Possession - J.M. Dillard [10]
The engineer clapped his android friend on the shoulder. Data worked hard to master the “give and take” of a conversation, and he was doing well with it. On some level, Geordi knew that his compliment of Data’s work had triggered a program response that told Data to touch on an area of Geordi’s interest. He didn’t care. Data was showing he cared, and Geordi was happy to respond.
“You’re right about that,” he told Data. “I’ve been wearing his VISOR for a long time.” He touched the silvery eye shield that permitted him his own type of vision. “This invention changed my life, and the lives of others like me. It’s broadened my abilities and given me more freedom. I can’t wait to meet the man and shake his hand! Besides, how many scientists get to meet the actual recipients of their work? He’ll probably get a kick out of meeting me, too.”
Geordi moved away from the computer and approached the stacked tables and temporary walls they would use to set up the displays. “Come on, Data. We’ve got work to do!”
“It’s not often I have three handsome men escort me to a fair,” Deanna Troi teased her entourage as they strolled down the corridor toward Ten Forward.
Commander William Riker’s bearded face broke into a sly grin. “We decided that after wrangling with a cross Captain Picard and speaking at a very sad memorial service, you deserved a night on the town.”
“The commander is correct,” Lieutenant Worf added in his deep bass voice. His stern tone lacked the good humor of Riker’s—and his dark, fearsomely Klingon countenance showed no hint of a smile—but the black eyes beneath his prominent skull ridges contained the very faintest hint of amusement. “Though the best we could do is the impromptu Science Fair in Ten Forward. Still, the displays should be interesting … and educational.” This last he directed pointedly at his son, Alexander.
The young Klingon/human child glanced up at Troi, whose hand he was holding. “That means boring in Klingon,” he told her, and rolled his eyes in a purely human gesture.
Deanna and Riker struggled to smother their smiles as Worf growled low in protest. He and his young son rarely saw eye-to-eye.
“Oh, come now, Alexander,” Deanna replied, trying to help Worf save face. “You don’t find school boring. Your teacher tells me you’re in the top ten percent of your grade. She says you’re fascinated with physics and calculus and have enough curiosity for five students.”
As she expected, the compliment embarrassed the boy; he stared at his feet, his dusky skin tone darkening.
“I guess Alexander knows,” Riker added, “that a warrior can’t just rely on his strength. He also must be more cunning than his opponent.”
“Well said,” Worf agreed, mollified.
As they passed through the open doors of Ten Forward, the adults paused to take in the massive changes to the once-familiar space. Deanna hadn’t realized just how many scientists the Enterprise had picked up, nor the extensive scope of their work.
It was Alexander who put the entire thing in context for them, as he grabbed his father’s hand and, pointing with the other, announced excitedly, “Look, Father! There’s a holo display of a giant eyeball!”
He towed the hapless Klingon over to it.
As Worf allowed himself to be dragged toward a huge floating eye that seemed to be following him and his son, the Klingon studied the human female who controlled the display. She was extremely fair, almost colorless, her skin so pale it seemed translucent—what Commander Riker would no doubt refer to as a “real blonde.” Indeed, the hair she’d braided tightly into one long complicated plait was almost white. Tiny tendrils of the fine hair that escaped the braid fell in wisps about a long face that was attractive by human standards, but seemed far too delicate to the Klingon.
“Dr. Kyla Dannelke, opthalmologist,” the holographic banner beneath the giant eye proclaimed—and, Worf decided, the face was the only thing too delicate about Kyla Dannelke. For she was tall for a human woman,