Fortune's Light - Michael Jan Friedman [26]
“Interesting,” said the android.
“Anyway, these madraggi all get together once a year, during the time of the winter solstice, in the ancient mountain city of Besidia. They hold trade meetings during which the course of Impriman economics is charted for the foreseeable future.” He couldn’t suppress a smile. “And when do you suppose the winter solstice is?”
Data’s eyes moved abruptly, as they sometimes did when he was computing something. “Now,” he answered.
“Absolutely right.”
“So,” said the android, “you believe that Commander Riker is involved somehow with the trade meetings?”
“Right again. And—ready for this?—Commander Riker has been to Imprima before. As a trade liaison.” Wesley outlined the details of that mission, including its successful conclusion.
“I see. And have you a theory as to Commander Riker’s role in the current meetings?”
The boy leaned back and shook his head. “No. Unfortunately, that’s as far as I’ve gotten.”
“Still, you seem to know a good deal more about Commander Riker’s mission than I do, and I am third in command of this vessel.”
Wesley looked at him in a new light. “Say, Data … if you asked the captain—”
The android thrust his chin out, as he always did when remonstrating with someone. “I am sorry, Wes. If the captain had wanted Commander Riker’s mission known, I am sure he would have made it so by now. Since he has not …”
The boy held his hands up and smiled. “Okay, okay. No harm in asking, is there?”
“No,” agreed Data. “There is never any harm in that. And speaking of questions, would you answer some for me?”
That was when Wesley realized the significance of Data’s change in expression a few minutes earlier. “Oh,” he said, pounding his fist on his desk. “That’s why you came here in the first place, isn’t it? To ask me some questions. And here I go spouting off like the egghead everybody thinks I am.” He shook his head as he regarded the android. What was’ I thinking? That Data came to visit just so I could have a sounding board? “I’m sorry, Data. I really am.” He leaned forward. “Now, what do you want to know? I’m all ears.”
Data cocked his head slightly. He had that quizzical look in his eyes.
“It’s an expression,” explained Wesley. “It means I’m listening.”
“Ah,” said the android. “In that case, have you ever played baseball?”
“Baseball?” echoed Wesley. He’d expected Data’s inquiry to be something in the area of human nature—the type of thing he usually discussed with Geordi. “Sure. I’ve played it, mostly when I was smaller. Why?”
The android told him about the goings-on in the holodeck. About the dilemma he’d faced between first base and second, how it had been resolved, and the manager’s reaction to the resolution.
Wesley found it pretty funny, but he didn’t let Data know that. “The problem,” he said, “is that you took the players’ encouragement too literally.”
“I see.” Data looked a little disappointed—in himself, no doubt. “And I thought I was making strides in that regard.”
“You are,” the boy assured him. “At least from what I can see. But in this case you should have taken as many bases as possible. In fact, you should have hit a home run in the first place. That would have taken the guesswork out of baserunning.”
The android nodded. “Actually I was thinking of hitting a home run. But when my teammates recommended I hit a single—”
Wesley shook his head.
“Too literal again?” Data asked.
“That’s right. A single would have brought the runner home from third base, and that would have been good. But it would have been better to bring two runs home.”
The android seemed to absorb the information. But he still looked puzzled. Wesley said so.
“What I do not understand,” said Data, “is Terwilliger’s reaction. Even if I did make a mistake, why should he have become so incensed over it? Is baseball not a game? Or am I missing something else?”
“To tell you the truth,” remarked