Survivors - Jean Lorrah [57]
“I wonder if she remembered-” he said casually, entering Tasha’s room.
Everything was as neat as Tasha herself, the bed made, her toilet items precisely laid out on the dresser.
Suspicious nevertheless, Data opened the closet. In it hung Tasha’s dressing gown and two everyday uniforms.
Her dress uniform was not there.
Why was she wearing her dress uniform again this morning?
Or was it “still” rather than “again”? Had Tasha ever returned to her room last night? After spending the night awash in impersonal records of Nalavia’s treachery, Data did not put anything past Treva’s President.
Data scanned the entire room, the closet, the bath, the dresser drawers. He could not analyze the information now; for the moment, he had to concentrate on keeping Nalavia’s suspicions away from himself.
He left the room, saying to the guard, “Good, she took it with her,” and headed for the reception area.
Nalavia was waiting … but there was no sign of Tasha.
The President was in another parody of uniform, this one in blue. She smiled seductively at Data, and said, “Good morning. I trust you rested well. Just how much sleep do you need, sweet android? Less than us fully organic creatures, I should think.”
“Considerably less,” he evaded.
“Ah-that should make some things very interesting.”
But Data refused to access his flirtation files this morning. “Where is Lieutenant Yar?” he asked bluntly.
“Up with the dawn, to tour some agricultural sites. She expressed an interest in our dairy products, you remember.”
Accepting a second helping of a foamy dessert made from the milk of some local animal hardly constituted a request to tour dairy farms, but Data pretended to accept Nalavia’s story at face value. “Yes, I remember. But then, I remember everything that occurs in my presence.”
Nalavia’s smile froze just the slightest bit. Then she cooed, “I shall have to watch what I say to you, won’t I? I certainly wouldn’t want to make promises I don’t intend to keep.”
She was testing him. Should he ask to be taken to Tasha? She might be in custody-and Nalavia knew Data’s strength well enough from those Starfleet information tapes; if she imprisoned him, she would make certain he could not break out. If Tasha had simply been diverted for some reason, Data would reveal his suspicions by asking for her.
Until he was certain Tasha was in trouble, he would do her the best service by remaining free and learning as much as possible about Treva.
“You promised to show us the city,” he reminded her. “Even if Lieutenant Yar has chosen a different itinerary, I would like to see it.” And perhaps pick up some clues to what is happening here. He put on his blandest, most innocent air, the one guaranteed to drive sophisticated people to shouting at him if he kept it up long enough. There had been a time when it was his only mode of interaction with humanoids.
Nalavia did not shout. As they looked out at the world from her transparent groundcar, she put up with childlike curiosity about her city and her people for almost an hour. Finally, though, she had enough of “Inquiry-“
“Let’s stop the games, Mr. Data. Last night you were an entirely different person. Stop playing the walking machine-you have far more interesting modes of interaction.”
Perhaps the most startling thing about his reaction was the pleasant warmth at her casual assertion that he was “playing” a machine. It meant she thought of him as a person. But then he reminded himself of who-and especially what-she was. He had not told her of his wish to be human, but could she have learned it from Tasha?
“It is not completely inaccurate,” he pointed out in the most reasonable tone, “to refer to me as a ‘walking machine.’ However, as I am only partly mechanical, and have a considerable organic component-“
“Stuff it,” she said in imperious tones.
He blinked. “Stuff … it?”
“I don’t want your imitation Vulcan act, either. You were a most interesting companion last night. I want to know why that has changed.”
Why me? Why is it not Will Riker here? He is the