance, Data forced himself

to eat a computer-designed, perfectly balanced

diet for ten days, and increase his exercise schedule

before reporting back for another check. He dropped

over two kilos of weight in that time, and his blood

pressure was closer to what Pulaski considered

desirable. She reluctantly cleared him-but nothing

he could do would persuade Counselor Troi to clear

him once and for all on the psychological level.

The problem was, he could not tell her why he was still

depressed after the rest of the crew had recovered from

having to turn their backs on the Samdians.

  Wesley, noticing that he and Data had a

certain moodiness in common, tried talking with him.

  "Do you miss that woman from Darryl Adin's

gang?" Wesley ventured. "Pris? Yes, I

suppose so," Data replied. But Pris was not the

cause of his unidentifiable feelings. His

problem was that he didn't know what was. Wesley

persisted. "Are you dating anyone else?" 287

  "That is really none of your business, Wesley."

  "Lots of the women on the crew would like to date you,

you know.." "How would you know that?" Data asked,

  "They keep asking me about you," the boy replied.

"They think you're cute."

  "dis . . Cute?"

  "Yeah . . . Ensign Gibson asked me about

you."

  Oh, no-he was not going to risk disappointing

another woman who looked like Tasha. "I don't

think it's wise to become socially involved with someone

whose bridge performance I will soon have a hand in

evaluating," he improvised.

  Wesley grinned. "Thanks, Data. I'll

tell her that. She's on bridge rotation for another

two weeks." He blushed and admitted, "Maybe

if you're not available I can get her to take an

interest in me."

  Data smiled. "I'm hardly an expert on

such things, but I've observed that a small difference

in age creates great barriers until humans get

at least into their twenties. Why don't you approach

girls in your classes, Wesley?" The

boy shrugged. "Lots of them are pretty, but

they're hard to talk to. They're not interested in the

things I do." With painful honesty he admitted,

"And some of the kids resent that I get to work on the

bridge. I don't really fit in with them

anymore. Data," he asked, "has a woman

ever turned you down?"

  "Certainly, they-was He stopped, frowning. Why

did he automatically start to say yes? Why did

he feel as if he understood what Wesley was

talking about? Since becoming human, he had never

put himself in that situation; Pris had taken the

risks in their liaison. As 288

  an android, he had had no personal desires

on the subject; it had always been the woman who

initiated any relationship. His closest

approximation to Wesley's disappointment was the time

Tasha had told him "It never happened." That had

bewildered him even without the added turmoil of human

hormones.

  Finally he said, "Wesley, you have to understand that I

probably have less experience with women than you do,

at least as a human. You'd better ask Commander

Riker or Lieutenant La Forge for advice on

dating." Data did empathize with

Wesley's feelings . . . and realized that his own

chronic wi/l anguish closely resembled the

acting ensign's adolescent yearnings.

  So he decided to take his own advice, and

consult Will Riker. The first officer was taking a

break in Ten-Forward, drinking cafe au lait and

watching the passing stars. Not knowing how to open the

topic he wanted to discuss, Data also watched them

for a moment. He remembered, "On Elysia, when

I told Thelia I was from Starfleet, she asked

if the stars truly moved swiftly there."

  "It sure looks that way, doesn't it?"

Riker replied, then turned to Data. "Sit

down. Enjoy the view."

  Data sat, saying, "It is something I have

learned to enjoy." At that Riker, who had

momentarily returned to looking at the stars, suddenly

turned squarely toward Data and fixed him with a

hawklike gaze. After a few moments' study, he

nodded sagely. "Woman trouble." Data felt his

eyes widen. "How did you know?"

  "What other kind of trouble sets a man to staring

at the stars?" When Data started to answer, Riker

shook his head.

  "You opened with something romantic a

woman once said to you." "Romantic?"

  "In the broad sense of the word. If you'd been

human at the time it would probably have led to a

flirtation. So what's the problem now?" "I'm not

certain. Wesley asked me for advice about women,

which made me realize how little I know about them. I have

too many of my own feelings I don't understand."

  "And don't want to discuss with Deanna because she's

also a woman," Riker concluded.

  "That is correct. I do not wish her to think me

even more unstable. For . . . I sense that I want

something, very badly-and yet I cannot say what it is

I want! You are correct that my feelings are

exacerbated by proximity to a woman."

  Riker smiled. "Data, you're not unstable.

You're reacting perfectly normally to having

hormones for the first time in your life. Don't be

afraid to tell Deanna-it's her job to know more about

men than we know about ourselves."

  Data wondered for a moment how much that had to do with

Riker's not making a permanent commitment to the

beautiful counselor. But Riker continued, "All

you need is more experience, Data. More variety.

Women are one of life's greatest pleasures, and

certainly nothing to be afraid of." "I'm

not afraid-was

  "But your experience is limited."

  "Extremely," Data admitted-

  "I think right now your feelings about women are

exaggerated by their uniqueness, my friend. Get to know

some more women. Flay the field for a while. It

won't be long before your emotions reach an even

keel. It sounded like good advice.

  So when he saw Ensign Lee Ann Su in

Ten-Forward the next day, Data struck up a

conversation, and they ended up having a pleasant evening

together. She had none of the liabilities of Ensign

Gibson. Instead, she was a short curvaceous

brunette, more pretty than beautiful; she bore

no resemblance at all to Tasha Yar, and her

rotation on the bridge had ended several months

ago.

  Their evening went no further than dinner and

public entertainment afterward; Data was still following

Geordi's advice to let the woman set the

pace, and it became apparent that Lee Ann was just a

bit unsure of what a senior officer might

expect of her. He made sure she felt no

pressure on that account, and simply enjoyed her

company through dinner and a concert performed by some

of the crew who had formed a very fine string quartet.

After that, Data and Lee Ann went their separate

ways. And the next morning Data woke again with that

sense that he had done something wrong-that somehow he had

betrayed someone! Whom did he think he had

betrayed? Tasha? But she would never be jealous, even

if she were still alive. No, his feelings could not be about

Tasha. Flashes of his dreams were starting to surface

--he remembered one from last night in which he was with a

woman. A brunette. Lee Ann, but not Lee

Ann. A face he could not pull into the forefront of

his

  memory, but someone he knew. Someone he . . .

loved? That was not possible. He didn't know any

woman well enough to love her. "I need that information

now, if you please, Mr. Data."

  To his horror, he didn't even know what

information the captain had asked for. He glanced over

at Wesley, who asked, "Has Starfleet ever

had an armed confrontation with the Waykani before,

Captain?" That was enough for Data to recall that on the

periphery of his attention Picard had asked for

specs on the Waykani space fleet.

  Glad the captain could not see his burning face,

Data rapidly punched up the statistics

while Picard told Wesley, "We are not going

to have a confrontation now, if we can avoid it,

Ensign."

  They didn't have to avoid it; the fleet of

heavily armed vessels had no interest in the

Enterprise. They passed by, incommunicado, but

their course told where they were headed: the Samdian

Sector, "The war is on," Worf remarked.

  "So it appears, Lieutenant," Picard

replied, "but it is not our war. Mr. Data, I

don't expect to have to repeat an order on my

bridge." "No, sir. It won't happen again."

  It didn't the rest of that watch, but Wesley had

to track Data down in Ten-Fore later, as he had

forgotten they had a lesson scheduled. His computer

would have reminded him, but he had not returned to his

quarters. "I owe you an apology for forgetting our

appointment," Data told the boy, "and thanks for

"getting me off the hook' with the captain today. I

didn't know 292

  what he had asked me for till you mentioned the

Waykani."

  "Data," Wesley said with genuine concern,

"what's wrong? You didn't make mistakes like that

when you first came back from Elysia."

  "I don't know," Data admitted.

"Possibly this is . . . a letdown, after the

tension of learning to be human, coping with

requalifying, and the stress everyone was under with the

Samdian situation." He smiled. "I may be

overconfident. I just have to face the fact that I

can't think about two things at once anymore."

  The lie flowed so smoothly that Data hardly

realized he was twisting the truth. Wesley appeared

to accept what he said. it was only later that he

realized what he had done. As an android he had

been perfectly capable of lying when a situation

called for it; what had been hard was recognizing the

situation, and then producing a convincing lie. Why was

so much about being human negative?

  And his dreams continued, night after night, although he

could never see the face of his dream woman.

Definitely hormones! Data told himself. Yet

he found himself looking forward to the dreams, which were now quite

pleasant. Then one day communications from Dare and his

gang stopped. An ion storm? A hasty

evacuation in which there was no time to send messages?

Or the exigencies of war?

  With that nagging worry foremost on his mind, he went

for another interminable session with Counselor

Troi. He seated himself in a chair opposite

hers.

  "Tell me what's troubling you, Data."

  "I am concerned about my friends," he began.

  "They'll be all right, Data. Darryl Adin

has been in tight spots before." She smiled

reassuringly. "So has Pris, I'm certain."

  "It's not just Pris-was Data began, harsher than

he intended. He shook his head. "I'm sorry,

Deanna. It's also these dreams I've been

having." "Why don't you tell me about them,"

Troi suggested. He shook his head. "They're not

that important," he said, averting his eyes.

  Troi leaned forward across the table separating them and

covered his hand with hers.

  "Oh, Data," she said, "don't be afraid of

me. Or of what is troubling you. The only way

to resolve it is to bring it out into the open." He

felt exposed, threatened. He wanted to run.

Only Starfleet discipline held him, pinned beneath

her gaze. "There's nothing to resolve," he

protested weakly. "But . . . I will tell you of

my dreams anyway." "They bring you pleasure,"

she said after he'd finished. "Yet they also cause you

pain. You yearn for something you cannot have.

Fantasizing about it may be pleasurable, but it also

prevents you from enjoying what you can have."

  Data sat back in his chair, abruptly

pulling his hand out from under hers. "I could have called that

speech out of the computer files on elementary human

psychology."

  "It would not be there if it were not true," she pointed

out. "It's all right to fight me, Data. That way

we'll get at what you're fighting for." "There

isn't anything I'm fighting-was

  As he spoke, she leaned forward slightly in her

chair, her huge dark eyes unfocused as she

probed his 294

  feelings. Then, "Oh!" she gasped. Her eyes

suddenly focused on his. "Data, what you are

suffering is something I have sensed before, but only once.

It is an obsession, but not a destructive one.

You are in love."

  "Counselor," he protested, "how could I be in

love without knowing with whom?"

  "I think you do know. Somewhere in the back of your

mind, you know who this woman is."

  Data frowned. Despite all he felt,

"Could it be Pris, Counselor?" "No, Data.

If you had unrequited feelings for a

woman on the ship, or for Pris, you would not hide

that from me, or from yourself. What I sense from your

dreams is something you can't admit because you don't

want to face it and possibly lose it." She

frowned. "An obsession."

  Data frowned. "I can never see her face. But

you are right: I know her, Deanna. We work together as

if we had been colleagues for a long time, and at the

end of the dream she always kisses me. So why can't

I see who she is?"

  "DATA," SAID CouationsEL-ORather TROI,

"will you permit me to hypnotize you?" He nodded.

His hostility had disappeared-now he wanted only

to know the truth. "Yes, if that's possible."

  "There's no reason it shouldn't be. We will work

together, and you will remember everything we discover."

  So Data lay down, and Troi spoke softly,

intensely. He didn't fall asleep. Rather, his

dream came slowly to life. He started to tell about

it, and then to live it, climbing, climbing ever

upward, a woman at his side. It was the Quest

he had undergone on Elysia, he recognized, but

not accurate in detail. And he was human, not

android. He and his companion overcame wild

beasts. They scaled cliffs, swam

rivers, encouraged each other through a burning desert.

Twilight fell.

  Data and the woman prepared to rest, but still he could

not see her. In the dream state, he didn't care.

  "Data," she said. "Look at me, Data."

  For some reason, he could not.

  "Data, look at me."

  Slowly, helplessly, he turned toward her.

  "Thelia?"

  He felt no surprise.

  For a moment she was the dirt-smeared gamin of their

struggle through Elysia's sacred mountain, smiling as

she did each time she overcame an obstacle.

  Then she was as he had last seen her, a

breathtaking vision in gold and white. She held out

her arms, and he went joyfully into them. They

kissed- And Data was wide awake, alone, on the

couch in Counselor Troi's office. Troi

stood beside him, her face calm but concerned.

"Data," she said, "you should not have left Elysia."

  "What?"

  She smiled. "Can't you see it? You're in love

with Thelia. Passionately in love with her. No

other woman can overcome such a force."

  He sat up slowly, rubbing the back of

his neck. "Then . . . that's why I feel guilty

when I have a pleasant time with another woman."

  "Yes," Deanna said. She sat down on the

couch beside him. "I've rarely come across such intensity

of emotion, Data."

  He nodded. How could he not have known? It was so

plain now, the feelings overwhelmed him. He wanted

Thelia, and no one else. "Counselor-what can I

do?"

  "Isn't it obvious? You must get permission

to return to Elysia. If my experience means

anything, she is probably yearning for you in

exactly the same way." 297

  He nodded, still half-dazed. "I hope so, but .

. . why couldn't I see it for myself? Why didn't

I know it was Thelia?"

  "For completely understandable reasons, Data. At

first, you were overwhelmed simply by the sensations of being

human," she reminded him. "More recently you have

been consumed by your duties-but Data, if Thelia

feels as you do, you will have little trouble persuading her

to join you on the Enterprise. his

  "Yes!" he said, feeling a grin spread across his

face. "She will . . ." His voice trailed off,

his grin faded, and his expression turned

to one of surprise. "Deanna, she doesn't know

we can be together! She was sent back to her land before my

transformation took place. She must think she's in

love with an android!"

  When Data approached Captain Picard with his

request, and Troi confirmed it, the captain

considered the options. Data could spend several

months in a shuttle or several weeks working his

way from starbase to starship to reach Elysia in

stages. "And then how long to get you back again?

No-the study of Elysia is far from complete; I

expect Starbleleet will approve our having another

look."

  There was no way to hail Thelia from orbit so,

using the ship's sensors, Data and Geordi worked

out which habitat was hers. Atridia turned out to be

by far the biggest of the habitats, more heavily

populated than the ones the Enterprise crew had

visited, with one large city, several smaller ones,

and numerous towns and villages.

  Data shook his head in frustration. "Geordi,

how am I ever going to find her?"

  His friend laughed. "She's a local heroine,

rernember? We'll put you down in the biggest

city, and I'll bet the first person you ask

can tell you where she is."

  Data nodded. "You're right. I guess I'm just

not thinking straight." "Don't worry about it."

Geordi clapped him on the shoulder. "Everyone's

rooting for you, Data. Good luck."

  He beamed down near the bustling city-and from the

moment he materialized, Data was overwhelmed with

happiness. Thelia was somewhere nearby, breathing the

same air, being warmed by the same sunshine. When he

reached the town itself, he couldn't help but think that the

entire place shared his mood, for all about him were

healthy, well-dressed people in the midst of preparing for

some sort of celebration. Banners and flowers

festooned the buildings, some just being hung up as

Data watched. Loops of white and gold

intertwined with loops of blue and maroon, while

huge garlands of yellow, pink, and orange flowers

turned the street into a rainbow.

  At first no one took particular notice of him.

His uniform was of different material, cut, and style

from the clothes of the passers-by, but among the gaudy

colors the greenish gold and black did not command

immediate attention. And of course he now appeared as

human as any of the natives.

  He looked along the street in either

direction. There was nothing to see but people and buildings

one way, but in the opposite direction there rose

above the city a turreted castle that he

recognized: the one in the background when

Elysia's gods had unsuccessfully tempted

Thelia with the vision of her home. He set 299

  out in that direction, winding between people busily cleaning

and decorating the city.

  The place had obviously grown up without the

advantage of a designer; the cobbled street

twisted and turned, providing quaint and charming

nooks and crannies. Data kept expecting

to turn a corner and come face-to-face with Thelia.

  Which he did.

  Not Thelia herself, but a huge tapestry displayed

in an open square, depicting Thelia dressed as

she had been when he had first met her, and a man.

Or rather, from the white cloth chosen to represent his

face and hands, and the rather good representation of his

Starfleet uniform, an android.

  The portrait of Thelia was recognizable, although

that of Data was not. The artist with a needle had

obviously had a model for the female figure,

while the male must have been done from Thelia's own

description. The two figures were

depicted symbolically, proportionally far too

large for the mountain they stood upon, the sacred mountain

of Elysia's gods. Data had seen primitive

artwork before; for the period before a culture grasped the

concept of perspective, this was exceptionally good. It

also proved Geordi right: Thelia was a local

heroine. There would be little difficulty finding out where

she was.

  Data turned, ready now to ask someone, but people were

streaming toward one area of the square, where an elderly

man climbed onto a platform to the accompaniment of

musical instruments that sounded a cross between a

guitar and a mandolin. The crowd cheered, then hushed,

waiting expectantly.

  In practiced, professional tones, the man

began to tell a story. It was not just a simple

recitation; it was poetry, chanted to strums of

music. Data listened for a while, then decided it

was time to move on when he heard his name mentioned.

  "The one from afar, promised by the gods, turned out

to be magical indeed. Not a flesh and blood being,

but a man of metal and light, with greater strength than

a team of oxen but the gentleness of a mother caring for her

child."

  At that, Data decided to stay for the rest

of the performance, using his tricorder to record the

poetry for later appreciation. In its bare

essentials, the story was accurate: Thelia,

permitted by the gods to under- take the Quest,

successfully negotiated the swamp, met Data

at the sacred island, and together they climbed through the

mountain. In detail, though, the story was compressed,

omitting the many long hours of weary climbing, and

stressing Thelia's feats over Data's. That was

only right and proper: she was their local champion.

  The story ended with Thelia's return

to Atridia, bearing the news that the gods had agreed

to unite their land with that of Tosus. A cheer went up

from the gathered crowd. The union of the two habitats

must be what the celebration was all about.

  It was time to find Thelia. Data turned away from

the storyteller's platform-and found himself facing

another tapestry. He had walked past this one when

he entered the square, and it had been behind him all this

time. This tapestry featured Thelia and another

mandefinitely not Data. This man's portrait was

as detailed as Thelia's, and had clearly been done

from a 301

  live model. He was tall, with brown hair a

few shades lighter than Data's, worn

long in back in the Elysian style, and was dressed

in a suit of blue and maroon, while Thelia in this

version was all in gold but for a garland of white flowers

on her dark hair. She and the man were depicted

holding hands in the center of the tapestry, the castle in

miniature beside Thelia, an equally imposing

structure beside the man, the sacred mountain in the

background, and a stylized sun pouring benevolent

rays over the smiling couple.

  He strode closer to the tapestry. It almost

looked as if the two of them were . . .

  Murmured voices sounded behind him. "It is

true . . . he wears the attire of the land of

Starfleet!"

  Data turned to see who had spoken-and found himself

being stared at by a small crowd of curious people.

  "Welcome to Atridia, stranger." An elder

man detached himself from the group and stepped toward

Data. "I am Lodel.""

  Data nodded. "And I am-was

  "You are from the land of Starfleet," another man

interrupted. "You wear the same attire as

Data!"

  "I do," Data smiled, letting the second

man feel the fabric of his uniform.

Generations from now, if the Elysians succeeded in

reuniting their entire planet, would they wonder what

had ever happened to the land of Starfleet? Perhaps to them

it would be like lost Atlantis on Earth-or perhaps

by then both Thelia and her mysterious "one from afar" would

be long since forgotten.

  "Princess Thelia will be so pleased you have come!" a

woman cried out, clapping her hands together. "You

  must tell us all whether her Quest companion

got what he quested for, and how he has fared

since."

  "Have others braved the swamp to share our

celebration?" another woman asked.

  "What happened to Data, the one from afar?" someone

else wanted to know. "Enough questions," Lodel said,

stepping in front of Data and turning to face the

crowd. He held up his hands. "You must be tired,

stranger. You have come a long way, and will want to rest

before the wedding. I will take you to my own home, and-was

  "Wedding?" Data asked, his heart sinking. "Whose

wedding?" "Why, Princess Thelia's. She

marries Prince Sharp of Tosus tomorrow afternoon," he

replied.

  Data sat down heavily on a nearby

bench.

  Thelia's wedding? Tomorrow? His head was spinning. It

couldn't be. He couldn't have come this far only to lose

her.

  "Are you all right, friend?" Lodel asked.

  "Yes," Data said-though in truth he felt

sick. "I'm just . . . surprised."

  Lodel frowned. "You did not come for the wedding?"

"No," he shook his head. "We did not know about

it. Little news travels across the swamp."

  "Then you don't know about Sharp," a woman added.

"He is a true prince-a worthy husband for

Thelia." She snorted. "Though he did not succeed

in his Quest, as our princess did."

  "Now, Ulia," Lodel chided. "Sharp failed

his Quest only because Thelia had already accomplished

hers. The princess herself has said as much."

  Data sat listening to the two argue, his head still

reeling. He didn't care to know any of this. All

he wanted to do was get out of here, get back to the

ship, and forget all about Thelia, and Sharp, and

Elysia itself. "They were promised to each other as

infants," Ulia continued, oblivious. "And now

their marriage will unite both our lands."

  Data clasped his hands in his lap

to hide their shaking. It was as if he could hear the

message from Elysia's gods: Thelia's duty

is to her people. She must marry Prince Sham

to complete the union of the habitats Then why did you

let me fall in love with her? he wondered

hopelessly. As if in answer, another woman

spoke up. "Ayewhen Thelia gives Sharp the

Kiss of Bonding at their wedding, then he will love

her forever." Ulia laughed. "Thelia has no need

of that ancient gift. Sharp fell in love with her the

moment he laid eyes on her."

  "That's as may be," the other woman answered,

"but the Kiss will guarantee that he'll never stray."

  Data's head snapped up. The Kiss of

Bonding?

  He recalled Thelia mentioning it in passing, and his

own skeptical response. But now one of those

log-clear memories flashed through his mind: At the

end of the Quest, when he and Thelia met in the knowledge that

both had succeeded, she had kissed him on the cheek,

saying, "It is safe for me to accord you such a

token of affection."

  He had wondered what she had meant then, but . .

. a kiss could do that? It was impossible ....

  As impossible as making an android

human?

  "This . . . Kiss of Bonding," he asked.

"Thelia had that power before her Quest?"

  Lodel nodded. "From her many-times grandmother,

Melinia, who Quested to end a war between feuding

factions within the land of Atridia itself. All the

women descended from that line have it."

  Another gift from the gods of Elysia. Now he

knew what Thelia had meant by "safe." Well,

it might have been safe for her to kiss an android, but

clearly her family gift had operated in full

force on the man he had become. Elysia's gods

repaying Data for his skepticism? Well, he

had learned that lesson quite thoroughly!

  "This kiss," Data asked, "is its effect

permanent?" "Oh, yes," he was told.

"Melinia's husband pined away less than a year

after she died, great strong warrior though he was."

  "But," Data swallowed hard, but knew he had

to ask the next question, "what if a woman with that gift

were to use it with more than one man? Does it work only

once, or is the spell lifted from one man if she

kisses another?"

  "Oh, she could hold many men under her spell,"

Ulia put in, "as one of Melinia's

daughters did. An evil woman, that one-misused

her gift and died when one of the men she made her

slave attempted to poison the others so as to have her

all to himself. In error, she drank of the poisoned

wine herself, and good riddance!"

  "But Thelia would never give her Kiss to any but

Sham," Lodel said. "Of course not," Data said

flatly.

  So his condition was permanent. He could not have

Thelia-her duty was to unite the two habitats-but

  neither could he escape her spell. Somehow, he

would have to survive. The best thing was to get away as

quickly as he could, and call for beamup. But his

planned departure was interrupted by the sudden arrival

of two men wearing gold and white tabards.

  "You are the visitor from the land of Starfleet?"

one asked. "Yes," Data replied.

  "Princess Thelia wishes to see you," the

messenger told him. Data's heart stirred with

hope. Thelia's wedding had not yet taken place.

How well could she know the Prince of Tosus? She

and Data had shared more in their brief time together than

many close friends in years of acquaintance.

  The union of the habitats-that was what Thelia had

asked for. The gods had granted that. If

there had been any mention of a marriage, Data would

certainly remember. If Thelia deserted her

bridegroom, it might provide generations of

stories for the people of Atridia, but she had already done

everything they had asked of her. And once she knew that

Data was human, and could and did love her- The

gods must have arranged his return. Of course comt was

why Thelia had kissed him in the first place, the

only way she dared indicate to the gods her fear of

entering into a loveless marriage. She did not owe her

people her happiness. The Kiss of Bonding might

make Sharn love her, but the story of Melinia's

daughter made very clear that it would not create love in

the one who bestowed it. The gods had brought Data

back here, in human form, just in time to deliver

Thelia from a life of 306

  dutiful obligation. In a daze of hope, he

entered the reception room where Thelia waited.

  She was more beautiful than he remembered.

  And her eyes lit with joy when she saw him.

  "It is true then!" she said, crossing the room

swiftly, taking his hands in hers. "Though I had

hoped-was

  He looked into her eyes-and saw disappointment.

He did not see recognition.

  Thelia shook her head sadly. "Do not mistake

me. I am pleased that someone from Starfleet could come

to share my happiness, but-was she let go of his hands, and

lowered her gaze-"I had prayed it would be Data

himself." "No," Data said, lowering his own eyes, for

fear he could not keep Thelia from seeing what was in them

now. "He could not come."

  "Of course. I should have known," Thelia said. "You

must tell me what has happened to Data. Does

he ever speak of our Quest? Is he happy with the

gift he received from the gods?"

  Data sat beside her, his hands folded stiffly across

his lap. "I cannot say if Data is happy with his

gift," he began, "but I know he would want me

to ask if you are happy with yours."

  "I have been rewarded many times beyond what I

desired," Thelia said. "Not only will our lands be

united, but the gods have provided me with a husband beyond

my dreams. Sharn's only regret is that he was

denied the Quest-but what does that matter? He is

everything I could ask-not only handsome and strong, but

wise and gentle, intelligent, and-was she smiled,

and for a moment, despite her elegant clothes and

jewels, she was the Thelia he had known once again

"comhe makes me laugh."

  "You knew Sham before-?"

  "Before my Quest? No. All the agreements for

our marriage were arranged by go-betweens many years ago."

She lowered her eyes. "To be truthful, I feared

that it would be difficult to enter a marriage with someone

I did not know, but," her eyes raised and met his

again, "I know him now. So you can tell Data I

am happy."

  Data hid his agony. Thelia had no idea who

he was, and now that he knew she loved another he

wanted only to keep her from knowing. He yearned

to flee, and yet, knowing this was the last time he would ever

see her, he wanted to stay in her presence forever.

  "Now you must tell me about him," Thelia said.

"Did he receive the gift he desired from the gods?"

  "Not . . . exactly," Data said.

  Her face fell. "Ah, I was afraid he

didn't know how to ask it, or wouldn't because he

doubted the gods" powers. But surely they gave

him something precious. And healed him? That is,

repaired his injuries? His damage?"

  "Of course," Data said, "the gods would not

leave anyone in such condition. You need not be concerned

about Data. He is . . . back in Starfleet

where he belongs. And he remembers you . .

. with great fond- ness."

  He had to fight not to blurt out who he was, but

what good would that do? Thelia didn't want him. She

might care very much for the android she remem- bered, but

only as a dear friend. And she showed no response

whatsoever to Data as he was now. She was in love with

another; he could not win her if he tried.

  Nor did he want to cause her distress. He

could not

  stand to provoke her pity, or the guilt she might

feel at causing him pain, however unintended.

  He could not have said what answers he managed to her

questions, but she had made time in a busy day for the

unexpected visitor from Starfleet. Soon her

duties called her back to her schedule, and Data

was ushered out. There was nothing left for him to do but go

back to the ship and try to forget her. He would throw

himself into his duties, and try to find some meaning in a

life without joy.

  Unsatisfied? It was a gross understatement of

Data's condition-a condition he would not be suffering if

he had not gotten precisely his fondest wish.

He remembered telling Thelia the story Ira

Graves had told him, about the tin man who had

found his heart without being transformed into something

he was never meant to be. "I understand that story now,"

Data said to himself. "Why did I ever want to be

something other than myself?"

  He returned to the spot he had beamed down to before

and tapped his combadge. "One to beam up, Mr.

O'Brien."

  The transporter took him-but when he

coalesced, he was not on the Enterprise

transporter platform.

  He was atop the sacred mountain, in the rainbow

sanctuary of Elysia's gods.

  "Data of Starf eet, was the now-familiar

voice said to him, "our gift was never intended to bring

such pain. was "Then relieve it," he said. "I shall

not ask you to make Thelia love me-she is

fulfilling her destiny, and I could not give her any

greater happiness than she already has."

  "You speak wisely, "the voice replied.

"What do you ask, then?" "Make me stop loving

her. Let me make what I can of my life without

that pain."

  "That is not possible. The only way to remove the

effects of Thelia's kiss would be to deprive her and

her descendants of the gift our predecessors

bestowed upon her ancestor. his

  "Your . . . predecessors?"

  "Or perhaps our descendants. The languages you

know have no words for our condition. his

  "What are you?" Data asked.

  "Like you, creatures bound by the natural laws of the

universe. Although we have no physical form, neither

are we immortal nor infallible. We erred in not

preventing Thelia from binding you. However, we cannot

take a gift from another in order to alleviate your

pain. was "Then take back my gift! Make me

an android again-then surely Thelia's kiss will have

no effect."

  There was a long silence, but finally the voice said,

"That is also not possible. We gave you what you most

desired. was "Yes-but that was not what I was sent

to Elysia for. I should have asked to know what you are,

how you maintain the habitats on this hostile

planet, how you can entirely change a person's

form."

  There was another pause. Then the voice spoke

again. "Would you exchange the gift we gave you,

then?"

  "Gladly!"

  "We can show you what we are. But the human mind

cannot comprehend it. was "I see," said

Data. "You're counting on the fallibility of

human memory. I'll take that risk."

  "No, Data of Starfleet, you do not see. There

are a few rare points along the space-time

continuum at which choices govern vital events in the

structure of galactic history. We have shown you

the result of one such choice. his

  Data frowned. "The last major change in

galactic history was the Federation-Klingon

Alliance. I had not even been activated then."

"No, Data. The last major change in

galactic history, from your present perspective,

was the failure of the Federation to bring peace to the

Samdian Sector. The interstellar war you started

will escalate until all the major cultures of

your galaxy waste themselves in its destruction. was

"Then we have to go back to Dacket and find a way

to make peace!" "It is not possible in the

time-choice of your present experience. You should have

taken a different path at the point at which you made

the choice leading to Starfleet's failure. his

  "T made the choice?" Data exclaimed.

  "When you involved yourself in Thelia's destiny," the

voice of the "Elysian "gods" replied. "When

you placed your curiosity above your duty.

was When I . . . sinned, Data realized. He

had been human indeed, in the only sense he had

ever truly intended . . . and he had never known it.

"Put me back there!" he asked desperately.

"I can beam up before Thelia sees me, and I

interfere with her destiny."

  "You can do so," the voice replied. "We have no

assurance that you will. his

  "Why-?" Data began.

  "Our law is much like your Prime Directive.

We

  cannot interfere with your free will, Data of

Starfeet. We cannot "put a person back" at

the point in time at which he made a fatal choice and

allow him foreknowledge of his error. his

  "Then . . . nothing can be changed," Data said in

despair. "My pain at losing Thelia is

insignificant against the destruction I have somehow

brought about. But how could my foolish error change

galactic history?" "You wished to know what it would

be like if you were human. That knowledge includes all the

consequences, past and future, of your humanity.

We will show you. his

  Without warning, knowledge flooded Data's perceptions.

His human mind was not equipped for such an

overload of information. There was no hope of

assimilating the billions of details; rather,

overall impressions came into his consciousness, and

he understood ....

  That time was not a constant. That the knowledge of these beings the

Elysians called "gods" was not confined, as that of

humans was, to a stream of time moving in a single

direction. To them all of history was a single

event, where time, and space, and thought were one. He

understood the Elysian habitats: the barrier between the

swamp and the habitable territories was that of

probability. They were protected by . . . an

expectation, a union of space and thought on the

molecular level. When he observed it, all was

perfectly clear equals and yet he could not have

reproduced the effect in a thousand years.

  A forcefield based on probability theory was

within Data's comprehension. His android mind might have

  been capable of understanding the rest of what the

Elysian gods showed him, but his human mind could

only create analogies. Within the event which was all

of time to the Elysian gods were . . . "threads," as

it were: events that met and intermingled, each life

interweaving with others, a mutable pattern upon

a fixed substructure. The Elysian "gods"

showed him his life, influencing numerous others. There

was only the "what" to be seen. He could not understand

"why" his transformation meant interstellar war.

  The Konor extended their dominion from Dacket

to Gellesen. He saw Darryl Adin and his gang

training the Gellesenians in guerrilla warfare,

hoping to make the price of taking the planet too

high in Konor lives. He saw the Ferengi

arrive, seeing a quick profit in selling to the Konor

a fast-dissipating poison dropped from the sky, with

no risk to the Konor. He saw the cities of

Gellesen become necropolises, among the

corpses those of his friends, of Dare, and of Pris.

  He saw the Konor pretend to seek another

deal with the Ferengi, take hostages, and commandeer their

ship. Now they had warp capacity, shields,

phasers, photon torpedoes.

  He saw the Ferengi retaliate, taking some of

their ships through the Neutral Zone in their haste. The

Romulans challenged-and the Ferengi had no idea

how to deal diplomatically with that obtuse and

difficult race. The Romulans-took their

presence as an act of war.

  When the Romulans retaliated against the

Ferengi, the Orions came in on the Ferengi

side. They attacked Federation outposts-claiming

they were secret Romulan strongholds-in an area

patrolled by 313

  Klingon Birds of Prey. The Klingons,

pleased to honorably dispense with peacekeeping,

blasted the Orion ships out of space. Ever since

the Mingon-Federation Alliance, the Orions had been

waiting for an excuse to attack the heart of

Klingon Territory. They were met by Starfleet.

  The Waykani increased their claims on disputed

territory. War escalated, system by system. The

Konor were forgotten, a minor annoyance in the face

of galactic conflict.

  At last, somehow, Data was able to form a coherent

thought: No more! Stop! Show me how to stop it!

  He was distanced from the fabric of history, although it

remained within his perception.

  "You asked, was the voice of the Elysian "gods"

reminded him, "to know what we are. his

  Again he found his mind filled with incomprehensible

knowledge. These were not physical beings, but creatures of

pure mind. "Behold. his

  Data's attention once more focused on his own

life's "thread" within the fabric. As he

"watched," it dissolved, freeing other threads.

Data realized that the link was not an inevitable line

of destiny, which for all their powers the Elysian gods

could not change, but his life, subject to his

choices, his will. With that thread removed, the whole

area of interstellar conflict . . . unraveled.

  The other "threads" lost their pattern of aggression

and misunderstanding and war. They were pure potential,

to be woven into the horrors Data had just observed .

. . or into a new pattern dependent on the 314

  decision of one young android programmed with

insatiable curiosity. Data understood: From their

perspective outside time, the Elysian gods could

observe any time-choice at will. Their "gifts" were

potential time-lines in which the Questor was strong,

or wise, or beloved or . . . human. The

choice was the Questor's, and he alone was

responsible for what he made of his gift.

  Data understood that he, not the gods, controlled his

life-choices. But that was all he understood of what

they showed him. What he needed was the information as to what

he could do now to mitigate that hideous vision of the

future.

  "But I do have the knowledge you have provided me," he said,

grasping at the hope. "Perhaps there is a

clue from the human perspective that an android can

utilize."

  "No, Data of Starfeet, you will not retain that

memory. All you experienced is, for you, no more

than a dream-a dream forgotten, once you accept

your true self his

  "My-was Data lifted his hands. Pale

synthoskin covered them. His diagnostics began a

routine systems check, reporting all functions

normal. He was restored, yet, "I do remember

it all."

  "7t was an illusion, Data, a

possibility, but not reality. was Automatically,

Data accessed his knowledge of illusions-these "gods" had

produced many that were beyond his ability to penetrate. But

. . . the entire experience he had just lived through?

His love, his pain, all a dream? Then how

  could he feel them as forcefully now as he had in

human form? As always, Data's curiosity set his

memory banks to searching for knowledge related to the topic

at hand. They responded with a puzzle from one of his

philosophy courses at Starfleet Academy:

"Am I a man who dreamed he was a butterfly,

or a butterfly who dreams he is a man?" His

classmates had argued endlessly over the

question, while Data had found it incompre- hensible.

  He understood it now.

  "Am I a man," he asked the Elysian

gods, "who dreams he is an android, or am I

an android who dreamed he was a man?"

  The gods chose not to reply.

  Instead he was told, "Your wish has been

granted. You have experienced what your life would be like

as a human. The dream is ended, Data

ofStarfeet. It never happened."

  Data smiled. Did these "gods" truly think

that saying it never happened would erase his memory of the

dread scenario he had experienced so vividly?

He would put an access denial code on it, of

course, but- The Elysian transporter effect

began to pulse around Data. As if suddenly

released from denied access, his internal clock told

him it was not fifty days into the future.

  Why should he need to be informed that it was not fifty

days from now? He knew when and where he was, in the

transporter beam on the way to investigating

Elysia's mysterious island.

  It was as if he had been switched off and back

on. 316

  There was always a momentary disorientation as

he adjusted his active memory to his internal

clock.

  When his diagnostics reported everything normal,

Data dismissed the absured idea that his memory had

adjusted backward, rather than forward. It must be an

effect of Elysia's peculiar gravitational

anomalies. It could not be imagination. After all,

androids do not dream.

  At the foot of Elysia's sacred mountain,

four Enterprise away team members regrouped after

circling the island, frustrated at finding nothing

to report but a cave opening, invisible to the organic

eyes of Riker and Worf and even to Data's

instrumentation, detectable only by Geordi's

VISOR. "Wait," said Data as they moved

into position for beamup. "There is a life-form

reading-but it is faint. No . . ." he frowned at

the faint flicker on the tricorder screen, and

turned up the gain. "Commander, I cannot get an

accurate directional reading, and on open range

your readings interfere."

  Riker nodded. "We'll get out of your way,

then." He tapped his combadge. "Three to beam up,

Mr. O'Brien. Mr. Data to follow at his

command." "Are you all right, sir?"

O'Brien's voice was tight with tension. "Of

course. Why wouldn't we be?"

  "The ship's Red Alert warnings suddenly went

off, with no reason for activation-and then there was another

of those power surges. It seems to be over now,

but-was

  "Is your instrumentation working?" Geordi demanded,

tapping his own badge.

  "Yes-everything reads normal."

  "Then get us out of here!"

  Data stepped away from the other three. They

dissolved in the transporter beam, and he turned up

the gain on his tricorder again. Nothing. He turned

full circle, annoyed; he could not have been fooled

by that flicker- He was about to signal for beamup when

he heard a sudden splashing noise. Looking toward

the swamp, he saw nothing until he used infrared

vision to penetrate the fog. There was someone coming!

  Fascinated, Data watched the boat with its lone

occupant approach the shore. Suddenly she looked

up. It was a woman, tired and bedraggled from her

arduous journey.

  Data was overcome with a sensation unique in his

experience. It was as if he had been in this situation

before, watching the boat approach- Did he

have a memory circuit malfunction? Was he

affected by the power surge? At the same moment, he

realized that the woman was now close enough to glimpse

him through the swamp fog.

  She must not see him! This was a religious

sanctuary to the Elysians; she must be here on one

of their sacred Quests.

  Data darted behind a rock.

  He must have had some kind of malfunction to have stood

staring at her through the fog, letting her get close enough

that she might have seen him. According to the Prime

Directive, he had no right to risk discovery. And

by closing the channel he had trapped himself the chitter

of his combadge would carry to 318

  the woman's ears, as would the sound of the

transporter. He could not risk having her come

to see what the noises were, just in time to see a

person disappear into thin air.

  Still, his error gave him a chance to watch, to see

whether the Elysian "gods" would communicate with this

Questor. Data held perfectly still, waiting for

her to go on up to the mountain, before he called for

beamup. The woman, though, was looking around the

island. She did not seem to be seeking the entry

point to the cave; rather, she peered along the

shore in either direction, as if expecting someone.

  From the opposite direction, there came a

splashing and scraping. The woman started working her

way over the rocks toward the sound, a difficult

process. But soon she would be far enough away- A

man came around some. rocks. Both he and the woman

stopped, looking at one another. The woman was

small, with dark hair and eyes. The man was tall,

with lighter brown hair. Like the woman, he was

somewhat the worse for his journey; but he smiled when

he saw her.

  The woman spoke. "You are the one from afar the

gods promised as a companion on my journey.

My name is Thelia."

  The man's smile widened. "And you are the one

promised me-by our parents, and now by the gods. I

am Sharn."

  "Sharn!" she exclaimed. "I should have known it would

be you. Surely together we will succeed in our Quest."

  The man took her hand. "I saw a spring of

water 319

  back there. We'll need to fill our water bags

before we try to find our way up the mountain."

  But they would not have to climb it, Data saw: the

cave opening Geordi had discovered was now

clearly visible; the two Elysians would easily

find it when they returned from the spring.

  It was balm to Data's conscience, if not his

curiosity, when the two disappeared from sight and

hearing. He hit his combadge. "One to beam up."

Geordi had lingered in the transporter room,

waiting for his friend. "Darnmit, Data," he said,

"how many times do you have to be reminded you're not

indestructible! What if there'd been another power

surge while we were beaming you?"

  "I think," said Data, not knowing why he felt

certain of something on such slight evidence, "you would have

been warned, as you were of the last one."

  "You think that Red Alert was deliberately

triggered? By whom?" "Elysia's "gods." i

just saw them in action."

  "What?"

  "No, I did not see the gods themselves," he

explained, "but I saw their response to people they had

invited. When two Elysians came ashore for one

of their Quests, that cave entrance you detected was

suddenly visible." "You're sure they didn't see

you?"

  "I am certain. But Geordi-the two events

suggest a pattern. They did not want us

on the island, so we could not see the cave. But

apparently we are not unwelcome on Elysia, as

they have started to warn us of those dangerous power

surges."

  "Intriguing, as you always say." Geordi was

rubbing his hands. "You'd better go tell the captain

your 320

  theory. I think I should let one of the doctors

check some of these cuts." "Let me see," Data

responded automatically, and Geordi held out his

hands. They were cut and bleeding from climbing over the

sharp rock formations on the sacred island. "They should

be cleaned and medicated against infection," he agreed.

  "Which will hurt even more," Geordi complained. He

shook his head. "I don't know why you'd ever want

to be human, Data. We get hurt awfully

easilyespecially compared to you."

  "I do not want to be physically human,"

Data replied. "It is just that I wonder if it will

ever be possible for me to understand the human spirit . . .

the human soul."

  "Either way, Data," Geordi replied, "the

only way you'll ever understand is to understand human pain

comand my friend, that's something you should pray you never have

to experience."

  THE ENTERPRISE SPENT three more frustrating

days trying to solve the puzzle of Elysia's

dangerous power surges and their relationship, if

any, to the elusive "gods." Then they were called

on an emergency mission to the Samdian Sector,

where the local populace were being attacked by beings

known as Konor, and another ship was assigned

to verify that the space lane past Elysia was safe

to travel.

  Within an hour of setting out, Data was deep into a

fruitless search through every cross-reference he could think

offor records of the Konor. And an hour after that, he

was certain he had left no potential source

unsearched. He found nothing: the Konor were new to this

part of the galaxy, and until the Enterprise reached the

Samdian Sector they would know no more about them.

  As it was an otherwise routine flight, Data

had time to spend with his friends, both among the crew and

among their unexpected guests. He brought Darryl

Adin to the regular poker game one evening, and Dare

won, resoundingly.

  After the game, they joined the rest of Dare's

gang in Ten-Fore. Data sat down next

to Pris Shenkley, with whom he had had some

intriguing conversations when they first met on

Treva. She seemed pleased to talk with him again.

This time he was not preoccupied with a mission, as he had

been then, so he focused his full attention on her

and learned a great deal about improvising weapons

systems from outmoded technology. Eventually they

found themselves the last people in the lounge. Guinan

relieved the other hostess and put on coffee

to brew for the next shift's early risers.

  Pris looked around, saying, "You know so much about

technology, Data. You could probably do my

job better than I can."

  "I do not think so," Data replied. "Perhaps the

construction, but not the design. It is not possible

to program inspiration, intuition, improvisation."

  She gave him a softly wi/l smile that he

didn't quite understand. "No, I suppose not. But

perhaps you can learn those things. Especially . . .

intuition." With that she stood and stretched. "Good

night, Data." "It is actually morning, ship's

time," he pointed out. Pris chuckled. "Good

morning, then, but I'm going to bed anyway. Perhaps

we can work on your intuition at a time when I'm not so

sleepy." Data stared after her a moment,

perplexed. Then he went over to the bar. He had

drunk a glass of juice with Pris

earlier, and had no need for further nutrients at the

moment, but he often found Guinan's conversation

enlightening. So he sat on a stool and said without

preamble, "I think I missed something." 323

  "Yes," Guinan replied, "you did."

  "What?" he asked eagerly.

  "Your friend wanted to know more about you."

  Data frowned. "She did not ask me any

questions."

  Guinan's face took on that infuriating smooth

complacency which meant she was about to say something it would

take the hearer a considerable time to understand-or that he

might never figure out. "There are certain things a

woman does not come right out and ask a man," she

told him. "But what could she not ask me? And why?"

Data asked. "When you work out what, was Guinan

assured him, "you'll know why." Data then went

to see how Sdan and Poet were coming with the repairs

to their ships" computers. After that he had scheduled a

science laboratory demonstration for the ship's

schoolchildren, and then he was due on the bridge.

  Two days later Data helped put the finishing

touches on the guidance systems for the ships of the

Silver Paladin-just as his friends received word that their

presence on Brancherion was no longer

needed. "Damn the luck," Poet cursed.

"We'd of made easy money if the matter was that

simple to settle. Ah, well, win some, lose

some."

  One day Dare received a message from the

Samdian System, in his private code. He

made no secret of the contents, however: he, too,

was being called upon to help the people of Dacket against the

Konor. As the Enterprise was far faster than

Dare's ships, he and his gang requested that they be

allowed to "hitchhike" the rest of the way.

Captain Picard agreed comand as the Enterprise

approached the Samdian 324

  Sector, Data was plunged into the mystery of the

Konor. According to the planet Dacket's leader,

Chairman Tichelon, the Konor had recently

taken the planet Jokarn, and were now attacking his

own world. The third planet that made up their

economic community was Gellesen, which had sent

Dacket weapons and troops, to no avail.

  Geordi's scans showed Dacket in detail.

Where the Konor had established themselves, all

technology was operating except communications. No

wonder messages from the Enterprise had been

ignored: although the communications equipment

built by the people of Dacket was still there, it had been

shut down.

  They focused in on a city the Konor had taken

months before. People went about their business as if they had

always belonged there, to all appearances peaceful and

contented beings. What was odd was that no one spoke,

no one gestured, yet it was clear that people understood and

cooperated with one another. Thralen, the Theskian

sociologist, hypothe- sized telepathy.

  But where the Konor had recently conquered, as in the

city of Eskatus, the scans recorded graphic

scenes of slaughter. "Surely telepaths could not

treat people so," Deanna Troi said in disbelief.

"They would feel their pain, their deaths."

  "Perhaps they do," Will Riker said grimly. "Perhaps

they are psychotic." Further scenes provided

nothing to counter the hypothesis of telepathy as the

Konor means of communication, and also confirmed the

contention of the Samdians that they took slaves. But

. . . the children they saw caged like animals did not

look like Chair-

  man Tichelon and the other people of Dacket. They were

slender, willowy beings with green-gold skin and

lavender hair, like the Konor. Data accessed his

memory banks for information on Samdian

biology-and started in amazement. "Captain!" he

interrupted the briefing. "We have missed something

Chairman Tichelon obviously wanted us

to overlook: The Konor are not an alien species

recently arrived from some unexplored area of the

galaxy. They are simply another group of

Samdians!" "Explain," Picard ordered.

  And Data did.

  "So," Picard said ominously, "Chairman

Tichelon lied to us. The Konor didn't

"take' the planet Jokarn, but originated there."

  "If our conclusions are correct," Data

continued, "the Konor are a branch of Samdians

who have recently developed telepathy. There is

no indication in our records of high levels of

ESP among the Samdians."

  "Perhaps," said Picard, "the Samdians will be

willing to tell us the truth now that we have penetrated

their deception. This is not an attack by outside

forces, but a civil war."

  "And so we cannot offer assistance other than as

mediators," Riker added. "And that only if both

sides agree."

  "I'll have another talk with Chairman

Tichelon," said the captain. "Data,

Thralen, study the rest of these records. Look for

what motivates the Konor, other than conquest.

If we are to act as mediators, we will need

leverage. Obviously the other Samdians don't

have that key, or they would have used it."

  Data and Thralen ran the records several

times, but found nothing. Thralen said, "We must be

overlooking something."

  "What else is there?" Data asked. "Our

records are extremely sketchy, as the

Samdians have always been isolationist."

  "There must be another approach," Thralen said, his

antennae extending and retracting in frustration.

"We need to know why Jokarn suddenly attacked

Dacket. The people of Jokarn must have recently

developed telepathy. Yet . . . telepaths

are normally nonaggressive."

  "What if not all of them developed it?" Data

asked. "The name "Konor' does not appear in the

historical information on the Samdians. Could the

powers of a few have frightened the people of Jokarn?

Galactic history certainly provides enough

instances of people with new powers being persecuted. Could the

Jokarn have hurt them so badly that they were driven

to revenge on all Samdian

non-telepaths?"

  "Possibly," Thralen agreed. "Giving a

group of people a new name is a way of distancing them,

making them less than yourself so you can mistreat, even

kill them." -- "Computer: language banks.

Morphemic structure of the Samdian

language."

  "Working."

  "What is the historical meaning of the word

"Konor'?" After several prompts, the computer

concluded it meant "People: sentient, sapient

organic beings. Persons, as opposed

to animals."

  Data frowned. "Why would the Samdians call

  Konor that? It must be the Konor's own word for

themselves."

  Thralen was not satisfied either. He prodded the

computer to even deeper analysis. Finally the reply

came. "Root derivation of "konor' is "those

who possess souls.""

  "Gods," Thralen whispered, the blue of his

face paling to a washed-out hue. He pushed himself up

out of his chair, and began pacing behind the terminal.

"If that's what we're up against, we

haven't a chance." Data turned to stare at him.

"I do not understand."

  "History, Data. The fiercest wars in all the

history of the galaxy have been fought over religious

differences. What ought to be the balm and consolation for the

trials of life is made the instigator of fury

and grief." Thralen stopped pacing, and rested his

hands on the back of Data's chair.

  He then told Data of his own experiences with

religious disputes, revealing more than Data had

ever learned before of the ship's sociologist: his own

family had rejected Thralen when he pursued a

course of study opposed to their fundamentalist

beliefs in the Great Mother. Data felt

inadequate, but Thralen did not seem to notice,

accepting Data's comprehension the way Dare had that

time Data had taken him Tasha's Farewell.

Data was far out of his element here. Still, he had

to say something.

  "I have stored in my memory banks gigabytes

of information on religions throughout the galaxy. I can

quote it at length, but I do not understand it. I am

sorry, Thralen. I have no way of knowing what

gods are-which is why I had hoped actually to meet

up with the gods of Elysia."

  "If you had been able to do so, it would have proved they

were not gods as I believe in God," Thralen

replied. "Beyond anything the sentient mind can

comprehend, there is a force that drives the universe,

Data. Only when we leave this state of existence

will we meet and comprehend it." "We?" asked

Data. "You believe in an existence after death. You

believe you have a soul."

  "Oh, yes. There is no doubt of it."

  "I do not know if I have one."

  Thralen smiled. 7 know you do," he replied,

"and not because of a Judge Advocate's ruling."

  "Her ruling was that I have the right to try to find out if

I have one," Data pointed out.

  "Well then," Thralen said, "perhaps the Konor can

tell you. If they call themselves "those with souls,"

that implies that they can recognize a soul when they

see it." But Data heard the sarcasm in the

anthropologist's voice; neither of them could credit

people of such viciousness with any degree of

sensitivity.

  "It's time to go down to the planet," Thralen said

decisively. "We must have direct information

to verify our conclusions. Come on, Data-let's

take our findings to the captain."

  On the trail of clues to a mystery, Data was

in his element. Captain Picard called Chairman

Tichelon, who provided the information that the Konor

called the other Samdians "Ikonor"-meaning

simply "not Konor," he explained.

  "It is more than that," Thralen said. "It confirms

our fears, for it means "those without souls.""

  It was obvious Tichelon had not expected them

  derive the root meanings of the terms. He

protested, "The insults they cast at us are not the

issue. Our people are being murdered, Captain. You have

been here for almost a day, and done nothing!" Picard

took a controlling breath and said, "We are going

to attempt to communicate with the Konor. If we

succeed, will you accept representatives of

Starfleet as mediators? May we say you have

agreed?" "Yes-yes, of course! But they will not

listen to you. Do you think we haven't tried? They

killed all of our people who tried to communicate, even

those who offered surrender."

  There was another strategy session in the observation

lounge. It was decided to send an away team

to meet the Konor. Deanna Troi insisted on being

part of it.

  Data watched Will Riker watch the captain, the

First Officer's "poker face" betrayed by a slight

wince when Picard agreed. "You'll need the best

protection we can give you," the captain continued.

"Worf, Riker, Data."

  "Captain," Thralen said, "I should be there." His

antennae quivered nervously. "Even if Data and

I are right, on direct contact we will certainly

see more. Perhaps something that will persuade them to make

peace."

  "Agreed," Picard said. "I want all

communications left open, and a tricorder channel

providing a visual to both the bridge and the

transporter room. At the first sign of a threat,

the away team are to be beamed up at once."

  "What about the fact that they go naked?" Worf

asked, grimacing slightly. "Should we beam down

unclothed?" The idea obviously pained him, but as

  Security Chief he had to consider every

possibility to keep the away team safe. "We

cannot go unarmed, and we certainly will not be mistaken for

Konor. But what if there is some taboo against

clothing, as the Ferengi have against clothing women?"

  But another conference with Tichelon

assured them that the idea had already been tried, to no

avail.

  So the away team, fully clothed and armed, beamed

down to Dacket. They materialized on the steps

of the building most likely to be the center of local

government. A few people nearby stopped, stared at

them, but did not move or speak.

  Strangers-who are you?

  Counselor Troi stepped forward, smiling.

  From all sides, Kbnor men, women, and children

converged on the away team.

  Are you soulless cattle, or Konor? Answer,

strange ones, or die! The command was so loud Data

reduced his audio gain. It didn't help.

Thralen's antennae retracted reflexively, and

Worf put his hands to the sides of his head.

  "Do you hear them?" Troi asked, her smile now

forced through pain, her eyes huge and unfocused.

  "Yes!" Riker replied in tones of utter

amazement. Then he shouted, "Deanna-no!" as the

counselor moved ahead of the others, hands outstretched

toward the Konor.

  Data knew Troi must be projecting a

message of peaceful greeting to the Konor, using

Betazoid techniques. But the Konor

only stared at her, their faces angry. "I hear

you," Troi gasped, the look on her face changing

from joy to confusion to horror as the din in 331

  Data's head increased. "Such terrible anger-but

why? Why will you not listen to me?"

  Data had to focus his attention on vision alone

to be able to keep pace with Troi as she strode

into danger.

  His companions could not so easily cope with the

bursts of furious noise. Riker grasped the

sides of his head, fighting for control. Pain was

clear in his movements, but he forced his way

to Troi's side. Thralen staggered, his skin paling

and his antennae retracting again as his mouth opened in a

grimace.

  Even Worf winced-but did not lose stride,

keeping his hand on his phaser as he moved forward.

  The Konor converged on Troi, the serenity of their

faces gone now, although their looks seemed more

disdainful than angry. Ikonor! Strangers!

Heathens! Barbarians! Soulless animals! "Beam

us up!" Riker ordered.

  "Stand still!" came O'Brien's voice. "There

are Konor too close- was "Bring them along, but

beam us up!" Riker repeated. Picard's

voice confirmed, "Get the away team out of there!"

Even as the faint hum of the transporter began, the

Konor attacked, flinging missiles. The away

team had no choice but to run, taking them out of the

transporter focus.

  Worf and Riker drew phasers. Two people trying

to grab Troi fell, stunned.

  That did not stop the Konor. The crowd converged

on them, faces contorted in anger. Parcels

suddenly turned into weapons, and other, more deadly

implements began to appear in the mob's hands.

  "Get Deanna out!" Riker shouted as Konor

shoved him away from her. The counselor was both the

focus of the Konor attack and the least skilled of the

five at self-defense.

  Worf and Data managed to keep pace with

Troi, protecting her on either side. Worf

knocked aside a brick aimed at him, which threw

him slightly to his right-just far enough off equals

balance for the split second it took a Konor

to thrust a metal rod past him, toward Troi.

  It wasn't a weapon, but some kind of building

material. That made it no less lethal.

  Data tried to intervene, but four hefty Konor

working in concert shoved him aside.

  Troi stumbled, and the spear missed.

  The attacker shifted his grip and swung his

improvised weapon up, ready to bring it down on the

counselor's head. With the power of his fury behind it, it

would split her skull.

  "Deanna!" Riker shouted, lunging desperately

toward her. Worf raised his weapon to stun the

attacker, but another Konor struck his arm. The

shot went high.

  Data threw off" his attackers and ran

to protect the counselor. From the opposite

direction, Thralen flung himself at Troi

to knock her out of harm's way.

  The crowd surged against them. Thralen slammed

into Troi, but they did not go down.

  Troi's assailant attempted his swing again-

Data dived at him, not caring if he broke the

man's ribs if he deflected his aim. The

weapon missed Troi, but struck Thralen a

glancing blow to the head, connecting with one of his

antennae. The Theskian collapsed forward onto

Troi,

  red blood spurting over his yellow hair and

blue skin. Gasping in pain and clutching his middle,

the Konor fell on top of them.

Worf's phaser hummed, and he strode over

stunned Konor to the scene, as Riker, face

white, converged from the other direction. And in the moment

of stillness when the away team all stopped, the

transporter found its fix and beamed them up.

  Thralen's assailant came with them. The moment

he congealed on the platform, he tried to raise his

bloodstained weapon again-but Worf fired, and the

Konor collapsed, stunned.

  "We've got them aboard, Captain,"

O'Brien reported. Data slapped his combadge.

"Doctor Pulaski to the transporter

room-emergency!" He pulled his tricorder from its

holster, and knelt down by Thralen's side.

  At the same time, Commander Riker was bending over

Counselor Troi, who had fallen as soon as the

transporter beam released them. "Deanna!" he

cried out.

  Blood caked on her fair skin, and stained her

uniform a deeper wine color.

  "I'm all right," she said. "But Thralen . .

."

  Worf moved the unconscious Theskian off her

while Data continued to scan his vital signs.

Thralen was fading fast. Data slapped his

combadge again. "Dr. Pulaski," he ordered, "you

will require Theskian life support-stat!

Please hurry, for if we lose him--"

  Data left the last words unspoken: they all

knew

  what it would mean if the faltering heartbeat stopped

entirely. A Theskian was not to be

resuscitated. His people believed the soul left the

body at that moment, and could not return even if the

body were revived. "Do not die, Thralen," Data

whispered. "We are back on the ship. You are

safe. Hang on!"

  Again he felt that odd disorientation, the feeling he

had had on Elysia's sacred isle that somehow this

event had happened before. The doors slid open

to admit Dr. Pulaski and two assistants, with

an antigrav medibed.

  "He is still alive!" Data reported.

  "Good," Pulaski said in her brisk way.

"Let's keep him that way." They hurried

Thralen to sickbay, while other medics carted off

the unconscious Konor, Data, Troi,

Worf, and Riker followed.

  The Konor quickly recovered from the phaser stun.

Despite his broken ribs, on which healing

rays were already at work, Pulaski had placed him in

a restraint field.

  Picard was already there, asking anxiously about

Thralen. "He will recover completely," the CMO

said, much to Data's relief. "The scalp wound was

superficial, and there is no concussion or brain

damage, but a bruise to a Theskian's antenna

is extremely painful. That's what put him

into shock, but he's stable now. He's sleeping, but

he'll be up and around tomorrow."

  The captain turned as the rest of the away team

entered. He took in Troi's disheveled

appearance and asked, "Counselor, are you well enough

to work?"

  "Yes, Captain, although I don't know what I

can do.

  "See if you can get through to this man, one-onone."

  "You've done it with me, Deanna," Riker

reminded her, "and I'm not telepathic at all."

  "Nor am I," Worf added, "but on the

planet I also heard these Konor inside my

head."

  "They are broadcast telepaths," said Troi.

"They do not seem to be receptive, like

Betazoids."

  "Try," Riker urged her. "Here, in

private, without a crowd to drown you out, you may be

able to reach him."

  By this time the Konor was groggily looking around.

Dr. Pulaski moved toward him, saying, "You are

in our medical unit. We're not going to hurt you-was

  Ikonor animals! I understand your primitive

noises, but, thank Providence, the Konor

communicate soul to soul. You may be powerful enough

to kill me, but you are soulless beings who will never

defeat us. But Dr. Pulaski was undaunted.

"We'll leave the state of our souls to the

theologians. Right now we are trying to communicate.

I'm Dr. Pulaski. Will you tell us your name?"

  Konor have no need of names. We identify one

another by the essence of our souls.

  Troi stepped forward. "Let me see what I

can do." Data could see her concentrating, but he

couldn't receive any thoughts she might be transmitting.

  He glanced at Riker, saw him smile

proudly at Troi. Captain Picard looked

surprised, then pleased. Pulaskismiled. Worf

almost allowed a smile, then caught himself and took

up his most military stance.

  Obviously Counselor Troi had

managed to communicate with all of them. But there was no

response from the Konor.

  After a long attempt, Troj turned away,

pale and trembling from her efforts. Dr.

Pulaski's tests of the Konor's responses

showed that he understood what was spoken aloud, but did

not receive the Counselor's efforts to reach him, any more

than Data did.

  So Troi tried a different approach, speaking

aloud. "How can you claim we have no souls if we

can understand you?"

  The soulless recognize our state. It is their

own they refuse to accept.

  Commander Riker asked, "What would prove to you that

we are as much people as you are?"

  Any among you who can respond soul to soul are

recognized as Konor. We have rescued many from

among the 1konor.

  "That is what was happening with those children we saw in the

scans," Data realized. "They were separating out

any telepaths among the Dacket children, and making

slaves of the others."

  Troi asked, "If we can find someone who can

communicate with you, "soul to soul' as you put it, would

you deal with that person as an equal?"

Certainly. Providence may have created Konor

among other races than the Samdians. We would

welcome contact with them. So they began trying

everyone aboard the Enterprise with a high ESP

rating, but none could reach the Konor.

  The Konor stared defiantly. This is

nonsense. No one is both Konor and Ikonorcom

We have proof of who 337

  and what we are. Providence provides.

Dacket is ours by right, as (okarn was and Gellesen

will be.

  At that, Captain Picard called a halt.

"We're wasting our time. Prepare that man to be

returned to his home planet."

  "Captain," said Data, as what he had stored

up over the past several hours as raw data

suddenly took on a significant pattern.

"Please do not send him back yet.

  "Why not?" Picard asked. "We're not going

to persuade him that he and his kind are not masters of the

universe by divine right. Our only hope, and it is

a slim one, is to scour the galaxy for telepaths

who somehow might succeed where the ones aboard this ship

have failed. In the meantime-was "That will not work," Data

said. "What the Konor have developed is

not telepathy."

  Everyone in the crowded sickbay stared at him.

Pulaski frowned. "Data, we all heard

everything this man said to us, although he did not speak

aloud. He is a broadcast telepath."

  "That is how I know, Doctor," Data said.

"I should have realized it the moment we beamed down

to Dacket. I could not perceive Counselor Troi's

at- tempts today, for an android can receive only

emanations that have a physical component detectable

to his sensors. The Konor's means of communication

cannot be telepathy-because I hear everything they project

just as clearly as the rest of you."

  CAPTAIN PICARD and Commander Riker adjourned

with Data to the nearest briefing room. Data

called in Chief Engineer La Forge to help with his

plan. "What the Konor must do is transmit their

thoughts on a frequency common to both your sense

organs and my sensors," he explained. "If we

can trace that frequency, Geordi and I can build

a transmitter-and we shall all be able to communicate

with the Konor."

  "As will the Samdians," Riker said with a pleased

grin. "Data, I don't know what we'd do without

you! We'd never have guessed what the

Konor have isn't ordinary telepathy."

  Picard's mouth thinned in a moment's pain at the

thought. "We might have been forced to abandon them to their

fate-and the tender mercies of the sharks drawn here by the

bloodbath. Thank God you are what you are, Mr.

Data. You and Mr. La Forge get to work on that

transmitter as fast as you can. Until we can reach

the Konor's minds, they will continue their

destruction."

  Finding the frequency, however, was easier said than

done. "I don't understand," Geordi complained.

"Why can't your diagnostics tell you what

frequency you are receiving the Konor's

transmissions on?" "Geordi," Data

explained for the third time, "my diagnostics say

there is no transmission. They detect nothing,

yet I hear the Konor as clearly as you do."

  "Then maybe it's telepathy after all," said his

friend. "Medical tests can't detect telepathy,

either."

  Nor could either Geordi's or Dr.

Pulaski's most delicate instruments tell what

it was that Data-Or the rest of the crew for that

matter-received from the Konor.

  So close to a solution, Data felt

his failure very strongly. He spent hours listening

to the Konor as he focused on one set of interior

sensors after another, determined to discover how he could

hear something that had no detectable physical

manifestation.

  Meanwhile, the Konor on the planet below

continued their conquest, killing or enslaving all but those

few who were able to return the mental communication. The

ones who, as they saw it, had souls. "Perhaps the

Konor are right," Data said. He and Geordi

had come to Ten-Forward to "drown their sorrows," as

the engineer had put it. "Perhaps they do speak with the

voice of the soul."

  "Then we just have to answer the same way,"

Geordi said firmly. "1 am not the one to answer,

then," Data said. "If souls exist-was "Data."

It was Thralen, just released back to active duty

after his injury. The Theskian took the stool next

  to his. "Don't let the Konor distract you with

their misinterpretation of their telepathic powers.

They've got it exactly backward, can't you

see?" "No, I cannot," Data admitted.

  "Can the ship's computer detect the Konor's

telepathic transmissions?" Thralen

asked.

  "No, of course not," Geordi said.

  "We do not know that, Geordi," Data pointed

out. "We have not tested that possibility."

  Geordi shook his head. "The computer would tell

us about the transmissions-unless," he snapped his

fingers, "unless it interpreted them as conversations not

addressed to it!"

  Data nodded. "Excuse us, Thralen-but we have

work to do." He climbed down off his stool.

  "And I'm coming with you," the Theskian insisted,

following then out the door.

  The Konor, healed of his minor injuries, had

been moved to the brig. Worf had left standing

permission for Data to interview him at any time, so

there was nothing to hamper their experiment. In half an

hour they had verified that the ship's computer indeed could

not receive the Konor's transmissions.

  What is the point of all this? he asked them.

Do you think to manufacture mechanical souls?

  The sarcastic question made Thralen smile, but

Data was distracted by another of those odd moments of

dgja vu. There was definitely something odd about his

memory circuits, ever since Elysia.

  They returned to Ten-Fore, and found an

animated discussion in progress. Worf and Riker

were teamed up against Dare and his gang. The news was not

good. Starfleet reported Ferengi and Waykani

ships on course to the Samdian Sector. 341

  "If we don't give the Sarndians help,"

Dare was saying, "they'll accept it from those who will do

so."

  "It's an internal conflict," Riker added.

"The moment we found that out, our hands were tied."

  "Ours are not," Dare said.

  "What can you do?" Worf asked. "Two small

ships, eight people? If you had time, you might be able

to equip the Samdians with weaponry, train them

to fight. But there is no time. The Ferengi will be here

within four days." "The Samdians have space

flight, even if it is subwarp," Dare replied.

"In four days the children of the remaining free people of

Dacket could be refugeed to Gellesen. So could a

good portion of the adults, perhaps all of them."

  "So you would have them run," Worf said. "How long

before the Konor attack Gellesen?"

  "Not quickly, once they realize what they are

likely to get for their trouble." For the first time since

they had rescued the Silver Paladin at

Elysia, Data saw in his friend's eyes

the old hard look born of years of disillusionment.

The shuttered face, the hard set of the mouth, bespoke

a man who knew life to be solitary, poor,

nasty, brutish, and short, but who refused to bow before

that knowledge.

  "Oh?" the Klingon demanded. "You would leave

traps behind, then." "Certainly," Dare replied.

"Nuclear weapons are easy to build. The

Konor want ready-built cities, cleared and

cultivated agricultural land, industry and

technology in place for them to take over without

effort. Stop giving it to them! Destroy the cities

with weapons that will leave them and the land around them

contaminated for generations to come. Contaminate 342

  the fields so nothing will grow. Teach the Konor that

if they try again to kill their fellows and steal what

they have built, their efforts will win them only scorched

and blasted territory, and many of their own dead in the

process."

  Data was an android. He was not supposed to have

physiological reactions to emotion, yet although his

hands were clasped before him on the table, he saw his

fingers twitch spasmodically at Dare's words.

"And would you have the Samdians use the same

strategy on Gellesen?" he asked.

"No," Dare replied. "The Konor must be left

thinking they would, to give us time to make plans and

train people. Dacket is as good as lost-if it must be

let go, make the Konor pay a high price for

it. But on Gellesen the Samdians must take a

stand or lose everything. We will teach them guerrilla

tactics. If the Konor should succeed in taking

any part of Gellesen, they must never be allowed

to feel secure, never know when an attack will come,

a bomb go off."

  "That's terrorism!" Geordi exclaimed.

  "Against self-righteous murderers who would kill the

Samdians and take their children into slavery? What would

you have them do, Mr. La Forge? Surrender? You

saw what that got them on Dacket: mass

slaughter." Geordi got up. "There has to be

another answer. We can't leave murder, slavery,

and terrorism as the only options. Data-was "I

know, Geordi. We must continue trying

to duplicate the frequency on which the Konor

transmit. But there is no reason to expect me

to be able to do it any better than you can."

  "No," objected Thralen. "You are the only

one with 343

  a chance, Data. There are too many

differences between one of us and the ship's computer for us ever

to find the right one. Look for the difference between you and the

computer."

  "Thralen's right," Geordi said as they walked

to Data's quarters. "Let's try to reason it out.

If the computer can't detect the transmissions,

chances are you're not doing it with inorganic

components."

  "But most of my organic structure is no more

than nutritive fluids," Data said, sitting in

the armchair at an angle to Geordi, who had

chosen the couch. "It is not a sensing device any more

than your blood is. The answer has to lie in the

organicstinorganic interface in the anterior

cortex of my positronic brain."

  Geordi sighed. "It figures. The mystery that

died with Dr. Soong." "Or disappeared with him,"

Data corrected. "There is no actual record

of his death."

  "Either way, we don't have him here to ask. But

Data, we do at least know, physically, where that

interface is located."

  "It is the one thing I cannot allow even you to touch,

Geordi. I am sorry. If it were damaged, I

could lose . . . everything."

  "No, Data, I'm not suggesting that 1 do

anything. You don't have to touch that disarea to isolate

its sensations."

  "I cannot isolate them," Data replied.

  "What? Why not?"

  "It is my . . . my mind, Geordi. Not my

brain, which has a number of separate memory and

program storage areas. This is one way in which we

are alike. I share memory storage and computation

capacity with 344

  computers. With humans I share the ability

to think. Can you isolate which area of your brain you think

with?"

  "No, but you've just described exactly what

we're looking for. Never mind that you can't physically

locate it. You can still use it."

  "Yes."

  "You're the Sherlock Holmes fan: after everything

else is eliminated, what is left that is

possible, no matter how improbable?" "I

detect the signals with something my brain has in

common with yours, but that the ship's computer is lacking,"

Data responded. "It does not receive the usual

sorts of telepathy. Surely telepathy such as

Vulcans and Betazoids project goes

directly to the mind." He frowned. "I have just

contradicted myself. If I were receiving the Konor

transmission directly to my mind, then I would

perceive other forms of broadcast telepathy the same

way. So what the Konor have is not telepathy."

  "Then it's a physical emanation," Geordi

said. "Detection is no problem; we can all do that.

But how do we duplicate it?" "By discovering the

receptor and reversing it," Data said.

"Eliminate direct mind reception, eliminate

sensory reception, and . . . the receptor must be

the interface."

  "And the difference between you and us lowly humans,

Data, is that you have conscious control of all parts of

your body."

  "Theoretically. I have no consciousness of that

interface."

  "Well, theoretically, then. Just try to switch

over from "receive' to "send.""

  "You are suggesting that I try to stop operating with

an . . . open mind?"

  Geordi grinned. "Jokes under stress, eh?

You are getting human, Data." He sobered.

"You're constructed so you can't harm yourself, aren't you?"

"That could be the reason I am not aware of the

interface. But then, the effect could be a necessary

consequence of sentience. All right-I shall try."

  Data sat back in his chair, so that he could

focus all his awareness, even that small portion

usually reserved for keeping his body balanced. Although

he could call up information from sensors all around it,

he had no sense that the interface was there. He

remembered the first time BruceeaMaddox had examined

him, how he had tried to explain this very lack of

awareness, and thus his inability to tell the man how the

linkage worked.

  He had been far less articulate in dealing with

humans in those days, before his experiences at

Starfleet Academy and later working with such a

variety of fellow crew members in space.

Looking back on it now, he could almost see why

Maddox had decided he was not a sentient being. After

repeating several times that he had no sensory

apparatus capable of isolating the interface, he

had finally attempted an analogy. "Humans have

a blind spot in either eye, was he pointed out, "where the

optic nerve is attached to the retina. his

  "Yes, that is so, was Maddox agreed.

  "Yet you are not aware of it. When you look out of

only one eye, you perceive a complete

field of view. There is no blank space, as it

were, where the blind spot is. his

  "That's true, was Maddox acknowledged.

  "So it is with my lack of sensors to the

interface: 1 have no perception that they are missing.

his

  He wondered now if the mystery thus left as

to his operation was what had tempted Maddox into the

further study of positronics. Then he put the

thought aside, recognizing it as a form of

procrastination. Geordi was right: he did fear

tampering with a part of himself he did not fully understand.

But there were lives at stake. The Konor would never

listen to anyone who could not communicate by the method

they thought to be soul to soul.

  Data understood the structure of the filament links

to his anterior cortex, but not the theory behind their

function. Theoretically, they could not function as they

did, because of the electron resistance . . . and yet

they did function. Would that the interaction between his

organic and inorganic components were as simple as

that between matter and antimatter! He and Geordi had

intended, before encountering total frustration, to build a

transmitter that could be hooked into the universal

translator. Then any emissaries the

Federation sent could communicate with the Konor. But there

was no way to modify an organic brain to send as

well as receive on a particular frequency.

  Could a positronic brain be so modified?

  Either kill me or let me go!

  It was the Konor, in the brig, his thoughts so

emphatic that they carried throughout the ship. Data

realized that he addressed Worf, who was making a

routine inspection.

  Data tried to analyze how he had received the

transmission, but he could not trace synapses,

chemical 347

  changes, anything. What receptors had he

used, where there apparently were none?

  Send me back to my home. If you are going

to kill us, let me die with my own people.

  No, thought Data, we do not want to kill you.

But if he could not find the solution, someone would have

to kill the Konor or else imprison an entire

society, to stop them from slaughtering innocent people.

How do I reach you? he wondered.

  If there had been circuits, he could have reversed

them. If the transmission had been a beam or

wave, he could have duplicated it. But it just came

at him.

  Let me go!

  Wait.

  The Konor's thoughts had not intruded on him before,

nor had anyone else mentioned it. Data had gone

close to him to test his reception. The transmission

was usually limited to a small area around the

Konor, but now the man was mentally "shouting," as it

were.

  He "listened" for the Konor to communicate again.

He had stopped "shouting." Data strained to

"hear" . . . You will learn, eventually. And then

something that faded away as the man became resigned

once more. But in straining to "hear," Data sensed

the activity of one of his semantic interpreters.

It was not within the filament links, but fed information to them.

If it fed information one direction- He sat up.

"I believe I have found it."

  Geordi smiled, and followed as Data went

to his computer and called up his own schematics.

"Herethis is the receptor that transfers what the

Konor sends to my positronic brain.

Geordi, it does not 348

  matter how my mind works at all. If we

modify this receptor to send as well as receive, as

long as I can formulate thoughts I can send

them to the Konor."

  But the receptor was not a circuit, like the ones in

most of Data's body. It was a tiny plasma

electrode, its charge delicately balanced

by electromagnetic activity.

  Geordi whistled. "Data, we can't mess around

with that. If we unbalance it, we might never be able

to put it right again. I don't even have tools to deal

with that kind of connection."

  "I will risk it," Data said. "I trust you,

Geordi."

  "Absolutely not," his friend said. "Only the man

who built you knows how that thing works. And don't

tell me it's okay because you know-with that part out you

wouldn't be able to tell me how to fix you!"

"Geordi-think of all the lives at stake. We

have to try."

  "No," Geordi said emphatically. "You might

as well ask me to perform brain surgery on the

captain. But . . ." he added, rubbing his chin as he

studied the screen, "we just might be able to construct

something else to connect to that plasma electrode, and

use that to transmit."

  "Yes!" Data exclaimed, seeing at once

how they might accomplish their goal without

disturbing the delicate components associated with his

positronic brain. Like that brain itself, these were

devices no one had yet succeeded in duplicating.

They fed not only into his brain, but into his

language banks as wellcircuitry well

understood since the invention of the universal

translator in the previous century.

  In moments they had the worktable spread with the tools

and spare parts Data kept on hand, and Geordi

  started in on a tentative design. There was no

way to miniaturize it to fit against Data's

positronic brain, but Geordi had no intention of

coming anywhere near that delicate area with what he

described as "these clumsy tools." His

  Instead, they opened Data's chest, where there was

room to insert the new circuit, and ran a connection

to his language synthesizer. The first several

designs they tried didn't work at all. But after

much trial and error, they got a measurable flow according

to the instrumentation.

  Geordi said, "Now it's got to work. There's no

reason it shouldn't, Data. Besides, I'm flat out

of ideas. If that thing was gonna work, it should've done

so five adjustments ago."

  Data sat at the worktable, his chest open and the

circuit board lying before him. All the connections

had been tested a dozen times; if the thing would only

work, they could tuck everything neatly into his chest

cavity, and he could go to the brig and try it out on the

Konor. Geordi, can you hear me this time?

  Data waited. There was no response. Damn!

  Geordi started. "Data? I thought I heard

something, but it was too faint to be sure. Wishful

thinking?"

  Data remembered the Konor "shouting." He

tried using more emphasis. Geordi?

  The engineer tilted his head as if he were listening for

something faint and distant. "I thought. . . Data, can

you increase the gain?" Treating the new circuit as

if it were one of his speech amplifiers, Data

increased the power to it, and triedag.geor-

  Burning shock ran through every circuit in his body.

Geordi screamed and tore off his VISOR.

  It cut off the moment shock stopped Data's

attempt to transmit. Geordi was gasping, sweat

popping out on his skin as he groped blindly for his friend.

"Data, what-?"

  The door bleeped, and they heard Riker's

voice. "Data! Are you all right?

What's going on in there?"

  "Come," Data responded automatically, and the

door slid open to reveal Commander Riker, very much out

of uniform in a short robe and bare feet, his hair

uncombed. He had obviously been wakened from a

sound sleep. Wesley Crusher, in a similar

state, arrived in moments from his quarters a little farther

down the corridor, almost colliding with Counselor

Troi, whose rooms were about the same distance in the other

direction. The captain, in black pajamas,

arrived just in time for explanations. By this time Data

had analyzed the event. "It was not pain,

Geordi," he explained. "It was electronic

feedback. I am sorry. I did not know that was

going to happen."

  Realizing that what he had felt was not his VISOR

overloading, Geordi put it back on.

  Wesley came over to the table and studied the

device they'd constructed. "Wow!" he said.

"You've built a thought transmitter into Data!"

It was not, unfortunately, that simple.

  If they could have built a plasma electrode like

Data's own receptor, it would have taken almost no

power to operate. The circuit Geordi had

built, however, required at least fifty

times as much power as a 351

  speech amplifier-and when Data tried to send at

a level people could perceive, it created a power feedback

that Data experienced as agonizing pain.

  He made no objection to calling it that; it went

far beyond "unpleasant," as he normally described

the sensations he received as malfunction warnings.

  There was actually nothing wrong with the transmission

circuit; it simply required too much power to do

a job associated with components of the greatest

sensitivity. Unless they could duplicate or invent

a device something like the plasma electrodes

surrounding Data's organicstinorganic

interface, Data. could not transmit words without at

the same time transmitting excruciating pain.

  Which made his communicating with the Konor hopeless,

and all the more frustrating because they had come so close.

  "You did the best you could," Captain Picard

told Geordi and Data when they reported their

failure the next day. He sat down behind his

desk, tugging the front of his uniform down. The

gesture, a habit from the days when Starfleet

uniforms were two-piece outfits, indicated the

captain's frustration. "I'll report

to Starfleet, and you keep working. You may

yet invent something to do the job."

  "Not before the Ferengi get here," Geordi said

grimly, "and the rest of the galaxy after them."

  "Darryl Adin and his gang are already here,"

Data added. "They have stayed aboard at my

request, Captain, while we tried to find a

solution. But if Starfleet removes the

Enterprise, they will try to help the Samdians."

  "And I can't blame them," Picard said.

"Geordi-was 352

  "I'm sorry, Captain," said the chief

engineer. "Even Data doesn't understand the

construction of his plasma electrodes. Their

design is completely alien."

  "They may be of a design alien to any we know,"

Data added. "Considering Dr. Soong's

reputation, and the fact that there are times in his life that

are unaccounted for, it is possible that he did not

invent those components, but obtained them elsewhere. I

know now that they are essential to my existence; without

them, every communication between my mind and my body would be

as painful as trying to use the mental transmission

circuit." "If I could only figure a way

to get around that pain," Geordi said sadly.

  "Get. . . around it?" Data asked.

  "Prevent it," Geordi interpreted. "But

nothing I know channels less power than-was

  "No, Geordi," Data said, "get around the

pain. Captain, I must experiment. You may wish

to be out of range."

  Picard looked up from staring at the tabletop. "You

think you know a way to transmit without pain?"

  "If I can block it, and just let the thought through.

We do not know what thought is, for you, me, or the

Konor. But I know what the pain is: excess

power overloading delicate sensors."

  "I don't understand," Geordi said. "You need that

power to transmit strongly enough for anyone to receive you."

  "Yes, but-was Data concentrated, allowing the power

flow to increase to a painful level while diverting

equal energy from his other systems. It met the power

  searing his nerves as he projected, Captain

Picard, Geordi-can you hear me?

  "Data!" the captain exclaimed.

  "How did you do that?" Geordi demanded.

  Data spoke aloud, as it was too painful

to continue the mental transmission. "I was right; thought

exists in some form we cannot measure. I diverted

power from my other systems in resonance with that

going through the transmitter circuit. Harmonic

damping, Geordi. The pain is damped out; the thought

is not."

  "Then it didn't hurt you?" Geordi asked.

  "That is . . . I believe the expression is the

"fly in the ointment." The damping must be done after

the power is used to boost the "loudness' of the thought to a

perceptible level. I cannot escape experiencing the

pain, but I can prevent it from obscuring the

message."

  "Oh, Data," the captain murmured.

  "I'm so sorry," Geordi said, with sorrow in

his voice. "When I said you had to experience pain

to understand what it means to be human, I never meant

anything like this!"

  "I shall be all right," Data said.

  "Will you?" asked his friend. "Do you know what I saw

happen, Data? Whether it's from the pain or from

damping the power, you lost your halo, my friend. For that

moment you looked to me just like any other human."

"Perhaps," Data said, "that is a . . . good omen.

I shall go and communicate with our Konor guest in the

brig. If that is successful, then I shall go down

to the planet."

  "Data," Captain Picard said,

"we've been concentrating on creating a

transmitter-but not on what we 354

  would say once we were able to communicate. Commander

hiker is skilled in diplomacy-"

  "Captain," Data said, "the Konor will listen

only to the person who can communicate with them mentally.

As I cannot confer the ability on anyone else, I

will have to beam down alone. And I know what I shall

say. Is it not obvious?"

  DATA FOUND IT pitifully easy to fool the

Konor in the Enterprise brig into accepting him.

When he transmitted his first words without speaking, the

man leaped up and embraced him wordlessly.

  Through the lingering haze of pain caused by his

transmission, Data forced a smile.

  My brother.

  The Konor answered with a smile of his own. We

knew Providence might have created Konor among

other beings, but you are the first we have discovered.

  Then, to Data's relief, he began speaking

aloudfor of course the security guards outside the

cell could "hear" every word of mental conversation. "My

brother, can you help me escape from the Ikonor you

dwell among?" "I can," Data nodded. "I am

third in command of this ship. As I outrank

everyone except the captain and the first officer, no one

will question my orders."

  The man did not question Data's willingness to leave

the ship, assuming that he was in the midst of

  the same wonderful discovery each Konor knew

when he became capable of speaking mind to mind-or as

they saw it, soul to soul. "I wondered why you came

back to study me so often-you must have felt our kinship

under Providence. You must tell me of your people. Do

they dwell far away?" "Very far," Data told

him, remembering a lesson taught him by Tasha

Yar when she was Enterprise security chief,

preparing those officers who would most often form away

teams.

  "When you must lieea"...she had said, "keep it

simple. Don't make up involved stories.

Often part of the truth-that which pleases your listener--will

satisfy him, and you won't actually have to lie at

all."

  Data had depended heavily on that advice ever

since, and now found it working once again with the Konor.

  None of the people they passed along the way 'questioned them,

though only the guards at the door and Chief

O'Brien knew the plan. The transporter chief

played his role well, questioning Data's

intent to beam down with the prisoner, but backing off when

told it was "Captain's orders."

  They materialized in the same square where the

away team had been attacked, but this time Data's

companion led the way up the steps to the building which

housed the Konor Council of Elders. Data

easily proved his ability to communicate, although he

kept his statements brief. It was getting no

easier to concentrate through the excruciating pain which he

must not allow to be broadcast with his words.

  Luckily, the Council members were as easy

to convince as the first Konor had been.

  We are not alone! exclaimed their leader, who

  was hardly an "elder" in the usual sense. In

fact, none of the Council appeared to be much beyond

middle age.

  Before someone they regarded as an equal, the

Konor spoke--or rather mentally

projected-freely. They wanted to know all about

Data, his people, what planet he came from. He

gave them as few facts as possible, "letting

slip" that he had a brother whose whereabouts were unknown so

as to allow them to assume he came from what they would

consider a normal family. For the most part

he countered their questions with questions of his own, and learned that

the discovery of a Konor of a race far different from

theirs only confirmed their beliefs.

  Unsurprisingly, the Konor "revelations" were

rooted in beliefs shared by all the Samdians. They

knew little of other cultures, because of their isolationist

political and economic policies, but they were

aware that the galaxy held many beings physically

different from themselves yet with intelligence equal to their

own.

  When the Konor developed their unique mental

broadcasting, they were naturally drawn to those they could

communicate with. Thralen had surmised

correctly: As the numbers of Konor grew, the

ordinary Samdians began first to be uneasy about

them, then to fear them. Prejudice spread.

Tolerance dropped to nil, however, when the Konor

declared new interpretations of certain passages in

Samdian teachings: intelligence and self-awareness

were not enough. The ordinary Samdians were wrong in

believing they had souls; the true Konor had come

into existence among them only now, displaying

absolute 358

  proof of their ensoulment to Konor and Ikonor

alike. It was difficult, they agreed,

to realize that people one loved were mere soulless beings-but that

was the test Providence placed upon them. Data's

presence was proof that they were rightly interpreting what

Providence required of them. He must display his

ability publicly, and be welcomed into their company

before the multitudes.

  As that was exactly what Data wanted, he was

perfectly willing to comply. Unfortunately, it would

take several hours to spread the word, so that as many

Konor as possible could gather to witness the

ceremony. Forced to respond "soul to soul" to a

barrage of questions and comments, he found the constant

bursts of pain becoming intolerable. He might be able

to contain his reactions, as a human could not, but

despite the assurance of his diagnostics that his

systems were thus far undamaged, he felt as if his

circuits were burning out, one by one.

  The agonizing sensations slowed Data's conscious

thinking. It was not until he was invited to a feast in

celebration of his arrival that he found a way

to obtain a few hours of relief: No-I must rather

fast and meditate. Is there a place I can be

alone?

  It was the right thing to say. Respect flowed from his

hosts, and Data was shown to a small

room, presumably a chapel, although he was not

familiar with the symbols on its walls and what

appeared to be an altar. Although he correctly

assumed there would be none, he checked for listening

devices before tapping his combadge to give the

Enterprise a brief progress report. "It will

be a very public ceremony," he 359

  explained. "I will keep this channel open so you can

hear, and you can scan the coordinates visually."

  "Good work, Data," Captain Picard said.

"However, we are pressed for time. Waykani and

Ferengi vessels will be here within ten hours." "The

ceremony is in four," Data said. "If my

plan works, I will try to persuade the Konor

to negotiate with the other Samdians, and accept

Starfleet personnel as mediators."

  "Yes," Picard agreed. "That, and the presence

of the Enterprise, should be enough to deter any action by the

Waykani or Ferengi. It's all on your

shoulders, Data. Good luck."

  "Thank you, sir," Data replied, and cut

communication. All on his shoulders. He did not

want to calculate the probabilities; with the

Waykani and the Ferengi ready to rival one another

in offering their services, out here so close

to the Romulan Neutral Zone, interplanetary

war was virtually unavoidable.

  But worry was a waste of time and energy, so Data

spent his time rehearsing his plan, attempting

to create a flowchart of possible scenarios. He

knew there could be omissions: sentient organic beings

were simply not predictable. No matter how he

rehearsed possibilities, when it came time for

action, he would have to . . . improvise. Finally

Data was led out onto the steps of the Council

Building, facing a crowd of thousands. They stood in

the square, and massed at windows in surrounding

buildings. Throughout the lands of the Konor, the Elders

assured him, other Konor were waiting for those gathered

here to send the proceedings soul to soul.

  The Chief Elder introduced Data, who told

them simply, I bring you greetings.

  Overwhelming welcome and joy poured over him.

He understood why the Konor found it easy

to recruit those they wanted to their side-if it were not

for the pain of communicating in return, it would be

remarkably easy to allow these people to take him into their

company. But he reminded himself of two facts: when

faced with people who would not accept abject slavery, these

kind and gentle people turned into ruthless

killers; and their welcome was so joyful because they did

not yet understand what he was. The Chief Elder was

continuing, We welcome the first Konor we have

discovered not born among our own people. The grace of

Providence is here demonstrated, for he dwells

among Ikonor, as we do, and knew not of his state

until a Brother of our souls discovered him toiling

in the service of the soulless.

  As the Konor they had captured had asserted,

no names were used. Data was already catching the nuances

in tone; the reference to the Konor who had been

returned to them carried with it something of both the man's

mental "voice" and the determination of his character. It was

odd, though, to "hear" in references to Data himself

not only a shadow of his speaking voice but a sense

of... innocence?

  That could not mean they knew what he was, could it?

Was Dr. Pulaski right that he gave away his

mechanical nature with every word or act? But no,

if the Konor knew what Data was, surely

artificial would come through in the way they thought of him.

They were not at a technological level to conceive of

an android of his sophistication; they simply

accepted his pale skin and different body 361

  movement as characteristic of the race he came

from. So long as they did not guess what he was before

he was ready to show them, Data's plan had a chance.

It had to work. With time pressing, there was no chance for

an alternate plan if he failed. The Chief

Elder invited Data to step forward, comand remove the

barriers between yourself and your brothers and sisters. As

Providence sees all, we disguise nothing.

Hide not your body from Providence, nor from those who

perceive your soul.

  Data had no innate body modesty, but had

learned in his twenty-seven years among humans a

variety of meanings to being clothed or unclothed. Here

nudity was the norm, so he removed his boots, then

peeled off the rest of his Starfleet-issue clothing,

carefully laying it so that his combadge, with its open

channel, was unimpeded in its function. There was

curiosity, but no prurient interest in his anatomy

from the watching crowd. He had deliberately not

resealed the synthoskin tilde of his chest after he and

Geordi installed the thought transmitter, but as his

skin was all of one color the lines would not show from a

distance, and up close appeared to be either thin scars

or natural markings. No one paid them any

attention. The Konor were obviously more interested in

what they thought was his soul than in his body.

  If only they were not so terribly wrong in the

interpretation of their mental communication!

  The crowd again sent warm thoughts to Data.

Welcome, Brother of our souls!

  But then the Council of Elders continued, We are

Konor, created by Providence to have dominion over

  the land, the water, the plants, the animals, and the

Ikonor. We would gladly care for the Ikonor and

treat them well if only they would accept that they are

soulless beings provided as our servants.

Providence guide them to truth! responded the

gathered crowd. The Chief Elder turned to Data.

Brother of our souls, you have brought us a great

opportunity. You hold much influence with the Ikonor

who inhabit the great ship you came in. Do they

accept their role? Are they the servants of the

Konor of your race?

  Here it comes, Data thought, and turned to face the

gathered multitude. No, my colleagues aboard

the Enterprise are not my servants, nor am I

theirs, Data responded, and pushed on before they could

ask him to take over the ship for them, as he knew

without any mind-reading would be their ultimate demand.

The people on the Enterprise are my friends.

But we are your brothers and sisters, the crowd

replied, giving Data the perfect opening.

  Are you? The rapid-fire transmissions hardly

let one wave of pain ebb before another began, but

he forced himself to go on. Am I Konor? You

speak to us, soul to soul.

  But I am not one of you.

  Providence provides. Wherever we go, we will

meet our brothers, like you.

  But the way Providence provides-it is the

work of Ikonor that is provided for your use? As the

catechism continued, Data's sensors warned him that

the transmitter was overloading. There was not only

pain, but the danger of real damage.

  Our use, brother. You are one of us, the Konor

answered his last question.

  Even though 1 am different?

  You are different only in body. In soul you are

one of us. But that which is made by Ikonor, that is

property, Data persisted through the static of pain,

striving to turn the litany in the direction he needed

before his transmitter shorted out entirely. Ours,

to do with as we wish, as are the Ikonor. Then,

Data said, sliding fingers into the unsealed seam down

his chest and pulling it open, what am I?

  There was sudden mental silence, then surprise,

and the transmission from those close by to those farther back

in the crowd of Data exhibiting not a gruesome

view of heart, lungs, alimentary tract, but

diodes, circuits, memory boards, sensory

mesh, and conduits for his organic fluids. Amidst

all that, the telepathic transmitter sprouted the

connectors that Data's sensors warned him were

overheating. He. dishad to cut his dramatic

demonstration short, or risk damage that could disable

him. The moment's respite from pain was delicious

relief, but Data had no choice but to go on. Am

I Konor? he demanded again.

  Yes!

  But I am not a man. I am a machine. I

was not born, like you. I was built. You claim what

is built by Ikonor is property. Searing heat

threatening to short him out at any moment, so he

played his trump. I was built by those you call

Ikonor.

  Confusion and shock went through the crowd, but 364

  they were accustomed to demand proof of the mind, not the

body. We touch your soul. You are Konor.

  What did it take to convince them?

  Data did not project that thought, but

even though he had stopped transmitting, his pain

did not subside. The overloaded transmitter was

generating excess heat now even when not in use. Is

that the only proof of the soul?

  Yes.

  Can a soul be manufactured?

  Inarticulate confusion: they could not comprehend such

a question. Data grasped the transmitter and pulled

it from his body, careful not to pull the connections

loose as he removed it from the vicinity of the

delicate components it had threatened. It burned his

hand, but he ignored the warnings of the delicate

sensors in his fingers. This, he said, is a thought

transmitter. A friend and I built it, and installed

it in me. This is what gives me the power

to communicate with you. Is it a soul?

  Horror ran through the crowd, followed by anger.

You mock us! 1 show you truth. You have the ability

to transmit in a way any sentient being can receive.

Perhaps reception is proof of sentience, but the

ability to transmit proves nothing more than a

mutation particular to your species.

  The mental atmosphere was rife with denial--comb

no one could dispute the proof before their eyes.

  Then the realization began: if a

mechanical object could transmit soul to soul .

. . then it could not be the soul they touched in one

another.

  Anger surged toward fury. Data considered

calling for beamup. But then they might claim his

demonstration was a trick. He had to stay, let them

test him.

  The Elders closed on him. What you claim is

not possible, one of them said. You cannot be a machine!

  But I am, Data replied. The surge of

power to the transmitter melted a patch of

synthoskin in his hand, and sensors just beneath sent a

screeching protest through both Data's own

diagnostics and the transmitter they touched.

  The entire crowd gasped at the burst of agony.

You are in pain! exclaimed the Chief Elder. A

machine cannot feel pain.

  Then shut it out, as you shut out the pain of your

fellows as you kill them! Data told them.

  But we feel your pain, protested one of them,

staring in bewilderment at Data's exposed

mechanisms. How can you be a machine, and have a soul?

  How can you be a man, and believe your fellow men

do not? Data countered.

  If the Konor had held their belief for

generations, it might have been impossible to shake it,

even with Data as living-or mechanical-proof before

them. But few people in the crowd were children of Konor

parents; most of them had discovered the transmission

ability in themselves, or had it discovered by other

Konor.

  Doubt spread-and flashes of memory. Being

separated from brothers or sisters who could not

communicate mentally. Killing people like themselves, in the

firm belief that because they could not transmit their 366

  fear and pain they were soulless beings no better than

animals. Doubt. It was the best Data could hope

for. What if you were wrong? he demanded, again damping

out the pain it cost him so as not to obscure his words.

You cannot know who has a soul. I do not know if I

have one, but I can tell you this much: a soul is not

something that can be manufactured. This- he held up the

transmitter as high as the trailing connectors would

permit-is not a soul. Yet it is what allows me

to communicate with you.

  He looked into a sea of faces reflecting the

turmoil he could feel in their. minds, and pressed

on. I do not say you have no souls. All I know

is that the soul is not what your test detects. If

you will accept that those you call Ikonor are

as probable as yourselves to be ensouled, and deal with them as

equal in the eyes of Providence, the Samdians

of Dacket are willing to negotiate with you. Will you

stop your path of destruction and talk with them about

making peace?

  The advantage to dealing with a society of mental

communicators was that the scene before the Council

Building was transmitted instantaneously throughout the

Konor population; their disillusionment came all at

once, with no dispute as to what they had actually

seen. But the agreement still took time, and while the

debate raged Data removed the telepathic

transmitter connections with great relief, closed

up his chest, and put his clothes back on. The palm

of his right hand was badly burned, the transmitter

circuit fused to it in that final burst of energy; if

he had left it inside his chest it would have damaged

components far more 367

  difficult to replace and adjust than a few

diodes, some sensor mesh, and synthoskin.

  Emotions surged around him: guilt and grief,

anger and denial, and finally resignation and acceptance.

He knew the Konor answer before it was officially

brought to him, although it astonished him anyway: yes,

they would agree to make peace withand reparation

to the Samdians of Dacket, and to accept a

Starfleet mediator to help them make the treaty-but

only if that Starfleet mediator were Data.

  "I have removed the transmitter," he told

them, displaying the charred and lifeless object. "I can

no longer communicate in your way." "We can

speak," said the Chief Elder aloud, "and will do so in

the negotiations. Providence sent you to teach us a

harsh lesson, and we felt the pain it cost you to teach

it. Please-help us to make amends as best we

can." "If my Captain agrees, I am

willing," Data said, "although we have people on board

ship who specialize in diplomacy." "Ah, but

the Konor are right," Picard said when Data

contacted him. "You are the best negotiator under these

circumstances." So it was agreed, and Data

returned to the Enterprise to contact Chairman

Tichelon and set up a time and place for the

negotiations. The Dacket chairman was

flabbergasted that Starfleet had succeeded in persuading

the Konor to negotiate, but when it penetrated that

there was actually a chance to end the slaughter the man was

close to tears. Counselor Troi acted as

interpreter for the scene on the planet, which was too far

away for most of the 368 Metamorphosis

  crew to follow the mental transmissions. And

Geordi, who had been hovering at his side ever

since he'd beamed up, took hold of Data's

arm. "Sickbay for you now, Data." "I am all

right," Data assured him. "We'll let Dr.

Pulaski decide that," he said firmly.

"Let's also see if the transmitter can be

salvaged." It could not, Dr. Pulaski discovered

as she and Geordi carefully disengaged the charred and

fused component from Data's hand. It took less

than an hour to restore the parts that had been

damaged, then replace and seal up the synthoskin,

which formed itself into Data's own finger- and palmprints.

"Fascinating how it does that," Geordi said. "You

couldn't change your fingerprints and start a life of

crime." "Why would I want to?" Data asked,

flexing his hand. "If I wished to make a great deal

of money easily, I would become a "card

sharp."" Pulaski laughed. "Don't let any

Klingons in the game, then," she warned. "Hey-was

Geordi said suddenly, "that reminds me comy just lost

a bet, Doctor!" "I did?" Data could tell

Pulaski was genuinely puzzled. He had no more

idea than she did what Geordi meant until the

engineer continued, "Remember the wager that

at the next opportunity Data would attempt

to pass for human? He certainly succeeded with the

Konor!" Pulaski nodded, then smiled. "That is

one bet I am only too happy to lose." The

smile became a grin as she told Data, "What

irony! Only an android could 369 STAR

TREK: THE NEXT GENERATION

  resolve the Samdian situation, and only

by demonstrating forcefully that you are not human, after

they were firmly convinced otherwise." Data smiled

in return. For once, he completely understood the

humor. As he started to slide off the examining

table, though, Pulaski said, "Not so fast. Let's

have a look inside you." "There is no damage,"

Data assured her. "I have removed the extra

connectors, so all I need do is seal up the

skin." But Geordi, too, insisted on seeing for

himself, so Data had to lie back and let them

probe. As he lay there, Data pondered, "I still

know only what I am not. Will I ever know what I

am?" "Why not be satisfied to be yourself, Data?"

Pulaski asked. "You are unique." "But do I

have a soul?" "I don't know. It's probably

best that none of us know for certain." "Yeah," said

Geordi. "The Konor are a perfect

example of what people do when they think they have all the

answers." "But if there is a God, a

Providence, driving the universe," Data

pursued, "why would it want us to live with such

uncertainty?" "To keep us humble," Pulaski

asserted. "Data, do you know a saying that goes,

"If a man will begin with certainties, he shall end in

doubts'?" Data automatically accessed the rest:

was "But if he will be content to begin with doubts, he shall

end in certainties." Francis Bacon, of

Ancient Earth. Are you telling me to be content with

doubts?" "Look at the pattern," said Geordi.

"Those who are

  positive they know everything suppress and destroy

those who disagree. But those who know they don't know

explore and build and seek after wisdom. Stay a

seeker, Data." "I do not think I have any other

choice," Data said resignedly. "Shoo!"

Pulaski said suddenly. "Cat hairs will not

improve Data's internal workings!" It was

Mystery, who, determined to investigate, hopped up

on the table and peered into Data's open chest cavity.

A blinking diode caught her eye, and she raised

a paw to pat at it. "Hey-not so fast!"

Geordi said, picking her up. "Here,

Data-hang on to this creature till we get you

squared away." Data placed the cat on the couch

between his neck and shoulder, holding her lightly while

he petted her. She didn't struggle, but settled

down against him, and- "Listen!" Data said, leaning his

ear against the cat's soft fur. "What is it?"

Pulaski asked, turning to face him as Geordi

ran the instrument along the opening to seal his

synthoskin. "It is Mystery," he said in wonder.

"She is purring."