by Jeffrey Lang
Rhea stepped forward and slipped her arms around Data's waist and they stood close together for several heartbeats. When she pulled away, their hips and legs still touching, he reached out and caressed her cheek, enjoying the warmth of her skin. He had, quite literally, memorized every plane of her face and detected some minor differences, but only a few. Even now, even when he was looking for telling details, it was impossible to distinguish the sheath from living flesh. As before, Rhea had a tiny mole under the left side of her nose. Data felt an impulse to kiss it, but he resisted.
Then, he asked, “Are you all right?” “I'm fine,” she said. “All that hard radiation isn't good for a girl's skin, but Reg and Bruce did a fine job.”
“Has anyone told you about Vaslovik?”
“That he's disappeared?” Rhea asked. “Yes, Commander Riker told me as I was on my way here. I'm not surprised. Just a little sad. I just wish he hadn't felt like he had to go off alone like that again.” She shook her head. “He's been alone so much. It's really not fair . . .” Her head dropped and she leaned her forehead against Data's chest.
The thought struck him harder than he would have expected. He's been alone so much . . . In the seconds between the moment Rhea's forehead touched his chest and she looked up at him again, Data had time to consider an eternity of such isolation. The image did not please him. He took her hand and said, “Stay with me.” He stumbled and halted, then forged ahead. “Somehow. Here on the Enterprise or somewhere else. It does not matter as long as we are together.”
Rhea stared at him silently for so long that Data began to feel uncomfortable. Then, she leaned forward very slowly and pressed her lips against his. They stayed that way for several seconds, her mouth moving against his, and, somehow, his fingers became entwined in her hair. When their lips parted, Data unconsciously checked his internal chronometer and found he could not reconcile the elapsed time it recorded. More time . . . or possibly less . . . must have passed.
Rhea grinned a little wickedly, but then the smile turned sad. “I'm sorry, Data. I think I would like that more than I can say. But it wouldn't be long before I would begin to feel like I should go, and then it would be much, much harder.” She turned her face away from him. “I don't think my future is here. The galaxy isn't really ready for more of our kind. It would be better if I disappeared, too.”
Data felt a surge of panic rising up in him. He had been expecting this; it was the logical outcome, after all, but he still felt the need to fight it. “The knowledge exists, Rhea. You cannot unmake it.”
She sighed and squeezed his hand. “The information has been purged, Data. The computers in all the labs were wiped clean. Vaslovik saw to that. Yes, someday, sooner or later, someone else will piece it all together, but by then maybe the humans will have learned a little more. Maybe you'll teach them.”
“I have no desire to—”
Rhea hushed him by putting a finger to his lips. “No, of course you don't. Not now, in any case. And neither do I.” Before she could pull it away, Data kissed her fingertip slowly and carefully. She smiled, then continued, “I need you to know something: Sam left me a message he recorded onto an isolinear chip before he left on the shuttle. He gave it to Commander Riker to give to me. In it, he told me that he hadn't come to the Enterprise solely because of the problem with the Exo III androids, though he had a pretty good idea the ship would become enmeshed in the problem. Mostly, he said, he was looking for me. His ‘fellowship’ has apparently been keeping tabs on Maddox's work. They want me to join them, to experience the universe as they do.” She stepped away then, seemingly needing the distance.
“Do you remember what you asked me back on the station: what do I need?” She looked up at him, a sad half-smile playing on her lips. “I think we both know the answer now: I need to go.” She reached out to him, but then dropped her hand before he could move closer. “I love you, Data, but I need to go.”
Data desperately wanted to say, “And I cannot come with you,” but then, once again, intuition came to his rescue. He had not, he realized, been asked.
They said good-bye on the shuttlebay. The captain kindly agreed to “lend” Rhea a ship in exchange for a promise to ask the fellowship of AIs to send an ambassador to the Federation someday.
“I'll ask,” Rhea said. “I have no idea what they'll say.”
Picard nodded. “It's a long shot, but one worth taking.” He held out his hand to shake, but she did not take it. Instead, Rhea came to attention. “Request permission to leave the ship, sir.”
Picard hesitated only for a moment, then smiled. “Permission granted.”
Rhea returned the smile. “I was going to say something earlier, up in Data's lab, but I wasn't exactly sure what I was going to be doing. It was a pleasure to serve with you, sir. Even if it wasn't quite legitimate.”
“You would be a fine officer, Ms. McAdams,” Picard replied. “You were a fine officer. I'm sure Starfleet would love to have you if you were willing to go through the Academy.”
“Thank you, sir, but, no. Not right now, anyway. We'll see what the future brings.”
“Safe travels, Rhea,” Picard said, then wandered away toward the back of the shuttlebay. Data watched him go, simultaneously grateful that he was there and slightly wary of how he should act while his captain was nearby. Rhea took the decision out of his hands. When he turned back around, her mouth was against his, her arms around his waist. When they parted, he was no longer thinking about Picard.
They walked slowly to the shuttlecraft door, holding hands like two teenage lovers who know they will have to say good-bye soon, but not until they reach the front door. “There's one more thing I wanted to tell you,” Rhea said. “Something I've come to understand about you, and something you need to understand about yourself.” Data nodded, his eyes fixed on hers. “You've always believed that becoming human would be the ultimate achievement, the culmination of your personal evolution. I'm telling you that this may not be so; it might be only the first step on a much longer road.” She gripped his hand more tightly. “You have a potential that no other artificial life form possesses. Not me, not Sam, no one. That, I think, was what Soong was striving for when he created you: a life with no limits. And you've only just begun it.”
Data didn't say anything in response. He did not know the right words.
“Good-bye, Data. For now.”
Data tried to say good-bye, but there was something wrong with his throat and the word came out in a croak. Rhea smiled, understanding.
The shuttlebay doors began to close even before the ship was out of sight. Data watched it go, a slightly brighter light in the field of stars. He heard Picard come up behind him and was pleased, even comforted, when the captain laid a companionable hand on his shoulder.
“As the Bard once said, Parting can be such sweet sorrow . . .”
Data watched as the shuttle running lights dwindled away into the black. “There are times, Captain,” Data sighed, “when the Bard does not even come close . . .”
Picard smiled. “I suppose you're right.” He sighed, too, and pondered for a moment. “How about this, then? ‘I'm no good at being noble, but it doesn't take much to see that the problems of three little people don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world . . .’ ”
Just before the bay doors shut, Data tore his gaze away and turned to look at his captain. The reference was not familiar. “Dixon Hill?” he asked, trying to place the quote.
Steering his friend toward the door, Picard said, “Close, but not exactly. I can't believe I haven't introduced you to this one, but it's never too late. Once upon a time, there was a city called Casablanca . . .”
Epilogue, the First
Later that day . . . much, much later, after much talk and some work and many processing cycles, Data returned to his lab. He had no particular desire to do any work. He just wanted to look, perhaps to muse for a time. He was beginning to feel that musing might be something he could learn to be goo
d at.
He called for the lights, turned toward the darkened crypts and then stopped, stunned (Somewhere, distantly, he was aware that he was grateful he now possessed the capacity to be stunned).
One of the crypts was empty.
He stood staring at it for one minute, then another. Then another.
At the end of the fourth minute (a very long time for an android), Data smiled.
Then, he turned off the lights and went to feed his cat.
Epilogue, the Second
Juliana opened her eyes.
She knew who she was. She knew what she was. For the first time, she knew everything. There came a moment of fear, of dislocation, of anxiety, then finally, curiosity.
She knew everything, remembered everything—even her death—except how she came to be here, wherever “here” was.
She blinked and a man's face hovered into view and she realized she was lying on her back. He looked worried, maybe even a little fearful, but his eyes were also filled with hope. He held out his hand and she reached out to take it. He was a friend, she decided. A new friend.
“Hello, Juliana,” said the sad, but smiling man. “My name is Akharin.”
About the Author
Jeffrey Lang is the coauthor (with David Weddle) of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine—Section 31: Abyss, and a story for the Lives of Dax anthology. He also writes comics, including Grendel Tales: Devil's Apprentice, the story “The Wake” for the Star Trek Special, and the upcoming Sherwood. He is currently working on his next novel, a non-Trek project. Lang lives in Wynnewood, PA, with his wife, Katie, his son, Andrew, and his dog Buster.
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