Part 2 (1/2)
”He asked you.”
”Not directly. I recognized a learning situation, and should have waited, giving him the opportunity to act in an appropriate manner for a Starfleet officer-in-training.”
”I, on the other hand,” Yar a.s.sured him, ”learned that particular lesson years ago. Besides, on this bridge, you are in command.”
Data gave his slight, pleasant smile. ”You are one officer who has never challenged my rank.”
”Why should I? You've earned it, or you wouldn't have it. Starfleet is hardly prodigal with promotions.”
”There are many who think it was prodigal with mine,” the android replied. At her questioning frown, he added, ”It is a matter of record. The question of whether to promote me beyond Lieutenant was actually brought before a meeting of Starfleet Command. Nor was the final decision unanimous. There are those who feel that an android has no place as a line officer frequently placed in charge of a stars.h.i.+p and with the potential one day to command one.”
”Is that what you hope to do, eventually?” Yar asked, fascinated by the turn in the conversation.
”No,” Data replied. ”That is Commander Riker's dream, not mine. I was not designed to command humans.” He sat back in his chair, with the characteristic slightly mechanical movement of his head that, paradoxically, indicated that he was as confused as any human. ”I do not understand the desire for power, Tasha. All my life, since I first came to consciousness, I had a.s.sumed an android could not experience such a drive: we are designed to serve, not to rule. And then ... we found Lore.”
”Lore was a mistake,” said Yar. ”You're an improvement on him, Data.”
”Perhaps. But what if my design flaws are simply not so immediately obvious?”
”Then you'd be just like the rest of us,” Yar told him, ”striving to overcome our flaws and make ourselves better.” At his look of surprise, she laughed. ”I know you want to be human, Data-”
”No,” he said.
”No? But I thought you had said-?”
”Commander Riker said it that way, and at the time it was not appropriate to challenge his terminology. I wish I were human,” Data corrected. ”To want the impossible is self-defeating and can end only in frustration. To wish for an unattainable goal, however, may mean achieving possible ones that one might not otherwise consider.”
Yar nodded. ”I like that-I'll remember it, Data, because you've voiced something I've learned myself, only I never could put it into words. I've sometimes questioned my own goal of becoming ... the ideal Starfleet officer. Perfect. Never a wrong decision or a breach of honor. There is no such thing, but at one time I thought there was.”
Data again gave her his smile, this time teasing, ”n.o.body's ... perfect?”
”No, not even you,” she laughed. He did not; light humor, especially irony or even whimsy, was within the android's range of emotions, but the indefinable humor that caused people to laugh was still beyond him. Yar had no doubt, though, that one day experience would bring Data the gift of laughter ... and then he would be more human than just about anyone else she knew.
Data appreciated the company of Tasha Yar. For a considerable time-ever since the event which ”never happened”- he had wondered if she was deliberately avoiding his company. He understood that humans sometimes experienced a disagreeable feeling called ”embarra.s.sment” concerning s.e.xual activity, but it was another of those emotions he could only observe without partic.i.p.ation or comprehension.
However, Tasha seemed at ease with him here, so he decided their lack of interesting discussions before now was due simply to the fact that their varied duties kept them out of one another's paths except on the bridge and a few busy away team a.s.signments.
After a while Tasha grew hungry and dialed up a menu of what was available from the shuttle's provisions console. ”What is this?” she demanded. ”Aldebaran wine? Quetzi ramekins? Oysters?!”
Data was concerned to recognize anger in her voice. He turned, explaining, ”All the standard programs are there as well. I simply added those because they are foods I knew you liked.”
She stared at him for a moment, anger and astonishment warring with her careful control. Then, suddenly, amus.e.m.e.nt won over both, and she laughed. ”Of course, Data-you couldn't know the implications of those foods.”
”Implications?” he asked blankly.
Tasha blushed, but plunged on. ”You installed the programs for the items I had in my room the time I ... invited you in. You had no way of knowing that they all have the reputation of being ... aphrodisiacs.”
If Data could have blushed in turn, he would have. ”I-I'm sorry,” he stumbled.
”It's all right,” Tasha said. ”Do you like any of this?”
”I do not know. I never got the chance-” Data stopped again, dismayed. This, he suddenly recognized, was embarra.s.sment. Perhaps later he would feel pleasure at comprehending another human trait. For now, he had absolutely no programming to cope with a sensation that was disagreeable indeed. All he could think to do was parrot what he had once overheard William Riker say, to himself rather than to the woman in question, in a somewhat similar situation: ”Oh, d.a.m.n.”
Tasha stared at him for a moment, and then burst into giggles. Quickly, though, she forced herself sober, and a.s.sured him, ”It's all right. All my fault.” She took a deep breath. ”What shall I program up for you?”
”Any combination of proteins, carbohydrates, and electrolytes suitable for humans can be made use of by my nutritive fluids.”
”But don't you have a preference?” Tasha persisted.
”A chicken sandwich, an apple, and a gla.s.s of milk,” he replied, falling back on the combination he had learned to dial up years ago at Starfleet Academy, so as not to draw stares or comments from his fellow students.
”Mm-hmm,” said Tasha. ”Standard Starfleet misfit camouflage.”
”What?”
”When you're as strange as you or me, you learn every way possible to avoid calling attention to yourself,” she replied.
”Now you are practicing telepathy,” he observed. ”But,” he added, ”you are not strange, Tasha.”
”I was then,” she explained. ”When I entered Starfleet Academy I was eighteen years old, but only three years civilized. Barely. It was a very thin veneer. I'd crammed a whole education into those three years, with no time for social graces.”
Data blinked at her. ”Why?” he asked. ”I mean, I know your records, that you were rescued from New Paris when you were fifteen-but why did you feel you had to push so hard at education?”
”Starfleet,” she replied. ”It was all I wanted, Data. Surely you know the feeling. You were also rescued by Starfleet; you must have wanted to become a part of it as much as I did.”
”Starfleet is the only place I can function to my full capacity,” he told her.
”Yes,” Tasha agreed with a nod, but Data sensed that she meant something far more profound than he did. Therefore he kept silent, waiting for a further response.
The food dispenser pinged, and Tasha removed from it a tray covered with small containers. No wonder it had taken so long to complete the program; this was definitely not a chicken sandwich, an apple, and a gla.s.s of milk!
”I decided to try some new items,” said Tasha. ”How about you?” She frowned. ”It's not all the same to you, is it, Data?”
”Oh, I can distinguish the various tastes, textures, and aromas,” he replied, ”probably better than you can. However, I do not have inborn likes or dislikes. I simply seek to balance the nutrients.”
”Oh.” Data saw that Tasha was disappointed, but trying to hide it.
So he added, ”I have found, though, that over time I have come to a.s.sociate certain foods with certain events. Stimulating lessons, intriguing problems, pleasant company. When I later encounter similar flavors, I find that I have developed a preference for them.” He smiled. ”I expect I will develop a liking for all these foods.”
Tasha gave him an acknowledging grin, and began to eat.
But to Data's disappointment she dropped the topic of their individual choices of Starfleet, to speak in general of the sector of s.p.a.ce they were traveling through. Out here, that was the equivalent of ”talking about the weather” on a planet: a neutral topic of conversation that would not stir any strong emotions to disturb digestion.
Intriguing. Data let his attention wander as he nibbled at the food. He required few calories to maintain the organic nutrients that served him in lieu of blood, but he understood meals as social interaction.
Data had no strong emotions regarding his choice of Starfleet or his years at the Academy-although if he had been as aware of human sarcasm then as he was now, he might have developed some. Obviously Tasha had. Data had thought her experiences completely positive. She always spoke of being rescued by Starfleet, and her loyalty to its ideals resembled the devotion of a true believer to a deeply satisfying religion.