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It was hardly conventional—a romantic relationship between an android and a Vulcan. And, like all relationships involving unusual pairs, it was not without its struggles. But for the past three months, seventeen days, three hours, twenty-two minutes and thirty-eight seconds Ensign Taurik and Lieutenant Commander Data had managed to make it work.
Or, at least, that was the duration of their relationship according to Data. And perhaps that was when the android’s interest in the Vulcan had begun as well. But for Taurik, his interest began the first time they touched.
The contact had not been made intentionally. Taurik, like all Vulcans, had been raised with a strong sense of personal space, as a result of his species’ natural touch telepathy. And he had been sternly instructed by Captain Picard not to treat Lieutenant Commander Data any differently than he would any other “organic member of the crew”. So, in the same way he avoided casual contact with all other sentient beings to prevent accidental mental transference, he had avoided touching Data just to be polite.
But one day in Engineering, while they were working together to decrypt an alien computer virus, their fingers had accidentally brushed while flying over the keys. And Taurik had been entirely unprepared for the experience.
For months Taurik had assumed that if he were to touch Data, he would feel nothing more than he did while operating the ship’s controls. That the android’s simulated flesh would feel cold. That there would be no stream of consciousness to connect to. That it would be as impersonal of an experience as caressing a piece of plastic.
He was not expecting Data to be warm—heated, no doubt, by all the mechanical and electrical processes that made him function. He also wasn’t expecting Data’s skin to feel so life-like—to yield under his touch. And he most definitely wasn’t expecting to sense a presence—a consciousness unlike anything he had ever encountered, but nonetheless indisputably sentient, lurking somewhere underneath the tripolymer exterior and intricate maze of electrical wiring.
The experience had only lasted for fractions of a second. And yet, it had radically altered Taurik forever. His entire world-view had been challenged. A truly sentient machine? And the mind he had caught only the barest peek at, both fascinated him and attracted him.
Data was entirely devoid of emotion, yet always trying to be conscientious toward other’s feelings. He was massively intelligent, yet, somehow still curious. He was efficient, orderly, and tremendously skilled, but completely without hubris.
In short, he was everything Taurik was looking for in a mate. So Taurik had been determined from that moment forward to create opportunities to see more of that mind. And when he did, his attraction to Data only grew deeper. Until finally, he determined that the only logical course of action was to do something about it, and thus he approached Data with the offer of a shared holodeck program. Or, in human terms—which Data seemed to prefer, despite not being one himself—a date.
The romance had developed swiftly from there—something no one had expected, except Taurik, it seemed. Contrary to popular opinion, Vulcan romances tended to be rather fast affairs. Once mutual mental compatibility and parallel life goals were assured, there was no logical reason to delay.
In fact, Taurik firmly believed that he and Data were taking it slow. While they became steady and exclusive romantic partners quickly, and Taurik discovered the night after their third date exactly what was meant when it was said that Data was “fully-functional”, they did not marry immediately.
Most Vulcan couples, in sharp contrast, were matrimonially bonded after only three or four polite conversations. And the satisfaction rate with this practice had held at a steady 97.35% for the past two thousand years.
Of course, to be fair, those conversations typically occurred after the selection of potential partners was narrowed down with the results of a brief mental screening all Vulcans underwent as children to determine mental compatibility. And after the parents of the potentially compatible couples had negotiated with each other on the terms of the union.
But still, even without the aid of his parents or the any of the many Vulcan matchmaking services offered on his homeworld, Taurik had found an eminently suitable match in Data. And, while they had both agreed that a lengthier test period of their compatibility was wise before they became permanently attached, neither he, nor Data, saw any reason to artificially delay the pace of their relationship.
That wasn’t to say it was all perfect. Mind-melding, an important aspect of Vulcan romance, had been difficult for the pair at first. Taurik had assumed it would be simple, since he had record of Ambassador Spock once successfully mind-melding with a sentient probe known as “Nomad.” But he was, unfortunately, nowhere near as talented a telepath as his idol. Nor did he have any prior experience melding with an individual who was not Vulcan.
For the first two months of their relationship, Taurik was not sure he would ever be able to connect them in that way. That they would be limited to only the surface transference of neural impulses that a graze across the cheek, or the ozh’esta—the two-finger Vulcan kiss—brought them. Something that Taurik was uncertain would be enough for him.
But with diligent practice and Data coaching him through every known mind-melding technique until they found something that worked, eventually they were able to meld. And it was everything Taurik had hoped for and more.
For him, Data’s mind was an orderly place of refuge. An oasis of unfeeling away from the violently chaotic emotions that sometimes simmered in Taurik, repressed, but still too close to the surface for his liking.
And for Data, melding with Taurik allowed him the one thing he had always wanted—to be able to experience emotion as any other organic lifeform did. It wasn’t exactly what he wished he could feel—Data specifically wanted to be more human, not necessarily Vulcan. But while their intensity was far greater, and ran much deeper than human emotions did, there were enough similarities between human and Vulcan emotions to satisfy Data.
Once Taurik had mastered the technique that let him access Data’s positronic brain, they began melding frequently, both as a way to communicate and share experiences, and as a form of shared trust and affection. It was common for them to meld upwards of three times a week.
Sometimes, they even mind-melded during coitus. A truly transcendent experience, Taurik concluded.
And it was events like those that caused Taurik to wonder what his life would be like if the mate chosen for him at the age of seven had not died in a tragic shuttle accident while he was attending Starfleet Academy. Having experienced it, Taurik honestly doubted anything other than the logical embrace of Data’s mind could captivate him. But he could not know for certain what he would have chosen if he had still been bonded when his fingers had brushed with Data’s for the first time.
Would he have ignored the attraction he’d felt for Data and gone on to marry his betrothed—a young Vulcan man named Sorik—when the time came, and have been satisfied, as were most Vulcans with their childhood matches? Or would he have been among the 2.65% of Vulcans who annulled their preliminary childhood bonds in adulthood to seek different partners?
It was impossible to say what might have been. But ultimately, it was pointless to speculate about what actions he might have taken in an alternate timeline. And so Taurik did his best not to dwell on such unproductive and illogical thoughts.
Instead, he focused on the present. On things like his and Data’s shared affinity for literary mysteries—Taurik found the Sherlock Holmes series to be remarkably similar in many ways to the Vulcan procedural holovids his mother had often enjoyed when he was a child. Or things like their mutual appreciation of the arts. Or their near-equal proficiency in kal-toh—a game from his homeworld often referred to by his human shipmates as a Vulcan version of three-dimensional chess.
Sometimes, however, Taurik got distracted. And instead of anything intellectual, he thought of the electricity that coursed through him after Data tapped the tips of his fore and middle finger ever so gently against his. Or how it felt to have that bioplast-skin touching him in places he usually kept concealed beneath his mustard and black Starfleet uniform.
And, to his absolute mortification, Taurik soon learned that a mental bond had formed between him and Data, after so many successful mind-melds. A bond which allowed him to occasionally, unconsciously project his most lustful and humiliating desires into his android boyfriend’s head.
But Data, who was always so caring, despite the fact that he did not possess any standard, organic emotions which Taurik could sense, had not minded the unintentional, and often graphic intrusions. In fact, if Taurik were to attempt to gauge his response, he would say Data found Taurik’s occasional lewd projections amusing.
When Taurik had realized this, approximately, three months into their relationship, he had been urgently tempted to ask Data to bond with him. However, in keeping with their mutually agreed upon plan not to rush things, instead, Taurik merely convinced Data to agree that the next logical step in their relationship was to share living quarters.
That action necessitated making their relationship public knowledge. Which Taurik had been concerned would create tension, due to its unorthodox and unforeseen nature. And he had been partially correct—the pairing did surprise most of the crew. But thankfully there were few dissenters. And they, fortunately, had the common sense to keep their disagreement to idle gossip.
No one appeared willing to challenge Data and Taurik’s relationship openly. Not even the senior officers which Taurik and Data were required to report their relationship to, so that there were no conflicts of interest or assignments that placed Taurik in Data’s direct chain of command.
Lieutenant Worf, had typically reductive views of Vulcans. Like many who did not interact closely with them, he believed all Vulcans were truly as devoid of emotion as they strived to appear (an assumption which, to be fair, Vulcans were slow to correct). But since Data could not experience emotion, Worf had no objections. In fact, he even stated that it was “only natural for a Vulcan to fall in love with a computer.”
Counselor Troi, on the other hand, commented that she viewed their relationship as “more of an opposites-attract sort of dynamic”. She thought a Vulcan (an emotional being by birth, striving to be more logical) and an android like Data (a logical being by design trying to be more emotional) were perfect for each other. As long as they respected and supported each other’s goals. Which they did.
But it was Captain Picard’s opinion that Taurik thought was the most interesting, even now. When asked about the subject by Commander Riker, his only reply was:
“How was a Vulcan supposed to resist a mind that is supremely intelligent and absolutely, flawlessly logical?”
And while Taurik had not said anything at the time in response, only given a cordial nod, he was slated to agree. How, indeed, Taurik thought, as he gazed affectionately at his android lover. How, indeed.