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Picard nodded. “And that is what they did. They found any number of civilizations, conquered them, and imposed their statutes on them. Where Abinarri statutes didn’t seem to apply, the Lawmakers were only too happy to make up new ones.”

“How interesting,” said Flenarrh.

“Yes,” Dravvin replied sardonically. “Especially for all those species the Abinarri were generous enough to subjugate. Those people must have found the situation extremely interesting.”

Picard looked at the Rythrian. It was only natural that he should make such a comment. His people had labored under an off-world tyrant for nearly a decade in the early part of the twenty-fourth century.

“At any rate,” said Picard, “that is the way matters had proceeded in that universe for well over two hundred years. The Abinarri had taken control of world after world, star system after star system, all for the purpose of spreading their gospel of Law. And no one had had the wherewithal to stand against them.”

“Until you came along,” said Bo’tex.

Picard shook his head. “We only succeeded in winning a skirmish. The Abinarri barely felt our passage.”

Suddenly, Hompaq made their table shudder with a thunderous blow. Everyone looked at her.

“I have heard enough about these Abinarri,” she said. “If they are inferior warriors, as your account suggests, they are beneath my notice.” She leaned forward, her lips pulling back ferociously from her teeth. “Tell me instead about the Hoard of Dujonian.”

Picard smiled. “Rest assured, Captain Hompaq, the Hoard was still very much on our minds and even more so on the minds of our crew.”

“But did you find it?” the Caxtonian asked.

“A fair question,” Dravvin judged.

“You’ll learn that soon enough,” Picard told him. “After all, we’re coming to the most important part of the story.”

The Tale

WORF AND I could have continued to study the Abinarri all day. However, our rest period was over before we knew it. I replaced Thadoc at the helm and Worf took back the tactical station from Dunwoody.

As I got myself settled, I found the stars sailing by me as they did when I was on the bridge of the Enterprise. I found myself thinking about my Starfleet crew, wondering how things were going for them.

I had no doubt they were doing fine without me. My executive officer was more than capable of running a starship on his own, and the rest of my staff was seasoned as well.

Still, I dwelled on each one of them. I couldn’t help it. I was, after all, their captain.

One of them in particular kept turning up in my thoughts. His name was Data and he was my second officer. He was also an android that is, an artificial being created in the mold of a man who was discovered by Starfleet on a world called Omicron Theta in the year 2338.

Data was the superior of any human in almost every way one could name. For one thing, he was eminently more durable than any man or woman. For another, he could survive indefinitely without food or air.

Data could exercise superhuman strength and incredible quickness when the need arose. His mind could race at computer-like speeds. But since the day I met him, he had aspired to only one thing the single aspect of the human condition denied to him.

In short, he wished to experience emotions. Human emotions.

For a long time, it seemed such an experience was beyond Data’s reach. Then it came to light that his creator, Dr. Noonien Soong, had manufactured a positronic chip that would grant the android his fondest wish.

By inserting the chip into his brain, the android could know love, rage, happiness, jealousy the gamut of human feelings. However, as great opportunities often do, this one came with a terribly steep price.

As you can imagine, a human overcome by emotion might injure his or her companion. But an android overcome in such a way would almost certainly kill that companion. And so it would be with Data.

All too aware of this danger, he chose not to insert the emotion chip his legacy and only route to real happiness.