Chapter Text
"Forever World?" Ishta snorted. "Sounds like a theme park."
"I assure you, it is not." Data's helpful sincerity prompted a spurting giggle Ishta couldn't quite hide behind her hand. The android gave her a puzzled look, then turned his sharp gaze to Kahlestra. "But I am curious. How did you come to learn of this planet? Information regarding Forever World is classified, and for good reason. Even I required special permission from Starfleet Records to access the files, both as an academy student researching the logs of Captain Kirk's Enterprise, and while assisting Captain Picard's investigation into Dr. Galen's work."
"Guess Dr. Baker got special permission too," Kahlestra said, and ran a thumb over her scarred hand. The burns had faded considerably, save for some faint discoloration…still reminiscent of human fingers. "She thought the ancient portal Captain Kirk and his crew found in the planet's ruins, the Guardian of Forever, might have some connection to whoever built the Stairway. But Dr. Kapoor wasn't so sure, and Dr. Tu'Pari dismissed the whole thing as a myth – unless Dr. Baker could provide more evidence, he said. My mother let me write an essay about their argument for one of my homework exercises. You know, like how to separate out provable facts from unsupported rumors. I was going to show it to Dr. Baker, but…"
She glared down at her clenched fist.
Data nodded. When he spoke again, his expression seemed far more gentle. "Thank you, Kay."
"The Guardian of Forever." Doc Nathan made a grand gesture with his hands. "There's a helluva job title, eh? Bet there's no breaks. Gotta keep alert, every moment. Even a blink could be problematic."
Captain Zh'shrythaa shot him a dry look, but Data chuckled a little.
"According to Enterprise away team reports," he said, an inquisitive gleam growing in his amber eyes, "the Guardian described itself as neither being nor machine, as our civilization currently understands the terms. Its shape was like a rounded portal, capable of displaying the past. The full flow of time. Stepping through the portal could transport a person instantly to any moment, any location in our galaxy. Possibly in any dimension."
"Which, naturally, would include Nineveh IV, in the hours before the massacre," Applewood added, his folded fingers pressed to his upper lip. He lowered them and lifted his head, his eyes flicking from the android to Ishta and Kahlestra. "But, Data… Say the Guardian is real, and you and the girls were to step through… Going back, without passing through the Stairway… Wouldn't that mean…?"
"Indeed." Data grimly picked up the thread where Applewood paused. "It is likely that, by bypassing the forces inherent to the quantum tunnel we used to get here, we would remain…" He gestured a little awkwardly. "As we now appear."
"You're saying we'll still be old," Ishta said. "Not hypothetically. Forever and for real. Even back in our own time."
"There is a high probability," Data admitted.
Kahlestra glared down at her fists for a moment longer, then released a low, sharp growl.
"I said I didn't care about that, and I don't," she stated. "Stopping that massacre and saving my mother and our friends is way more important." She stared straight at each of them, her dark eyes blazing. "Even if we are killed in the attack, at least we will have tried."
"Yeah." Ishta turned her cerulean blue gaze from Kahlestra to Data, her jaw firmly set. "So what if I lose a few decades? I figure anything after that stupid Skin Dump's a bonus. Yeah, Mikey?"
Applewood regarded her and nodded slowly, a bittersweet smile creasing his face.
Data's expression warmed with pride, and he reached out, both girls reaching back over the table to give his hands a squeeze.
"Your thoughts, Captain?" the android asked.
Zh'shrythaa's antennae twitched, and she sighed.
"Very well," she allowed, and the group around the table broke into smiles. "Mr. Data, if we set course now, what would be our ETA?"
"Ah…" Data grimaced slightly. "It seems, sir, that, as the Guardian's planet is reportedly surrounded by temporal anomalies and disturbances, its exact location has never been officially charted. In fact, by its very nature, Forever World's position in spacetime – as we understand the concept – may be impossible to chart using conventional means. However…"
He cocked his head, considering.
"The route of the original Enterprise is known, up to the point they began encountering those disturbances. If we follow that course, adjusting for the movements of our galaxy over time, we should arrive in approximately fifty-eight hours, at Warp 4."
Zh'shrythaa sniffed and stood. "Make it Warp 5, then," she said.
"Aye, Captain," Data acknowledged and headed for the cockpit.
A moment later, they all felt the small shuttle move as its course changed and the engines shifted from impulse to warp.
"Deities!" Ishta groaned nauseously, and flopped hard on the room's small sofa. "Eerg… I hate this pod."
The captain's antennae twitched again and she pressed a hand to her chest. "Doc, a moment?"
"Of course." Doc Nathan grabbed his bag and followed her to the bunk room.
Kahlestra looked up at Applewood, catching his arm as he started to follow Data toward the cockpit. "Do you think she's OK?"
"I think she should have tossed this dinky shuttle at the traitors' ship, and kept the yacht for us," Ishta muttered. When Kahlestra glared at her she said, "What? It had a sickbay! And real warp drive."
"So it did," Data agreed, his return from the navigation console cutting off the argument before it could start. "But, this 'dinky pod' has neither the mass required, nor a warp core powerful enough to create the necessary explosion. Now, it is getting late and you girls must rest if you wish to be alert and helpful when we arrive at our destination."
"If it's there," Ishta grumped, her snide tone making Kahlestra glare harder.
Applewood snorted and gave Data's arm a commiserating clasp as he squeezed past him toward the pilot's seat. "They're all yours, Dad," he teased. "I'll take first watch."
Data smiled. "Much appreciated, my friend. I shall relieve you in four hours."
"Right. See you at 0100, then." The commander gave the group a playful wave, and the cockpit doors slid closed.
Data stepped between the glaring girls to approach the replicator. "Have you each chosen a sleeping berth?"
Ishta scoffed. "I'm not sliding into one of those curtained coffins."
"Then where do you plan to sleep?" Kahlestra demanded.
"What's wrong with right here?" Ishta shot back, curling herself tightly against the corner of the couch.
"Uh, this is the common room, not your personal space," Kahlestra snarled. "We're supposed to be grown-ups here, not brick-headed brats! Why can't you sleep in a cot like a person?"
Ishta glared, showing her teeth. "Maybe I prefer sitting up. Like a warrior!"
Kahlestra lunged for her, but Data tossed a blanket into her arms, and draped another over Ishta.
"We can discuss our personal traumas and preferences at another time," he said, and moved to inspect the couch. "For now, a restful sleep must be the priority. Hm…" He frowned and straightened. "I thought it might pull out, like the one in my quarters."
"It doesn't?" Kahlestra asked.
"No." Data glanced to the cockpit door. "But there is a small berth in the cockpit, so the pilot and co-pilot can sleep in shifts without disturbing the passengers. I had intended to lie there and activate my dream program until needed but, if—"
Ishta frowned. "Wait – you're going to sleep too?"
"Until my shift in the cockpit, yes."
The Orion jumped up and wrapped her blanket around her shoulders like a full-length cape. "Then, I'll stay with you. I can crouch in the corner, behind the co-pilot's seat. I won't take up any room!"
"Ishta, that is not the issue," Data started. But Kahlestra was glaring at the stubborn Orion with narrowed eyes, her lips curled in a snarl.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" she demanded. "Why are you so scared? No one here is going to attack you or—"
"That's not it!" Ishta shrieked and clenched her fists. "You don't get it at all!"
"Then, perhaps, if you explained?" Data prompted.
"ARGH!" Ishta blew out a frustrated sigh and tried to pace the compact conference room, turning swiftly back and forth, back and forth, like a tigress in a too-small cage. "It's this…this tiny pod. OK! I hate it. I hate it! Ever since we marched in here, I just… I can't stop thinking about how small it is, how small we are, and how very, very much space is out there, all around us. All that empty blackness with no air. No anything. Just more light-years and light-years of outer space, stretching out in all directions—!
"And, I'm not scared of space travel," she insisted fiercely before Kahlestra could open her mouth. "I've been on transports before, and all sorts of things. But this…!"
She spun in place near the table, unable to fully stretch out her arms, then collapsed back onto the sofa in a huddled heap. "I don't like it. I really, really don't."
"Ishta…" Data moved to sit beside her, and Kahlestra crushed in next to him, half-sitting on the sofa's arm. Ishta groaned at the unwanted invasion, but grudgingly scooted aside to allow them more room.
"You are not alone here," Data assured her. "You are…" He glanced to Kahlestra, then raised his chin and asserted, "You are with family."
"Yeah," Kahlestra leaned forward to grin at her past Data's shoulders. "The House of Soong, remember?"
Ishta groaned again, but she unfolded from her tense ball, flipping her blanket over her face as she leaned back against the sofa's stiff cushion. Her long, outstretched legs reached past the chairs and almost under the table.
"Ishta," Data said. "If I take a berth in the back, would you consent to finding a sleeping space there?"
"Depends," Ishta muttered under the blanket. "What time is it?"
"It is nearly 2130 hours."
Ishta sat up, her hair again a wild mess as her blanket slid to her lap. "I don't mean here. I mean back where we came from."
Data sighed and shook his head. "I cannot say precisely, due to the nature of our…shall we say, anomalous temporal situation. But I would estimate current local time at the Ninevehan ruins to be approximately 1630 hours."
Ishta wrinkled her nose. "So, it's only four o'clock?"
"Four-thirty. There," Data corrected. "Not here. Time is relative, my dear Ishta, and we have all had an intensely eventful day."
Kahlestra snorted. "That's for sure. Data?"
"Yes, Kay?"
The Klingon smiled up at him. "If you're going to be in the back, can I have the berth in the cockpit?"
Data smirked a slight laugh. "Only if Commander Applewood is agreeable."
The grinning Klingon jumped to her feet. "Awesome! I'll go ask him!"
Data scooted into the space she'd left to allow Ishta more room.
"Ishta?" Data tilted his head. "Aren't you feeling tired?"
The Orion wrinkled her nose, but leaned closer until her head rested against his arm. "I don't know. I hate this. But I know you're gonna say it'll be over faster if I go to sleep."
Data shrugged his eyebrows. "It may seem that way. Each individual's experience of time is unique, and distinct from standard, measured clock time. I discovered that for myself when I briefly turned off my internal chronometer to test the aphorism, 'A watched pot never boils.' But—"
"Data!" Kahlestra leaned through the cockpit's doorway. "Mikey says I can have the berth as long as I don't snore. Do I snore?"
"Like a Tellarite with a head cold," Ishta teased. Data gave her a playfully reproving nudge, and she laughed in surprise.
"Not at all, Kay," the android assured her. "Have a good night."
"Yeah, good night!" Kahlestra called back as the door slid shut. "Happy dreams!"
Data smiled fondly, and looked back to Ishta. "What do you say, my daughter? Shall we try for happy dreams?"
Ishta shrugged. "You still getting those nightmares?"
Data nodded, but his drawn expression warmed with wonder when she wrapped both arms around him and squeezed, hard.
"Can I have the cot over yours?" she mumbled into his shoulder.
"Of course," he said.
"And you'll stay there. I mean, you'll be right there, until it's your turn to be pilot?"
Data nodded, resting his head against her hair. "I promise, Ishta."
"And then I can sit in the cockpit with you?"
Data snorted a little laugh and leaned back to brush her hair back from her forehead. "We'll see."
He offered her his hand and helped her to her feet, but she didn't let go of his arm.
"Data?" she asked. "How big is outer space?"
"If you are referring to our Milky Way galaxy, it is a massive spiral, with a radius of approximately 52,850 light-years. The diameter of its stellar disk ranges from more than 100,000 to 150,000 light-years across, yet it is only some one-thousand light-years thick. Its gas disk is about 200,000 light-years across, though its dark matter halo extends to some two-million light-years. If you are referring to our observable universe, it has a diameter of about 93 billion light-years, and—"
"Data?"
Data blinked and looked at her face. "Yes, Ishta?"
"I think I can go to sleep now."
Data's eyebrows raised. "Indeed? Did I help?"
She laughed and smirked up at him. "Yeah. Creepy cold blackness – that's scary. But those numbers are too big for my nightmares to see."
"Hm?" Data made a thoughtful little noise, and gestured for her to precede him through the sliding door into the sleeping quarters.
Ishta immediately clambered into a top berth with her blanket and slid the curtain tightly closed.
Data opened the curtain to the empty berth below hers. But before climbing in, he stepped across the dim, narrow space to check in with Doc Nathan.
The old man sat on the lowest berth, opposite the unconscious captain, perusing the readings on his medical tricorder.
"Doc Nathan," Data spoke quietly, not wanting to disturb the Andorian. Even asleep, her antennae seemed rigid, and her features tense with pain. "What is the captain's status?"
The doctor kept scrolling for a moment, then set down his tricorder and sighed. "Well, the wound's spread is under control. She's stable now, and she'll likely stay that way as long as that Data Field's power cell holds out. Don't worry," he headed off Data's questions. "I brought plenty extras. But for real repairs, she's gonna need a real sickbay, and she blew up the best medical facilities we had." He snorted a dark chuckle through his nose. "Two with one blow. Wonder if that's some sorta record."
Data slid his eyes to the side. "Given the unfortunate frequency and brutality of space skirmishes, battles, and even warfare, I rather doubt it. But, Doctor, if I may inquire…?"
"Sure, go ahead."
"What is the nature of this 'Data Field' you mentioned?"
Doc Nathan's jaw dropped and he barked a scoffing laugh. "You're telling me you don't know?"
Data furrowed his brow, puzzled and a little concerned by his reaction.
"I do not. As you are aware, your captain did not allow me access to any information following the date of my 'disappearance,' as it were—"
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," the doctor gasped, fighting to get a hold on his silent, choking laughter. "It's just… You're Data, get it? The damn device is literally named after you. And you – you never even heard of—"
He choked and coughed and cleared his throat, waving the concerned android away.
"I'm fine," he said. "But surely you recall the adjustable temporal field you developed to aid young Applewood, up there." He gestured in the general direction of the cockpit. "This is just a miniaturized, personalized version of that. Your invention, made very, very small."
Data blinked, and his forehead furrows deepened. "Indeed? Do you have another? Would you… Might you allow me to see it?"
"Why not?" Doc Nathan reached in his bag and pulled out a tiny container of what looked like poppy seeds. He tapped one into the palm of his hand, then let it roll onto Data's. "There you are, Commander. One Data Field projector."
With a delicate gentleness, nearing reverence, the android lifted the miniscule device to the level of his eyes, his head tilting back and forth in amazement as he inspected it from every angle.
Doc Nathan watched the android in unfiltered fascination.
"Saved a lotta lives, that little gizmo," he said quietly. "A lotta lives. If I recall, the credit for the invention was set to go to Dr. Crusher, and that engineer who co-wrote the paper with her… Ah, yes – La Forge. But at the award ceremony, they both insisted it was all you."
"Did they?" Data sniffed and swallowed, swiftly handing the tiny device back to the doctor, who replaced it in the container, which he tucked in his bag. "That was…exceedingly kind…"
"Not at all," Doc Nathan asserted. "Credit where credit's due, I say."
Data sniffed again and rubbed his eyes, glancing at the doctor with a hint of self-depreciating humor. "Even if the inventor is, himself, a machine?"
Doc Nathan shook his head. "There's nothing wrong with that," he said. "Not unless you make it a problem."
Data snorted in surprise. "Me?"
"I've been around a long time," the doctor said. "Longer than you have, despite your looks." He leaned forward and smiled. "You're a Sherlock Holmes fan, are you not? The holo-docs say you are."
"I have not seen these 'holo-docs,'" Data said, a bit warily. "But, in that, they are correct. I do admire Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes."
"Then you must know medicine and detective work have a lot in common. Particularly, the art of observation. I've been observing you since they brought you to my sickbay and confined you to that little evaluation room. And I gotta say: you may be mechanical, Commander. But while the underlying design may differ significantly, I've noted, in practice, our systems are remarkably similar. I mean, of course you have servos, I have sinews. But I'll bet we both wince when we slam our elbow against a doorframe."
Data frowned. Something in the doctor's eyes, his expression, was similar to the looks he'd received from Dr. Julian Bashir when they first met, years ago, while the Enterprise-D had been docked at the strategically placed Federation space station known as Deep Space Nine.
Bashir served as the station's chief medical officer and, at the time, the brash young doctor had seemed almost excessively fascinated by the android. Not by his extraordinary abilities, like his speed, strength, and processing capacity. But his more subtle, even mundane functions, seeming to delight in the realization that Data breathed, and that his hair and nails could grow.
In fact, it had been while working with Bashir and Geordi in Engineering that Data had suffered the plasma shock that first unlocked his dream program. And it had been Bashir who suggested that, rather than frame the resulting unexplained 'visions' as a potential malfunction, Data should approach his diagnostic analysis from a more 'human' perspective.
With his friend in mind, Data decided to try just that.
"Perhaps," he allowed, a bit hesitantly. "Painful sensations, such as burns and lacerations, have prompted me to wince, just as you say. But regarding 'hitting one's funny bone,' I have not yet experienced—"
"You can try it on the way out, if you like," Doc Nathan joked. "Tingles and smarts like the dickens. I know – mashed my elbow when I first stepped in to this cramped little closet. 'S why it's on my mind. But I'm not just talking physicality here. I'm talking mentality too."
He tapped a finger to his head, then pointed it at Data.
"You have a mindset," the doc went on. "An outlook. A cognitive framework unique to you and your experiences. You have your own thinking patterns, while harboring a shared way of thinking with your Starfleet peers and, in a broader sense, with the zeitgeist, or spirit, of the age in which you came of age." He smiled. "In other words, Mr. Data, you are not only a man, you're man of your time and culture. No different from H.G. Wells's famous Time Traveler, Doctor Who's companions, or Mark Twain's Yankee in King Arthur's court."
Data inclined his head. "Is it truly so obvious that I am not of your time?"
"To me?" Doc Nathan pursed his lips tight and nodded. "Oh, yes. You and those girls. You seem to have this…this uplifting sort of air about you. It could be because I remember those years. The energy and optimism we shared before…well…" He sighed deeply and rubbed his hands over his face. "Maybe it's just nostalgia. But, Mr. Data…" He crooked his finger, and Data obligingly leaned in a little closer. "Tell me the truth, now," the old man whispered through a sly smile. "I understand the Orion's adopted you as her parent. But, is that young Klingon really your daughter?"
Data blinked and sat back. "I do not understand."
Doc Nathan's smirk deepened, and he sat back a little.
"I've been brushing up on my Asimov since you arrived," he said. "And I know you've been having troubling dreams. I heard you, you know, from my office. Tossing and mumbling. It might help if you share with me a bit of whatever's been eating at your mind. Strictly in confidence, of course. Patient to doctor."
Data folded his hands and sucked the inside of his cheek. "And if I decline?"
"You can refuse the prescription. Sure. Just don't snap at me when your anxiety spikes, your efficiency drops, and your temper spills over the sides."
"Hmph." Data glanced at him, a hint of wry amusement crinkling his eyes.
Doc Nathan leaned closer, keeping his voice considerately low.
"Is it our situation?" he prompted. "Stranded in this tiny can, speeding toward some pseudo-mythical planet on the word of a child? The responsibility of looking out for those girls, the rapid aging, reuniting with Mike, learning of the current political tensions that—"
"No." Data smiled slightly and shook his head. "No, none of the above. I am proud of Kay and Ishta's conduct through all this – and Mikey! I could not be more pleased to work by his side, officer to officer. I admire your captain, and you, sir. And, while I am greatly distressed by what I've so far learned of the Federation's current situation, I am certain such concerns do not fuel my nightmares."
"That so?"
"It is," Data told him.
"All right," Doc Nathan granted. "Then it's likely something more personal. Something that lurks, not in the dangers ahead, but in the past you left behind." He narrowed his eyes, closely watching the android's face as he said, "Your friends. The massacre on Nineveh IV—"
Data flinched despite himself, and Doc Nathan slumped back, his expression heavy with understanding.
"Hit the nail, did I?"
Data shivered and rubbed his arms, looking away from the doctor's penetrating eyes.
"I never did agree with Hugo and his crowd," Doc Nathan said. "But, on this, they may have had a point. That massacre… Awful as it was… It did mark a pivotal turn in recent history. If you go back with those girls and alter those events…"
"I know."
Data sniffed in a sharp breath and faced the solemn doctor.
"But I believe it is my duty to intercede. The being I encountered in the Stairway – the one who guided me here—"
"You think that thing gave you a mandate. A directive to alter events…such as they are..."
"I am not at all certain," Data admitted. "But I do know… If there is a chance to prevent the death of my captain, my friends… I will take it."
"And I say there's more to it," Doc Nathan pressed. "Duty, fellowship – that's all well and good. But there's something – or someone – in particular disturbing your mind. And if my experience counts for anything, I'd wager it's not the risk to your friends that's got you so rattled, yet resolute." He cast a glance from Ishta's closed curtain to the captain, and lowered his voice to a nearly inaudible whisper. "It's the prospect of losing your lover."
Data stared, his face pale and mouth half-open. "My…?"
"Now, now, no prudish modesty. I'd say your connection must run deep, or you wouldn't be this flustered."
Data stared a moment longer, then released an incredulous chuckle.
"Is this based purely on observation?" he asked. "Or would you happen to have Betazoid or Deltan ancestry?"
"I may be an old man," Doc Nathan joked. "But I know love when I see it. You've been pining away since you got here, young man, and these nightmares of yours confirm it."
Data shook his head a bit helplessly. "Doctor, I—"
"All that research into Klingon Opera?" he prompted, watching the android's face with wicked glee, though still keeping his voice very low. "Oh, you're curious about it, sure. But I can tell, you're not enamored with the stuff. You're enamored with a woman who's enamored of Klingon Opera. A Klingon woman – gotta be. And so, I'll ask you again." He gave the android a little nudge. "Is that Klingon girl really your daughter?"
Data blinked. "Doctor… You must know that would not be possible. While I am…fully functional, as it were—"
"Don't give me that," Doc Nathan scoffed. "IVF dates back to Earth's twentieth century, and even in your day, nanite technology would be more than capable of—"
"What?" Data sat back with a jolt, startled and flustered and thoroughly overwhelmed by the doctor's unexpected attitude, and statements. "No. No!" he whispered through his teeth. "Although I would be pleased to adopt her, legally and officially… Kay is not my…my natural offspring. Biological or otherwise. In addition, until just now, I never considered… I mean, as an android, I never imagined— That is, I have imagined, but I – I never had the opportunity… The…the kind of loving, long-term relationship that might prompt me to consider—"
"Really?" Doc Nathan jutted his lip and stroked his chin. "Curious. Seeing you with Mike and those girls… You strike me as a natural family man."
Data raised his eyebrows in astonishment. "Hm? Do you really think so?"
"Of course."
"Then…" Data stared straight ahead for a moment, then shook his head, hard, his shoulders slumping against the back of the bunk. "If that is the case, Doctor, it may be a form of…projection. Since finding myself here in the future I have, perhaps, been attempting to come across…not as I am… But as the individual I wish I may one day become. More than anything, I want to be Ishta's dad. To welcome Kay into, as she calls it, 'the House of Soong.' To take the Oath, and share a lifetime as the husband of Kurak…"
"Kurak," Doc Nathan nodded with a warm little smirk. "Called it. So, kid? What's stopping you?
"Beyond the fact that, in this time, the woman I…I love…" His eyebrows twitched as the word provoked a strange flutter in his hydraulic positive displacement pumps. "That she…she was lost in that massacre over thirty years ago…" He shook his head and gestured to indicate his form. "I'm an android, not a man. Unless things change, Federation law as it stands prohibits me from forming or joining a biological family unit."
"Who told you you're not a man?"
Data twitched. "Excuse me? I am not human—"
Doc Nathan snorted. "So? Neither are the majority of the intelligent species in this galaxy. What's that got to do with it?"
"I do not understand—"
"Listen," the doctor said. "As an old man to a young man prematurely aged by strange quantum forces I won't pretend to understand. Don't step back and let others write your story for you. It might seem like the safe move, to accept their definitions and expectations and try not to step on anyone's toes. But you're no robot, Data. No mere 'machine.' You may even have grown beyond 'android.' If I were to be asked, as a medical professional, to even start to explain what you are, I'd call you a positronic man. Not exactly a part of the gene pool, perhaps. Not yet. But if my opinion matters, I would describe you as a man."
"But still constructed," Data said softly. "Artificial. Engineered—"
"Dear lord." Doc Nathan raked a hand through his thinning hair. "Here, I dole out some perfectly good wisdom, and you hit back with a wave of self-doubt. You really oughta get that checked, you know."
"But, it's true," Data protested. "My parents created me—"
"So did mine."
Data sighed. "It is not that simple. I was programmed—"
"Me too." The doctor smirked. "Years of schooling can do that to a guy. Luckily, I came out of it a doctor."
Data pursed his lips. "Doctor, you are making light of something very serious."
"No, I'm trying to offer you some perspective," Doc Nathan said. "Perhaps, even, a way out of your dilemma. Trust me, lawyers excel at wordplay. If you can convince the right gatekeepers you're not some complex AI, but a living, breathing, positronic man—"
"Doctor—"
"Mr. Data, I am being serious, here," the old man said sincerely. "Those kids out there faced a time tunnel to find you, and stay by your side. To me, that's a strong indicator that the family you love is already with you, already a part of you. Yet, you seem willing to let a dictionary definition erect a wall between you and them. Between you and your dreams. Does that seem logical?"
"But, Doctor," Data protested, "I am a mechanical being. My substructure is made of metals, circuitry, and ceramics; my brain is a sophisticated CPU constructed from a platinum-iridium alloy. Calling me a 'man' does not alter that fundamental truth."
"Truth…" The doctor shook his head. "The truth is, you already are the man you want to be. The man those girls love. The man who loves them back. Believe that, believe in yourself, and there's no limit to how far you can grow together." He rested his arms on his thighs and leaned closer. "Do you believe in yourself, Data?"
Data stared at the old man for nearly a full second, before turning his eyes away. "I do not know."
"Why this doubt?"
Data lowered his head and sighed. "Experience has shown me… The more…human…I show myself to be… The more certain I am to face…rejection…ridicule… It's not always on purpose, and rarely malicious. And yet… Such experiences feed this…doubt… This terrible…terrible fear that I… That everything I am… My personality, my sense of self… That it is all just…clever code. Algorithms. That, at my core, I am merely a self-deluded machine…programed to think of itself as a living being…"
"Hmm," the doctor grunted grimly. "Well, I won't say that's a load of hogwash, because I don't think you're ready to believe it. The damage inflicted in one's formative years can run distressingly deep. But I will say this. Deny yourself, and you'll always live in fear that your feelings are false. That your love is a lie. Trust will crumble and so will your relationships, and any hope of command. But kick those doubts, and your nightmares will fade along with them. You'll see. You can have the life you want. Gatekeepers be damned."
Data shook his head. "It is not that easy."
"Didn't say it was," Doc Nathan said. "But tell me, son. You have friends, right?"
"Of course," Data said.
"Your captain – he appreciates your talents? Respects you as an individual?"
"Yes."
"Those kids – they look up to you? And that woman you've been missing – she shares your feelings? That warm sense of connection that draws you to her, even across time?"
"I… Yes. I would hope so…"
"What more evidence, or validation, do you need?"
Data opened his mouth, and left it open, unable to find a suitable answer. His thoughts were a whirl, his feelings a tempest, and he buried his face in his hands.
"I'm sorry, kid," Doc Nathan said. "Guess I've given you a lot to process."
"Indeed," Data admitted, and straightened, drawing in a long, deep breath. "But, I thank you."
"Go on," Doc Nathan gestured to the open cot, then moved to lie down in his own. "Get some sleep. Tell me if your dreams still bother you when we meet at breakfast."
"I will, Doctor," Data assured him, slipping effortlessly into his berth. "Sleep well."
"Yeah," the doc said. "You too. And, Data…"
Data pulled back his privacy curtain, just a bit. "Yes, Doctor?"
"In case things get busy, and I don't get the chance… I want to tell you, it's been an honor getting to meet you like this. Despite the mutiny, losing the ship… Spending time with a true Starfleet legend… Well, it's been a highlight of my life so far. And that's the truth."
Data blinked. "Thank you," he said, though the words seemed inadequate. "This time together has been important to me as well. I will not forget it. Or you."
"I should hope you won't." The doctor's face stretched in to a warm, broad grin. "Good night."
To Be Continued…