Cadet Piazza found it necessary to clear his throat again. “Sorry,” he said. He looked to his companion. “Please, go ahead,” he told McCall. “This is really … um, fascinating.”
“Data…” interjected Sinna.
He turned to her. “Yes?”
The Yanna seemed uncomfortable, for some reason the android couldn’t fathom. Taking hold of his arm, she said, “Maybe we’d better go now.”
Data looked at her, a little surprised. “Go?” he echoed. “But we just—”
“I really think we ought to go,” she urged, still hanging on to the android’s arm. “I mean now.”
It would have been impolite for Data to refuse, given the extent of his friend’s insistence. Turning to McCall and Piazza, the android did his best to look apologetic.
“It seems I must be leaving now,” he told them. “Perhaps we can continue our conversation another time.”
“I’d like that,” said McCall, smiling understandingly. “Oh, just one more question before you go, Data. I was wondering where you get your hair cut. I wouldn’t mind trying that look myself.”
The android shrugged. “I have never had my hair cut, so I cannot advise you in that regard. You see,” he clarified, “my hair only grows when I wish it to, and thus far, I have had no occasion to implement that wish. However, if I did encourage hair growth, it would—”
“Excuse me,” said someone whose voice Data didn’t recognize. Turning, he saw that someone new had joined the conversation.
And not just anyone. It was Cadet Glen Majors.
“I couldn’t help but overhear what you were talking about,” Majors remarked. His attention was focused only on McCall and Piazza, as if Data and Sinna weren’t even present. “Maybe you two haven’t been in the Academy long enough to figure out how things work around here. But if I were you, I’d wise up—and fast.”
The android noticed the sudden change in the complexions of the two first-year cadets. Both McCall and Piazza had become red in the face.
“Am I making myself clear?” asked Majors.
McCall nodded. “Come on,” he muttered, elbowing his companion.
“Uh huh,” Piazza agreed. And a moment later, the two of them had slunk off.
Majors turned to Data and Sinna. “Sorry about that,” he told them. “Some people get their kicks needling others.” Glancing back over his shoulder at the clutch of first-year cadets he’d been conversing with, he winked. “Fortunate|y,” he continued, in a somewhat louder voice, “you won’t see too much of that by the end of your first year. By then, all the practical jokers have been weeded out.”
The android was beginning to understand now. McCall and Piazza had been having fun at his expense—a situation Sinna had apparently recognized, which was the reason she had wished him to withdraw from the conversation.
Majors had recognized the situation as well, it seemed, and intervened on Data’s behalf. The android was pleased by the second-year cadet’s involvement, though he could not have said exactly why that should be.
“Thank you,” Data told Majors. “I—”
But Majors hadn’t waited to hear the end of the android’s statement. He was already on his way back to the group of first-year students he had been addressing earlier.
“Come on,” said Sinna. “Let’s go back to our quarters, Data.”
But the android didn’t want to leave. He wished to wait until Majors completed his exchange with the other cadets and then attempt to thank him again.
“I said come on,” the Yanna repeated. And pulling on his arm, she guided him out of the briefing room.
CHAPTER
2
It wasn’t until they were out in the corridor and quite alone that Sinna turned to Data and snorted angrily. “Sweet deities,” she fumed, “couldn’t you see what was going on in there?”
The android could only stare at her. Back on the Yosemite, the vessel that had brought him and the Yann to Earth, he and Sinna had risked their lives together. In the course of those events, he had seen her look afraid, resolute, and finally triumphant.
But he had never seen her so positively incensed.
“Of course,” he said. “Cadets McCall and Piazza were ridiculing me—though I did not realize it at first. Cadet Majors intervened and caused them to stop—which is why I wanted to stay and find an opportunity to thank him properly.”
Sinna rolled her eyes. “Data … Majors stopped McCall and Piazza, all right—and I’m glad he did. But he wasn’t doing it for you. He was doing it to impress those other first-year cadets.”
“I do not understand,” the android said. Truthfully, he didn’t. He recalled Majors’s words verbatim—not a difficult task, given the capabilities of his positronic brain. But he still didn’t see his friend’s point.
“In fact,” he remarked, “I was pleased that Cadet Majors took such an interest in me. I believe I can only benefit from even a casual association with such an exemplary student.”
Sinna stopped in the middle of the corridor and turned to Data. “All right,” she told him. “You like Cadet Majors so much, you learn all you can from him. I promise I won’t say a word about it … no matter what.”
With that, she turned on her heel and marched down the corridor toward the turbolift. The android was certainly no expert on Yannish emotions, but it seemed to him it wouldn’t be a good idea to follow Sinna at this particular time.
Instead, he stood there in the corridor for several minutes, enduring the scrutiny of other cadets and crewmen as they walked by. Then, when Data was certain he had given Sinna a sufficient head start, he entered the turbolift and asked it to take him to his solitary quarters.
All hat first night on the Republic, Data sat in his room, pondering the details of the encounter that had led Sinna to become angry with him. By morning, he had to confess that he still didn’t understand the vehemence of her reaction.
How could she have observed the same things he had … and come to such different conclusions about them? As far as the android could tell, Cadet Majors’s actions had been rather chivalrous. And if I am going to be an asset to Starfleet, Data thought, it is about time I exhibited some confidence in my own judgment.
The android found himself wishing that he were more like Glen Majors. Now there was someone with confidence, someone who would never second-guess himself. Someone whom it might be instructive to observe…
And to emulate.
Data straightened in his chair as his course of action became clear to him. Looking up at the intercom grid hidden in the ceiling, he said, “Computer, where is Cadet Majors?”
“Cadet Majors is in the ship’s gymnasium,” the computer reported.
“Thank you,” the android responded. If he had gleaned anything from his stay on the Tripoli, it was the importance of being polite.
“You are welcome,” returned the computer, just as politely—though its behavior stemmed from its programming, Data reflected, not its experience.
Getting up, he headed for the door to his quarters. He would pay Glen Majors a visit in the gymnasium, he resolved. And if it were possible to learn confidence, he would do just that.
The Republic’s gymnasium was almost identical to the one Data had encountered on the Tripoli It was a large, brightly lit room with a high ceiling and a great many mats strewn across the floor. In addition, there were two sets of hanging rings, a trio of leathery pommel horses, and a gleaming high bar made out of duranium.
As the android entered, he saw that Cadet Majors was hanging vertically from the high bar, with his back to him. A female cadet with long, black hair was standing off to one side, intent on Majors as he began to move—arching his back almost imperceptibly at first just to start himself swinging, and then kicking out with increasing enthusiasm at the end of each forward motion until his body was parallel to the floor at the high points of his arc.
As the female watched, Majors stepped up his efforts even more. After several seconds, he had
achieved enough momentum to completely circle the bar, a feat he accomplished once … twice … and a third time, before finally letting go of it.
With consummate grace, the cadet somersaulted through the air and achieved a perfect landing some five meters in front of the bar. The female nodded.
“Pretty good,” she said.
Majors approached her, extending his hand. “Just pretty good?”
As he took her hand in his, the female frowned good-naturedly. “All right,” she conceded. “Very good.”
“Come on,” he continued. “Admit it. You’ve never seen anybody pull that off with such grace … such aplomb.” He grinned. “And right about now, you’re thinking, how can I get to know this hunk a little better?”
The female rolled her eyes. “Give me a break,” she told him, slipping her hand free.
But Majors was undaunted. Leaning closer to her, so that his face was only inches from hers, he said, “Dinner tonight? Just you and me and the stars?”
Gazing at him, the female seemed to hesitate. Several seconds went by, and she still hadn’t answered Majors’s question.
Apparently, neither one of the cadets had noticed Data’s entrance. It seemed to be as good a time as any to correct that situation.
“Hello,” said the android, marching across the sea of mats in the direction of Glen Majors. “I witnessed your performance on the high bar, and like your companion, I believe it was very good.”
Both Majors and the female stared at him for a moment, their mouths hanging open. The female was the first to shut hers.
“Data,” said Majors. “What are you doing here?”
The android shrugged. “I wished to express my gratitude for your actions in the briefing room last night. After all, you did come to my defense.”
Chuckling softly, the female cadet made her way past Data to the gymnasium exit. Seeing her go, Majors extended a hand in her direction, as if to draw her back.
“Wait,” he called. “What about dinner?”
The female darted a glance back over her shoulder at him. “I just remembered,” she replied, smiling. “I’ve got other plans.”
As she left the room, Majors muttered something under his breath. The guttural quality of it rendered it impossible to make out.
“I beg your pardon?” the android responded.
Majors turned to him, frowning. “Never mind.” A pause. “Listen, Data, this is a bad time to be thanking me.” He glanced at the exit. “A real bad time. Understand?”
Data didn’t understand. He said so.
The human grunted. “All right. If you wanted to thank me, you’ve done that. We’re even, right?”
The android tilted his head to one side. “Actually, there was one other thing. I had hoped—”
Majors looked at him. “What? You’d hoped what?” There was a distinct note of impatience in his voice.
Data went on. “I had hoped you could teach me to be more confident.”
The cadet’s brow furrowed. “More … confident?”
The android nodded. “You see, I lack human instincts. This puts me at a disadvantage when it comes to decision-making—not just in reaching a conclusion but in having the self-assurance to carry it out.”
Majors nodded. “I get the picture. And you want me to teach you those things?”
“Yes,” said Data. “I do. What is more, I am willing to follow every step you take, from the time you wake until the time you go to sleep, if that is what it takes to improve myself in this area.”
The other cadet appeared to pale for a second or two. His Adam’s apple climbed the length of his throat before falling again.
“Tell you what,” he answered finally. “The best way to learn confidence is from far away. From very far. If you watch me too closely, I’ll be distracted, and then your … um, data will be flawed. You won’t see the real me.”
The android thought about it for a moment. “It sounds as if you expect my presence to be obtrusive,” he concluded. “If you do not want me to be in your way, all you need do is say so. You cannot hurt my feelings. I do not have any.”
Majors’s eyes narrowed at the information. Abruptly, he smiled. “Well, then, I’m glad you see it that way,” he said. “Now, if you don’t mind…” He glanced meaningfully at the high bar, indicating his desire to resume his workout.
Taking the hint, Data crossed the gymnasium and made use of the exit. As the sliding doors whooshed closed behind him, the android reflected on his conversation with Glen Majors.
Perhaps Data would not have the opportunity to obtain advice from the second-year cadet after all. However, he could do what Majors advised: he could observe the human from afar. And if he watched Majors very carefully, he might soon achieve some portion of the self-assurance he sought.
In the days that followed, Data found that observing Cadet Majors unobtrusively was a good deal more difficult than it had first seemed. Despite his remarkable eyesight, there were few places on the Republic where he would have a clear view of Majors without the cadet’s having a clear view of him in return.
However, the android didn’t want the object of his scrutiny to feel put upon, so he did the best he could. And after a while, he got rather good at covert surveillance.
Unfortunately, he could not say that his efforts were actually teaching him anything about confidence. At least, not yet. However, even Data was aware that some things just took time.
Of course, the android could only devote a fraction of his time to the study of Glen Majors. The bulk of each day was devoted to the instruments and scales he would be using to record the super-Jovian planet ignition. And while Majors was sometimes working side by side with Data during these sessions, both of them were too absorbed in what they were doing to be aware of much else.
The android was also looking forward to learning other things. For instance, each subgroup of cadets was given a chance to man the ship’s bridge for several hours. As it happened, Data’s group was the last in line for this duty.
As a result, it was late on the fourth day out from Earth when the android sat down in the helmsman’s chair and looked out across the bridge at the Republic’s main viewscreen. Glancing at his instrument panel, he noted that the ship was still proceeding at warp eight, the same speed it had achieved on leaving Earth’s solar system.
However, that was bound to change—and rather soon. The Beta Arantialus system was just ahead. In fact, Data estimated, it would be necessary to slow to impulse power sometime in the next couple of minutes.
No sooner had he made that determination than he felt a hand on his shoulder. Looking up, he saw that it belonged to Captain Clark, a tall woman with long, gray-streaked, brown hair. She was smiling at him.
“You’ve done a good job around here,” she told him. “I thought I’d let you be the one to take us down to sublight.”
“Aye, sir,” said the android. Making the necessary adjustments on his console, he did his best to comply with the captain’s order. A moment later, he could see the streaks of starlight on the viewscreen diminishing in length as the ship’s impulse engines took over.
“Captain?”
Data glanced over his shoulder at Cadet Petros, the petite honey-blond who had been assigned to the communications board. Like the android and Sinna, Petros was a first-year student at the Academy.
“Yes?” asked Captain Clark. “What is it, Petros?”
The cadet stared at her monitor a moment before answering, as if trying to make sure she wasn’t about to embarrass herself. “I believe I’m picking up a distress signal,” she said at last. “Bearing one three zero mark six, sir. At a distance of…” Again, she hesitated. “It looks like two point eight billion kilometers.”
Cadet Majors was sitting next to Data at the navigator’s console. His fingers darted across his controls with precision and dispatch. “That’s just fifty million kilometers or so from the super-Jovian worlds,” he concluded.
Data glanced at Sinn
a, who was seated at the science station, the glare of its monitors bathing her face in a green light. Then he looked at the captain. Clark was frowning slightly.
“Hail the source of the signal,” she instructed Petros.
The cadet did as she was told. However, the hail produced no response other than a continuation of the distress signal. Captain Clark’s frown was deepening by the minute.
First Officer Sierra, a stocky man with a thick mustache, left the bridge’s command center to stand by her side. “We’re the only vessel in the area,” he pointed out. “We’ve got to respond, even if we are on a training mission.”
As the android watched, Clark nodded. “I’m well aware of that, Juan.” With a single glance, she took in all four of the cadets on her bridge. “I was thinking about them. After all, I did promise them a shot at some bridge duty.”
The first officer sighed. “Captain…”
Clark nodded. “I know.” Eyeing each cadet in turn, she expressed a silent apology. Then she said, “Sorry, people. This could be serious. I’m going to have to get some experienced officers up here.”
Sinna and Petros showed varying degrees of disappointment. However, Data fully understood the reasons for her decision. Had he been in charge, he told himself, he would likely have done the same thing.
“Oh the other hand,” the captain told them, “it’ll be a good experience for you to see how we handle a distress-call response. You can all stand to one side of communications and look on, if you like.”
Unhesitatingly speaking for all of them, Cadet Majors said, “We’d like that very much, sir.”
Captain Clark shot him an approving look, with just a hint of a smirk. “Then that’s where you’ll go, Mr. Majors. Just remember to wait until your relief shows up.”
As the android watched, Majors returned the captain’s expression, as if he were sharing a private joke with her. And perhaps he was. After all, with his record, he would clearly become a captain himself some day.
Star Trek: The Next Generation: Starfleet Academy #7: Secret of the Lizard People Page 2
