Survivors - Jean Lorrah [7]
“Doesn’t everyone?” Yar asked. “If he weren’t programmed with humility, he would be a regular pain in the-“
“It’s not programmed humility, Tasha,” said Troi. “Data envies us.”
“That’s ridiculous. He has everything humans have, and more. What could he possibly envy us?”
“I am not revealing a confidence, for he has said it openly. You’ve heard him: he wishes he were human.”
Yar frowned. She had never given that particular aberration of her android colleague much thought. “Does Data come to you for counseling?”
“He is a member of this crew. He has the same right as the rest of you.”
“But he’s a machine,” Yar protested. “He can’t really have … feelings?”
“He can and he does. Look up the records of his entrance examination for Starfleet Academy. There was no question of his intelligence, of course, or his physical stamina, but one of the entry requirements is that one be sentient. Not only sapient, but sentient, Tasha. Self-aware. That implies feelings. Computers and robots are not admitted to Starfleet Academy. Data was.”
Is she feeling guilt from me now? Yar wondered. This means I hurt him-at the least I confused him. And it’s been so long now. How do I apologize?
Troi’s huge dark eyes studied Yar. “You will sleep untroubled tonight, I think.”
“You do?” Yar asked, startled. “Why? I’ve just discovered another problem.”
“Yes-but it has to do with someone else, not yourself. And you are very good at caring for others, Tasha. Your problems all come when you demand too much of yourself. I will say good night now. But one more thing.”
“Yes?”
“Talk to Data.” Before Yar could protest the apparent invasion of privacy, Troi continued. “It would be good for both of you. Tasha, you want to be the iron woman, able to defeat all enemies with any weapon or your bare hands, all pertinent facts ready at hand. Data has the physical strength and wide-ranging knowledge you envy, and yet he would give it all up to be human. Talk with him; I think you will learn a great deal from one another.”
“Is that a prescription, Counselor?”
“It’s a suggestion, friend.”
And after Troi had gone, Yar discovered-in the morning, when her wakeup sounded-that she did indeed sleep well, untroubled by worrisome dreams.
Lieutenant Commander Data was at his usual post on the bridge when the message arrived from Treva. Instantly, he accessed all available information on the planet: Class M, humanoid culture of undetermined origin, technological level comparable to pre-atomic mid-twentieth-century Earth, no space travel, but space trade with non-Federation cultures before contact by the Federation. Preliminary petition for Federation membership presented to the Federation Council some fifteen Standard Years ago. A Starfleet survey team’s report had approved a full-scale investigation which could lead to eventual membership with the approval of the citizenry. But Treva had never tendered the formal request for that investigation, and so the planet’s potential for Federation membership remained in limbo.
Somewhat to Data’s disappointment, Captain Jean-Luc Picard did not ask him for information on Treva. Frustration was one human experience the android was only too familiar with: designed to operate as the perfect information retrieval system, time and again he was denied the opportunity to fully demonstrate that function.
Instead, the Captain had the message played on the viewscreen. It showed a woman who identified herself as Nalavia, President of Treva. With a rapid cross-check of the files, Data verified her identity between one word and the next.
He had no trouble recording what she was saying at the same time that he studied her image, intending to ask Commander William Riker at some later time whether he thought the woman beautiful. To Data all humans-all living beings-were beautiful, each in a different way. It was only recently that he had become intrigued by standards of beauty, after discovering that while seascapes, sunsets, or starfields were almost universally agreed upon, there were widely varying opinions of what constituted