Fortune's Light - Michael Jan Friedman [80]
The captain smiled by way of acknowledgment. “Hello, Data. I hope you don’t mind my coming by. I just wanted to, er—”
“To see what I was up to,” suggested the android.
“That’s right.”
“Then Mr. Worf’s report was insufficient?”
Picard chuckled. “How did you know I sent Worf?”
“He told me so,” explained Data. “Though perhaps not in so many words.”
The captain nodded. “You know, Data, you really are becoming quite perceptive.”
“Thank you,” said the android. “But truthfully, your intent was not difficult to deduce. After all, given my recent efforts with Lal in one of the holodecks—”
“Yes,” Picard interjected, not wishing to rehash a topic Data might find painful. Or was it he who might find it painful? “I see that you have anticipated my concern.”
The android nodded. “But perhaps not far enough in advance. When I began spending so much time here, I should have apprised you of what I was doing. I should have set your mind at ease.”
The captain shrugged good-naturedly. “Water under the bridge, I say. And in point of fact, it was more than concern that drew me here. It was curiosity as well.”
Data looked at him. “Curiosity, sir?”
“Indeed. You see, I have heard bits and pieces about this program. From Mr. Worf, of course. And also from Commander La Forge. I thought I should see it for myself—that is, of course, if you don’t object.”
The android shook his head. “Certainly not. After all, it is only on loan to me in the first place.” He paused. “Do you wish to participate in the game? I could alter the program to—”
“No, Data. That will not be necessary.” He looked out at the sea of humanity in the stands, gestured across the field. “I think I’ll just take a seat and watch. Like everyone else.”
“As you wish, sir.”
“But first, perhaps you could point someone out to me.” He surveyed the faces in the dugout. “Someone named Terwilliger, I believe. The man in charge of your team.”
“Of course,” said the android. “That would be the individual just behind you. The one hiding in the stairwell.”
The captain turned to take a second look at the man. It was no more impressive than the first.
“This,” he said, “is Terwilliger?”
“Yes,” maintained Data. “The manager of the Fairbanks Icebreakers. And now, sir, if you don’t mind, I would like to see the program continued.”
Picard forced himself to regain his composure. “Sorry,” he said earnestly. “I will find a seat immediately.”
Climbing out of the dugout, he wandered out near the pitcher’s mound and scanned the stands for an empty chair. Not an easy task, considering how full the place was. Spotting a vacancy just a couple of rows behind the third base line, he headed in that direction.
It was no trouble at all to vault the rail that separated the spectators from the field. And though made of hard plastic, the seat was more comfortable than it looked.
“All right,” called the captain. “Resume program.”
Suddenly the stands were awash with the sounds of the crowd. In the seat to Picard’s right, a child looked up at him wide-eyed.
“Daddy,” he said, tugging at an elbow on the other side of him, “there’s a man there.”
The youngster’s father glanced at the captain. “That’s right, Robby. There’s a man there.”
“But, Dad, he wasn’t there before.”
“Sure he was. He just got up to get a hot dog or something.”
“I don’t think so, Dad. I think he wasn’t there.”
“Ssh,” hissed his father. “Look—Giordano is up. He tore the cover off the ball last time. And—what is it, Katie?”
“Daddy, I have to go.”
“Jeez, Katie, can’t it wait? Giordano …”
Picard grunted softly. Children. He turned his attention back to the game.
As it happened, Data was standing closer to him than any other player, guarding the third base line, as one was supposed to do in the late innings. What’s more, the captain noted, the android looked comfortable at his position—slightly crouched, weight forward, as if about to charge home plate, his glove low to the ground.
Having observed that much, Picard peered into the Icebreaker dugout, where he was able to catch a glimpse of Terwilliger