Work Text:
Starbase 1
Earth
Approximately Two weeks before Star Trek Nemesis
He walked into the room with his gift tucked under his arm.
He was hardly the last one there, but he was far from the first. He recognized everyone in the room, either because he knew them or because his positronic memory allowed him to have visual records of almost all of Starfleet in his memory banks.
He had, after all, significantly upgraded himself over the decades of his life. Humans often sought constant self improvement. Should he not do the same?
This wasn't his first retirement party, and he assumed it would not be his last. But it was the first such event since installing his emotion chip, and he was looking forward to the emotional experience of seeing a friend and colleague move on to the next part of their life.
But he still reviewed everything he knew about the human ceremony of 'retirement parties.' As per usual, anecdotal accounts widely varied, and there was no way to know what this particular woman would prefer her retirement party to be. There was, of course, the Federation's oft-updated and painstakingly maintained Culture and Society database, which he often availed himself of, but it too had a large variation of both expectations and procedures.
Thankfully, he was far more adaptable than he had once been. Far more experienced.
He set his gift down on a table piled high with similar, cheerfully wrapped packages and slipped into the room to mingle. Unsurprisingly, his presence drew more than a few glances - and a few waves.
Only, he now knew the glances were not just because he was a fully sentient android. He was also a well known figure in Starfleet, not just because of his published research, but because of his service aboard the Enterprise - two of them. And it was hardly a secret he was soon to become the first officer of the current Enterprise - which was one of the most prominent billets in Starfleet, if not the Federation.
Data had observed ships christened ‘Enterprise’ were regarded with an almost mystical reverence. Great things were expected of their crews.
Expectations that were often met through every iteration of that starship's storied history.
It almost seemed to be a self-fulfilling prophecy. High expectations created the bias of assigning the best, brightest, and most unique members of Starfleet to ships named Enterprise. Often, ships named Enterprise were the flagships of the Federation, and thus assigned high profile assignments. Skilled crews were often handed difficult, dangerous missions - giving every ship named Enterprise ample opportunity to add to the legend.
(He had yet to determine how or why so many of their more routine missions became events well suited to such legends. It was statistically improbable at best.)
The guest of honor at the party certainly fit the mold of Enterprise officers, despite her short tenure aboard the ship. Dr. Katherine Pulaski would never be anything but bold, outspoken, scrupulously ethical, and disturbingly intense.
Disturbingly intense.
He smiled a bit as emotions started to well up in him at the thought of the irascible doctor.
"Data! You made it!"
Dr. Pulaski threaded her way through the large conference room to stand by him.
"Of course I did. You invited me, did you not?"
She sniffed. "I most certainly did. Captain Picard and a few other Enterprise officers stopped by to see me earlier, but couldn't make it this evening. I wasn't sure you would be able to."
Data nodded. "A logical concern, Doctor. But I assure you, I requested the appropriate scheduling for this event approximately forty-eight seconds after responding to your initial invitation."
She slipped her arm through his, patting his shoulder. "As efficient and precise as always, I see. Glad to know your newfound emotions haven't changed you a bit."
Data paused, tilting his head to one side. "Again, a logical possibility. However, my personality seems largely unaffected most of the time now that I am more practiced with reacting to and processing my emotions. I do find them constantly surprising and occasionally difficult to identify."
Pulaski shook her head, and Data noticed that along with new lines etched into her face, her hair was completely gray and noticeably thinner than it had been the last time he had seen her in person, but she had yet to reach the state of advanced aging he had observed when she had contracted the aging disease.
"Of course you do, Data. Why should your experience with emotions be that much different than the rest of us? Emotions confuse, bewilder and bedevil the most self-aware people, especially the hard to identify ones."
Despite her obvious aging, Data could tell no difference in her physical abilities. She walked with him as easily as she ever had, and the grip of her hand was similar in strength to the last time she had gripped his arm.
"Because I am an android, Doctor. I assumed my cognitive and analytical facilities would allow me to identify and process emotions more efficiently than biological individuals."
"Hrm." She gave him an almost smug look. "Is that a conceit, I hear, my dear Data? You might be able to process information faster, but processing feelings takes a lens of context, experience, and understanding, and there are really no shortcuts to those - as much as we might want there to be. You'll learn at a faster pace than a child, I'm sure, but your learning curve won't be as different as you think. With as many different humanoid species as there are in the galaxy, surely you could analyze that many of them - most of them - have the same trouble with emotions humans do?"
Data nodded. "Without external factors such as Vulcan mental disciplines or Betazoid telepathy and other rigorous forms of mental or emotional training from childhood, most species do seem to have a similar spectrum of emotions, even if their expressions of those emotions differ from species to species."
Once, he would have offered a list of examples of those differences, but he had come to understand there was a time and a place for such things, and he was pleased with how far he had come in recognizing when and where those times and places were.
"From person to person, Data. People are people. Individuals always have their own ways to deal with emotions, even if we can classify and generalize methodologies, how each person uses those methods or accesses their emotional processing is different."
Data nodded. "You are correct. However, there are statistical modes of analysis that allow for a -"
She cut him off with a wave of her hand. "Statistics can tell you some things. General patterns. Favorite methods. Maybe even psycho-social tendencies - but if you get two people of the same species, raised in similar environments, in similar ways across a table from each other you will find a wide variation. It's individual, Data. Just like each of us."
When he had first known the doctor, her seemingly somewhat shallow and even dismissive reactions to his factually correct statements might have proven confusing, creating cognitive dissonance as he tried to reconcile not only her desire to argue with most things said to her but how she, as a medical professional, could deny the statistical information supporting entire disciplines of scientific analysis in her own field.
Now, it both amused and reassured him. He knew she didn't deny statistical realities; she just saw what she considered the larger, more important truth of experiencing emotions: the individual experience of them. And the individual approach to dealing with them.
A larger truth she did not want him to miss or ignore because he was focused on pure data. Experience, after all, did change perspective - as he had been musing since arriving at the party.
He silently conceded she was very likely completely correct, but that was no reason for him to abandon his continued use of statistical modeling of emotion and emotional regulation techniques used by humanoid (and some non-humanoid) species in the galaxy. He had no interest in ignoring such a versatile and useful tool kit.
He would just examine such data in light of his own individual experience.
Quite possibly just as Dr. Pulaski had intended.
"Come on, Mr. Data. Let's sit down. I'm too old to stand around all the time anymore."
She guided him through the crowd over to a table laden with an already cut cake, snacks, and drinks suitable for a variety of species. She took up a small plate he presumed was hers, and sat with her back to the room, staring out the panoramic window at Earth slowly rotating 'below' them.
He enjoyed the view of Earth, pleased not only at the emotions of awe and wonder it evoked in him, but his ability to feel those things now.
His ability to share in Dr. Pulaski's quiet joy at seeing her home world so close at hand.
"You hardly seem old, much less infirm to me, Doctor. You seem as physically and mentally capable as you did when I last saw you. I believe most humans would say you have 'aged gracefully.'" Data located the half empty mug of tea near where the plate had been and slid it closer to her.
She smiled at him. "Well, thank you, Data. That's actually quite the compliment coming from you. Not just because it's a nice thing to say, but because you actually used logic and comparative analysis to figure it out."
Data's head tilted again. "That is correct. Was that not a proper thing to reveal?"
Dr. Pulaski laughed. "Oh, Data. In this case, it was quite correct. Though, in other contexts, maybe not. But I feel old. The Klingon and Dominion wars took a lot out of me."
Data nodded. He could now understand this much better than he had ever been able to - and his statistical analysis of human emotional reactions and processes indicated this was a normal and even healthy response to what she had endured during the wars.
"You were assigned to several front-line positions during the course of those wars."
He deliberately made it a statement. Often, he would phrase such things differently, usually as an inquiry. It helped him avoid disturbing people with knowledge about them they had not directly shared with him or did not think he would have reason to know.
He did not feel the need for such subterfuge with her. Despite her initial reactions to his nature as an artificial lifeform, they had long since moved past such antagonism and developed both respect and (to his retroactive surprise) friendship. He felt it was a logical assumption she knew he would have been following her career.
Her nod set any burgeoning anxiety at ease. He was also surprised to note he had anxiety about his statement, given the probability he had chosen his phrasing incorrectly.
He filed it away for his continued analysis.
"Yes. Both on starships and on the ground. I was on Betazed when it was invaded - and they forced me into an escape shuttle during the evacuation, kicking and screaming. I was needed there, damn it!"
Sometimes, he wondered about some human hyperbole; it was often used as a way to indicate the intensity and impact of a specific set of events as opposed to being literal. For most people, he would consider the phrase 'kicking and screaming' to be such hyperbole. From what he knew of Dr. Pulaski, he was quite certain she was both being literal and possibly understating the events.
Data looked at her. "Doctor, your execution or imprisonment by Dominion forces on Betazed would not have served anyone. Nor would the Dominion forces have allowed you to operate in any capacity as a doctor, given your long service in Starfleet. Your escape from Betazed allowed you to treat and - given your skill as a physician - save many more. It was the right decision, as much as your misplaced guilt might indicate otherwise."
Dr. Pulaski was silent for fifty-four seconds before turning to face him. Data was surprised to see there were tears in her eyes she was furtively wiping away.
He blinked. He was completely unsure of what to say or how to react. It had not been his intention to create more distress. He had just repeated the factual analysis of the situation.
"Mr. Data." She put her hand on his arm. "You are going to make a fine first officer for Captain Picard. And thank you. Did you know you are possibly the only person in the entire universe who could have said that to me - and have it make me feel better?"
"I am?"
Data was now sincerely confused. Why would him telling her those facts mean more than the same thing being said to her by Starfleet - or civilian - counselors? Or her fellow officers or doctors?
"You are. Because even with your emotion chip, you are still you. You’re not given to the extremes of sentiment we humans have, and I'd like to think you know me well enough to tell me the truth, even if it's not what I might want to hear. From you, that statement was just facts. An analysis and a true statement. Not an attempt to reassure me."
Data gave her a small smile. His first for Dr. Pulaski. "I assure you, Doctor. It was both."
She leaned against him. "I didn't treat you very well when we first met, did I?"
Data paused, taking a few microseconds to process both memory and emotion, realizing he had no retroactive hurt feelings, but recognizing the Doctor might have some remaining guilt over her initial misunderstandings of what he actually was.
"No. By most standards, you did not. However, I comprehended then - and now - that you did not completely understand what I am or what it entailed."
She shook her head. "I didn't. I didn't know who or what you are, then. But I still approached you with prejudice - literal prejudgment - and no willingness to extend you the same courtesies I would offer others who I didn't understand, and that was wrong of me. I’m sorry, Data."
Data's small smile grew. "Thank you, Doctor. I accept your apology. Not because I think it is warranted, but because you believe it is."
She huffed. "One day, Mr. Data, you will realize my apology was very much warranted, and if that day is far past my death, then so be it. I said what I said"
She paused, and a flicker of her fire crackled in her voice. "And when I go teach at Starfleet Medical next month, I want to make sure I have the moral high ground when I lecture those damn cadets on the ethics of being a medical officer in Starfleet."
Data stared out at Earth. "I cannot think of anyone else better suited for that job, Dr. Pulaski. I hope you will teach them with as much fervor as you taught me."
Dr. Pulaski laughed. "I don't know how to do it any differently."
~*~
Starfleet Medical
Earth
Approximately Two weeks after Star Trek Nemesis
Dr. Katherine Pulaski's retirement party had been shorter than most people expected, but a lot longer than she wanted it to be. She was never one for parties where she was the guest of honor. She hadn't even opened all her gifts. She'd saved some for the days when teaching was just too frustrating and she wanted to strangle some of the cadets.
And even though she had retired, she had been almost immediately recalled when a war with the Remans had seemed inevitable.
She had stayed in the service just long enough to be allowed to wear her mess dress uniform to Data's memorial. She had almost retired again, but that damnable Jean Luc had caught her after the service and talked her into staying on.
The bastard looks like he's barely aged a day. Aging gracefully, my ass.
(Maybe it was something those thrice-cursed Borg had done to him? Or Q, just not wanting his favorite nemesis to die?)
She sat heavily in her office chair, and sniffled.
Damn it, Data. You were supposed to outlive us all.
Data claimed she had taught him a lot about humanity. About being human. He'd send her a long, rambling letter while the Enterprise was en route to Betazed, discussing his analysis of emotional processing and reacting to emotions on an individual basis with a framework of proper statistical analysis, and his experiments with it thus far.
He'd included datasets. Animated graphs. Even holo recordings of him reacting to various emotional stimuli.
She had spent most of the time listening to his letter laughing and shaking her head in wonder at her strange android friend. Most of his letters to her over the years were similar. Data had always been a dutiful and enthusiastic correspondent, sending her notes and observations on human behavior, thrilling her with his confusion, perceptions, and analyses of the antics his emotional friends had gotten up to.
(She had never laughed so hard than at his exasperated ramble about the Riker and Troi romance. She had been forced to tell him that love worked in mysterious ways, and that William Riker and Deanna Troi were frustrating and bewildering to even the wisest, most learned humans - but their engagement was something to celebrate and rejoice in.)
She held his present in her hands. Meticulously, perfectly wrapped in glossy metallic blue paper the exact shade of Starfleet Science and Medical blue, contained with a picture-perfect bow of gold ribbon.
It almost hurt to open the box, but she did. She undid the bow with careful precision of her own), slowly unwrapping the gift as she had seen Data once do. She set the wrapping paper aside, carefully folded and preserved, the ribbon atop it.
She opened the box, and pulled out a glove of metal frames and wires, with a handwritten note attached to it with more gold ribbon.
I believe there is an 86.74 percent chance you will not open all of your gifts at your retirement party. Thus, I have included this note to explain my gifts, as I may not be present to do so.
I have included one of the gloves from my second Stratgema match with Mr. Kolrami, as I believe we both learned a great deal from that particular event. It was, I think, the very first time you reached out to me on an emotional human level when you sought to reassure me I was not defective because Kolrami defeated me. I find that conversation has great meaning to me.
This is, of course, the glove you put on my hand.
I am (I believe) hopeful my other gift will 'speak for itself' as I have heard you say.
Your friend,
Data
Under the glove was another perfectly wrapped package. Complete with ribbon and bow. She unwrapped it with as much care as she had the larger box, rolling her eyes when she saw the small device. It was something Data was working on perfecting - a way to transport larger items in smaller items via what was essentially a tiny transporter buffer. So far, he had achieved great success with single items.
She tapped the activation button. There was a faint chirp and a painting - no bigger than a hardback book - materialized in her hands. Data had remembered her fondness for both art and having easily portable possessions.
The painting took her breath away.
It was a painting of Data sitting across from Kolrami at the Stratagema table, with her at his shoulder - and his cat, Spot, sitting right in the middle of the gaming table, looking out at her with feline superiority.
There was another note, which she read through tear-blurred eyes.
While I am aware Spot was not present at the event, I often feel as if my pet is constantly at my side. Given her propensity for jumping on consoles, I felt this an appropriate artistic interpretation of the event.
With, perhaps, a bit of whimsy?
You friend,
Data
She laughed and sobbed at the same time. "You say I taught you, but I think it was the other way around."
She wiped at her eyes, and set the framed painting on her desk. She reached for her console. If she was going to stay in Starfleet, maybe it was time she took an active hand in teaching an android or two.
I think I'm going to get myself onto Maddox's team. He probably needs someone with feelings and empathy. it's not like he has any.
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