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Data looked up from his computer terminal as the door to his quarters opened. “Doctor,” he greeted, as he noted the person entering. “How may I help you?” It was, to his knowledge, her off hours. He failed to think of why she would want to speak to him.
His and Pulaski’s relationship had improved since her early tendency to refer to him as an unusually animated object, which was correct only in the most technical sense, but they still had very little contact outside of duty and command crew gatherings. She was not like Geordi, who actively sought out Data’s company.
“I’d like to talk to you,” Pulaski said. She came and sat across from him.
“I believe my medical knowledge is the same as that of the ship’s computer,” he said.
“Not about work,” Pulaski said. She sighed, which was somewhat puzzling.
“Have I done something to upset you?” Data asked. It was difficult for him to tell.
“No, no,” Pulaski said. “It’s not that.” She sighed again. “Do you know when the Enterprise is arriving at Starfleet Medical? You can round to days.” Data assumed she said the last part in order to stop him from giving an exact answer, as was his tendency.
“Three, or so,” he said. It was actually two days, twenty hours, thirty-six minutes and twelve seconds as of the moment of counting, hence the ‘or so.’
“That’s how long I have left on the ship,” Pulaski said.
This, Data assumed, was where he might have felt ‘surprise,’ had he been capable of doing so. “Oh,” he said. He frowned. “Oh,” he repeated, this time attempting to affect surprise.
“It’s short notice because Beverly Crusher only just put in her return request,” Pulaski explained. “The Captain’s going to make some kind of announcement, of course, but I wanted to tell people myself.”
“Why?” Data asked. “It would be more efficient to tell everyone at once.” Data was surprised that the Captain had yet to announce Doctor Crusher’s return—perhaps it was at Pulaski’s request.
Pulaski shook her head in a way Data had learned to interpret as amusement. “I suppose,” she said, “because I wanted people to hear it from me. But that’s not the only reason I’ve come to talk to you,” she said. She sighed, shifting her body position. “I’ve come to apologize, for how I treated you early on.”
“But you stopped,” Data said. “You have come to understand how much I wish to be human.” It had been this want that had made her understand his sentience, he believed. Nonsapients could not want, after all.
“Yes, yes,” Pulaski said, “but I still—look I suppose a lot of this apology is selfish too. I feel bad for how I treated you.”
“Oh,” Data said. It wasn’t as though being treated as a computer with a human face was anything resembling a new experience for Data. How the Enterprise crew interacted with him was an exception, not a rule. It was also accurate, if not precisely so. “I am used to it.”
“That’s not terribly comforting,” Pulaski said. This was puzzling. “It’s been good serving on the same ship as you,” she eventually said. “You’re certainly not like anyone I’ve ever met.”
“My interactions with you have also been pleasant,” Data said.
“I’m going to miss this ship,” Pulaski said. “Can you miss things?”
Data paused to consider. He was unsure if he could undergo mourning in the same way a human being could, without grief. “The absence of Lieutenant Yar is one I do not like,” he said. “I believe that I miss her,” he finally said.
“That’s so interesting—pardon, I just meant that—why do you want to be human, Data?” Pulaski seemed distracted from her own purpose in coming to his quarters, fascinated again by a small component of Data’s functionality which he took for granted. As always, it was bizarre, if not unpleasant.
It was a question he had been asked many times before. “I do not understand how I could not want to be human,” he said. “I suppose, had I been built to look like a different species of sapient, I would wish to be that species. But I look human, and I know enough about how humans experience the world to know that I do not share these experiences.”
This evidently surprised Pulaski. “I hope you can experience emotion someday,” she said.
“Thank you,” Data said, sincerely. This was not something he often expressed in words—he had said something near identical to Counselor Troi when she had asked him, but that was all.
Pulaski stood without saying anything further. She turned to leave. As she reached the doors, she glanced back. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she said quietly.
Data puzzled over her meaning for a few moments, before grasping that she was referring to one of his more recent statements. “Thank you,” he replied, unsure of what else to say.
The doors closed quietly as Pulaski left. She did not say farewell, despite her stated intentions and imminent departure.
Data shifted his weight from one side of his body to another, imitating what he had seen Pulaski do. Was it a reaction to discomfort? He would miss Doctor Pulaski, he decided. Not as badly as he missed Tasha; Pulaski was not dead.
He would have to be careful not to imitate an expression of discomfort inappropriately.
**
Katherine Pulaski sat at a corner table in Ten Forward, contemplating the star field outside the viewscreen.
Her conversation with Data had gone surprisingly well. The android had seemed confused for much of it, but she had been able to apologize, and say goodbye, sort of.
She had let herself get distracted by her curiosity, which often happened when she spoke to him. He was as unique a form of life as she was likely to encounter for a while.
She knew about Lieutenant Yar , but for Data to bring her up unprompted as an example of loss—there were times when she wondered if he was truly as far from humanity as he believed himself to be.
“Hey.” She watched, surprised, as Guinan sat across from her. She had spoken to the bartender before, of course, but never really on her off hours. Pulaski rarely came here alone, and Guinan never went to Sick Bay.
“Hello,” Pulaski said. She looked at her empty hands. “I don’t want to order anything.”
“Of course,” Guinan said with a smile, “and I wasn’t going to ask. I just wanted to see if you wanted to talk, that’s all.”
“The Enterprise will be at Starfleet Medical in three days,” Pulaski said.
“Ah,” Guinan said. “You’ll be leaving then, won’t you?” She phrased it as a question, but Pulaski had the feeling she knew already. That seemed to be what Guinan did—knowing things already.
“Yes,” Pulaski said. “Beverly Crusher has requested a transfer back to the ship.” She could not fault the other woman for wanting to return.
“Does that really mean you have to go?” Guinan asked.
“The ship can’t exactly have two CMOs,” Pulaski said. “Do you remember how sick Will got, about a week ago?” She hoped Guinan wouldn’t remark on the abrupt change of topic. She noticed it though, because she leaned her elbows on the table, interested.
“Yes,” Guinan said, “he told me about it.”
“Well you see, what he got sick with is a kind of infectious agent that’s never been encountered by Starfleet. It’s neither a virus or a bacterium, but it has elements of both. It responded to Will’s neurotransmitters, to his emotions… that’s something truly alien. I submitted my report about it to Medical, and they want to send a team to the planet we encountered it on to research it.” She had told Picard first, with the qualification that she didn’t know her application would be accepted.
“Let me guess,” Guinan said, “you’ve been asked to head the team?”
“I was the first person to observe this… whatever it was,” Pulaski said. “It’s only natural.”
“Of course,” Guinan said. “Why are you here then?” she asked.
“Hm?”
“I would think you would be in your quarters, preparing,” Guinan said.
“I wanted—to think,” she said. “I went to talk to Data—to apologize.” She felt compelled to clarify herself. “And to say goodbye, less formally.”
“Apologize for what?” Guinan seemed genuinely curious.
“I didn’t really think of him as a person at first,” Pulaski admitted, a little embarrassed. “Can you compel people?” she asked Guinan suddenly. “Is that something your species can do?” She didn’t mean to be paranoid, but she felt more open talking to Guinan than she had with anyone else on the ship.
“I’m not compelling you to answer anything, if that’s what you’re asking,” Guinan said. “I’m just very good at listening.”
“I suppose—I suppose I expected more time,” Pulaski said. “Honestly I think Data is the closest I have to a friend on this ship.” She smiled despite herself. “Do you think he would respond to written correspondence?”
“I would think so,” Guinan said. “You don’t need human emotions to want friendship.”
“Thank you, Guinan,” she said, “I think I’ve figured some stuff out.”
“Glad to help,” Guinan said. “You sure you don’t want that drink?” she asked.
“I’m sure.”