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."