Warning:

This story contains frequent implied references to sexual intercourse, as well as minor coarse language.

Guideline: if the level of language and implied sex in the TV-series The Next Generation didn't bother you,

then I'm pretty sure this won't either.

This story is based on the events from the 1st season episode "The Naked Now",
written by J. Michael Bingham and John D. F. Black.

With thanks for providing me with the inspiration!

So It Did Happen after All

It Never Happened

As she stepped out of the turbolift, she did the utmost not to appear self-conscious. To look her usual self. Cool. Collected. Professional. Those were proper words to describe the Enterprise's Chief of Security.

But as she rigidly walked over to her station on the upper bridge, her eyes demonstrated a mind of their own as she felt them wandering off to the pale, well-built man - machine! she chided herself - at the science computer, only a few steps away from her post.

Quickly, she focused her attention on her console. For goodness' sake, why did he have to be at the damned science computer at this very moment! Why wasn't he safely at the helm where he spent most of his time, and where she could at least keep an eye on what he was up to?

She felt his gaze burning on her back. Surely he was undressing her with his eyes. It was unnerving. Carefully she glanced over her shoulder. And as quickly turned back, with her cheeks burning. Sure thing he was looking at her. Though his expression struck her more as apprehensive than as lustful.

She closed her eyes and let out a quiet sigh. Better deal with this right here, right now. They'd have to work together a lot in the upcoming years, so she'd better make sure that he understood it was all a mistake. A mistake brought on by that virus from the Tsiolkovsky, and nothing more than that.

With embarrassed determination she turned and crossed the few meters that were between them. And demanded his attention in a tone that tolerated no discussion: "Data."

He turned to face her only now, with that blank expression she had already seen quite often lately. 'Even better,' it flashed through her mind. 'He's an android. A machine. He won't mind - he's got no feelings to hurt.'

That realization made it at least a trifle easier to say what she had to say. "I'm only going to tell you this, just once," she said in a low voice, lest the whole bridge was interested. Only to continue with a stern: "It never happened."

As she hastily turned back to her station, she still caught sight of his puzzled frown. And scolded herself. Tell a computer to forget something? She could already hear his innocent: "Inquiry. What never happened?" And her having to spell out for him that she meant their having had sex for several hours under the influence of that blasted virus. With the rest of the crew politely pretending not to be listening, but savouring every word of it nonetheless: their tough Security Chief had had sex with their Lieutenant Commander! The android, of all people! She could easily imagine the gossip such news would evoke in a small community like the Enterprise. And she repressed a shudder.

Fortunately, the Captain forestalled Data's embarrassing 'inquiry' for now by addressing the whole crew. "I put it to you all: I think we shall end up with a fine crew." A short pause. Then, quietly: "If we avoid temptation."

Once more her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. And anger. How could the Captain possibly know? Had Data...?

A quick glance over her shoulder. No. Data looked rather puzzled, as if he was at a total loss about the Captain's remark. But still: no 'inquiry' from his side.

So much the better. If they'd just avoid mentioning the entire subject, they should be able to heartily forget about it, and work together the way they were supposed to. Just pretend nothing had happened between them. She and Data were mere mates. Colleagues, who had been working together for no more than a few weeks. That was all.

And as Commander Riker ordered the course to their next destination, she focused her attention on her console. It never happened. Now all she had to do was getting the entire episode out of her mind.

Right?

Memories of What Never Happened

She hastily left the bridge as soon as her shift ended, avoiding all non-professional questions that might be asked. At least she wouldn't have to face Data - yet; their android Lt. Commander always worked two shifts a day, since he didn't sleep. Nor lose concentration.

She sighed as the turbolift took her down to the holodecks. During the uneventful rest of her shift she had had ample time to think. What she needed now was a thorough work-out, to get her mind off things. And after that...

Yes. After that, she was physically exhausted, having pushed her body to the limit and beyond for hours, even more than she usually did. But at least it had cleared out the cobwebs in her head. And when she got back to her quarters, the first thing she did was throwing the bed-clothes, as well as all the clothes she'd been wearing today, in the cleaning unit. She put on a clean uniform, and made her bed with crispy clean sheets. "There. See? It never happened."

She dropped down on the immaculate bed and closed her eyes. She was dead beat after this rollercoaster of a day, but her mind was far too occupied to have a go at an early night.

"It never happened," she told herself again.

But flashes of what had happened - or rather not happened - on this very bed that afternoon kept jumping to her mind.

It had been so different from what she had always known. Her experiences with sexual intercourse all dated back to her youth at Turkana IV. To the rapegangs that had gotten to her a few times. To her, having sex meant being the victim of brutal force. Abuse, violence, pain, fear. Feeling helpless and vulnerable. Lonely. Scared.

When she had come to Earth, and later enrolled in Starfleet Academy, she had been appalled to learn that so many fellow humans regarded sexual intercourse as a joy. The ultimate joy even. Even the women! That was something totally beyond her grasp, and wary to be forced into such a situation herself, she had been careful to keep men - any man - at a safe personal distance. She'd allow them to be mates, but never more than that. In fact, she'd rather fight to the death than to find herself manoeuvered into such a vulnerable position, ever again.

Vulnerable.

Data hadn't manoeuvered her into anything: she herself had offered her body to him. All due to that blasted virus of course, but still... Even now, hours later, she was still amazed at the glory of their intercourse. He had been so gentle, so intent upon accommodating her wishes. No brutality, no violence, no abuse. She had been the one in charge, and he had simply followed wherever she led. No sense of helplessness. Vulnerability, yes, but for the first time in her life, she had felt secure with a man. Secure that he wouldn't hurt her.

And definitely no feelings of loneliness. Or fear.

For a moment, she allowed herself to revel in the memory of the marvel she had felt, with his gentle hands caressing her. His soft kisses. His gentleness at entering her body. The passionate rhythm they had shared, over and over again. If this was what sexual intercourse among civilized people was supposed to be, then perhaps it wasn't so bad after all.

"But it still never happened," she told herself once more. After all, Data was not even human. She had to keep reminding herself. That's why it had worked so well: he was a machine, designed to fulfill human needs of all different kinds - that was more or less how he put it. Clearly he had adapted himself to her every wish, but she sincerely doubted such consideration to be found in any male of real flesh and blood.

No. Although she felt rather embarrassed about the whole situation, she was grateful to Data for having shown her that sexual intercourse could indeed be pleasant. Very pleasant even. Extremely pleasant. Marvellous! But she still had no inclination whatsoever to try this out with other, human partners. That could only spoil today's glorious memory.

She chuckled. Yeah, right. The memory of an event that supposedly never happened.

Oh well. As long as no one referred to it, or forced her to talk about it, the event itself had been pleasant enough to merit a few memories. Private ones.

And the only occasion in which it would reasonably come up was the unlikely event of her hitting it off with Data for real. And since Data - sweet and kind of cute he may be - was an android, a machine, and thus devoid of emotions and feelings, the chances of them developing an intimate relationship were less than zero. With a little luck he would have erased the whole thing from his memory by now. And if he hadn't, she was pretty sure his integrity would prevent him from ever mentioning it again - unless she did.

And that was definitely the last thing she had in mind.

Not even to Counselor Troi.

The Result of What Never Happened

The incessantly annoying beep of the Enterprise's alarm clock system penetrated the mists of her sleeping mind. She groaned. Not quite awake yet, she reached out to slam the snooze function. Just a few more minutes before... A few more minutes to force her unwilling mind to wake up. To drag her body to the shower, get a bite to eat, get dressed and...

What was wrong with her anyway? She used to be an extreme morning person, but lately she barely managed to drag herself out of bed in time to make it to the bridge for her shift! And in the evening, she slept as soon as her head touched the pillows – no matter what time it was.

Perhaps a lack of real sunlight? But she had travelled in space for years without any such trouble. And the Enterprise had only been underway for a good two months.

Still, some sun might do her good. Maybe she could do her exercise on a sunny beach today.

Or maybe just take a nap on that beach – which actually sounded far more palatable right now.

Just as she absentmindedly visualized a quiet, sunny beach, the alarm clock sounded again. And another groan escaped her throat. But she knew she had to get up now. Otherwise she'd have to skip the shower. And of lately, that was her only means of showing up on the bridge in a reasonably alert state.

Moaning, she pushed herself up – only to be hit by a wave of nausea. Instinctively she swallowed it down, and eased herself onto the side of the bed. What the heck...? She still had to open her eyes yet, but right now the first thing at hand was to regain control over her reeling stomach. What the heck had she been eating yesterday? Nothing out of the ordinary, as far as she recalled. Then why this sudden attack of nausea?

Finally the immediate urge to empty her stomach the wrong way up subsided somewhat, and cautiously she opened her eyes and got up. Only to quickly collapse onto the bed again as the whole room swayed about.

Burying her head in her hands, she moaned loudly. Since when did she get sick? She hated being sick. In fact, she hated any sign of physical weakness in herself, and would go to great lengths to cover up for whatever weaknesses there were.

But apparently it was not to be helped this morning. Her head was still spinning; her stomach was still primed to empty itself, and altogether she felt utterly weak and miserable. In the state she was in right now, there was no way she could possibly guarantee the ship's safety. Better call in and let them know she'd be heading for sickbay first. First time for everything obviously. But with a bit of luck, one of Dr. Crusher's magical potions would end this agony in the blink of an eye, and she'd only be a little late for duty. No harm done.

She reached for her communicator and – after swallowing down another wave of nausea – called the bridge. "Lieutenant Yar to bridge." She cleared her throat. Even her voice sounded sick.

"Riker here. Go ahead."

She took a deep, steadying breath before conveying the unnerving admission of her weakness. "I'll be in a little later this morning. Got a little problem that I'd prefer to let the doctor have a look at before I go on duty."

Fortunately, the Commander took it in stride. "Alright. Take your time, Lieutenant. We'll manage."

"Thanks. Yar out."

A sigh. It was no use putting it off: the sooner she got up and got to sickbay, the sooner she would be her old self again. Tough. Cool. In charge.

But the moment she got up, the nausea took over completely, and all she could do was dash to the bathroom as fast as she could.

It wasn't until her stomach had emptied itself completely before she ventured to get up again, and shakily stagger to the living-room to order a glass of water from the food dispenser. Slowly she lowered herself onto the couch. Her teeth chattered against the glass as she took slow little gulps to rinse away the sour taste in her mouth.

She couldn't remember ever having felt this sick. In fact, she still felt sick. Better get to sickbay asap to have this sorted out. She just prayed it wasn't something serious that would confine her to bed. She thrived on action – and never having been forced to allow herself to be sick before, the mere thought of being confined to something as small and dull as a bed made her feel claustrophobic.

Carefully, prepared in case she'd have to rush to the bathroom again, she got up to get dressed. Her stomach contracted uneasily, but as long as she moved about slowly, it held. And a few minutes later she was on her way to sickbay.

The turbolift proved to be a renewed attack on both her stomach and her affected sense of balance, but fortunately she had the lift to herself, so she could recover her equilibrium sufficiently before stepping out into the corridor that led to sickbay.

Dr. Crusher looked up from her computer as she entered the office. "Tasha? What's wrong?"

She made a weak attempt at a smile. "I'm not feeling too well."

"Yes. Well, I can see that." Dr. Crusher got up and guided her to an examination table. "So what is the problem?"

Carefully, Tasha lay down on the table. "I woke up feeling a little sick. And I still am, despite emptying my stomach. And..." She sighed. "I got a little dizzy as well." Her cynical side grinned at how she automatically downplayed the whole thing.

"This dizziness, was that before or after you emptied your stomach?"

"Both."

"I see." Dr. Crusher got out her tricorder, and Tasha waited meekly as she checked her out. The doctor covered her entire body, but it was somewhere in the belly area that she apparently found something of interest. More checking out, and then changing some of the settings on the tricorder and back to her lower belly for what seemed to be a recheck.

And Dr. Crusher couldn't help a little smile as she put away the tricorder and ordered a plate of plain biscuits from the nearby food dispenser. "Here. Eat them while you're still lying down. You'll feel a lot better once you've got something in your stomach again."

Tasha groaned. "Cookies? Doc, please! The mere idea of food... of eating anything... it's..." She shuddered as she felt her stomach convulse, and turned away. "Revolting..."

"I know," the doctor acknowledged with a wry smile. "But believe it or not: I guarantee that already with the first bite you'll feel better. So eat them," she ordered. "I'll be back in a minute."

Apprehensively, Tasha took a biscuit. Her stomach was doing somersaults – how could she ever be expected to get anything down?

But if that's what the doctor ordered...? She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and bit off a tiny little corner. Chewing without trying to taste anything, holding her breath in order not to register the nauseating stench of cookies... and then she swallowed it with difficulty, half expecting it to come right back up again.

But it didn't. Another little bite went down, and another. And before she had finished the first biscuit, she realized that her nausea indeed began to subside. Weird. But as long as it worked... Though she did feel strangely annoyed to discover that her spell of weakness could be remedied by something as simple as a cookie.

By the time Dr. Crusher returned, she had nearly finished the biscuits, and the doctor gave her an encouraging smile. "Feeling better?"

"Yes. As a matter of fact I am." She sighed in frustration. "Though I can't say that I understand how that's possible."

"I'll tell you in a moment." She injected something into her arm. "That will take care of the dizziness. Now you finish that last biscuit, and then we need to talk."

Tasha frowned. "What's wrong with me, doc? I don't recall ever having been this sick in my life!" She put the last piece of biscuit in her mouth and cautiously pushed herself up in a sitting position.

Nothing happened. No dizziness, no nausea.

She slid down onto the floor next and stood up straight. Still nothing.

"How are you feeling?" Dr. Crusher inquired.

"Fine. Never felt better." To be honest, there was still a slightly unsettled feeling in her stomach, but that was a trifle compared to the misery she had woken up with. At least not something that would stop her from functioning at a hundred percent.

But Dr. Crusher raised her eyebrows in obviously faked innocence. "Really? Are you sure?"

And Tasha scowled in return. "Of course I'm sure."

"Good. Then come into the office for a moment. We need to talk."

"But I'm fine!" Tasha insisted as she followed their Chief Medical Officer into the secluded area of the office. "Come on, doc! If a few cookies can cure me, it can't be that serious, can it?"

But Dr. Crusher sat down at her desk, and after a few moments of battling stares, Tasha – impatient as she may be – realized the doctor would not answer her question until she sat down, too. And exasperated, she fell down in the opposite chair.

"Come on, doc. I'm feeling fine now, thanks to your cookies. But I need to get to the bridge."

"Tasha." Dr. Crusher seemed to have trouble finding the words. Instead, she put a comforting hand on Tasha's forearm. But Tasha had never been comfortable with physical contact, and drew back right away.

Dr. Crusher sighed, and instead gave her a careful smile. "Tasha, you're pregnant."

Upset about What Never Happened

For a moment the whole world seemed to turn upside down, and she had to grab the table top in order not to fall out of her chair. But as soon as the feeling passed, she echoed bleakly: "Pregnant?"

Dr. Crusher nodded silently.

Tasha shook her head as in a daze. "How is that possible...?" she mumbled.

Dr. Crusher watched her quietly. Women tended to react in very different ways upon receiving this news. Tasha seemed mainly shocked. And utterly incredulous. And when her eyes focused again, she was just a scared little girl, pleading to be reassured that what she had just been told wasn't true. That it was only a stupid joke. Or a nightmare. Or whatever else, as long as it wasn't true.

"Please, doc. I can't be. It's not possible. Isn't it?"

Dr. Crusher held her eyes. "I'm sorry, Tasha, but there's no doubt about it. Possible or not: you're pregnant."

A shudder went through her as those words sank in. "Pregnant..." She clenched her fists, and fixed her gaze upon the doctor, as if by conjuring her she could get her to change her mind. "It can't be. It can't be!"

Suddenly a hot flash of fury rushed through her veins and she jumped to her feet, her eyes flashing. "I'm gonna kill him! Why didn't he...!"

Before Dr. Crusher knew what happened, Tasha had knocked over the chair and stormed out of the office. She rose quickly and started after her. "Tasha?" But by the time she had reached the corridor, Tasha was nowhere to be seen.

She touched the computer panel next to the door. "Computer, give me the location of Lieutenant Yar."

"Lieutenant Yar is in turbolift 2."

"What is the lift's destination?"

"The lift's destination is the bridge."

"Oh my..." Dr. Crusher bit her lip. What on earth was Tasha up to?

But then the computer said: "Correction: the lift's destination is now the officer's deck."

That was only slightly better. "Computer, inform me as soon as Lieutenant Yar leaves the corridors."

She touched her communicator. "Dr. Crusher to Counselor Troi. Please report to sickbay. On the double!"

"On my way," came Deanna's quick answer. And at the same time the computer reported: "Lieutenant Yar has entered her quarters."

Well, at least that was better than killing off one of her colleagues in blind rage. The father of the child no doubt – whoever that may be.

She sighed. Her heart went out to their young Chief of Security. How old was she – late twenties, early thirties? She still recalled how frightened she – a doctor of medicine no less – had been the day she found out she was pregnant with Wesley. Happy, oh yes, but scared all the same. Tasha was definitely no exception.

And there was Deanna. "Doctor?"

Dr. Crusher led the way into her office, where they could talk without being overheard. She quickly informed the counselor of the news and of Tasha's reaction.

Deanna's only sign of surprise was a slight raising of the eyebrows, but she said: "Of course. I'll go and see her right away."

Anger. Anger and fear. And despair. So much for leaving Turkana IV...

Going to Earth, catching up on education, Starfleet Academy, years of service, and now that she got the job of her dreams, on the most prestigious ship of the entire fleet no less... she just got pregnant!

She didn't want to, she really didn't want to, but tears started falling. And once they started to fall, she discovered she just couldn't stop. As if the plug had been pulled out of a leak.

Anger, fear, frustration, despair... They were all running rampant in her mind as she battled to regain control. A Chief of Security doesn't cry, she told herself. Especially not a tough one called Lieutenant Yar. Grown up in the gutter, a mere unplanned pregnancy was nothing to get upset about.

Or so she insisted.

But to no avail. Long howls, and violent sobs kept finding their way out. How could this... this disaster have happened? How could her life have spun so out of control?

She just began cursing all of Starfleet, and Data, and the fate that had brought them to work together here, and that damned virus, and... as she suddenly became aware of a soothing hand on her back. She stiffened instantly, in her alarm finally managing to choke back her sobs in a more effective manner.

Why hadn't she heard the door? Who could...?

She rolled away from the hand and sat up. It was Counselor Troi. Who else, she thought, instantly annoyed.

Immediately she put her shields up, and wiped her face with the sleeve of her uniform. What she really didn't need right now was for their counselor to go prying around in her mind. And with the sheer force of her will she managed to keep her shoulders from jerking as a proof of more sobs wanting out.

"It's good to cry out one's frustrations every now and then," Troi said gently.

Tasha just glared at her. She liked Deanna well enough – as a person. What she didn't like was the compassionate, yet pedantic air she often took on once she was playing counselor.

Deanna kept a compassionate gaze on her. "Dr. Crusher told me the news," she probed.

But Tasha averted her eyes, and pulled up her knees and hugged them tight to her chest.

"Would you care to talk about it? Just to help you sort it out?"

"No!" Tasha snapped. "And stop prying around in my mind!"

"I'm not," Deanna replied quietly. "But your feelings are so strong – they just jump out at me. Your frustration, your anger, your fear..."

"Stop it!" Tasha jumped up and started pacing, if only to hide that she had to fight back her tears again. From one wall to another in the small bedroom. Tension showed in her every muscle. Like a trapped animal, Troi thought. Desperately searching for an escape route. And not finding any. Not finding any escape at all.

She watched her pace in silence. Her professional dealings with Lieutenant Yar had been much like walking a tightrope. Since the very first day they'd met, Tasha had defiantly closed her mind for her. Occasionally she was granted a small glimpse, but one wrong word from her, and unvariably she was shut out completely.

Of course she knew about Tasha's past. Only too vividly did she recall the agony, the horror she had felt when she had acquainted herself with those files. And it was only natural for the girl to have built up such a heavy defense system. Locking away the things she couldn't deal with had been her means of psychological survival in the hell of Turkana IV. Her only means of survival. And not all of Starfleet's training and experience had been able to convince her otherwise. One wrong word from her now, and Tasha would simply flee.

To be honest, she was surprised – and worried – that she hadn't fled from her yet. It only enforced her impression that she really did need her help this time.

Suddenly Tasha turned to face her. "What exactly did Dr. Crusher tell you?" she demanded.

Deanna took a deep breath. "Merely that you are pregnant, and that you were very upset when you left her office."

A derisive snort. "Well, how would you feel if you've just had your life turned upside down." She started pacing again. "My work, my life gone to blazes, and all because of some spooky virus! I know life isn't fair, but this...!" She shook her head with a fierce jerk, but suddenly she stopped dead in her tracks.

And there, seeping through the protective shields, Deanna felt a sudden confusion. And growing apprehension. "Tasha?" she ventured.

Slowly, Tasha turned to face her. "Deanna... you're half Betazoid, right?"

Deanna nodded, shamelessly trying to make sense of the nervous thoughts that were jumping out at her from Lieutenant Yar's racing mind. Something was very wrong. And it involved Lt. Commander Data.

"And Betazoids... I've never met a real one. Are they made of flesh and blood? Like us... like humans?"

Another nod. And as Deanna watched her carefully wrestle her way through a jumble of emotions, she herself suddenly realized how the fragments from Tasha's thoughts pieced together. And only her many years of experience kept her from gasping out loud.

Instead she prompted: "Tasha?"

Slowly, Tasha looked up. All anger and despair were gone; there was just... bewilderment in her eyes. "Deanna," she breathed apprehensively. "Deanna, if I'm indeed pregnant... if I am... then... how can a human... and a... an android... ever mix, and become one?"

Deanna just looked at her, not knowing what to say, and just trying very hard not to appear as aghast as she felt.

"They can't complement each other, can they? Function together?"

Plain fear was now creeping into Tasha's voice, and Deanna knew she had to say something, even if this was way out of her field. "I don't know. I truly don't know, Tasha, but apparently they can."

"But bloodvessels and electronic circuits! They can't intertwine!" A slight edge of panic began to seep into her voice, but all Deanna could do was repeat what she had just pointed out: "I don't know, but apparently they can. At least so far."

All she got in return was a look of dread, so she continued in a reassuring tone: "But I'm sure Dr. Crusher will be able to figure it out. Find out if the baby's system is based on an electronic circuit or on the human nervous system. Or something in between. And..." She hesitated. His name had not been mentioned yet, but... "I suppose she can learn a lot from studying Mr. Data's reproductive system as well." For Pete's sake, how could an android even get a girl pregnant in the first place?

But Tasha groaned. "Maybe I should just save myself and Dr. Crusher a whole lot of trouble and have it aborted." She fell down on the bed again and raked ten fingers through her short hair. And then pulled it. Hard.

"Maybe." Deanna's tone was very grave now. "But Tasha, right now you're shocked, and very upset. This is not a good time to make such a far-reaching and irreversible decision. Besides..." She reached out to provide a little physical comfort – Tasha looked so lost. But she caught herself just in time. "Besides, an abortion often leads to severe psychological traumas for the mother."

Tasha merely scowled, and her face hardened. The subject of traumas was simply not open for discussion.

And Deanna sighed. Clearly, the shields were up again in full force. With barbed wire fences and No Entry signs to enforce them. "Tasha," she began.

"What about my work?" Tasha deftly forestalled her continuing the subject. "I don't want to lose this job because of this... this pregnancy. But a Chief of Security with a big baby belly?"

Deanna had a mild smile. The avoiding strategy was hideously obvious, but she went along with it for now. "You won't have a big baby belly overnight. And there is such a thing as maternity leave, remember? Even in Starfleet: you have your baby, and once you've recovered you get your old job back."

"But will the Captain still let me go on missions, do you think? On away teams?"

Deanna shrugged. "That I don't know. That's up to him to decide. And to Dr. Crusher."

They sat silent for a long moment, and as Tasha pulled up her knees to her chin again, Deanna contemplated that this was by far the most fruitful encounter she had ever had with this battered human turtle.

However, there was still something the Lieutenant had alluded to that had piqued her interest. "Tasha..." she prodded tentatively. "This whole situation, is it an aftermath of that intoxicating virus we had on board a few weeks ago?"

Tasha nodded without looking up. Deanna watched her patiently, hesitant to prompt her any further. And it worked.

"I was one of the first who got infected. And when the Captain learned of the state I was in, he sent Data over to escort me to sickbay. But the poor guy never got the chance: I seduced him on the spot and got him to... well, you get the point." Suddenly she giggled. "He may be an android, but I can tell you one thing, Deanna: emotions or not, he's a darned good lover!"

Questions about What Never Happened

Dr. Crusher's surprise and alarm were exactly what Deanna had anticipated: "Data! I didn't even know he could reproduce himself!"

"Still, that's what Tasha says. But it seems she wasn't aware of it either. And knowing Data's general honest nature, I even wonder if he himself is aware of it. You'd think he would have warned her."

"But are you sure it's Data? I mean: are you sure that Tasha is sure it's Data?"

"He is the only man on her mind."

Dr. Crusher collapsed in her chair. "Oh my... This could complicate things. Big time."

Deanna nodded. "That's one of Tasha's worries, too: how can bloodvessels and electronic circuits function complementary?"

"And that's only one of the many," Dr. Crusher muttered. "I'm going to have to do some serious research here." She looked up. "But I'd like to speak to Tasha, too. Do you think she's calmed down enough for some questions?"

"I think so, yes," Deanna responded. "But she expressed the wish to be left alone for a while. To think, she said."

Dr. Crusher sighed. "I think I can only respect that under the circumstances."

"But I think you should warn you: she's already contemplating abortion," Deanna added.

"I can see why." Another sigh. "But I'm afraid she's in no condition to make that decision at the moment."

"I agree."

Dr. Crusher gave her a tired smile. "Thanks, Deanna. I'll see if I can catch Data then." She pulled out the duty roster. "His shift ends at 2 p.m. When you get back at the bridge, could you please ask him to drop by me as soon as he's off duty?"

Dr. Crusher spent most of the morning at her computer, acquainting and reacquainting herself with the particulars of blending the human race with other life forms, and more specifically with artificial life forms. The results of the latter were far from promising, but then there was no documented case of a naturally conceived semi-artificial life. So who knows: perhaps it might just work out after all?

Around midday she went up to the officer's deck to look in on Lieutenant Yar. She found her at her private computer, poring over the same reports she herself had spent the morning with.

"Not much hope, is there," Tasha commented, pointing at the screen, and Dr. Crusher was secretly relieved to detect a hint of regret in her voice. After all, her job was meant to preserve life, not to take it.

"I wouldn't say that," she therefore countered cheerfully. "You've already come further than most of those attempts, so why not even further?"

Tasha looked doubtful.

But Dr. Crusher cut down to business. "Tasha, we need to talk."

"Sure." Tasha gestured to the couch, and the doctor sat down.

"Tasha, I'm sorry I have to ask you this, but... are you absolutely certain that Data is the father?"

Tasha merely nodded.

"There's no doubt about it? No doubt at all?" she pressed.

Tasha shook her head, and pulled up her legs under her. But suddenly she stood, and moved over to gaze out of the window, where the stars were shooting by like little rainbows. Her fists kept clenching and unclenching, and although she couldn't see her face, it was obvious to the doctor that some major battle was being fought here. But she kept silent, patiently waiting for Tasha to make up her mind about whatever it was that was tormenting her.

Finally, Tasha spoke. "Doc, I presume you know about my past, right? You've read the files."

"Yes," was the simple answer.

"If I tell you something in confidence, as a friend..." Tasha still had her gaze fixed on the void outside. "Can I trust you that it will stay off the record, no matter what it is? That you won't tell Counselor Troi, or anyone else? And it won't end up in my files?"

Dr. Crusher hesitated for just a moment. It sounded like something major; could she really...? But then she decided that she had no choice. "Yes, Tasha. I promise that whatever you tell me here, it will not be passed on to anyone else, in any way."

Tasha turned to face her, and gave her a pained little smile. Then she turned back to the window, and it was several minutes before she quietly revealed: "The medical information in my file is incomplete."

Dr. Crusher remained silent, waiting for her to go on.

And after another few long minutes, she did: "I have never mentioned this to anyone, but under the present circumstances, I think you should know." A deep breath. "I've been pregnant before."

Silence.

"You know that the rapegangs have gotten to me a few times. And one of those times – when I was fourteen – I ended up pregnant."

"I am sorry," was all Dr. Crusher said. In a way, the news didn't even surprise her.

"I was terrified," Tasha continued, struggling to maintain an unperturbed composure. "As a kid, I had witnessed up close how a young girl like myself had died in labour after days of pain and agony. I didn't want to go through that. But..." A shaky breath. "I lost the baby in a miscarriage."

Dr. Crusher let the words sink in. "And you never told anyone." It was a statement, not a question.

Tasha nodded – Dr. Crusher noticed how she tried to mask her pain with a grim, set jaw. And quite successfully, too. Surely she had had lots of practice in it.

"With such experiences from my youth in mind, I don't think it will surprise you that I've avoided all sexual contact since I left Turkana IV. I haven't had any sexual intercourse since I was fifteen. The only exception is that one time a few weeks back, with Data, when I was under the influence of that Tsiolkovsky virus. So there's simply no other option: if I'm pregnant, then he must be the father."

Dr. Crusher nodded. "I understand. And I'm glad you told me. I promise you: this information won't go any further."

Tasha just kept gazing out the window. And Dr. Crusher sensed it had taken her an awful lot of courage to dig up this episode. And on top of that reveal it to someone. And she wondered. If Tasha had managed to keep a trauma like this from every counselor at the Academy and all the ones she had encountered during her many years of service in Starfleet... were there perhaps other things that she still stubbornly kept to herself?

However, this was not the time to speculate on that. Nor to prod any further. She'd have to be content – and grateful – with the morsel she got, and besides: there were more pressing matters at hand.

"The reason I pressed you about this," she explained quietly, "is that I'm rather puzzled about the child you're carrying. I would like to do a recheck to make sure, but the readings I got this morning seem to indicate that the child is completely human."

Tasha looked up with a start. "What? How is that possible?"

"I don't know. But I do know that the tricorder would have picked up anomalies in case it was developing some sort of positronic brain. Or an electronic circuit for a nervous system."

Tasha sat completely quiet, trying to digest this news.

"Tasha, would you mind if I check again?" Dr. Crusher ventured. "Of course the tricorder should have shown, but I wasn't looking for anything androidic. I'd like to double-check, just to make sure."

"Yes. Yes, of course!" Tasha turned to her, and Dr. Crusher did several readings in different settings on her. But in the end she shook her head. "Entirely human. That is: up till now. But I have to be honest with you: since naturally conceived semi-android life is completely unprecedented, there's no way of telling how it will develop in the upcoming months. But so far, all indications suggest that you're carrying an ordinary human embryo. And..." She smiled. "It's doing very well, too."

With a heavy sigh, Tasha buried her face in her hands. "So there's nothing wrong with me."

"Well, not quite." Dr. Crusher had a wry smile. "Without any proof of input from Data's side, there's still the puzzle of how you got pregnant in the first place. The embryo's stage of development does indeed indicate that it was conceived around the time we were affected by the Tsiolkovsky virus. But with the way things look now, I can't even rule out immaculate conception."

A cynical grin spread over Tasha's face, but she sobered again right away. "So what's going to happen now?"

"First of all," Dr. Crusher tapped on her pad. "Do you have any contraceptive devices inside your body that we need to take care of?"

Tasha shook her head. "That might have been practical, yes, but I didn't dare to – afraid as I was that they'd discover..." She let the sentence hanging, and the doctor understood. But Tasha continued with a chuckle: "Instead I developed my own methods. Have you never wondered why I'm so adamant to excel in every possible fighting technique? I didn't trust any man, and I wanted to be ready, to make mince meat of any guy that got a little too bold with me."

Dr. Crusher couldn't help but laugh. "Understandable. Still, I pity your more sincere admirers."

Tasha chuckled, a little embarrassed now. "Yeah, well... I wouldn't let them be more than mates anyway. Anything more intimate was too... threatening for me."

If you ask me, it still is, Dr. Crusher thought, but that was a notion she wisely kept to herself. Instead she said: "Well, then I'm first going to have a serious talk with Mr. Data, to find out all I can about his reproductive system. After all, he still is the prime suspect. Or..." She hesitated. "Would you rather tell him yourself? In that case..."

Tasha pondered this for a moment, but then she shook her head. "I'd rather have you talk to him first."

"Okay, I will. And then, depending on the information he provides, I'll probably have to do some more research. But you do realize that I'll have to inform the Captain of this, don't you?"

Tasha bit her lip as she nodded. "I know."

"And as for you..." She gave her a long serious look. "I hereby order you off duty till midday tomorrow as well – I want to see how those spells of dizziness and nausea develop. (And give you at least a few more hours to get used to the idea...) And word of the wise: make sure you have a handful of plain biscuits within reach tomorrow morning, just in case."

Tasha smiled weakly. The thought of a recurrence of this morning's misery was not exactly appealing.

But Dr. Crusher continued: "For the rest I can pretty much say: listen to your body. I know you like to push yourself, but I strongly advise that you take it a bit easy on your exercise from now on. And whenever you're tired, allow yourself a nap as far as your duty permits. And stay clear from synthehol."

Tasha grimaced. "With so many restrictions, you might as well confine me to sickbay right away."

Dr. Crusher chuckled. "You better heed my advice, young lady, or I will!"

They both laughed, but suddenly Tasha's merriment turned into tears. "Oh doc, what am I going to do...?"

And without thinking, Dr. Crusher took her in her arms. "It's okay, Tasha. You'll be alright."

"But I'm so... so..." It was so difficult to admit, even in this oddly comforting embrace... "Scared..."

"I know. And there's nothing strange about that. I, too, was scared out of my wits when I was pregnant with Wesley. It's part of becoming a parent, I suppose."

Hesitantly, Tasha untangled herself from the doctor's soothing arms. "Doc?"

"Yes?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Anything you want."

Tasha brushed away her tears. And then, tentatively: "Can you tell me about the time you were pregnant with Wesley?"

Dr. Crusher only just managed to quell her laugh, and looked at her watch. "Well, I'm meeting Mr. Data in forty minutes, so until then... What do you want to know?"

"Everything!"

A Theory about What Never Happened

"Data! I hope you've not been waiting long?"

The android turned to face her as she rushed into her office. "Not at all, Dr. Crusher. I have only been waiting for six minutes, twenty-six seconds and three hundred and seventy-one milliseconds."

She bit back her chuckle at his precision. "Still too long. My apologies." Dr. Crusher sat down at her desk, and Data followed her example.

"Apologies accepted, doctor." He tilted his head a little. "May I inquire why you asked to see me? Geordi suggested that perhaps you needed help in locating the biomedical texts in which I am mentioned. I have already..."

"No, Data," she interrupted him. "That's not why I wanted to see you. Though now that you mention it, those references might actually be helpful."

He regarded her with blank curiosity. "Then why, may I ask, did you send for me?"

"Data..." My, this wasn't exactly easy. Medschool was supposed to be excessively broad and thorough; so how come they didn't prepare you on how to discuss fatherhood with an android? "What I'm going to tell you... to discuss with you here today is strictly confidential. Until further notice, this should not be mentioned to anyone, save for me, Counselor Troi, Lieutenant Yar, and yourself. Is that understood?"

"Yes, doctor."

"Will you give me your word?"

A frown. "Inquiry: which word?"

"I mean: do I have your promise that you won't share this information with anyone else besides the four people I just mentioned?"

"Yes, doctor." Only to continue: "But how can I give you my word? A word is an abstract term; I cannot take a word in my hand and give it to you. And what use would you..."

Dr. Crusher held out her hands to stop the flow. "Idiom, Mr. Data. Can you please save those questions for some other time, so that we can get on with the subject now?"

"Yes, doctor." A slight movement of the head. "Most intriguing though. A promise consists of words. But not every word is a promise. Interesting."

"Mr. Data, please!"

"Oh. I apologize, doctor. Please carry on."

"Good. Thank you."

"You are welcome."

To be honest, she was already getting exasperated with him. And she hadn't even begun to give him the news!

Better get on with it. And avoid idioms as much as possible.

"Data, Lieutenant Yar came to see me this morning, and I established that she's pregnant." She hesitated. "Are you at all acquainted with that term?"

"Of course, doctor. To be pregnant: to be expecting, to be with child, to be in the family way, to be enceinte. In humanoids, as well as in most other living species in this universe, including its fauna, in its natural occurrence it is a state reserved only to females."

She nearly burst out laughing at his encyclopedic description, but she managed to keep a straight face. "Yes. That's right. And the reason that I've asked to see you is, that according to Lieutenant Yar, you are the only one she's had sexual activity with over the past seventeen years. And judging by the embryo's present development stage, the approximate date of the embryo's conception coincides with the day she had that sexual intercourse with you."

She waited for a reaction, but all she got was a flat: "It never happened."

"I beg your pardon?"

And Data simply repeated in the same tone: "It never happened."

"What do you mean: 'it never happened'?" This could get complicated. And embarrassing... "Do you mean to tell me that Lieutenant Yar hasn't had sex with you?"

"No." Data frowned. "I must say I am rather confused now, doctor. According to my own memory banks, I have had sexual intercourse with Lieutenant Yar for two hours, forty-four minutes and one second during the afternoon – Standard Time – of March the 17th last."

Dr. Crusher watched him expectantly, trying not be too amused by his overaccurate precision.

"Yet Lieutenant Yar told me on that same day, thirty-seven minutes and eighteen seconds after we concluded our intercourse, that it never happened. And now you, Dr. Crusher, tell me that Lieutenant Yar insists that I did have sexual intercourse with her at a certain point in the recent past. Yet I have no knowledge of any other occurrence of such an event, other than the occasion she told me did not happen. How is that possible, doctor?"

Dr. Crusher smiled. "Combining your story with hers, I'm sure there's only been one occasion, Mr. Data: on March 17th last, when most of the crew was infected by the intoxicating virus from the Tsiolkovsky."

Data nodded, apparently relieved. "Yes. That is correct. So it did happen after all." He frowned. "But if Lieutenant Yar was aware of that as you say, then why would she tell me it never happened?"

Dr. Crusher smiled. "I suppose she was embarrassed. I think what she meant was that she didn't want you to talk about it."

"Ah. I see. It was a ploy to ensure that I would never mention it again. If it never happened, I would have no reason to mention it. Most intriguing."

"Yes. But to get back to the present problem: if you are indeed the father of the child she is carrying, then this situation is completely unprecedented. There is no way we can predict how this pregnancy is going to evolve. Nor how the child is going to develop. So far, the embryo appears to be entirely human. But being conceived by an android, it seems only logical to expect that it will develop androidic aspects as well." A pause. "Mr. Data, what can you tell me about your reproductive system?"

For a moment she got a blank stare. "Accessing..." Then: "I was not designed to reproduce myself the way humanoids do. My body does not produce sperm. However, I was designed to fulfill a broad variety of human needs, including sexual intercourse. I am fully functional in that area, though the fluid that is released in the process is ordinary waste H2O, possibly containing a small number of loose electronically charged particles."

It was Dr. Crusher's turn for a pensive: "I see." She folded her hands on the desk. "Mr. Data, I don't mean to be intrusive, but how often have you had sexual intercourse?"

"Only once, doctor. With Lieutenant Yar. I am not programmed to seek such activity myself. And neither before, nor after my intercourse with Lieutenant Yar has any humanoid expressed an interest in this service."

"Oh boy..."

He gave her a quizzical look. "Does this mean the information I just provided you with is not helpful in solving the problem?"

Dr. Crusher sighed. "You can say that again."

Without a blink he started: "Does this mean the information I just..."

Her first reflex was to cut him off, but then she thought the better of it, and instead replied him 'properly' this time. "I'm not sure, Data. Right now I don't see how your explanation can help me solve this problem. But I might be overlooking something. I'll need to think about it some more."

"I see."

"I would also like to examine a sample of your equivalent of sperm. Would you mind?"

"Not at all, doctor. I would be happy to oblige."

They walked out into the ward, and when the sample was taken, Data asked: "Dr. Crusher, would you be interested in hearing my theory on how Lieutenant Yar's child may have been conceived?"

She stared at him in astonishment. "Yes. Yes, of course! Please, go ahead!"

"Well, I have been cross referencing the information you have given me on the situation, and there are significant similarities between this case and the historical process of cloning."

Her jaw dropped. "Cloning?"

"Yes. Cloning is a primitive technique to duplicate life forms, discovered in the late 20th century, and perfected in the two centuries following. It was then abandoned because of the deterioration of..."

"Yes, yes, I know what cloning is. But how does that apply to Lieutenant Yar?"

"It all depends on whether the fluid I produce as the equivalent of sperm indeed contains electronically charged particles," Data started to explain. "The earliest moderately successful attempts at cloning were obtained by exposing the selected ovum to a minor electrical shock. The energy thus released into the ovum caused it to divide and duplicate itself. And once the first duplication was successful, the cells continued to duplicate themselves without further prompting in the same manner as naturally conceived new life. However, since no spermatozoon was used to trigger the process, the cells solely contained the DNA of the mother. Thus creating a copy, or a clone, of the mother."

Dr. Crusher nodded slowly. "I see where you're going."

Data looked around in confusion. "Going? I am not going anywhere, doctor."

She shook her head. "I mean the way your thought process is going. Basically, you're saying that if the fluid you release in your sexual intercourse indeed does contain electronically charged particles, then there is a possibility that these particles might set off a cell division when they come in contact with an ovum. Most intriguing, Mr. Data."

"Yes, it is, is it not?"

She smiled at him. "It is indeed. And if this is true, it would mean that the child Tasha is carrying is not part android, but a fully human clone of herself."

"Exactly."

"Well, let's see if we can find some proof for your intriguing theory then."

They walked over to the megamicroscope in the corner, and Dr. Crusher placed the small container with Data's fluid under the lens.

"Oh my goodness!" she exclaimed as soon as the lens focused.

"What is the matter, doctor?" Data inquired.

"You better look for yourself. But for a working diagnosis I give you full marks!"

Data gave her a puzzled frown, and then decided he'd better take a look himself. "Oh my goodness!" he mimicked. "My sexual fluid is absolutely abundant with electronically charged particles, all jumping to and fro!"

Dr. Crusher sniggered. "Yes. I'm surprised Tasha didn't get electrocuted."

Data looked up with a frown. "Electrocuted?"

"Sorry, Data. It was a joke. And not a very good one. Please ignore it."

"I see." He cocked his head. "Still, though this does add credulity to my hypothesis, it does not prove it."

"No, you're right," Dr. Crusher conceded. "I'm afraid we won't have conclusive proof until the baby is born. But your theory is the only logical explanation so far. And by monitoring the baby's development closely, I hope to find more and more evidence to either support or dismiss your theory. At least it gives us something to go on."

She got no answer, for Data was clearly contemplating something else. "Doctor, under the present circumstances, would I still be considered the father of the child?"

Her face lit up in a warm smile. "Yes, Mr. Data. All the circumstances suggest that you are the only possible father of Lieutenant Yar's baby."

Data's mouth quirked a bit, in what the crew was beginning to recognize as his attempt at a smile.

"Does that make you happy?" the doctor inquired.

Data shook his head. "I do not know what it feels like to be happy. But I am..." He stopped, searching for the right word. "Proud. Proud that I have achieved something that I was neither designed nor programmed to achieve."

Dr. Crusher nodded. "I understand. Well, I think I do."

Data asked: "Is there anything else you wish to discuss with me, doctor? Otherwise I would like to go and share the good news with Lieutenant Yar." He cocked his head in wonder. "Most intriguing. I am going to be a father!"

Dr. Crusher smiled at his rapture – emotionless as it may be. "No, Mr. Data, that will be all. But before you go and see Tasha, I'd like you to have this." She took a small package out of her desk and threw it at him. He deftly caught it with one hand and inspected it with his innate curiosity.

"What is it?"

She gave him a mock stern gaze. "The next time a lady asks for your services, Mr. Data, please follow the standard human custom of using a condom!"

Note: Please don't take Data's explanation of the cloning process at any scientific value. This is merely what I remember from an article I read many years ago, and since it suited this (fictional!) situation so perfectly, I saw no reason to bother checking up on it.

How to Treat What Never Happened

Lt. Commander Data took the corridors with long strides. And even though he was supposed to be incapable of experiencing emotions, there was something excited in his air that caused many heads to turn and stare after him.

He had the turbolift to himself, and as it swiftly transported him up to the officer's deck, he repeated in awe: "I am going to be a father!"

Suddenly another thought occurred to him, and in a reflex he brought the lift to a halt. He tilted his head to the side. "Surely this is going to be a great opportunity for me to learn how to behave like a real human," he whispered to himself. "But how does a human behave on occasions like this? I should better do this properly, and seek advice on the proper behaviour for a prospective father prior to my visit to the prospective mother."

He put the lift into motion again. His first impulse was to go and discuss the matter with Commander Riker. But then he remembered he had promised Dr. Crusher – given her his word, he recalled with a touch of smug pride, though it was still a mystery to him as to which word he had given her – not to mention the situation to anyone save for herself, Lieutenant Yar, and... "Of course! Counselor Troi!" Surely she'd be able to help him sort this out!

His sounding her door-chimes was promptly answered by a professional "come in". And so he did.

Counselor Troi gave him a warm smile as she greeted him. "Hello Mr. Data."

"Greetings, Counselor," he returned, and then he started talking so fast that the mere sound made her ears tingle, and she could but make out a few random words of what he was telling her.

"Data! Mr. Data, stop! Please!" She held her hands over her ears in agony, and confused, Data stopped talking in what might very well have been mid-word.

"Counselor Troi, are you alright?" he inquired in his usual speaking speed.

"Yes. Yes, I am. But if I didn't know any better, I'd say you're suffering from a rudimentary form of excitement!"

Data considered this. "Does one suffer from excitement, Counselor? I was led to believe that humans regarded excitement as a pleasant emotion."

She shook her black curls. "Just a figure of speech. But the way you're talking, anyone would think you're extremely excited."

"Correction, Counselor: I do not have emotions, so I cannot feel excitement."

She smiled. "In that case you're doing a mighty good impression of it. But never mind that now. What was it you wanted to tell me?" Not that she didn't have a clue, but playing along was innocent fun.

Once more, Data started rabbling out his news, and once more, Troi told him to stop. "Slow down, Mr. Data. Remember that I can't read your thoughts; I have to rely solely on my ears to understand what you want to tell me. So please: take a deep breath and start from the beginning again. At normal speed this time."

"Why do you want me to take a deep breath?" Data wondered in confusion. "Does that help me to alter the speed of my speech?"

"It does for humans. But tell me your news now. At your normal speaking speed, please."

This time, however, he uttered only seven words: "I am going to be a father!"

Deanna's smile beamed up at him. "Mr. Data, that is truly wonderful news! I'm so happy for you!"

"Thank you, Counselor. Since I myself cannot feel happiness, I am honoured that you are willing to feel my happiness for me." And then he launched into a detailed account of his theory, ending with his wish to use the opportunity to learn how to act like a real, human father. "And that is where I need your guidance, Counselor. What does a prospective father do?"

"That's a good question." Troi pondered this for a moment. She really wanted to help Data, but she had witnessed first-hand how their android friend in his enthusiasm of having learned a new human skill had a tendency of grossly overdoing it, to the point that he drove everyone crazy. And that was not something she cared to burden Tasha with right now. So diplomacy was the key here.

"By instinct, a prospective father would protect his child and the mother from any harm." He couldn't do much harm with that, could he? "But most of all he'd want to keep the mother happy. Try to remember that this has a much larger impact on Tasha's life than on yours. After all, she is the one who has to cope with all the changes in her body. She is the one who's actually carrying the baby, which means that for quite some time she's going to have to give up the job she loves so much. And she is the one who will have to give birth to the child. And that's not exactly a picnic either."

Up till then he had been drinking in her every word, but now he looked puzzled. "Picnic? Accessing: picnic. A festive summer field meal, very popular in the upper classes of Earth's Western societies during the 19th and 20th century." He frowned. "I am afraid I do not understand the reference, Counselor."

She smiled. "It's just another figure of speech. 'It's no picnic' means that it is something very difficult and very hard to accomplish."

"I see." He tilted his head. "So I should basically protect her, and make her happy, correct? Protecting is no problem. And I will ask Geordi to teach me some more jokes."

He turned to go, but: "No! No, that's not what I meant." Deanna envisioned instantly what effect those horrid jokes would have. She'd have to be more specific. "With 'making her happy' I meant you'd comply with her every wish. Do whatever she asks you to do – within the reasonable safety limits of the Enterprise of course. (Just in case an exasperated Tasha would tell him to get lost or something disastrous like that.) And without quarrelling. Or complaining."

"I was not programmed to quarrel, Counselor. Nor to complain."

She chuckled. "So much the better." Then at least in that matter Tasha would have the perfect companion throughout her pregnancy.

Data's thought process however had clearly stayed with the making-happy concept. "Counselor, do you think Lieutenant Yar would appreciate a present?"

"I don't see why not. What did you have in mind for her?"

"That is what I wanted to ask you."

She thought quickly. "I think you'd best keep it simple. Flowers, chocolates, that kind of stuff."

"Thank you, Counselor. I shall see to it right away."

He turned to leave, but suddenly Deanna thought of something else. "Mr. Data?"

He turned back. "Yes, Counselor Troi?"

"I almost forgot." If Tasha refused to open up to her, perhaps she'd find it easier to confide in...? "Tell her that you'll always be there for her, whenever she needs you. Don't impose upon her; just be there to give her support when she needs it."

Judging by the expression on his face, he didn't quite seem to grasp the concept of 'being there for her', but he didn't press it. Instead, he thanked her, bid her goodbye and left.

Instantly on the defence, Tasha whirled around at the first sound of the holodeck door opening, leaving the heavy blue punching bag swinging from its short rope. And she barely relaxed when she saw who was coming in. "Data! What are you doing here?" She wiped the sweat from her brow.

Not at all deterred by her brusque greeting, Data strolled towards her through the loose sand of the holographic beach, and placed a large bouquet of white roses and a neatly wrapped box in her arms. "This is for you."

Her suspicious glare lifted from the gifts in her arms to meet his eyes. "What's this?"

"These are flowers, and this is chocolate," he indicated solemnly.

"But what's it for?"

He cocked his head, clearly incredulous that she didn't grasp so obvious a concept. "They are for you. To make you happy." He regarded her with his usual innocent interest. "Are you happy now?"

She could have screamed. Or thrust his presents at his feet. Or both. But her Starfleet discipline kept her from doing either. Instead she ground out a barely audible "thank you", followed by a more sincere: "But I'm not happy about this at all."

Data looked mildly surprised. "You are not? Does a present from a friend not make you happy?"

She sighed. "Not that. I mean this whole pregnancy business."

"Oh. Hm. Interesting. I had gathered that the detection of newly conceived life was customarily regarded as a joyous event with humans."

Tasha scowled, and was tempted once more to throw down those stupid presents. "Well, not for me. As a matter of fact I feel pretty darned unhappy about the whole thing."

Data contemplated this. "I am sorry to hear that. I myself was looking forward to becoming a father. I just assumed you would be equally eager to become a mother. I apologize for assuming without inquiring after your feelings first."

Self-consciously she looked down at the roses in her arms. They were beautiful. And after all... "I'm sorry, Data. It's just that... I don't think I can do this. Having a baby, I mean. Being a mother; raising a child... I just don't think that's something I was cut out to do."

He gave her a surprised look. "Is not motherhood a rather natural state at your chronological age?"

She snorted. "Hardly. And I could just knock you senseless for getting me into this mess, you know that?" She pierced him with a sudden accusatory glare. "Why did you have sex with me in the first place?" she demanded.

He blinked in surprise. "Because you told me to."

Her glare faltered, and despite everything, she just had to laugh at the simple truth of his answer. "Trust an android to come up with an irrefutable piece of logic."

He looked puzzled. "But it is the truth, is it not?"

"Yes, Data, it is." She heaved a sigh. "And of course you're right: this whole mess is my own darned fault."

He shook his head. "I would not say that. At the time, you were severely intoxicated by no fault of your own. You cannot be blamed for what you did under the influence of the Tsiolkovsky virus."

"But we just established that you were not to blame either," she pointed out. "So who is?"

"No one," he replied calmly. "I believe this is what you humans call: an accident."

"Then who can I go and knock senseless?"

He raised his eyebrows in wonder at her belligerence. "Why would you want to do that?"

Once more, her eyes shot fire. "Because I'm angry, Data! And upset, and frustrated, and rebellious, and seething mad! And a whole lot more! I've been trying to take it out on this bloody punching-bag" – she swung around and hit the bag full force with her free hand – "but it doesn't help. I need something more... more solid! I need to punch the bejaysus out of someone!"

Data regarded her for a moment, and then offered helpfully: "I am sure Lieutenant Worf would be more than happy to oblige. Shall I go and get him for you?"

"That's not the point, Data! Worf's got nothing to do with it." She let out a frustrated sigh. "Actually it's you I want to knock around."

He tilted his head. "Would that make you happy?"

"Yes! Very happy!" Another heart-felt punch at the punching-bag.

"I see. Well, I suppose it is only fair. After all, one could argue that it was my unpardonable ignorance of my own body functions that brought about your present distress."

She turned back to him to give him a suspicious glance. "What do you mean?"

"I was well aware that I was not designed to reproduce myself. But I should have realized that the electronically charged particles present in the fluid I release during a sexual intercourse are capable of setting off a cloning process upon contact with a feminine ovum."

Tasha gasped. "What? You mean...?" Suddenly she felt her knees buckle under her.

"What did you want to say?" Data inquired as she just kept staring at him in silent shock.

Slowly, Tasha shook her head. "You mean that I'm not pregnant of some semi-androidic cyborg kid?"

"No. Probably not. It is only a theory, and the evidence is still inconclusive, but considering the absence of DNA carrying sperm in my sexual fluid, Dr. Crusher and I agree that the child you are carrying is most likely to be a mere clone of yourself."

"A mere..." Her knees folded, and abruptly she sat down in the sand. A desperate cry fought its way out: "Data...!"

"Yes?" He looked down at her in confusion. "Are you unwell, Lieutenant?"

"No. I mean yes. I mean..." She pushed her fringe out of her face; then buried her head in her hands. "Oh Data... what have we done? What have we done!"

He frowned. "Done? We engaged in sexual activity for two hours, forty-four minutes and..."

"Yes, and we created a clone of me?" She moaned in agony. "Data, the kind of childhood I had is something you wouldn't wish upon your worst enemy! And that's all this child has to look forward to...?"

Data contemplated this for a long moment before saying: "I am afraid I do not understand your thought process, Lieutenant. Why would this child be obliged to go through the same experiences you regret so much from your youth? Would it not be preferable to let her grow up in the stimulating and relatively safe environment of the Enterprise?"

Tasha looked up with a start, revelation evident in her eyes. "Data – you beauty! You're right, of course! She may have my DNA, but that doesn't mean she's me! I can give her the best home a kid could possibly wish for!"

"Exactly." Data's mouth quirked a bit. "And she will have a mother and a father to take care of her."

The sudden sense of relief made Tasha giggle. "You, Data? A father?"

"Of course. Why not?" If she didn't know any better, she'd say he was a bit put out. "I am programmed to learn. So why should I not be able to learn how to take care of a child? Or..." He tilted his head to one side a little. "Do you not want me to?"

"No! No, you're very welcome to help. You can do all the dirty diapers," she teased.

The teasing tone of course went straight over his head. "I do not mind doing the dirty diapers. But I was entertaining the hope of having a more substantial part in her upbringing." He hesitated. "I would like to experience being a real father."

She smiled up at him. "Don't worry, Data. Your help with anything would be greatly appreciated. I'll tell you what: you take care of her when I'm on duty, and I take care of her when you're on duty. Deal?"

Data's mouth quirked into a half smile in return. "Deal."

Suddenly aware of the presents she was still clutching, she put down the box of chocolates and the by now somewhat crushed roses, and got to her feet. "You're going to be a great father, Data."

"Thank you. And I am sure you will be a great mother, too." He tilted his head. "Are you happy now? Or do you still want to knock me around?"

She chuckled. "Only if you join me." She called for the arch, and got two pairs of boxing-gloves from the replicator. She tossed him one of the sets.

Data caught them easily, but insisted: "I do not know if this is such a good idea, Lieutenant. I am supposed to protect you. Not to knock you around."

"You don't have to protect me; I can take care of myself, thank you very much," Tasha retorted in a huff.

"I see. Perhaps I should stick with complying with your every wish then?"

She sent him a highly annoyed glare. "Who've you been talking to?"

"To Counselor Troi," he confessed. "She is helping me to be a prospective father."

"Well, never mind Counselor Troi. Although..." She grinned. "Complying with my every wish doesn't sound too bad. Are you ready?"

Data pulled the gloves over his hands. "Ready."

"And Data..."

"Yes?"

"Thanks for the chocolate and the flowers. That was really sweet of you."

The next thing he knew was a powerful blast to his jaw.

The News of What Never Happened

The Captain nearly dropped his jaw when he got the news. "Are you telling me, doctor, that Lieutenant Yar has had sex with Mr. Data, and is pregnant as a result from it?"

"Yes, that's the basic idea," Dr. Crusher acknowledged.

And as Captain Picard began to pace in the privacy of his ready room, he muttered in utter disbelief: "For crying out loud: who'd whant to make love to an android? And how in heaven's name could that get her pregnant? I wasn't even aware that androids are capable of reproducing themselves!"

"From what Data has told me, I'm sure he can't," Dr. Crusher started to explain.

But an agitated Captain interrupted her. "What do you mean: 'he can't'? You just said he got Tasha pregnant!"

"Yes, but not by reproducing himself."

He glared at her. "Doctor, you're speaking in riddles. Please explain yourself." He walked over to the food dispenser and got himself a cup of hot Earl Grey tea as he listened to the doctor's summary of Data's theory.

"So far the child checks out as completely human. Of course we don't know for sure how it's going to develop, but combining Mr. Data's theory with the facts we found, I think it highly unlikely that it will develop any androidic traits. Though we won't be able to ascertain this until I can safely take a DNA sample of the child. But for now it seems reasonably accurate to assume that Tasha is carrying a clone of herself."

Heavily, Picard lowered himself into his chair. "And how is... Tasha handling all this?"

Dr. Crusher sighed. "Upset, angry, frustrated, scared... Who wouldn't be if they got impregnated by an android?"

He had a wry smile. "Yes, who wouldn't be... But unfortunately it doesn't sound like a healthy state of mind for a Chief of Security."

"I agree. Physically she should be fit for duty on board the ship for several months to come. Though I would prefer not to have her exposed to all kinds of different atmospheres and gravitations etcetera."

"No more away missions. I agree," Picard nodded.

"And until she's come to terms with this, I wouldn't recommend laying the safety of this entire vessel in her hands either. Right now, she's emotionally too unstable to handle the responsibility for over a thousand lives."

"I can imagine." He stopped and stared out into space. "What I do have difficulty imagining though is Mr. Data and Tasha... Yes, they have been rather... well... jumpy around each other lately, but to imagine that they'd actually..." He turned back to Dr. Crusher. "How can you... how can they be so sure that Data is the father? Surely there must be other options?"

She shook her head. "I'm not at liberty to discuss the details, Captain, but no, there are no other options. Either Mr. Data has accidentally set off a cloning process, or it's a case of immaculate conception."

He started pacing again. "Immaculate conception – have you covered all your bases there, doctor? With so many alien life forms out there, it might just be possible that one of them is breeding inside Lieutenant Yar!"

Another shake of the head. "The tricorder would show. No. The child she's carrying checks out as completely human, and to be honest: I find Commander Data's cloning theory quite plausible."

"Fine, fine. Then I'll just let two of my most reliable bridge officers go off and play house." Suddenly he chuckled. "And how is Mr. Data taking this?"

She grinned. "Well, you know our Mr. Data: 'Most intriguing: I am going to be a father!'"

They both laughed at her far from convincing imitation.

"Sounds like he's genuinely pleased then. And I must say..." Another chuckle. "Watching Mr. Data carrying off fatherhood should provide us with some interesting entertainment!"

One final intake of breath to steady her nerves, and... As she sounded the chimes of the ready room, she felt the eyes of all her crewmates burning on her back. What would they say... what would they think once they'd find out?

Still, that was something to worry about later. Right now, hearing the Captain's 'come', she hid her apprehension behind her most unreadable mask (or at least she hoped she did) and entered. Whatever the Captain might throw at her – disdain, horror, scorn, reproach, abhorrence? – she was determined to receive it with every scrap of dignity she had left.

But she had barely set a foot inside before the Captain approached her, and took both her hands in his.

"Natasha."

"Captain?" Her eyes sought his face for any of the things she had feared so. But all she found was warm understanding. Understanding?

For a moment they were both quiet; then the Captain spoke: "I hear that you and Mr. Data have embarked on a little life-forming adventure of your own."

She couldn't help smiling at the way he put it. "Yes. And I apologize, sir."

He held up his hand. "Please, there's no need for apologies. On the contrary: much as I regret the prospect of having to do without my outstanding Chief of Security for a few months, I am exceedingly happy for you both!"

Tasha only just held back a surprised 'you are?' and waited for him to continue. This was not the reception she had expected! And as he motioned for her to sit, she was aware – and not for the first time – of the privilege of serving under this man.

"Natasha..."

Her hands, still nervous, fought to clasp themselves in her lap. Here it comes?

"People sometimes use the expression 'a union made in heaven'. And personally, I think that's exactly what this is."

She felt her cheeks burn. "Sir, Data and I are not..." Not what?

A smile. "No, maybe not a perfect couple, but... Both you and Mr. Data are entirely without relatives in this world. No home, no nest to return to. I sincerely hope that that will be something this child will provide each of you with: a sense of belonging. Of family."

She smiled weakly. "Thank you, sir. I... I must admit I hadn't looked at it from that angle." She saw the small smile playing around his lips, and suddenly she wondered what it would be like to have a father. Or rather what it would be like to have him – Captain Picard – for a father. She knew he didn't have any kids, but perhaps she could ask him to...?

He didn't leave her time to elaborate that thought though. "However, no matter how joyous the situation may yet turn out to be, it does have a few inconvenient consequences for your work here."

Tasha cast down her eyes. "Aye, sir. I understand."

"Your responsibility on this ship is to keep over a thousand people safe. And that is not something I can take chances with. Not even the most primal maternal instincts should interfere with that."

She looked up, resigned resolution lining her features. "Yes, sir, I know. Sometimes, it is in the best interest of security to step aside and let someone else do the job." It hurt, oh, how it hurt! She loved her job above all else. But she knew it was the rational thing to do.

But the Captain looked mildly surprised. "You're jumping ahead of me, Lieutenant. Dr. Crusher advises me that – barring medical complications – you should be physically able to function properly at your station on the bridge for several months to come."

He was met by a baffled stare. "I would?"

"Oh yes! That is: as long as I can rely on you to inform me whenever you're not feeling well enough to do a good job. And there is nothing weak in admitting to that; after all, a pregnancy does have a huge impact on both the body and the mind, but you'll have to remember that the safety of this ship is more important than keeping up your tough image."

She nodded, happily relieved. "I understand, sir. You will have no reason to complain."

"We'll modify your duties a bit though. You will function as the mastermind behind tactical and security operations, without actually taking part in them yourself. So no more away missions for you, and no more charging through the corridors in a handphaser fight."

Tasha's face fell a notch. "You're taking away all the fun stuff."

He smiled. "Try and look at it as a different form of command. A challenge to instruct others so that they will succeed, even if you're not personally at the site to guide them."

She nodded, slowly. Pensively. "You're right, sir. I shall try and see it that way. Still..." She couln't help feeling a little anxious. "I will get my old job, my old duties back once all this is over, won't I?"

"Of course you will. If that's what you wish at the time."

A quick grin. "Bet on it, sir."

"However, for the first few days I'm going to keep you at the helm – a little less responsibility until you've come to terms with this development."

Tasha couldn't quite hide her scowl as she complied with an obedient, "Aye, sir."

"Now who would you recommend to replace you as Chief of Security later on?"

Her answer was quick, and without a doubt. "Lieutenant Worf, sir. He has all the necessary qualities."

The Captain nodded. "My choice, too. I'm glad we agree." He shifted a bit uncomfortably in his chair. "One more thing. As you know, I firmly believe in openness among my crew, in order to prevent tension and disruptive gossip. Your closest colleagues – in this case the bridge officers – are bound to question your being excluded from away teams. It's not that I enjoy violating your privacy, but I think they should know about the situation. Would it be okay if I summon them here now to inform them?"

Tasha closed her eyes for a moment. Better get it over and done with. "Aye, sir. Do what you have to."

Stunned silence.

Something inside her told her to run. To run and hide from the astounded disbelief on their faces. But she forced herself to stay put. To control her shaky breathing, to remain stone-faced under their incredulous scrutiny.

Geordi was the first to find his voice. "Whoa, Data, you're a stud, man! How does it feel to become a father?"

Data turned towards him. "Unfortunately I do not feel anything, Geordi, as I am sure you know by now. But I am looking forward to the experience, if that is what you meant."

Geordi chuckled, and opened his mouth to make another comment when Commander Riker suddenly addressed Tasha: "You... seduced... Data?" He practically gasped with shock.

She nodded silently – what else was there to do? Wasn't that what the Captain had just explained? And after all, it was the truth.

Once more Geordi's near laugh cut in: "I don't need to be an empath to read your thoughts, Commander: 'What's he got that I haven't?'"

Riker gaped from him to Data, and back to Tasha. "Yeah. I mean... No offense, Data, but... he's an android!"

"Well, there's your answer: he's an android, you're not."

Deanna quickly had to mask a fit of the giggles, and even the Captain found it necessary to casually cover his mouth.

"So when's the little android due?" Geordi continued.

Tasha started – that was something she hadn't even bothered asking Dr. Crusher about!

But Data calmly explained that the child was unlikely to be of androidic nature. "We cannot be 100% sure yet, but there is significant evidence to suggest that the child is a clone of Lieutenant Yar."

"Alright, so when is the little Tasha due?" Geordi seemed to take the whole thing in stride, and Tasha was more than a little grateful for it.

Dr. Crusher answered him. "Since we're not entirely sure about the baby's nature, we can't really predict anything regarding the pregnancy either. But if things develop according to the human standards, the baby would be due by mid December.

Tasha groaned inwardly. December! Obviously this was going to be a serious test of one of those virtues she did not possess in abundance...

But then her eye was drawn to her friend Worf. Never a man of eloquence, he hadn't uttered a word so far. Yet his brooding glare at Data spoke volumes.

Aware of her eyes on him, Worf turned to her. "Lieutenant, allow me to be your gogerych."

Tasha hesitated. "My... gogerych?"

"Yes," came the angry growl back.

"Worf, what is a gogerych?" Deanna struggled with the gutteral pronunciation of the Klingon word.

"Lieutenant Yar has been dishonoured," Worf explained with disgust in his voice. "Failing a blood relative, as her friend it is my duty to challenge the responsible khi'tagh, so that he may prove himself worthy to father her child." Another ominous glare in Data's direction. "Or not."

Data looked as imperturbably curious as ever, but the Captain quickly intervened. "I don't think that is necessary, Mr. Worf."

And Tasha added: "Worf, it's my fault, not Data's. I was under the influence of that virus from the Tsiolkovsky, and Data merely complied with my wishes."

"As I am compelled to do from now on, in order to keep you happy," Data contributed.

Deanna chuckled, and Tasha groaned. "Data...!"

But: "It was his duty to refuse," Worf insisted.

"On the contrary, Lieutenant: it was my duty to comply," Data refuted.

Worf already bared his fangs, but Data stated stubbornly: "I am programmed to act in accordance with human ethics when providing the many services I have to offer. Therefore, in the improbable – or should I say impossible – event of me having assaulted Lieutenant Yar against her will, then the Klingon ethics are quite similar to their present human counterpart, and your wish to challenge me would have been entirely correct and just. However, although I do consider part of the guilt for what happened mine, in this case I acted solely upon Lieutenant Yar's wishes at the time, for I am not programmed to do otherwise on such occasions. According to the present human ethics, that would acquit me from the crime of dishonouring her."

"He's right, Worf," Tasha said before the Klingon could get a word in. "I'm truly honoured by your offer to defend my honour, but it wouldn't be the right course of action in this case. It's not his fault."

Worf grumbled, and one of his slightly more affectionate glares was directed toward her as he said, tight with barely held constraint: "If that is what you wish."

"It is," she said with conviction, hoping to nip any animosity towards Data in the bud.

"That's settled then," the Captain said, clearly relieved. "Besides, you're going to be busy enough, Mr. Worf. In consultation with Dr. Crusher, I hereby relieve Lieutenant Yar from all duties on away missions. Instead, she will coordinate and supervise them from her station up here, and you, Mr. Worf, will act as her first officer in the field."

"Yes, Captain."

"Further, Lieutenant Yar and I agree that once she'll have to temporarily resign her post as Chief of Security for her maternity leave, you are our first choice for taking over as Acting Chief of Security."

Worf's face actually brightened a bit. "I am honoured, Captain."

"Good. Any more questions concerning the matter?"

Geordi chuckled. "About a million and a half, Captain. But I'll save them for a more private setting."

No one else had any more questions to ask in public, so the Captain adjourned the meeting with a final reminder that it was up to Lieutenant Yar and Commander Data – and to no one else – to spread the news all over the ship.

And as they filed out of the room to resume their posts, Riker pouted to Tasha: "If you were so eager to seduce, why didn't you come to me?"

Perhaps she should invite him for a boxing match, too.

To Do Right by What Never Happened

It was astonishing to see how everybody's life went on just as normal: saving planets, exploring new systems, Deanna almost getting married, some artificially rejuvinated admiral getting killed by the side effects of his treatment... And here she was, Chief of Security Tasha Yar, semi retired because of some baby clone she still hadn't decided whether she wanted to have or not. She – a mother?

Nothing would ever be the same again. And although she refused to voice the feeling, she knew full well that the incalculable consequences of motherhood scared the hell out of her.

Ridiculous, wasn't it? Put the safety of over a thousand men, women and children in her hands, and she'd handle the responsibility with ease. Put her in the middle of a mine field, and she'd confidently find her way out, casually saving a few others along the way. Confront her with hostile aliens, insufferable Q's, inhabitable planets, a whole army of Romulans if necessary – Tasha Yar wouldn't flinch.

And yet the mere thought of taking care of an infant, of raising a child was giving her nightmares.

She had just woken up from another one of those when her door chime sounded.

"What the heck...!" She glanced at the chronometer. 19.32. Yes, that's right: she'd been rather tired after her shift and had decided to follow the doctor's orders and obediently take a nap. But seven-thirty was of course a perfectly normal time for a social call. Not that she was expecting any.

Another chime.

"Just a minute!" she called, as she quickly put on her bathrobe over her crumpled T-shirt and shorts. She raked her fingers through her hair to make it look somewhat presentable, and then called her visitor to enter.

"Lieutenant."

"Hi, Data."

The yellow eyes flitted briefly over her sloppy outfit. "I hope I did not disturb you?"

She shrugged. "Don't worry. I was just taking a nap. But I was already awake."

"I see." Data's lips quirked a bit into his twitching smile. "Tasha, will you do me the honour of accompanying me to the holodeck?"

She arched an eyebrow. "The holodeck? Why?"

"I have a surprise for you." He hesitated. "But if you are tired, it can wait."

"I'm fine," she dismissed. "Just give me a minute and I'll get dressed."

"Yes. Please do."

"I wonder what we're doing here." Geordi sighed as he sauntered impatiently back and forth outside holodeck 2.

"From what I understand, we're to witness Data's surprise for Tasha," Deanna pointed out. "Didn't he tell you that?"

"Sure he did. I'm just curious: what's there to witness?" Geordi halted in front of the computer screen. "Computer, what program is currently running on holodeck 2?"

"Private program Data-2," the computer answered obediently.

"Perhaps we should have a peek," Geordi suggested.

But the computer admonished: "Private programs can only be entered with the consent of their owners."

Geordi scowled. "I wasn't talking to you."

And Deanna chuckled. "Patience is a virtue, Lieutenant."

"Yeah. A highly overrated one, if you ask me."

But there were Tasha and her escort.

"Data, what's the meaning of all this? Why all the secrecy?" Geordi accosted him.

Data tilted his head. "Is not secrecy a vital element of surprise?"

Deanna gave him an encouraging smile. "Yes, Data, it is. It's just that we're so curious to see your surprise. Did you create a new holodeck program perhaps?"

"I did indeed, Counselor. And although the surprise is intended for Lieutenant Yar, I need your help to make it work."

"Well, let's have it then. I'm dying here."

A worried frown creased Data's forehead as he grabbed his friend's wrist. "You are not dying, Geordi. Your pulse is strong and regular. As it should be."

"Dying of curiosity I mean. Can we go in now?"

"Yes. We can." Data manoeuvered an amused Tasha in front of the doors and told the computer to let the party enter.

"Open Sesame," Tasha giggled as the double doors slid aside.

But there was no treasure behind the magic doors. Instead, they looked into an ancient metalworker's workshop.

Slowly, not quite knowing what to expect, Tasha stepped over the threshold.

"It looks old," Geordi commented as he followed her. "Very old."

"What is this place, Data?" Deanna asked as she blew some dust off a wedding picture on the wall.

"It is the workshop of a famous blacksmith in Scotland. I found some pictures of it dating from the early decades of the twentieth century. They served as the model for this program. See, I recreated all the tools, the broken wheels in the corner, the fireplace, the water barrel, the workbench. And of course the anvil."

"Neat," Geordi complimented as he fingered the tools on the workbench. He picked up a wrench, and was appalled by the weight of it. "Those blacksmiths sure developed their muscles right on the job, I bet."

Tasha looked around. "Is this the big surprise you had for me?" She couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment – she'd expected something more interesting. But then, it was quite possible that androids had a different perception of surprises.

But to her relief, Data replied: "No. This is just the setting. Does it have your approval?"

"Sure. It looks very authentic."

A twitch at the corner of his mouth. "Thank you, Lieutenant. Then let us continue. Computer!" He raised his voice. "Run private program Data-2B."

Suddenly the heavy wooden door at the back of the room swung open and a tall, muscular man wearing patched up clothes and a leather apron came in. "Ah! I see you have arrived, sir. And you brought your own witnesses, too. Excellent. Please, come and join me at the anvil – this won't take a minute."

Geordi's eyebrows shot up in alarm. "What won't take a minute? You don't consider yourself a dentist, do you? I already have an appointment for next week. With a real one!"

A booming laughter echoed off the stone walls. "Do not worry, lad. I am but a humble blacksmith. Not a doctor. Now come and gather around the anvil. I am sure your friends are eager to proceed."

Tasha squinted at him. "Proceed with what?" she wanted to ask, but just as she opened her mouth, Data placed a small bouquet of white roses in her hands. "Here. These are for you, Lieutenant. And they are real; not holographic."

She frowned. "What are these for?"

Troi's eyes suddenly went wide with realization. "Data!" she hissed urgently.

But the large blacksmith had begun to speak again, drowning out her warning whisper. And he cut right to the heart of what Deanna already had come to suspect: "Do you, Data, take this woman Natasha Yar to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, to love and to..."

"What?" Tasha cried out. "Data, what the hell is going on here?"

"We are eloping," he told her in his trademark innocence.

She gasped for breath. "Just like that? Are you crazy?"

"No, I am not," he replied.

"You could at least have asked me!" Seething with indignation she slung the roses in his face and stormed out of the holodeck.

"Whoops," came it from Geordi in the deafening silence that ensued.

And a totally non-plussed Data turned to Deanna. "Counselor, I do not understand. Did I do something wrong? Is it not considered the right thing to do for a man to wed the girl with whom he unintentionally has fathered a child?"

"Oh, Data..." Counselor Troi shook her head in compassion. Their android friend looked almost lost...

It was a chuckling Geordi who actually answered the question. "It was the right thing to do, yes – some five hundred years ago."

"That's not true," Counselor Troi corrected. "In many societies it's still considered the only honourable solution to an illegitimate pregnancy. Even today. Remember Worf's initial reaction? But Data..." She placed a comforting hand on his arm; more out of habit than that he would really need a physical sense of her support. "Why didn't you ask her first if she wanted to marry you?"

"Should I have?" Data tilted his head. "Then she would be making the same promise twice. Why is that necessary? Is not this ceremony sufficient?"

"Data, we're not in the dark ages, you know! Back then, a man could drag a girl to the altar and if he wanted to marry her, there was nothing she could do about it. But women nowadays aren't like that. They have a say in whom they pledge their love to. And with a right, too."

"Yes. It is common courtesy to ask a girl if she wants to marry you before leading her up to the altar," Deanna added.

"To the anvil," Data pointed out.

"The idea is the same. Where are we anyway? Is this by any chance the famous smithy in Gretna Green?"

The blacksmith's laugh boomed again. "Aye, milady, it is. Have you heard of it?"

"I've read about it." She sighed. "Data, it was a really sweet idea of you. Very romantic, too. But you really need to ask a girl if she wants to marry you. Before you dump her in the middle of exchanging vows with you."

Data nodded. "Understood, Counselor." He picked up the somewhat battered bouquet of roses. "I will go and ask her now. Computer: save program and exit."

They watched him walk off. "Poor Data," Geordi sighed. "Jilted at the anvil..."

He found her in the gym, angrily pacing away on the walking machine. "Lieutenant?"

She glared at him. "What?"

"I did not intend to upset you. I am sorry."

Tasha sighed and turned off the machine. "Data, what in the world possessed you to spring that wedding program on me?"

"I wanted to do right by you," he explained. "After all, I am the one who got you into this difficult situation, so it is my responsibility to take care of you now. To protect you, to be there for you and to make you happy. After weighing all the options, I came to the conclusion that the most logical way to accomplish that is to marry you."

"Data..." She heaved a sigh. Was it just her imagination or did he really wear the expression of a sad puppy dog? She really had to refrain herself from fondly ruffling his immaculate hair.

"Counselor Troi explained that I should have asked you first if you wanted to marry me at all," Data continued. "So will you marry me?"

"Um... Is that an official proposal?" Wow... Never had she imagined to get one of those!

"Yes. I think so." Data regarded her with happy anticipation.

"Um..." She looked away and shuffled uneasily with her feet. "Um... I don't know, Data. I mean, you're a sweet guy and all, but... I've never even considered marriage. To anyone."

"I see. You would require some time to think it over. That is not uncommon, I believe."

"I don't know... Maybe..." Gee, how do you tell a guy who's proposing to you that you've ruled out the entire idea of marriage for yourself?

"Well, if it makes your decision any easier, it might be helpful for you to know that it would not be a legally valid marriage anyway," he informed her.

Her eyebrows shot up. "Why not? Because you're an android?"

"Affirmative. According to Terran law, section 472 paragraph 16H, humans cannot be united in marriage with artificial lifeforms of any kind. Hence the elopement setting I concocted for the occasion. It seemed appropriate."

"But that's ridiculous!" Tasha exclaimed.

Data frowned. "You do not think the elopement setting appropriate in this case?"

"No, that you can't get married! You're one of the sweetest guys I've ever met!"

"Thank you, Lieutenant."

"You know what, Data?" Tasha was all riled up now. "Why don't we get married in your elopement program, just to piss off bureaucracy? It doesn't have to change anything between us – we can still simply be friends and each have our own quarters and so on. But it'll give those bigwigs something to chew on!"

Data regarded her pensively. "Lieutenant, I do not think fighting what you perceive as an injustice agrees with the intended scope of marriage. Are you truly prepared to have me for your husband, to have and to hold, to love and to cherish, in good times and in bad times, in sickness and in health, till death us part?"

Tasha was momentarily taken aback. "Well... it doesn't have to be all that serious, does it? I mean, lots of people split up again after having plighted their eternal troth to one another."

"I would not," he told her. "I cannot go back on a promise. Even if such a promise would be invalid for the law, it would still be valid for me. When I promise a lady to have her for my wife, to have and to hold, to love and to cherish, in good times and in bad times, in sickness and in health, then I will do so to the very most outer stretches of my limited emotional capabilities. Till death us part."

Tasha stared at him in amazement. "Was that... were you really going to promise me that back there on the holodeck?"

"Affirmative. But I realize now that Counselor Troi was right: I should have sounded you on the subject before leading you up to the anvil. Apparently our views on marriage are sadly incompatible."

A blush of embarrassment coloured her cheeks. "I'm sorry, Data. I'm really sorry for disappointing you. It's just that..."

"Do not make yourself uneasy on my behalf, Lieutenant. You are well aware that I have no feelings. I cannot feel disappointment."

Suddenly she laughed, and placed a quick fond kiss on his cheek. "Data, you're a fool! But you know what? You're the most perfect husband a girl could possibly wish for!"

The End of What Never Happened?

"Tasha, have you made up your mind yet about whether you want to have the baby?"

"I haven't, no." Tasha slid off the examination table. "Why, what's the rush?"

Dr. Crusher put down her tricorder. "No rush. At least not yet. But I'm as bound by regulations as everyone else. So I'd better warn you: after the sixteenth week of pregnancy I am not allowed to perform an abortion on the baby anymore. For you, that means in three weeks time," she reminded her.

Tasha sighed, and lay back down on the table again. "Better get it over and done with then."

"What?" Dr. Crusher shook her head. "Sorry, young lady, but this is not a decision to make lightly."

"I'm not making it lightly: I've been thinking about it from the day I learned I was pregnant," Tasha pointed out.

"Yes. And less than a minute ago you told me you hadn't made up your mind yet. Sorry, but that's not what I call a well-considered decision. Do you?"

Another sigh, and Tasha sat up again. "Alright, alright, I'll think about it some more. But it is kind of busy around here, with all those guests on board, and that Remmick guy stirring up everyone."

"Then you better make time. This is important, too." Dr. Crusher could be stern if she wanted to. "Also, if you do choose to go through with an abortion, then I want you to discuss the matter thoroughly with Mr. Data. After all, it's his child, too."

Tasha grimaced. "So much for women's rights. Do I perhaps need his consent as well?"

"No, but he is the father, and since he's already indicated that he's more than willing to accept the responsibilities of parenthood, you're going to have to explain to him why you don't. And also..." She glanced at her unwilling patient. "I've said this before: I'd like you to have a serious talk with Counselor Troi."

Tasha's scowl said it all, but the doctor continued to try and persuade her. "I know you're not too keen on counseling. But she can help you to straighten out your feelings towards this baby, whether you'd want to have it or not. Anyway, I'm not allowed to perform an abortion without a counselor's report. So if you really do want to have your baby aborted, then you're going to have to see her."

Tasha scowled. "Fine then. I'll go and see her now."

"It's not so easy to tell. Tasha doesn't open up easily even under the most favourable circumstances; especially not to me. The best way I can describe her state of mind on the matter is that she is determined to convince herself that she's convinced she wants the abortion."

Dr. Crusher blinked. "So if I may phrase that in a more accessible manner, you're basically saying she's not convinced?"

Troi nodded. "She just won't admit it. We've made a whole list of the pros and cons of having this child – well, she doesn't see any pros. Whatever I suggested as a positive aspect she deftly twisted into a negative one. For example the warmth and the sense of belonging that come with being part of a family – she insisted she prefers to be on her own, without the burden of having to consider others."

Dr. Crusher sighed. "Well, you've got to admit that the whole concept of family life is probably rather alien to her. The way she grew up..."

"I know. But..." Deanna smiled. "She does yearn for it. I caught her a few times – oh, not during our sessions, but in quiet moments on the bridge. Basking herself in the mere idea of the love and the joy and trust she'd get from a daughter. In such moments, the happiness and the longing simply radiate from her. But it's always quickly pushed aside for more rational considerations. 'A Security Chief doesn't live to get old. It'd be cruel to have a child, only to deprive it of her mother at an early age.' And things like that."

The doctor grimaced. "That's a new one. But it fits in with the usual list I get: bursting at the seems with practicality." She raked her hands through her hair. "Deanna, what are we going to do? If I'd abort this baby, it'll just be adding yet another trauma to the many she's already got locked away. I can't do that!"

Deanna had a sad shrug. "There's not much we can do about it, I'm afraid. It's not like she's upset, or unanswerable for her actions – she's calm, and rational. Too rational for my liking. For the past two weeks I've been trying to get her to look at the situation with her heart, but she pushes away every feeling about the situation. I, too, believe it would actually be beneficial for her to have this baby – despite all the practical consequences. But she is adamant in her claim that she does not want to have it. I don't see what choice we have but to abide by the wish she voices. Even if we're convinced it's the wrong thing for her to do."

Dr. Crusher heaved a sigh. "Which means it's now up to Mr. Data. Has she talked with him yet?"

"Not yet. But I advised her this morning that she shouldn't wait much longer to do so. He has a right to know, even if he is only an android."

"Well, let's hope he'll talk some sense into her. Hopefully, with his objective way of looking at the world, he won't take the deliberate killing of his offspring very lightly." Dr. Crusher got up. "And we still have about a week to get her to change her mind. I can delay an abortion till the end of next week, but that's as far as I can go. Do you think you could keep working with her a bit longer, too?"

Back in her cabin, Tasha pulled up the duty rosters. Good: Data was off-duty this afternoon. Better get this over and done with.

She touched the computer panel on the wall. "Computer, the location of Lt. Commander Data?"

"Lt. Commander Data is in his quarters."

That was just down the corridor. So she quickly strode over, and entered Data's spartan quarters at his invitation. "Hi. I need to talk to you. You got a minute?"

"Of course, Lieutenant. What is on your mind?"

She took a deep breath. "I'm going to have the baby aborted."

Data's eyebrows shot up in alarm. "Why? Is the child not viable? Is she developing androidic physiology? Are you perhaps experiencing detrimental side effects?"

Tasha frowned. "No. I just... I've just decided I don't want to have it."

Data's expression turned to worried puzzlement. Amazing, Tasha thought, how many emotions his face was able to express, even with little or no feelings behind it. Pure mimicry, no doubt.

"I am sorry, Lieutenant," Data said. "But I do not understand. If there is nothing wrong with our little girl, then why do you not want to have her?"

Tasha sighed with exasperation. "Because I just don't want to have a baby!"

"Why not?"

"Hundreds of reasons. It'd simply be too complicated. And I'm just not the motherly type."

Silence.

"Those are two reasons, Lieutenant. Please continue. And please elaborate the first one: what would be too complicated?"

"This whole thing of having a baby. Who's going to look after it while I'm on duty?"

"I am," Data replied placidly. "Had we not already agreed to that?"

"Yeah, well, and who's going to take care of it when we're both on duty?"

"Then we can bring her to the ship's nursery. All parents do," Data pointed out.

Tasha sighed. "Well, it still wouldn't work. I'm a security officer. The fewer emotional ties and liabilities, the better."

Data gave her a curious glance. "The Chief of Security I served with aboard the U.S.S. Trieste had three children. They did not stop him from being an exemplary security officer."

She snorted. "But he was a male."

"Is there a difference?"

"Is there a difference? Data, he didn't have to be pregnant and give birth himself!"

"That, however, is but a temporary problem for you as a female officer. Why should a physical inconvenience that will merely temporarily affect your ability to do your job stop you from bringing our daughter into the world?"

"Because! Because it'd leave me vulnerable! And emotionally less stable. I cannot afford that as Chief of Security."

"Why not? Would that not, too, be only temporary?"

"No, it wouldn't!" She started pacing. It was distracting – unnerving almost – to have an argument with someone who didn't get angry in return, and instead dealt with her every outburst with the utmost calm. It made her feel stupid, and childish. And out of control. "Data, don't you see that any malevolent fool would only have to point a phaser at my kid and I'd turn into jelly?"

Data tilted his head. "That would imply that security officers should not become parents. Ever."

"Exactly. A Chief of Security can't have children – it's as simple as that. Especially since it's such a dangerous job: you know as well as I do that the life expectation for security officers is considerably shorter than for other officers. I can't deprive this kid of her mother at an early age – that'd be cruel!"

Data frowned. "So because there is a chance that she might lose her mother, you have decided that she had better not live at all?"

Tasha flinched.

"Still," Data continued as cool as a cucumber. "I am expected to live forever. So she would still have her father to take care of her. It is not uncommon for a child to be raised by only one parent."

Tasha laughed nervously. "Data, you can't raise a kid all by yourself!"

"Why not?"

"Why, you're an android!"

"Yes. I know. And I am programmed to learn, and to respond to human needs. That is the basic role of a parent, is it not? So why should I not be capable of learning how to be a parent?"

"Data, parents are supposed to teach and guide their children; not the other way around."

Data nodded. "Yet nobody teaches humans how to be a parent. They all have to learn on the job. So why not me? Or you? You say you are not the motherly type. Have you tried yet to take care of an infant?"

Tasha's face hardened. "Believe me, Data, I have. Back on Turkana IV, when I was a kid. After my mother abandoned us, I took care of my little sister for years. I know what it's like to be a parent."

Calmly, Data shook his head. "That is an irrealistic comparison, Lieutenant. Back then you were a child yourself. Now you are a grown-up."

"It's still the same routine and responsibility. And I'm simply not up to that. Not ready, if you prefer. I don't want to be a mother."

Data regarded her in frowning contemplation. "There must be other options that will permit our daughter to live, and yet will relieve you of the duties of motherhood. In fact, I would not mind raising her myself in case you really would not want a part in her upbringing. But I do suppose I would need some assistance in the guidance of her emotional development. Perhaps Counselor Troi would be willing to oblige me in that."

Tasha sighed. "Forget it, Data. I don't want to be a mother. So I'm not going to have this baby and that's final."

"I object." A firm Data suddenly stood. "If there is nothing wrong with our daughter, then she must have the right to live. Can you not at least give birth to her properly?"

"Yes, and what about my life in the meantime?"

"And what about her life?"

"Data, if I'd do that, then I'd still have to go through this whole pregnancy thing!"

"That will last for only twenty-seven more weeks at the most. Probably shorter. Is that worth killing her for?"

Tasha flinched. "Not 'killing', Data. Aborting."

"The result is the same. It is still infanticide. Child-murder. Are you really prepared to be guilty of that?"

"No! I mean... I don't know what I mean. Data, why are you trying to confuse me?"

"Forgive me, Lieutenant: I have no intention of confusing you. You are merely giving me your reasons for having our daughter deliberately killed – the number of which incidentally has not added up to ten yet – and so far I have been able to refute them all. You said you had hundreds of reasons. I would appreciate to hear the others. For 'no life should be taken easily'. You do remember your classes in ethics at the Academy, do you not?"

Tasha huffed. "Hey, it's easy for you to say! You're not the one who's pregnant!"

"Dr. Crusher." Data came striding into her little office. "Lieutenant Yar and I have a disagreement regarding our daughter. May I disturb you for some advice?"

"Of course, Data. Have a seat, please. What can I do for you?"

Data sat down across from her. "Lieutenant Yar has informed me that she intends to terminate our daughter's life. I disagree. I offered to take on the complete responsibility for raising the child once she is born, but she refuses to even complete the pregnancy in order for the child to live."

Dr. Crusher nodded. "Yes, I've heard. It's very sad."

"It is indeed. Therefore: doctor, is it possible to transplant the baby into the womb of a surrogate mother who is willing to fulfill the pregnancy for her? I would be happy to volunteer my own body, but I doubt my positronic net will be compatible with my daughter's needs."

Dr. Crusher just stared at him, touched as she was by the determination of this piece of electronic equipment to save his unborn daughter.

"Doctor?" he prompted her.

"Yes. I'm sorry, Data, I was thinking. But I'm afraid it's not possible. Scientists have been experimenting with such procedures indeed, but unfortunately, the ties between mother and child are far too delicate to be severed and replaced. The child wouldn't stand a chance. I'm sorry."

"I see." Data sat silent for a moment, contemplating the whole mess. "Doctor, I hope you are able to enlighten me concerning a mystery in human behaviour I have encountered today. Tell me: why would a human wish to kill his own offspring?"

A sigh from Dr. Crusher. "In this case, it's my impression that Tasha is mainly frightened. Of the future, of the unknown, the complete responsibility for an other person's well-being, the challenge of raising a child..."

Data frowned. "I have not seen Lieutenant Yar back away from a challenge before."

Dr. Crusher had a wan smile. "It's a different kind of challenge, Data. Tell her to fight a major enemy, and she'll thrive. Tell her to take care of an infant, and she'll panic. It's quite common with warriors. And as long as she's not confronted with the fact that her baby is really alive, it's possible for her to downplay the... Wait a minute..." Her face lit up.

Data leaned forward in alarm. "Dr. Crusher, are you alright? Your cheeks are suddenly going all red."

"Yes, yes, I'm fine. But you've just given me an idea for a last minute attempt to change Tasha's mind – so thank you! But I'll need to speak to Troi, right away."

"Are you ready?"

A deep intake of breath. "Ready. Go ahead."

With a grim smile, Dr. Crusher turned on the viewscreen. And to her satisfaction, she heard a small gasp escape from the soon no longer mother-to-be. For there was the child – her child. It was unmistakably a perfect little baby – albeit in miniature. And most definitely alive and kicking.

Tasha's eyes were glued to the screen, and the doctor smugly busied herself with her instruments for a few moments longer. This was her part of the strategy to save the little Yar girl. The other part had come from Deanna, after her having noticed how Tasha had struggled to come to terms with Data's blunt translation of the term 'abortion'. So nix with the usual considerate bedside manners today. No more sugar-coating: say it as it is! If that's what it would take to save an innocent life...!

"Tasha, what do you prefer? Get your child out alive so you can tell her face to face that you don't want her to live, and then have her die in your arms? Or kill her first so she doesn't have to live through the whole trauma of being pulled out of her safe little nest, long before she can survive outside it?"

Tasha swallowed hard, and her eyes bulged a bit. "Do you have to put it like that?"

Dr. Crusher shrugged. "It's exactly what we're doing, isn't it?"

"Yes, but..." Tasha's eyes darted back to the screen. Dr. Crusher enlarged it to the size of a full-born baby, and they saw the little girl gently swinging back and forth in the clear fluid. Occasionally her foot kicked out for no apparent reason. And then they saw her tiny little hand, with five perfectly shaped shrimp fingers, being brought to her mouth in a quite coordinated movement. As if she was searching for her thumb to suck on.

Tasha gulped. "No. Wait. I just..."

Dr. Crusher hid a smile and stepped aside.

Seconds ticked by. Minutes even. She noticed Tasha blinking stealthily, trying to control her tears without giving away that she was crying. But in the end... "Okay. Go ahead." Trembling, but determined.

Now it was Dr. Crusher's turn to gulp. Had their scheme failed? But she had to keep trying to get through to her – to rub it in what she was doing! "So which option do you prefer?"

Tasha gulped, too. "The second. I don't want her to go through all that. And I don't think I could face her."

"Which option was that again? I forget." A devious, desperate last minute attempt to stagger the unwilling mother... God, please! Open her eyes!

Tasha turned to glare at her. "You know what I meant!" Her eyes were indeed brimming with tears.

But: "Yes," the doctor pressed on relentlessly. "But I need you to consciously order me to do it. What do you want me to do with your little baby?"

Tasha's haunted eyes flitted back to the screen. The little baby-girl was hiding her little head in her arms. Almost as if she was scared. Did she perhaps – somehow – realize what was going on?

She took a deep breath. Closed her eyes, and...

A sob. "I can't. I can't do it!"

The doctor put down her hypospray in a decidedly pointed manner. "You're sure?"

A gulp. Another sob. And a croaked: "Yes. How... how can I order such a... helpless little creature to be... killed?" It was a cry of sheer agony.

Dr. Crusher smiled, and patted her hand. "To be honest, I was pretty sure you couldn't. We just had to find a way to show you that you couldn't."

Tasha even laughed through her tears. "Oh doc, what am I going to do?"

Dr. Crusher pulled her upright and took the shaken Security Chief in her arms. "You're going to have your baby, and you're going to be just fine. And I understand that Data has already offered to accept permanent custody of the child. So if you prefer, this whole business can be over and done with for you once you've let your little daughter see the light of day. And this way it will be without you struggling with the life-long guilt that inevitably comes with every abortion."

Tasha hugged her tight. "Thanks, doc," she brought out.

But as soon as she let go, Dr. Crusher touched her communicator. "Dr. Crusher to Mr. Data."

"Data here. Go ahead, doctor."

"Mr. Data, I'm happy to inform you that your daughter will live."

They heard a whoop from Geordi in the background, and a cheer that sounded like Commander Riker's. Tasha chuckled with strangely relieved embarrassment.

And it wasn't until then that they heard Data reply, "Thank you, doctor. Data out."

Dr. Crusher smiled at Tasha's tear-stained face. "Now was it just my imagination, or did I really detect a note of happy relief in that android's voice?"

A Name for What Never Happened

"Commander Riker, would you mind if I join you?"

"Of course not. Have a seat."

"Thank you." Data sat down in the social murmur of the Ten Forward lounge.

"What can I do for you?" Riker threw back the last of his synthehol and cast an inquiring look at his android colleague.

"I have come to seek your advice, Commander," Data replied.

"What about?"

"Names. The subject mystifies me. I am aware that the last name of one or both parents is customarily passed on to their offspring. But on what grounds is the child's first name decided? I have studied the records on everyone aboard this ship, but I have not been able to detect any clear patterns in human first names among them. For example: why are you called William Thomas? And not Thomas William? Or George, or Henry, or Dick, or Jean-Luc, or..."

Riker raised his hands. "Yes, Data, I get the point." He chuckled. "This wouldn't have anything to do with your having to decide on a name for your own daughter, would it?"

"It would indeed." Data leaned forward in an attempt at confidentiality. "I have noticed that – even though our child's gender has been officially established – Lieutenant Yar continues to refer to her as 'it'. I have pointed out this mistake to her six times over the past forty-seven hours, eighteen minutes and eleven seconds, and although she agrees with my corrections every time, she persistently keeps making the same mistake. So I thought – since I have noticed that most first names are considered to be distinctly male or female – that maybe if the child had a name, it would be more logical for her to use the correct pronoun when referring to our daughter."

Riker nodded. "Makes sense. And now you want my advice on how to pick a name?"

"I would appreciate your insights, yes. So: why are you called William Thomas?"

"Well, actually, Data, if you'd have dug a bit further into people's family histories, you'd have discovered that there are certain patterns in name giving. There's a rather ancient tradition shared by many human cultures of naming a newborn after an esteemed relative. I, for example, was named after both my grandfathers: William Riker and Thomas Sandgren."

Data frowned. "That will prove to be difficult in our case, Commander. I do not have any female relatives. And from what I understand, Lieutenant Yar does not even recall the names of her parents."

Riker shook his head. "No worries, Data. There are other reasons for choosing a name. First of all you have to like the name."

Instead, the creases in Data's forehead deepened. "Commander, are you suggesting that one name is more aesthetically pleasing than another?"

"Of course it is. Everyone has their own..." He cut off mid sentence. "That's right: you don't have preferences, do you?"

"No, sir. For me, a word, or a name, is a combination of sounds. A combination of letters when in written form. I perceive no difference in their aesthetic value."

"Hm." It was Riker's turn to frown. "Alright. So what about naming her after someone you admire?"

Data tilted his head. "Like whom?"

"Gee, I don't know." Riker raked his fingers through his hair. "Jean-Luc is a bit hard to make female. Jeannette-Lucie? Rather long, isn't it? Or how about Jamie? After the famous Admiral James T. Kirk?"

Data shook his head. "That would defeat the object, Commander: Jamie is one of those exceptional names that can be used both by males and by females."

"Oh. Yeah, that's right. Well then, what females do you admire?"

"In what sense, Commander? You are aware that I am unable to admire females in the fashion you and most single human males do, are you not?"

Riker hid an amused snort behind his hand. "You're right, Data, maybe that's not the best way for you to go about choosing a name for your daughter. But then there's only one rather common tradition left: to choose a name for its meaning."

Data tilted his head. "Its meaning? I was not aware that names mean something?"

"Oh yes! Most human first names have a meaning, often originating from civilizations from hundreds, even thousands of years ago."

Data's eyes gleamed. "That sounds most intriguing!"

"Yes, it is!" Riker agreed. "And by choosing a particular name for their child, parents hope to influence their child's character or life in a positive way."

A suddenly sceptic Data raised an eyebrow. "Commander, surely you do not imply that one's name can determine one's character? Or one's life? Are those not the product of a combination of mainly social and hereditary factors?"

A little smile from Riker. "You think so?" He, too, leaned forward and asked in a whisper: "Do you know what the name 'Deanna' means?"

Data looked at him expectantly.

"'Goddess'. Or 'divine'." He leaned back in his chair. "I'd say that's pretty much how she turned out, don't you agree?"

Data gave him an almost baffled stare. "Commander, are you implying that Counselor Troi is a goddess?"

"Of course not." He chuckled. "But she sure looks like one." He spread out his hands in defeat. "Okay, forget it, Data. Perhaps that was just not the best example. But I assure you there are lots of names with more down-to-earth meanings. Like 'happiness', or 'love', or 'joy', or 'wisdom'. Even things: 'star', 'sun', 'jewel', or different animals. Why don't you download the available baby name directories?"

Data nodded once. "I will. Thank you, Commander." He got up to leave, but Riker held him back.

"One last thing, Data."

"Yes, Commander?"

"You better include Tasha in this. For even if you don't have aesthetical preferences, I'm sure she does have them."

Tasha sat curled up on the couch, going over security reports on her padd. Sure, she was off-duty, but sometimes her tasks while on duty were so consuming that things like admin just couldn't be dealt with properly within working hours. Still, it was a vital part of her job to be up-to-date with everything concerning the security of the ship and its crew. Which occasionally meant working overtime on the reports.

She had already changed into a pair of jogging pants and an oversized T-shirt. Halfway through her pregnancy, the unmistakable curve of her baby-belly had begun to show itself relentlessly. She was used to wearing her Starfleet uniform practically 24/7, but right now, the way the tight jumpsuit revealed and even accentuated her pregnant state made her quite uncomfortable. In these loose-fitting clothes, she could at least pretend that the tell-tale belly wasn't there.

For now, that is. She pushed back her fringe and sighed. But for how much longer? How many months – or more likely: how many weeks before there simply would be no way to hide it anymore? Least of all to hide it from herself? For she may have reconciled herself with having the baby, but that still didn't mean she was happy about it...

She tried to focus back on her padd, and realized she had been reading the last page without taking any of it in. And she sighed again. Dr. Crusher could insist all she wanted that an occasionally wandering mind was quite normal in her situation, but she fought it as much as she could. A security chief couldn't afford the luxury of daydreaming. But at least those horrible spells of morningsickness and dizziness were past. As well as the extreme fatigue she had experienced in the beginning.

She groaned. There she went off wandering again. Dammit, she had to read this! She...

The doorchime.

A sigh. "Come!" After all, a distraction – an authorized distraction – may be just what she needed to be able to concentrate properly again afterwards.

The door slid open and revealed Data. "Lieutenant," he greeted her. "May I come in?"

"Only if you stop calling me 'lieutenant' when I'm off-duty," she smirked.

"As you wish... Tasha." He entered and the door slid shut behind him.

And Tasha put down her padd. "What's up?"

"Up?" Puzzled, Data glanced at the ceiling, and Tasha snickered.

"Slang, Data. 'What is the matter' is a pretty good translation."

"Ah. I see. Another colloquialism."

"Yes. So what's up?"

"I have been analyzing your frequent mistakes in gender when referring to our daughter, and I believe I have found a way to help you realize that she is female."

Tasha groaned. "Do I really have to?"

"I believe it would be beneficial, yes. Within a few weeks, the baby's hearing will have developed sufficiently for her to be able to hear us talking. I would not want to have her confused about her gender."

"I don't think an unborn baby would understand the nuances yet," Tasha countered. "So why bother?"

Data tilted his head. "But since there has been no conclusive evidence as to exactly what an unborn baby understands, I would rather not risk it."

"Alright then, you win." Tasha sighed as she realized it wasn't worth fighting over. "So what do we do?"

"We would have to decide on her name. Or at the very least begin discussing the subject of her name."

Tasha rolled her eyes. "To be honest, Data, I don't really care what name she gets. You're the one who's mainly going to take care of the kid; I think you should be the one to decide on the name."

"That is very generous of you, Tasha. However, I would appreciate your opinion nonetheless."

"Why? Wait: don't tell me." She chuckled. "You checked into the Federation databanks and came up with a billion different names. And now you're wondering on what grounds to choose one."

Data frowned. "Basically, that is correct. But there are not a billion. A mere 3,653,114 in fact. Human female names known to be used since the beginning of mankind, that is. The exact number of existing female names in the entire Federation is unknown, but linguistic experts estimate it to be..."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Tasha held out her hands in defense. "I believe you. But what do you need me for then? You're more than well equipped to sift through those three million something yourself, aren't you?"

He nodded. "I am. But apart from the fact that it is generally considered appropriate for the mother to at least approve of the name for her child, there is also the problem of a minor hiatus in my programming: I do not perceive any aesthetical difference between one word and the other. Or one name and the other. It is this aesthetical decision for which I am dependent on your input."

"Alright, let's have it then." She put aside the padd she'd been working on and patted on the couch. "Come and sit down," she clarified as she saw his puzzled frown at the gesture.

He did as he was told, and Tasha asked: "First of all: whose last name is the kid going to use: Yar or Data?"

Data looked mildly surprised. "Since Data is not really a family name, I simply assumed she would be using your name: Yar. Was that a faulty assumption?"

She grinned. "No, it's fine with me. But if it's okay with you, I'd like to use Data for a middle name then. Just so that there can be no mistake that you're the father."

He nodded. "That would be very fitting. Thank you for suggesting it, Tasha."

"Right. Now a first name. I suppose you have a short list ready?"

"Not yet." Data blinked. "Accessing..."

Tasha leaned back, thinking it would take him a few minutes to go through three and a half million names.

Instead, it took him less than a second. "I have selected eighty-two names. Would you like me to present them randomly, or in alphabetical order?"

Tasha sat up again in surprise. "That's quick. Well, give me the names in alphabetical order then."

And Data recited: "Ahuva, Aiko, Aimée, Amanda, Amata, Amorie, Amorita, Amy, Angharad, Anuragini, Aziza, Canan, Caoimhe, Cara, Carina, Carissa, Carita, Caryl, Chaviva, Chere, Chérie, Cheryl, Daralis, Darla, Darlene, Darlyn, Darrell, Dava, Daveen, Davidina, Davienne, Davinia, Davita, Davynn, Dodie, Dragana, Ema, Esme, Esmée, Ezara, Ezaria, Habiba, Ismay, Kalila, Karisha, Keeva, Keiko, Kendi, Kylila, Kyra, Lais, Lal, Leola, Libbedina, Liefke, Lieve, Lioba, Liudmila, Livia, Livina, Lowellyn, Luvena, Mairin, Maitagarri, Maleeya, Mandy, Mindy, Morna, Muirne, Myrna, Penda, Priya, Qava, Querida..."

"Stop! Data, stop!"

Data closed his mouth and regarded her quizzically. "Is something 'up', Tasha?"

"Yes! How can I possibly distinguish the nice and the horrible ones if you just rattle them off like that? Slow down, will you? And you better start all over again – I don't recall more than two or three so far."

"As you wish." Data already opened his mouth to rehearse his list again.

But Tasha beat him to it: "Besides, what's with these names? What made you pick these eighty-two?"

He gave her a steady look. "In their respective languages, these are the eighty-two existing female names that mean 'beloved'. Considering that as her main parent, I will be able to provide her with everything she needs except the so needed basic emotion of feeling loved, I decided that I could at least make sure that she rationally understands that she is beloved indeed – every time I use her name."

Tasha stared at him, her eyes softening. "Aw, Data, that is so sweet... You're going to be the best father a kid could possibly wish for. Even without the emotions."

"I will do my best," Data acknowledged.

A deep breath. "Okay, let's get back to those names. One at a time, please, so I have a chance to decide whether I like them or not." She hesitated. "Are you sure you like them all equally?"

"Affirmative. I perceive no aesthetic difference between them. The choice is yours."

"Alright. The first one then."

"Ahuva."

"Sounds horrible. That one's out."

"Aiko."

"I kinda like that one. Nice and short. Keep it in for now."

"Aimée."

"What's that, French?"

"Affirmative."

"But it's out. It sounds terrible together with Yar: Aimée Yar. With such a short last name, you can't have the emphasis on the last syllable of the first name. Out."

"Amanda."

"Amanda Yar. That's not too bad. Keep it in."

"Amata."

...

Something Else that Never Happened

Tasha leaned over her security console and tried to hide her scowl. Not three meters from where she was standing were Worf and Commander Riker – discussing the possible winners of the upcoming martial arts tournament. And it stung.

They should have been discussing her chances, too. She wasn't Chief of Security for nothing: she knew she could beat all her fellow crewmembers in most – if not all disciplines of the martial arts. Yet here she was, pregnant and all, with a standing veto on engaging in any martial arts for another few months. She wasn't even allowed to practise just for fun!

Okay, granted: with a twenty-three weeks' baby-belly (going on twenty-four), it probably wouldn't be so much fun anyway. Not only was her steadily expanding belly beginning to impair even her normal movements, she had also become aware that she had grown rather wary of bumping her round belly into things. Some maternal protective instinct no doubt.

She sighed. Perhaps she should have accepted Riker's gift last week when he had the power of the Q. Everybody knew how she longed for this pregnancy ordeal to be over and done with, and Will Riker was no exception. So when it was her turn, he had 'simply' plucked the baby right out of her womb and deposited it – fully grown – in Data's arms, off-handedly restoring her body to its usual tawny, well-trained agility.

She had gasped with the sudden changes in her body, but then she had felt a rush of exhiliration at having the familiar feel of her own body back. Her body, all to herself.

It had lasted but a moment. For the next thing she knew, she was suddenly aware that this felt wrong. Totally and completely wrong. The baby was supposed to stay with her for a few more months. With all the inconveniences that came with it, she suddenly realized that she really did want to fulfill that task. By herself. Without magical interference, no matter how well it was meant. It was her task; not Riker's. And especially not Q's.

She had glanced over at the science console. Data was contemplating the situation of having their sleeping daughter in his arms more than three months ahead of time; his face a frown of worried incomprehension. The girl was wearing a white and baby-pink little dress, Tasha had noticed. She hated pink, but she had to admit she looked actually kind of sweet as she lay there in Data's arms, unconsciously sucking on her fingers. Was that what lay ahead of her?

She had taken a deep breath to steady herself. And another one. And placed her trembling hand on her flat and muscular belly. It wasn't right. It was her task to...

"Put her back."

Will Riker had whisked around to face her. "What did you say?" Incredulously.

A shaky breath. "Put her back where she was. As she was. This isn't right, sir. Put her back! And if this meddling of yours has caused her any harm, I guarantee I will have your head! Put her back! Now!"

Riker had blinked. "As you wish," he had muttered demurely.

The sudden reappearance of the bulky weight in her belly had made her gasp again. Other organs were forced back to the side, the slight backache that had been bothering her all day made itself felt once more... and was it just her imagination, or was her renewed baby-belly really heavier than before?

Shortly afterwards, when everything had returned to normal (Will Riker included), she had sought out Dr. Crusher to have her worries examined and hopefully dismissed. The doctor had done a complete examination, but to the relief of either, she could not detect any extraordinary changes in the baby since the last examination two days ago. And she attributed her experiencing an increase of weight to her perception of it; after all, this time the full weight of a nearly six months gone pregnancy had suddenly been dumped on her, whereas before she had gradually gotten used to the same weight as it slowly accumulated over six months time.

She heaved a sigh. It had been the eeriest experience, but it had made her – up till now rather unwilling – decision crystal clear: she was going to carry out this pregnancy to full term because whether she liked it or not, it's what she wanted. Even if it meant foregoing on the martial arts tournament this year.

She was suddenly aroused from her reverie by Worf's sharp, "Sir, I'm receiving an emergency transmission from the shuttle!"

Instantly she jerked her mind back to the here and now, and fiddled with the controls to comply with the Captain's order of putting the transmission on the main viewer. But they were receiving audio only.

"Open the frequency," Picard ordered.

"Aye, sir."

And there was the voice of Lt. Prieto, who piloted the shuttle carrying Counselor Troi. "What a jolt!"

"Position report." Riker, cool as always.

But the pilot's reply was only more cause to worry. "Sir, I have an on board systems failure. You'll have to tell me where I am."

"I read your coordinates at 370.236," Geordi supplied. "Confirm."

"I can't confirm. My instruments are haywire."

The Captain suddenly stood. "Lt. Prieto, is Counselor Troi alright?"

"Yes, sir," came the answer from the pilot. "Just a little shaken. We're being buffeted a bit." Suddenly his voice went up in alarm: "Losing more power! My flight control computer is fried!"

"Main Engineering!" the Captain barked.

"Lt. Commander Leland T. Lynch here, sir," came the smooth acknowledgement of their new Chief Engineer over the comm system, and Tasha saw how the Captain visibly forced himself to refrain from rolling his eyes.

"How long before we could return to warp power?"

"Captain, I'm in the middle of realigning the dilithium crystals," came the answer back.

"There's an emergency and we need warp drive. How long?"

"Twenty minutes. Maybe more." He sounded almost apologetic now.

"We don't have it, Mr. Lynch," the Captain insisted.

And as the two of them continued to bicker back and forth a little more, Geordi suddenly informed the unfortunate shuttle pilot that he was getting dangerously close to a planet.

Warnings and acknowledgements flying back and forth, another appeal to Engineering, and then...

"We're out of control! We're caught in the planet's gravity!"

Silence.

The Captain had made a supplemental entry to the ship's log. But after the warp engines had come online and they sped off to the planet Vagra II, there was nothing on the bridge but silent tension, and fear for their comrades' lives. It seemed to take hours before Vagra II came up on the main screen, even though in fact it was a matter of minutes.

Geordi had only just manoeuvered the Enterprise into standard orbit when Worf spoke up. "I've located the shuttle!"

"Life signs?" Even Picard's voice had an edge to it.

"Not yet, sir," Worf replied. "Still probing. It appears to be buried under a lot of debris."

Commander Riker hurried up the ramp to join him in the search, but Worf already announced that he had something. "Faint life signs. Very faint."

"How many?" Riker urged. She could hear the anxiety in his voice.

"There is no way telling from here," Worf informed him.

She saw the Captain turn to Data. "Data, can we beam up the injured?"

"No, sir." Data glanced at the readings displayed on his console. "Our sensors are not fully penetrating whatever the debris is."

Picard raised an eyebrow. "That is very unusual."

"Yes, sir. I cannot explain."

Heavily, the Captain lowered himself into his chair. "Number One, prepare your away team."

Commander Riker practically stormed past her, calling for Data and DeRosas to join him.

And through her worry for Deanna and the pilot, Tasha felt a pang of jealousy. A by now quite familiar pang of jealousy. For ensuring the security of an away team was her job. Or should be her job. And even after all these months, it still hurt to be 'overlooked'. To see someone else being ordered into the real adventures of space...

Waiting. Always waiting.

Tasha chewed on her lip and absent-mindedly rubbed the top of her baby-belly to try and relieve the slightly itchy feeling there.

The bridge was silent. Oh, how she hated this: being up here while her colleagues might be facing goodness knows what dangers. And until – if – they'd find a moment to report in, all she could do was worry!

Finally, there was the familiar chirp. "Enterprise, this is Riker. We've got a problem."

Tasha tensed, automatically and unnecessarily primed for immediate defense.

"What kind of problem, Number One?"

"I'm not sure yet," came Riker's voice back. "There appears to be a kind of slick blocking our path. We'll keep you apprised."

Picard nodded, though she was the only one to see of course. "Maintain an open frequency," he ordered to her relief – that way at least they had some idea of what was going on down there.

They heard Riker's, "Aye, sir," and a few moments later: "Analysis, Mr. Data?"

"Inconclusive, sir," came Data's clipped voice floating up to them. "I cannot tell you what it is, but I can tell you what it is not."

"Explain." Rather exasperated, Tasha thought. But she had to admit: Data could be exasperating at times.

Data's explanation was already coming up through the comm channel: "There is no evidence of neural or circulatory systems. No internal organs. And cellular structure unknown. It does not have any proteins which are known to us."

Suddenly Dr. Crusher's voice cut in – she had joined the away team, too, in order to take care of their stranded shuttlers. "It's narrower over here. We can get over it."

Tasha held her breath as she heard a light rustle, as from clothes. But the discussion continued in the same vein. "How is it moving, Data?"

Had Dr. Crusher thought the better of jumping over that moving slick? Had someone stopped her? There was no indication that the situation had changed down there.

Meanwhile, they heard Data say: "I do not know, sir. It does not appear to have a skeletal framework or musculature."

What was it that they were seeing? Oh, if only she could...!

"Then what's causing it to move?" Riker again.

And Data's astonishing conjecture: "It appears to be following us, sir."

Were they being chased by a slick?!

Commander Riker spoke again. "No sign of intelligence, no brain as we know it, yet evidence... of thought, Mr. Data?"

"Insufficient information, sir."

Tasha almost smiled; he sounded almost apologetic.

"Is it a life form, Data?" the Captain cut in.

"Again: insufficient information, sir."

"Theorize," Picard ordered.

And Data's answer: "It is possible."

Suddenly a deep, menacing voice joined the conversation. "Very good, tin man."

Tasha grabbed her console so hard that her knuckles went wide. She wasn't frightened easily, but that voice... those slushy noises... She shuddered as she felt how she suddenly got goosebumps all over.

The Captain asked hurriedly: "What is it, Number One? What are you seeing?"

An audible breath over the comm. "Trouble."

Out of nowhere, Tasha suddenly felt her stomach convulse with such force that she but barely made it to the toilet at the side of the bridge in time. Totally overwhelmed by fear, and by this apparent return of her spells of sickness, she emptied her stomach the wrong way up. For the first time in over two months?

Why now? she wondered vaguely as she rinsed her mouth and tried to regain control over her trembling body. Why is it that this creature terrifies me so much?

But those contemplations would have to wait; right now she had an away team down on an unknown planet, facing some strange, unsettling creature preventing them from getting to their injured crewmates. Her place was on the bridge, at her station.

So ramrod, with her head high, she returned to her post. With her fists clenched to hide the trembling.

Worf had taken her place, and stepped aside with a quiet inquiry regarding her health.

"I'm fine," she lied, and focussed on the discussion down on Vagra II again just in time to hear Riker say: "We believe everything in the universe has a right to exist."

"An interesting notion which I do not share."

She repressed a renewed shudder. There really was something in that semi-metallic voice that gave her the creeps.

It now said: "You may leave now, if you wish."

"We're not going without our shuttle crew." DeRosas, gentle as always.

"I warn you..." the creature began.

But DeRosas's gentleness turned to determination. "Enough! We have people who need attention. We won't hurt you, but we must help them." DeRosas was so much like herself...

Suddenly there was the sound of a smack. And a dull thud, immediately followed by phaserfire.

"Number One!" the Captain called.

The whine of phaserfire stopped. "The creature attacked us. Lt. DeRosas is down."

A piercingly cold finger crept up her spine. The shaking got worse.

"It seems to feed on our phaser energy," she heard Data add, calm as always.

And Riker concurring: "We had no effect on it."

Silence. Only the splashy sounds of something dredging through mire. For some reason, she was absolutely terrified! What was that creature up to?

"What's Lt. DeRosas's condition?" Picard urged. "Dr. Crusher, report!"

A sharp intake of breath was heard. "She's dead."

Silence reigned the bridge once more as everyone took that in. Tasha's mind was reeling. As was the bridge – she grabbed her console for support. 'It should have been me, it should have been me, it should have been me!' voices shouted in her head. 'I should have been down there! I should have died there! It was my turn to... '

Suddenly, everything went black.

She came to on a biobed in sickbay, with Dr. Hill passing a medical tricorder over her. "What happened?" she asked weakly.

"You fainted." Dr. Hill glanced across the ward to where Dr. Crusher was frantically trying to revive the young lieutenant.

Tasha followed his gaze, and suddenly she remembered. "Myra!" She sat up abruptly. Far too abruptly according to the doctor, and he quickly grabbed her arm as she swung down her legs and slid off the high bed. But although the world around her wasn't quite steady, she shrugged off his hand and moved towards the center of the action, steadying herself on the biobeds she passed to join Data and Commander Riker.

Without a word they watched Dr. Crusher and her assistant trying to bring young Myra DeRosas back to the land of the living. One electrical shockwave after another was sent through her still body. But even the most hopeful mind couldn't help but register that DeRosas's body responded less and less to these urges to live.

And just as the Captain joined them in their corner, Dr. Crusher was forced to face the horrible truth, too. "She's gone."

Once more, Tasha was overwhelmed by an unexplicable understanding that seemed to paralyze her. A notion that this was wrong, so wrong! That a mistake had been made; that she was the one who should have died today with that ugly black blotch on her face.

She began to tremble again. Terribly this time. Her lips quivered, her blood pounded in her ears, her knees buckled under her, and if it hadn't been for Riker grabbing her by the elbows, she might very well have fainted again.

"Doc!" he called out to the quickly approaching Dr. Hill.

A sob welled up from Tasha's throat. "This is wrong! It's my fault!"

"Hush now," the doctor said. "Just put her on the biobed, Commander. We'll take care of her."

"Tasha?" Dr. Crusher looked down at the curled up figure on the biobed. "Tasha?" She placed her hand on Tasha's shoulder, and Tasha started upright. "What? Doc!"

"I hear you wanted to talk to me. How are you feeling?" She ran her medical tricorder over her, but when Tasha suddenly burst out in tears, she put away the instrument and enveloped the distressed security chief in a warm embrace.

Tasha clung to her as if she were clutching a life buoy, and the doctor had an involuntary smile as she felt the round baby-belly being pressed up against her own – with soft baby kicks every now and then to melt her heart even further.

She rubbed Tasha's back to help her calm down. True, no human being could be expected to remain completely calm and collected when they lost someone under their command – someone whose safety they were ultimately responsible for. But Tasha seemed to take it particularly hard this time.

Tasha pulled away as soon as she was somewhat able to control herself. "Doc... it's all my fault."

She raised her eyebrows. "That Lt. DeRosas died? Tasha, you..."

"No, you don't understand," Tasha interrupted her. "This is all wrong. I am the one who should have been killed today!"

The doctor put a comforting hand on Tasha's knee. "Tasha, I know it's hard to lose someone under your command. But her death really isn't your fault. I was there, remember? And I assure you that there's nothing you could have done that would have altered what happened down there."

"Except my being there in her place." Tasha's voice was pinched, as if she were on the verge of tears again.

"Yes, but you weren't." She sighed. "Seems to me you're suffering from survivor's guilt."

Tasha shook her head. "No. That's not it. I know what that feels like; I've lost crewmembers before. Friends, too. This is different."

"In what way?"

Tasha took a deep breath to try and steady herself. (How many times had she done that today?) "I don't really know how to explain. It began with that creepy creature's voice – it made the hairs at the back of my neck stand up in alarm. It was almost as if... as if I knew that thing. Not for real; from a dream or something. And somehow I just knew that this was it. The end. That in the order of things, my death was next on the menu. I was supposed to be down there; and I was supposed to be the one who got killed. And if it hadn't been for this baby, that's exactly what would have happened. And now Myra DeRosas went on the away team in my place. And... died in my place." She gulped. "It's wrong. Horribly wrong. It's like we've veered off into the wrong universe at some point. That in the real universe, I did not get pregnant, so I was the one who went down to Vagra II and got killed. And that – somehow – I seem to know."

Dr. Crusher contemplated this. "It sounds a little far-fetched, but I think I understand, yes. And out here, it certainly is not an impossibility." She sighed. "But how are we ever going to find out if it's true?"

Tasha had a defeated shrug. "I don't know. But it does make me feel awful that... that indirectly, I'm the... the cause... of..." Sudden sobs took over, and drowned out anything else she was going to say.

Dr. Crusher held out her arms. "Hey, come here," she invited as she pulled their crying security chief in her arms. "It's okay to cry. You're terribly upset. We all are."

Tasha just clung to her again, heartily ashamed of her tears, but unable to stop them. "I just can't seem to stop crying. What's wrong with me, doc?"

"You're pregnant, that's all. It's just your hormones acting up. I wouldn't worry about it." Dr. Crusher eased herself free and half smiled. "But it seems your daughter doesn't quite approve of such tight embraces anymore. We'd better give her some space, shan't we?"

Tasha's face was a mere question mark. "What do you mean?" She brushed at her tears, but more kept coming.

Dr. Crusher almost dropped her jaw. "Didn't you feel that?"

Uncertain as to what the doctor was referring to, Tasha glanced down at the gentle curve of her belly. "Feel what?"

"The kicking!" The doctor reached out her hand. "May I?"

"Sure."

A hand was placed on the top of her belly, and within seconds, the doctor cried: "There! Didn't you feel that?"

"Um... yes. But I thought..." Tasha rubbed her face. "I didn't know what it was. I've felt that for... I don't know how long. It just never occurred to me it could be... her."

Dr. Crusher shook her head in astonishment. Of all the things...! "Well, it is her," she assured the mother-to-be. She took Tasha's hand and placed it over the area presently under attack. "Feel it?"

"Yes." Tasha hesitated. "Does that mean she's alright?"

"Alive and kicking. There'd be something seriously wrong if she didn't. And soon she'll be depriving you of a lot of sleep kicking around like that."

Tasha scowled. "Great. Something else to look forward to."

The doctor grinned. "Oh, it'll pass. Don't worry. Once she gets so big that she only just fits in there, she won't have much room left for acrobatics."

Tasha attempted another scowl to hide the returning grin. "Thank you, doctor. Knowing that gives me great comfort."

"I knew it would." She helped Tasha off the biobed. "Anyway, you're free to leave sickbay, but I hereby order you off-duty until further notice. Understood? For even you must agree that we can't have our security personnel fainting on us."

Together with the Captain, Lt. DeRosas's friends, Lt. Yar, Counselor Troi – apparently returned to reasonably good health – and the other members of the away team, Data filed obediently into holodeck 5. He looked around at the program with curiosity, not quite knowing what to expect. Nor what was expected of him.

It was the first time in his activated life that he got to attend a memorial gathering for a fallen crewmate. On the U.S.S. Trieste they had never bothered to invite him, but Captain Picard had been adamant that he should attend tonight, being one of the last to have seen Lt. DeRosas alive. So here he was – an android with no feelings in an atmosphere of sorrow, amidst a group of hurt and shocked humans, all grieving for their lost friend.

The Captain stepped up on the grassy slope, and began to speak in his gentle voice. "We are here together to honour our friend and comrade Lt. Myra DeRosas. Coming to terms with the loss of a colleague..."

A sudden explosion of violent tears but two meters in front of him distracted him from the Captain's voice. He frowned. There was no doubt where the sound came from, but... Lt. Yar crying? He had never seen her cry.

He watched her jerking shoulders, and glanced over to Counselor Troi for guidance as to what he should do. Was it not his task as the prospective father to keep Lt. Yar happy?

But Counselor Troi apparently wasn't aware of his questioning gaze: she was crying, too. Unlike Lt. Yar, she made no sound, and her shoulders didn't jerk, but he could clearly distinguish the glistening tears streaming down her cheeks. She and Commander Riker were standing very close together, and the Commander held his arm tightly wrapped around the Counselor's shoulders. And she seemed to appreciate its position, as well as his close proximity.

Data knew that Counselor Troi and Commander Riker were good friends – a friendship dating back from before their assignment to the U.S.S. Enterprise. According to the on board gossip, they were ex-lovers – whatever that may imply. It seemed to suggest that they had once been the most important person in the other's life. Perhaps that was the reason why they chose to face their sorrow together? Even physically close?

It looked like Lt. Yar could do with a friend like that, too. But was there anyone here whom she was close enough to in order to take on that role for her? Or would just about anyone do?

Perhaps he should give it a try himself. He knew Tasha regarded him as a good friend – sort of. His help might not be very effective in this case, considering that he lacked even the rudiments of emotion, but maybe the mere physical proximity of a friend might provide her at least with some support.

He studied the position of Commander Riker's arm for a moment; then he stepped quietly up to the sobbing Lt. Yar. He positioned his right arm around her shoulders in an exact copy of the Commander's – and was startled by her throwing herself against his chest in response.

She buried his face against his shoulder, clasped her arms around him, and her body jerked uncontrollably as she tried to swallow back her tears in vain.

"Tasha?" he ventured under his breath, not quite knowing how to react. All he had intended to do was putting an arm around her shoulders, but how did one deal with a lady crying at one's chest?

A quick search of his memory banks revealed that the most logical and customarily preferred response among humans was for him to put his arms around her in return.

So he did.

And as he stood there listening to the Captain's words, with Tasha soaking his chest with tears, a flicker of comprehension suddenly dawned on him. Comprehension that this might very well be the practical execution of what Counselor Troi had put so elusively a few months ago: 'to be there for her when she needs it'.

To be there for Tasha when she needed it. That was what he was doing. Most intriguing!

And he attempted a proud smile of satisfaction.

Note: As most of you will have noticed, this chapter contains huge chunks of both plot and dialogue from the episode 'Skin of Evil' (written by Joseph Stefano and Hannah Louise Shearer), as well as a little twist on the plot of the episode 'Hide and Q' (written by C. J. Holland and Gene Roddenberry).

According to their stardates, these events were only a few days apart.

Trying out What Never Happened

"I don't know." Tasha looked down at her bathing-suit clad body. "I look hideous in this. Huge."

Deanna stopped folding her bathrobe and looked her friend over from top to toe. "You look pregnant," she remarked as cool as a cucumber. "And that's exactly what you are, so what do you expect?"

"I don't know. But it's so... so hideously obvious this way." Tasha began to put on her bathrobe again. "I don't think I want to do this."

"Oh, come on. Swimming is a great way to stay in shape when you're pregnant. It's one of the very few sports you can keep up till you're practically in labour. And I've been told that a baby-belly is no inconvenience at all in the water."

Tasha still hesitated.

"Come on. At least give it a try," Deanna pleaded in her most persuasive mode. "Besides, there's no one here but you and me. And we've locked the program, so no one else will come barging in and see you like this."

That convinced her. "Alright then." She sat down at the side of the pool and slid into the cool water.

Deanna jumped in with a splash. "Race you to the other side and back!" she announced, and took off at a swift crawl stroke without waiting for acknowledgement.

Her confidence in Tasha's competitive streak was not misplaced: they made their turn synchronically, and by the time they got back to their starting point, Tasha was a good two meters ahead of her.

"Beat you." Tasha grinned from ear to ear.

Deanna brushed her wet curls out of her face. "I told you that belly wouldn't bother you."

"You want a rematch?"

"Any time."

With Tasha on a high from the realization that when in water, her pregnant body could still keep up with her competitive mind, they kept racing each other across the pool for well over an hour. And even Deanna Troi, who was considered one of the better swimmers on the ship, managed to beat her only the few times when Tasha got a bit lax from winning all the time. And when they finally climbed out of the pool, they were both happily exhausted.

"Let's take a nice, relaxing sun bath," Deanna suggested. "We've worked hard for the past hour. I think we deserve it."

Tasha agreed, and they spread out their towels on the soft holodeck grass. "I had no idea you were such a good swimmer," Tasha commented as she lay down. "I had heard you were good, but I really had to give my all to beat you."

Deanna chuckled. "Now that's what I call a compliment." She shook her curls, causing water drops to fly all around. "I've been swimming all my life. My parents made sure I could swim before I was three years old."

"Isn't that a little young?"

Deanna shrugged as she lay down next to her. "I suppose so, yes. I have no idea why they were so adamant about it. Parental pride perhaps. It wasn't like there was a lot of water around where we lived. But I really enjoyed swimming, so I didn't mind."

They were silent for a moment. Tasha closed her eyes and absent-mindedly stroked her round belly. "I could do with a nap," she mumbled.

"Well, I'm not stopping you," came Deanna's lazy answer.

Tasha grimaced. "Afternoon naps are not included in the job description of a security chief, Counselor."

"You won't have to live according to the job description of a security chief for another few months," Deanna gently pointed out.

And got no reply.

For it was true. No matter how she had protested the decision, Dr. Crusher had put her foot down after her collapse following the tragedy with Myra DeRosas, and had officially ordered their Chief of Security to go on maternity leave right away.

The past couple of weeks Tasha had spent a lot of time with Deanna, and for once she hadn't objected to her prying around in her mind. Her thoughts and feelings on Myra's death were so complicated and confused, that it was actually a relief not to have to put them into words. And maybe for the first time in her life, she had experienced counseling as something positive. Something to help her sort things out. Cope with a tragedy that for some reason had totally overwhelmed her. Of course she still kept lots of private skeletons locked away, but she was grateful for Deanna's help in dealing with this particularly unsettling one.

"You know," Tasha began at last. "I've been thinking."

"Mm?"

"Maybe we should call the baby Myra."

Deanna turned her head and squinted against the sun at Tasha. "Because she sort of died in your place?"

"Yes. In a way, if it hadn't been for this baby, I would have died in Myra's place. So you could say the baby is taking her place. It would seem fitting."

"It would certainly be a nice gesture, yes."

Tasha sighed. "The problem is, that I don't want to push that name down Data's throat."

Deanna raised her eyebrows in confusion. "Didn't you tell me last week that Data needed you to choose a name because of his own lack of aesthetical preferences in the matter?"

"That's the point." She took a deep breath and blew it out again. "I would much rather go with his wishes, for he's the one who's mostly going to take care of her. And he would like to give her a name that means 'beloved'; to make sure that she knows that she is loved, even if he insists he can't give her any real love."

Deanna smiled. "I wouldn't be too sure of that. From what I've seen, I think he's going to be an awesome father."

"No doubt about it," Tasha agreed. "But the point is: he made a list of some eighty girls' names that mean 'beloved' for me to choose from. But if I go to him now and tell him that I'd like to call the kid Myra, then he'll just say, 'Okay, Myra it is'."

"And you don't want him to say that."

"Exactly."

"Can't you have Myra for a middle name then?"

"We've already agreed to use Data for a middle name. To make sure there can be no doubt that he's the father."

"I see." Silence. "And what does Myra mean? Is it anything close to 'beloved'?"

"Not really. I looked it up: it means 'wonderful', or 'abundance'." She sat up abruptly. "Deanna, you're an angel! You've solved the entire problem!"

"I did?" Deanna arched her eyebrows in surprise. "So tell me: what's it going to be?"

"Uh-uh." Tasha chuckled. "You're going to have to wait till she's born, just like everyone else. But you may pride yourself on having helped me reach a decision that satisfies both Data's wishes and my own."

"Now you're really making me curious. But I'll exercise my patience." Deanna sat up, too. Clearly, Tasha was far too excited about having made up her mind about the child's name to be able to relax on a bath sheet again, so why not take the opportunity to...? "So what do you say we get dressed and go visit the nursery now?"

Tasha's face fell instantly. "Right now? We can do that some other time, can't we? I thought we were going to relax in the sun!"

"I've never known you to lie still and do nothing for more than ten minutes," Deanna smugly pointed out.

"But I'm learning." Tasha lay down on her back again and closed her eyes. "Soon that'll be all I can do."

"Exactly." Deanna grimaced. "So you better come and visit the nursery while you're still mobile."

Tasha scowled.

"Tasha, you've been dodging it for weeks; it's about time you get some practice in how to handle a baby."

"But Data's going to take care of her most of the time anyway. So why should I have to learn?"

"Because she's bound to be left in your care occasionally, too. And besides, it'd be good for you to acquaint yourself a little with the world of babies and young children."

An even darker scowl.

"And if you come with me now, you'll have a reasonable excuse to cut the visit short, since I'm to meet Will for a crew evaluation in less than an hour."

"Alright, alright." Tasha got up and picked up her towel and bathrobe. "Shall we say outside the nursery in half an hour?"

But Deanna wasn't born yesterday. "I'll come by your quarters. In ten minutes." And with that, she quickly walked off the holodeck before any protests could be voiced.

Fifteen minutes later they got out of the turbolift on what was known as the children's deck. This was where the school, the nursery and the children's after school activities were located, including an area where the younger children could sleep when their parents were working a nightshift.

Tasha looked around uncomfortably. She didn't feel as awkward around youngsters as the Captain, but her experience with especially young children wasn't such that she felt quite at ease around them either. And so far, neither in her role as the ship's Chief of Security had she had a lot of business on this deck.

It was a very open area. Most of the corridor walls had large windows, permitting a free view of what was going on inside the rooms. She noticed Wesley bent over some essay in one of the high school groups.

And there was the nursery. A combination of pastels and brightly coloured accents. Three grown-ups and...

Deanna led her straight inside. "Hi Kamna," she said to a young woman who just put down a toddler.

"Hello Deanna." She came towards them. "And you must be Lieutenant Yar."

Tasha scowled. She hated how the whole ship could see by now that she was pregnant. There was just no way to hide that tell-tale belly anymore.

But Kamna talked on. "Do you realize that you're going to have the honour of being the first to give birth on the Enterprise-D?"

Tasha raised her eyebrows in surprise. "I am?"

"Oh yes!" The head of the nursery went on telling her about some geologist's wife who could have beaten her to it, had she not chosen to remain on Mars for the delivery of her baby, only joining her husband on board as late as last month, when their daughter was already three months old. But Tasha's attention had already wandered off.

There were eight children in the room, ranging in age from babies to what she guessed to be two-year-olds. The younger ones were aimlessly crawling around, or sucking on some large plastic toy, while the older ones were busying themselves with activities that more clearly seemed to indicate either play or exploration.

What did babies actually do, she wondered bleakly. Those toddlers, who walked and even talked a little, looked like much more fun to interact with than those hapless little babies. And how were you ever to know what a baby wanted if they couldn't tell you?

The problem presented itself on cue as one of the younger babies began to whine, and Kamna went over to pick her up. And deposited her without further do in the arms of a totally bewildered Tasha. "Let's start nice and easy, with a bottle," she said, and guided Tasha to an easy chair in the far corner. "I won't be a moment with the bottle."

Anxiously, Tasha looked down at the whimpering child in her arms. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Feed her, I suppose." Deanna smiled. "Just relax. You'll be okay."

"But how do you know she's hungry? Maybe she's in pain, or... What if I drop her?" Her voice shot up in alarm.

"You're not going to drop her; you're doing just fine. You're holding her like a true professional. Now why don't you sit down?"

"But...!"

Deanna was suddenly aware of the intense urge to flee that radiated from Tasha, and she realized they were simply moving too fast. Tasha may be six and a half months pregnant, but obviously she wasn't quite ready to face up to the reality of holding a baby in her arms. She had to act quickly, before the mother-to-be would simply bolt out of the room. "How about I take her first, and you watch what I do. And then you give it a try."

"Yes. Please!" Tasha's relief was practically tangible as Deanna lifted the child from her arms.

The child began to cry louder as Deanna sat down with her.

"What's wrong with her?" Tasha cried in distress.

Deanna smiled. "I'd say she prefers your arms." She let the baby suck on her finger, but it only appeased the child for a moment.

Fortunately, there was Kamna back with the bottle. She made no comment on the baby having changed hands, but she handed the bottle to Tasha nonetheless. "Babies are actually fairly easy to satisfy. Just give little Sandra here the bottle and she'll be happy."

Tasha hesitated. "Can she hold it herself?"

"Not quite yet," Kamna answered. "So you'll have to give her the bottle in her mouth."

Warily, Tasha brought the bottle closer to the baby's face. Hovering over her, and... the miracle occurred: as soon as the child felt the nipple in her mouth, she stopped crying and began to drink vigorously.

Tasha quickly let go of the bottle. And of the breath she hadn't been aware that she'd been holding. "It worked." She looked at Kamna. "How could you tell she was hungry?"

Kamna smiled. "Partly common sense: it had been a few hours since she had eaten. And partly from the way she was crying. Babies quickly develop different ways of crying," she explained to Tasha. "It's their way of communicating that they're hungry, or tired, or not feeling well, or bored. The parents, and others who regularly take care of the child, will soon learn to recognize these different ways of crying."

Tasha made no reply; she was quietly observing the eagerly drinking baby in Deanna's arms. Now that the kid was no longer crying, it didn't seem so bad anymore.

Deanna looked up. She sensed that Tasha's fear and panic had mostly dissipated. "Would you like to try now?" she offered. "We'll help you to hold the baby properly."

"No!" Tasha said quickly. Only to amend it with, "Or... I mean... well, maybe. If it's just for a minute?"

"Okay. Just for a minute. Come and sit down then." Deanna got up without letting go of the bottle, and Tasha sat down in her place. Kamna showed her how to position her arm in order to support the baby properly, and assured her that as long as she was sitting down, this one arm was sufficient to keep the child from falling.

And then Deanna placed the little Sandra in the waiting crook of Tasha's arm again.

Unfortunately, the bottle slipped in the process, and the child took to immediate protest, instantly raising Tasha's alarm again.

"Hey, little bawler, calm down," Kamna scolded the baby softly as she picked up the bottle and handed it to an already slightly panicking Tasha.

Deanna put her hand on Tasha's arm. "Take it easy now. Just give her the bottle again and she'll be fine. Nobody likes to have their meal interrupted," she assured her.

Nervously, Tasha did as she was told, and indeed: the child settled down right away.

"Now all you have to do is hold the bottle at such an angle that the nipple is always filled," Deanna instructed, and she gave Kamna a silent hint that she'd take care of the situation here further.

So while Kamna busied herself elsewhere, Deanna watched Tasha in silence, and noticed how she gradually relaxed. Apparently, Tasha was discovering that perhaps it wasn't as bad as she had expected. And when she finally got up, and quietly told her that she had to go to her evaluation meeting now, all she got in reply was a mumbled, "Just a minute."

And she smiled. And walked over to where Kamna was busy changing a toddler's diaper. "I have to go now. Just go easy on Tasha, okay? Don't push her into anything else today, unless she explicitly asks for it. Believe me: getting her to feed little Sandra was a giant leap for her."

They both looked back across the room. And witnessed how the tom-boy security chief of the Enterprise gently stroked the baby's head. And played with the shrimpfingers that clung to her little finger.

And Deanna smiled. "I haven't given up hope for her dawning maternal instincts yet."

The next day, Tasha returned to the nursery together with Data. They both had a go at picking up and laying down young babies, feeding them, letting them belch afterwards, changing a diaper, dressing and undressing, bathing, massaging, rocking them to sleep... Data merely needed to watch someone else do it once to be able to flawlessly execute the procedures himself.

"... which annoyed Tasha to no end," Kamna reported back to Counselor Troi a good two weeks later. "She's been coming in every day since to practise her skills, and even took one of our computer-dolls back to her quarters yesterday to perfect the art of diapering."

Deanna had a broad smile. "That's Tasha for you."

"But..." Kamna hesitated. "Is she really... I mean... Mr. Data, is he really the father?"

Deanna nodded. "But you've got nothing to worry about: it's not some semi androidic cyborg kid you're going to have in your nursery. The baby is a clone of Tasha. Mr. Data wasn't designed to reproduce himself, but it turned out that in his performance of the sexual act he is capable of setting off a cloning process."

Kamna drew a sharp breath. "So she really did have sex with him? I had heard the rumours through the grapevine of course, but I couldn't believe it."

"It happened under the inhibiting influence of that virus from the Tsiolkovsky." She gave the head of the nursery a stern look. "Kamna, you know that I'm only telling you this on a need-to-know basis. With Data being the father, your worries about the child being a cyborg were justified, but all Dr. Crusher's tests show that the child is completely human, so you need not worry about that. However, Tasha's and Data's private life is their own business, and your oath of confidentiality and discretion regarding the nursery children and their parents applies as much to them as it does to anyone else."

"Of course it does. Don't worry, I won't go around broadcasting this. And with the child being fully human, I could even give my staff an edited version, if that's what Tasha and Data would prefer."

Deanna smiled. "Good. I knew I could count on you."

"Still..." Kamna paused. "Off the record, you can't blame a girl for wondering what it'd be like. I mean: making love to a... robot..."

Preparations for What Never Happened

Geordi had mentioned that evening that there were in fact other authors besides Sir Arthur Conan Doyle who had written excellent detective stories. And now that it was the ship's night, and everyone who wasn't on watch had gone to bed, Data had sat himself at his computer and had pulled up every detective story in the ship's library.

After devouring all of Poirot, Pim Pandoer, the Famous Five series, the Father Dowling mysteries, Kommissar Rex, Masterdetective Blomkvist, Baantjer, Wahllöö, Sayers, Maigret, and McCall's tales about Mma Ramotswe, he had come half way through the collected works of a prolific British author named Agatha Christie when his doorchime sounded.

"Come," he called without taking his eyes off the screen. But when he noticed it was Tasha entering, he halted the text flow and turned his full attention to her. "Tasha, are you alright? It is 01.51.36 a.m. You should be asleep at this hour."

Tasha grimaced. "You try and tell your daughter that. First she had a lengthy case of the hiccups, and when that finally passed, she decided it was time to practise her karate."

Taking her request literally, Data bent down towards her belly and said in a mildly reproving tone, "Myrna, it is imperative that you let your mother sleep now. She needs her rest. So please, postpone your martial exercises till the morning."

Tasha grinned. "Let's hope she listens better to her Dad than she does to her Mum." She sat down on the only other chair in the room. It wasn't a very comfortable one, since comfort was no issue for Data. But after four sleepless nights in a row on account of the little karate kid in her belly, anything was better than having to suffer through another nocturnal karate session on her own. At least now that Data wasn't on duty, she'd have some company. To help pass the time till little Myrna would tire of her callisthenics.

Data was watching her shirt covered baby-belly with intense interest. "She is still moving around, is she not?"

"You bet." Tasha winced at a particularly fierce kick in her lower ribs. "She's getting too big for it, but she doesn't seem to realize it."

Data's forehead creased to a worried frown. "According to all the medical reference books I have studied, she should have been able to hear us for several weeks now. Do you think there might be something wrong with her hearing?"

"I think she doesn't understand Federation Standard yet," Tasha deadpanned, and couldn't resist a chuckle at Data's relieved, "Ah!" Only to be rewarded another kick in the ribs. "I'd wish she'd stop kicking me in that exact same spot all the time," she groaned as she rubbed the area under attack.

"Perhaps Dr. Crusher can help?" Data suggested.

Tasha shook her head. "She says it's normal. And healthy for the baby to exercise her muscles. But I can't say I'm enjoying it." She straightened her back and shifted in her seat. But she knew full well it wasn't just the chair. It was her steadily growing baby-belly itself that was making it more and more difficult to get comfortable. In any position. And to think that she still had nearly two months to go... "So what were you doing?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"On the computer," Tasha nodded. "When I came in. I hope I didn't disturb you in anything important?"

"Not at all. I was reading detective stories written by different authors, dating from the late 19th till the early 21st century. That period is commonly regarded as the golden age of the detective stories. And it is most intriguing to observe their many similarities, as well as their many differences. For example, did you know..." And with that, Data launched into one of those infamous, detail studded discourses on which he seemed to have patent, and which in Tasha's experience so far had never ended unless someone interrupted him.

She let him talk, but his words went in one ear and out the other. Never having read a detective in her life, she couldn't quite share his enthusiasm for the genre. Nor for reading in general for that matter.

Apart from having been made aware of the meaning of a few lifesaving words and symbols, she hadn't had any proper education on Turkana IV until she had escaped the hellhole on a Starfleet vessel at the age of fifteen. During the long voyage to Earth, some of the ship's crew had taken it upon them to teach her to read and write, as well as basic arythmatics. She still remembered her amazement at the discovery how easy reading actually was once you had mastered the code.

But once she had arrived on Earth, she had been eager to catch up on her formal and social education. She had managed to cram into four years of studies what 'normal' children did in fifteen, with the result that she'd had very little time for a personal exploration of human literature. She knew her obligatory classics alright, but that was about it. And not accustomed to reading merely for pleasure, neither her time at Starfleet Academy, nor her subsequent career in security had been much of an inducement to enrich her scanty knowledge of literature.

She rubbed the top of her belly that little Myrna still had under attack. She hoped, she really wished they'd be able to give the little girl a more balanced education than she had had. And not just that, but a proper childhood, too. If only they'd have some experience to draw on as to how to go about it. With a father who had been 'born' as a grown-up, and a mother who'd been deprived of anything resembling a childhood...

Suddenly another thought struck her, and she sat up with a start and another kick in the ribs. "Data!"

He stopped talking what seemed to be mid-sentence, and immediately she felt bad.

"Yes, Tasha?"

That was the problem with Data: no matter how rude you were to him (be it by intention or entirely by accident, such as now), he never took offence. With the illogical result that you felt even worse. "I'm sorry, Data, I really am. I just thought of something. But I shouldn't have interrupted you like that. It was very rude of me. Sorry."

Data tilted his head a little. "It is of no consequence, Tasha. I was well aware that you were not listening; you were merely being polite."

"You call interrupting you like that polite?"

"No. But there is no need to make yourself uneasy. I was not offended. So what did you want to say?"

Tasha shook her head, still embarrassed by her own rudeness. "Never mind. It can wait."

Data raised his eyebrows. "It seemed important to you 33.623 seconds ago when you interrupted me. I would appreciate it if you would relate to me the particular thought that caused you to do so."

Tasha heaved a sigh (and got yet another kick in the ribs in return). "I was thinking... the baby, where are we going to keep her?"

Data glanced around in confusion. "Did we not agree that my quarters would serve as her home?"

"Yes, but..." She gestured around her. "Look at this place. It's so... so spartan. So bare. Nothing to liven up the place a bit."

Data blinked. "Do you mean my quarters need redecorating to suit her?"

"I think so, yes." Tasha got up and started wandering around in the two room cabin. As the ship's second officer, Data was actually entitled to one of the spacious quarters on deck 8. Instead, he had insisted he had no need for so much room, and seeing that – contrary to so many humans – he was not prone to claustrophobia either, he had been perfectly content with a standard officer's cabin on the inner parts of the saucer, leaving the larger cabin available to an officer's family with children. But apart from his specially advanced computer, two uncomfortable chairs, a small table and his very few personal belongings, it seemed he had done absolutely nothing to decorate the place.

"You don't even have a bed," Tasha continued from the doorway between the two rooms. "Where is she going to sleep? Shouldn't she need a... a crib or something?"

Data furrowed his brow. "You are right. That thought had not occurred to me. Most babies do tend to sleep a lot." He got up and joined her in the adjoining room that most officers used for a bedroom. "This could be her room." He looked around. "Is there anything in particular you wish me to change?"

"Yes: the colours, some child friendly furniture, some pictures on the wall, some toys..." Tasha suddenly got excited by the prospect. "Data, why don't you let me take care of this? I'm bored out of my mind anyway now that I can't work. This looks like a fun project to pass the time. And necessary, too. And I promise: I'll turn this room into the finest nursery you've ever seen!"

Data raised an eyebrow at her exuberance. "That should not prove to be too difficult. You will merely need to surpass the standard of the main nursery here on the Enterprise. It is the only nursery I have ever seen."

Tasha laughed. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you'd finally grasped the concept of humor."

That surprised Data of course. "Was that funny? I was merely stating a fact."

"I know. That's what made it so funny."

Data already opened his mouth to require a more detailed explanation, but Tasha beat him to it. "Please, Data, let me decorate the nursery? Please, please, pretty please?"

"As you wish," was his simple answer. After all, he was to comply with her every wish.

"Good! And there's no time like the present. Where do you keep the catalogue of the ship's store?"

Data handed her his rarely used copy of the store's catalogue padd from one of the shelves behind his computer, and Tasha sat down cross-legged on the floor for her first venture into the unknown world of nursery decorating.

Data watched her for a moment. But she seemed to be so totally engrossed in this new adventure that he thought it safe to return to his detective stories. If she needed his help, surely she would ask.

When it was time for him to begin his shift, he found her peacefully asleep on the floor, still clutching the catalogue padd to her chest.

In the weeks that followed, Tasha practically lived in the ship's store. She occupied one of the store's holocabins for days on end to try out and match every suitable piece of furniture in the catalogue.

When she had finally come to a decision, the question arose what kind of lighting she wanted. Well aware that much of the atmosphere of a standard issue Enterprise cabin was determined by the way it was lit, she spent another few days on trying out all the different effects.

When that was decided upon, there were paintings and pictures to choose, and a thousand things that were apparently indispensable for taking care of an infant. And of course a few stuffed animals, and some brightly coloured baby-toys. ("It will be a while before she gets interested in those," the helpful shopkeeper had warned her, but Tasha just hadn't been able to resist their lure.)

And then she did something she had never thought possible: she spent two whole days choosing the sweetest little baby-outfits for their daughter.

And finally, when everything was beamed over to Data's quarters, she had a delightful day putting everything in place.

When Data returned to his quarters after his shift that evening, he found Tasha waiting for him at the door.

"Hello Tasha," he greeted her.

"Close your eyes," was her response.

He gave her a puzzled frown. "Why do you want me to close my eyes?"

"Because I want to show you something. Now close your eyes."

The frown got deeper. "How can I see what you want to show me when I have to keep my eyes closed?"

Tasha rolled her eyes. "Will you stop being so literal? Just close your eyes and follow me. It's a surprise. I'll tell you when you can look."

Data still didn't see the point, but as he had programmed himself to comply with anything Tasha wished in order to keep her happy, he closed his eyes and let her guide him into his cabin. His directional sensors told him that she manoeuvered him into what soon would serve as their child's nursery – not that this came as a surprise – and that's when she told him to open his eyes.

So he did, and he found the formerly starkly lit room bathed in a pleasant yellow glow. The dominant colours were white, a sunny yellow, and grass green, he noticed. As if she had tried to recreate a sunny day in the countryside of Earth. The crib in the corner was adorned with the same sunny yellow, and a mobile with brightly coloured butterflies gently hovered above it. The oversized teddy bear, the lifesize plush cat and the small rubber bunny looked curiously at home on the grass green sofa. Pictures of sweet little animals and a quiet lake scene adorned the walls, and the closet was absolutely packed with baby-clothes in all the colours of the rainbow (except pink).

"Well? Do you like it?"

Data nodded. "I find the result of your efforts to be aesthetically pleasing. Very much so, I may say."

She beamed at him. "In other words: you like it."

"Yes. I believe that expression would be justified." He picked up the rubber rabbit. "But please explain what is the purpose of these fake animals? And of this specimen in particular. It does not even sport fur, like the real oryctolagus cuniculus."

Tasha squeezed the little thing, and Data nearly jumped at the squeaky scream it gave. "Is it supposed to scare her?"

Tasha snickered. "No, it's just a toy. And since we don't have any animals on the ship, I thought she could get acquainted with them through these."

Data gave the bunny a doubtful glance. "Will she not grow up to assume that rabbits are yellow and bald? And make a horrible squeaking sound?"

Tasha rolled her eyes. "Does everything have to be so bloody realistic? I just wanted her to have something smaller – something she could hold herself. I could have gotten her a plush tribble of course, but I liked this one better. He looks very friendly. And inquisitive. Almost as if he's really got character. And besides, I've heard stories of children who grew so fond of the stuffed animal they had as a baby, that they insisted on having a real live one of that species once they got a bit older. Now would you rather have a tribble or a rabbit for a pet?"

"Rabbits are notorious for their rate of propagation as well," Data pointed out.

Tasha's commbadge chirped. "Dr. Crusher to Lieutenant Yar."

"Not half as bad as tribbles. Rabbits at least need a mate to multiply themselves," Tasha countered before acknowledging the doctor's page.

"Tasha, any chance of you coming down to sickbay for your check-up? I was expecting to see you here nearly ten minutes ago."

"Oh! Sorry doc, I forgot. I'm on my way. Yar out." But first she turned back to Data. "But you really like it? The room, I mean?"

"Yes, I do. As I recall, I already told you so. Although..." Another worried glance at the scorned bunny. "I think I need to contemplate the practical purpose of this particular toy a little more in-depth."

She smiled. "You do that." She took the little bunny from him and put it back with the others on the sofa. "We'll just wait and see how she likes it. And that's what matters most." And with that, she walked out of the cabin to go and report to sickbay.

As she walked towards the nearest turbolift, she pressed her hands against her lower back to relieve the constant strain there for a moment. She glanced down at her belly, and suddenly she realized what she had indeed noticed, but not consciously registered while she had busied herself with the nursery: her baby-belly had grown quite a bit these past weeks, and little Myrna seemed to have gained considerable weight as well. She was lying uncomfortably heavy inside her, and had grown so big that she was pushing up against her mother's lungs now, too.

Tasha stepped into the turbolift, and as it hummed down to its destination, she let her hands trace the bulk of her belly. And she sighed. There really was no denying it anymore: she was really very pregnant now.

Well, there was a positive side to it: at least the kid had had to cut back severely on her acrobatics.

She braced herself for the uncomfortable sensation of the baby suddenly pressing down in her even heavier as the lift braked to a halt. And a moment later she walked into Dr. Crusher's little office. "Sorry, doc. I forgot."

"Oh, it's okay. As long as you don't make a habit of it." Dr. Crusher guided her to the examination table, and Tasha sat down on it.

"Any problems lately?" the doctor asked as she ran the little tricorder scanner over Tasha's round belly.

"Not really." Tasha thought for a moment. She had been so engrossed in her nursery project that she had ignored practically everything else. After all, back on Turkana IV, ignoring aches and pains could mean the difference between making your escape and getting raped, and it was still a bit of a second nature to her to unconsciously refuse to acknowledge minor aches and discomforts. "I have to go to the bathroom quite a lot," she admitted. "It seems like she's lying right on my bladder. And my back is acting up a bit. She's getting heavy. And big."

"Forty-six centimeters, approximately 2,300 grams," Dr. Crusher read from her tricorder. She smiled. "I know it sounds pretty good already, but believe me: if she'd be born now, she'd be skin over bones. Better let her gain another kilo."

Tasha groaned. "Another kilo?"

"Well, no one ever said the last few weeks of pregnancy are easy."

Tasha grimaced. "I guess not."

"So where does it hurt – here?" Dr. Crusher was spot on in placing her hands over the most overtaxed muscles in her back.

"Yes. How could you tell without using the tricorder?"

Dr. Crusher snickered. "There is such a thing as experience, you know." She used some massage on the strained muscles, and they seemed to relax a little under the firm touch of the doctor's hands. "Try and avoid just standing around, that puts a lot of extra strain on them," she advised. "Better sit down, or move around. And generally, I'd..."

Suddenly Tasha nearly fell off the table as she made a poorly controlled turn to face the doctor. "Did you say a few... weeks?"

Terrified of What Once Happened

"Did you say a few... weeks?"

Dr. Crusher blinked. "Well, yes. You're exactly eight months pregnant today. Thirty-six weeks. And most children are born between the 38th and 42nd week of pregnancy, remember?"

Tasha stared at her in bewilderment. "Thirty-six... thirty-eight... that's two weeks from now!" she squeaked.

"Yes." Dr. Crusher took Tasha's hands in hers. She was absolutely positive they had discussed this little fact more than once over the past couple of months, but apparently it hadn't sunk in. Or Tasha had somehow failed to make the connection between her own advancing pregnancy and the dry facts.

"But... doc! I'm not... So soon? ... I don't know... how... I can't... I'm scared! I... I can't! I don't want to die! I'm...!"

Dr. Crusher gently squeezed her hands. "Tasha, try and concentrate. Fight the panic. You're not going to die. I know that the idea of giving birth is scary, but you can do it." She took Tasha's chin and forced her to look her in the eye. It was sufficient for Tasha to be able to suppress the looming panic attack and to focus on what the doctor was saying to her.

"Now remember how I explained the whole process to you? About what'll be happening in your body?" She waited for a reaction, but got none. "I'll be happy to go through it again, if you like," she ventured.

But a still trembling Tasha shook her head. "No need. I remember."

"Good. And you also remember what I told you about what'll be expected of you? And about how your body will practically be driving you to do what you need to do?"

A bleak nod.

"Good. Then at least on a conscious level you know that it's going to work. And I'll be with you every step of the way. And if a problem should arise, then we have all the necessary facilities to help her into the world, right here in the room. And if it should come to the worst..." She paused.

"Then you can yank her out of me in less than a minute," a pale Tasha completed obediently.

"Exactly. I believe my caesarean record stands at thirty-eight seconds."

Tasha took a shaky breath. "It's just that... suddenly it's so close. I've been so busy lately that I didn't realize... And I just..." She gulped. "I can't stop thinking about... you know... what I told you."

"That other time?" Dr. Crusher asked quietly.

Tasha nodded. "It hurt so much, doc," she quivered. "Even after only... what, three months? Four? Five maybe? And the baby is so much bigger now..."

A sad smile. "Yes. But Tasha, don't forget that there's a world of difference between then and now. You're a strong and healthy woman now. Not a frightened young teenager living in the gutter."

Tasha shuddered. She was there again, being abused by that particularly brutal rapegang, causing the sudden violent cramps in her belly. How in the end another gang had shown up and challenged them to one of their gangfights, inadvertently providing her with a chance to get away from them in the disused sewerage system under the street level. How she had kept moving, even as the horrible pains got worse and worse, scared to death as she was that they'd come after her. And take her again while she was in too much pain to be able to even try and resist. How she had been crawling on hands and knees through the filth and the stench and the darkness of the dank labyrinth, further and further, until the cramps had finally gotten so bad that all she could do was roll herself into a ball and dig her teeth into her lower lip to keep her from screaming because that would surely attract the gangs' attention. How she had realized that perhaps it was the baby coming out – she knew that her previous encounter with a rapegang a few months back had left her with child. And she had witnessed other women giving birth a few times; it was a bit like this. Horrible pain. And agony. Occasionally ending in death. But then it couldn't be. It wasn't time yet: her belly was still pretty flat, nothing like the huge baby-bellies she had seen on the others. But what else could it be? Was she going to die here, in agony, all alone? And that's when she had suddenly been deluged by an overwhelming urge to push something out of her body – and given into it as a chance of perhaps easing the terrible cramps. And how under agonizing pain she had pushed out a tiny little baby boy, covered in blood. Dead.

"Tasha. Tasha!" Dr. Crusher could have kicked herself. My goodness, why did I have to bring that up?

Bewildered, Tasha looked up. What? Where? Her eyes were wide with fear; her breathing came in fits and starts.

But it was only the friendly, worried Beverly Crusher looking down at her, searching her face.

Tasha screwed her eyes shut. She was positively shaking, Dr. Crusher saw. She reached for her hypospray and injected Tasha with a mild tranquillizer. And within a minute, her breathing and her heart rate calmed down, and she stopped trembling. And lost the battle with her tears.

Dr. Crusher placed her hand over Tasha's again. "I'm sorry I brought it up. I didn't mean to upset you," she spoke quietly. "But perhaps you should tell me some more about what happened back then. I promise it'll stay off the record. But then at least we can battle those demons of yours together."

Tasha just shook her head, and the doctor let out an inaudible sigh. If only she had but a hint of Deanna's empathic abilities! But she couldn't very well ask Deanna for help. The worst thing she could do now was to betray Tasha's hesitant confidence...

"It's okay," she said, still speaking softly. "You don't have to tell me. But that means that all I can say is that you're going to have to try and put the past behind you. At least for now. You've got a new baby to focus on. And this time everything will turn out just fine: you're a grown woman now, strong and healthy. You're safe here, you'll get all the assistance you need... And this time you are well aware of what's going on in your body, so it won't be half as frightening as it was back then. And I promise you: you'll be fine. And the baby will be fine, too."

Tasha made a feeble attempt to brush away her tears. All of a sudden she felt totally drained. She rested her head on her arms – she could just fall asleep here and now...

From somewhere, far away, she heard Dr. Crusher say, "You look like you could do with a good cup of tea." But the mere sensation of the doctor letting go of her hand and walking away from her made her veer up in alarm. "No! Please don't leave me!"

Her startled cry stopped the doctor in her tracks. "I'm not leaving you. I'm just going across the room to get you a cup of tea."

She returned indeed with the tea, and told Tasha to drink it while it was still hot. Normally, Tasha wasn't much of a tea person, but feeling as weak as she did now, the thought of a hot cup of tea was actually very appealing.

Dr. Crusher watched her sip up the tea in silence. "Feeling better?" she inquired when it was finished.

Tasha nodded.

"Good. Now I want you to go back to your cabin and go straight to bed. That baby won't be coming just yet, so we can talk again in the morning. What you need right now is a good night's sleep."

But Tasha whimpered uncharacteristically. "Don't leave me alone... Please!"

"Would you rather stay in sickbay tonight?"

"No. I just..." Tasha screwed her eyes shut as painful memories washed over her again. "I just don't want to be alone. Please, don't leave me alone! I... I'm just... so..."

"Scared," Dr. Crusher completed quietly when the phrase was left hanging in the air. And Tasha didn't deny it.

Dr. Crusher thought quickly. She couldn't exactly let Tasha sleep over at her place. Wesley was a good kid, and he was certainly wise beyond his years, but it wouldn't do to expose Tasha to Wesley's inquisitive nature while she was in this vulnerable state. "How about staying with Deanna for the night? I'm sure she won't mind."

Tasha shivered. "No."

And Dr. Crusher realized that was indeed not the most tactful suggestion she could have made. She knew better than anyone of Tasha's continuous struggle to keep the worst of her childhood traumas hidden from every counselor in the Federation. And in the state she was in now, it was doubtful if she'd be able to keep up those shields around a trained empath like Deanna. No, what she needed was someone who...

"What about Mr. Data? I don't know if he's off duty tonight, but that can be arranged if necessary."

A slow breath. "Data. Yes. Safe..."

Exactly: someone who made her feel safe.

"Okay." The doctor touched her commbadge. "Dr. Crusher to Mr. Data."

"Data here," came the immediate answer.

"Mr. Data, are you free?"

"Yes, doctor."

"Good. Can you meet me in five minutes outside Tasha's quarters?"

"Of course I can, doctor. But I thought Lt. Yar was with you. Is something the matter with her?"

"Nothing major, don't worry. I'll fill you in when we get there. Crusher out."

They met Data outside her quarters, and Dr. Crusher ushered the two of them inside.

"Tasha, you look uncharacteristically pale," Data observed. "Are you not well?"

"Tasha, why don't you get ready for bed, while I explain to Mr. Data," the doctor intervened.

Tasha meekly disappeared into the bathroom, and Data turned to Dr. Crusher. "Doctor, what is wrong with her? Is the baby alright?"

"Yes, Data, the baby is alright. And Tasha just had a bit of a shock as she suddenly realized just how close to her time she is."

Data frowned. "Does she have her own time?"

"An expression. Sorry. I meant close to her time of giving birth."

"Ah. Yes. We are only fourteen more earth days from the most likely period for our daughter to be born."

"Exactly. And while we were discussing that, some really bad memories from her childhood came back to her." She hesitated. "Do you know anything about how she grew up?"

"Very little, doctor," Data admitted. "She has mentioned being abandoned at the chronological age of five, and learning how to avoid rapegangs. And she has indicated that she does not think of her childhood as a happy time."

"An understatement, if ever I heard one," Dr. Crusher agreed wryly. "Anyway, those memories brought about a lot of old fears from her past. Right now she's plain frightened, Data. She..." She hesitated again. "Mr. Data, do you know what that is: to be frightened?"

"Yes, doctor. To be frightened: to fear, to be afraid, to be scared, to be timorous, to be terrified. It is a common human reaction to perceived danger."

"Yes, but have you ever experienced fear yourself?"

"Negative, doctor. You know that I am not capable of experiencing emotion. In the case of fear, one could say that is fortunate."

"Or not." Dr. Crusher sighed. "It might be good if you could have some understanding of how she feels."

Data tilted his head. "Perhaps you could explain the essence of feeling fear to me?"

"We can try. Let me think... Data, imagine that you're on some alien planet. You've lost your communicator, and there's no one around to help you. All you know is that this planet is the home of gigantic, bloodthirsty creatures. They can jump at you and tear you to pieces any moment. You can hear them shuffling around in the dark, and they're getting closer and closer..."

"With them being bloodthirsty creatures, they are not likely to be interested in me," Data pointed out. "My body does not contain blood."

"Never mind that. They just want to crush whatever life form they encounter."

Data nodded. "It would certainly be an interesting challenge."

"Yes. But you're suffering from some kind of massive system failure, and although you're conscious, you have no real strength in your body at all. All you can do is hide and hope they won't find you. But you know they're already onto your scent, so it's only a matter of time before they'll drag you out of your hide-out and crush you. And there's absolutely nothing you can do to defend yourself." She searched the android's face. It had a pensive expression.

"That would not be a pleasant prospect," Data conceded. "But Lt. Yar is not on some alien planet with bloodthirsty creatures."

Dr. Crusher tried not to roll her eyes. "No. I made up a hypothetical situation to give you an idea of how Tasha is feeling."

"I see. But Tasha is safely on the Enterprise. Then what is it that causes her so much fear?"

"Partly the realization that she'll have to give birth in a few weeks time. That's nothing extraordinary; most pregnant women are scared of giving birth. But there are some events from Tasha's past that she suddenly associated with giving birth. Events that really frightened her at the time. Terrified her. And remembering... or reliving those old fears as she is doing now, she is scared of being alone. She wants someone to be with her tonight, to give her a sense of safety, of protection. And she asked for you."

Data nodded. "Of course I will stay with her if that is what she wishes. I am free till 2400 hours. From that hour on however, I am scheduled for the nightwatch on the bridge."

"Forget the nightwatch. I'll get the Captain to find someone else for that. I need you here." And at his puzzled glance, she corrected, "Tasha needs you here."

He blinked. "Yes, doctor."

"Good. Now I have good hopes that she's going to fall asleep pretty quickly. But if she's not asleep within half an hour, I'd like you to give her an injection with this hypospray. All prepared, ready to go."

"Yes, doctor."

Dr. Crusher walked over to the bathroom cubicle. "Tasha?"

"Almost done," came the subdued reply. And a moment later she appeared. Her face was pale and drawn.

Dr. Crusher gave her an encouraging smile. "Now you get into bed, young lady, and get some sleep. Doctor's orders! Data will stay with you tonight, and I'll drop by again in the morning."

Tasha seemed almost too tired to take it in, so Dr. Crusher guided her over to the bedroom, made her sit down on the bed, took off her shoes and coaxed her to lie down, dressed and all. And as she pulled the covers over her, she whispered, "You're safe here. Everything will be alright. Go to sleep now, okay? I'll see you in the morning."

Data had just sat himself at Tasha's computer to pull up the astrophysics essay he'd been reading when Dr. Crusher had paged him, when he heard Tasha's muffled voice calling for him.

He walked over to the bedroom, and as the door hissed open for him, he asked, "Yes, Tasha?"

"Data, please fetch me that rubber bunny? From the nursery?"

"Of course. It will take me approximately fifteen point eight seconds to go there and back. Will you be alright for that time on your own?"

"Suppose so." Tasha sighed. "I just want that bunny."

So Data went to get the yellow bunny, and watched with puzzled interest how Tasha cuddled it tight into her shoulder. "Why do you want to hold the bunny like that?" he inquired, his interest piqued.

"Don't know," she mumbled. "Just feels good." But through the haze of her exhaustion, she, too, felt a vague wonder about the matter of course in which she positioned the bunny under her chin. Maybe, when she was very young...?

But she was too tired to give it much thought, and her eyes fluttered closed again. Data, too, returned to the computer in the living-room.

For a few minutes, that is.

"Data?"

"Yes, Tasha?"

"Can't you stay in here?"

Data came to stand in the doorway. "Here in the bedroom? Of course I can. If that is what you wish." He came in and stood watching her from the corner.

"No. I mean... in bed with me. I'd like to... to feel that you're here." She was too tired to bother about embarrassing memories of luring Data into her bed. "Lie behind me. And just sort of... hold me. I just want to feel you're there."

Apparently, Data did not think her request at all strange. He sat down at the foot of her bed to take off his shoes, and lay down on his back beside her. "Like this?"

"No, on your side. Your chest against my back."

Data did as instructed.

"Closer."

Tasha sighed with relief at the sensation of support Data's proximity gave to her strained back. Perhaps there was a practical reason to the fact that most humans still preferred to be married – or at least have their partner living with them – before they embarked on having children?

"Is this better?" Data inquired.

"Yes. Or maybe..." She stretched out her hand behind her till she got hold of his wrist. Data let her drape his arm over the curve of her belly, and watched with interest how she positioned her own arm in the crook of his. She fidgeted some more, and when she finally seemed to have found a comfortable position, Data wished her goodnight.

"'Night, Data," she mumbled in reply.

Data checked his internal chronometer. She still had nine minutes and thirty-one point six seconds to fall asleep by herself before he had to give her the hypospray as instructed.

But after only two minutes and forty-nine seconds he already recognized the calm and steady breathing that was so characteristic for humans in that – for them so unexplicably healthy – unconscious state called sleep.

Carefully, mindful not to wake her, he raised himself on an elbow to look down at his sleeping bedmate. Her short hair was already quite tousled, and even in her sleep she pressed the rubber bunny tight into her shoulder. Intriguing how a mere piece of rubber could give her such comfort.

He followed the contours of her face with his eyes. Being a clone of her mother, this was what their daughter would look like. He tried to envision how this face looked as a teenager. As a young girl. As a toddler. As a baby. His daughter. And only a few more weeks till he could hold her in his arms. Could there be a more human experience?

Come to think of it, lying in bed at night with the sleeping mother of your child snuggled up to you was probably a very human experience, too.

And as he carefully lay back down to keep watch over Tasha, he smiled.

Waiting for What Never Happened

The chirp from her commbadge awoke Tasha from her slumber. With her eyes closed, she reached towards the nightstand till she got hold of it. "Yar here."

"Tasha, it's Dr. Crusher." A hesitation. "Are you awake?"

"Sort of." Tasha rolled onto her back and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. "Actually, I had asked Data to wake me up before he left. But I must have dozed off again."

"Good. Mind if we have a talk?"

Tasha grinned. "Over the commsystem?"

She heard a chuckle. "Well, actually I'm right outside your cabin. Are you awake enough to invite me in?"

"Sure. But I'm not exactly what you'd call 'presentable' yet."

"No problem. I'm a doctor; I'm used to seeing people in a dishevelled state. So if you don't mind, I certainly won't." And with that, the doorchime sounded, and the doctor entered on Tasha's, "Come."

She walked into the bedroom just as Tasha sat up. "I saw Mr. Data on the bridge, so I knew you'd be on your own by now. How are you feeling?"

"Okay." Tasha watched as she ran the medical scanner over her. "Is the baby alright, too?"

Dr. Crusher smiled. "Physically, you're both doing fine."

"But?" Tasha prompted.

Dr. Crusher looked up. "You know what I mean. Tasha... I really don't want to upset you again, but seeing how you reacted yesterday, I think we need to talk."

Tasha averted her eyes. "I don't want to talk about it."

"I know, and I will respect that. But I've seen enough to know that this trauma is likely to affect you pretty badly once you'll be going into labour. And believe me, you'll have enough on your mind when you're giving birth."

Tasha sighed. "I had already figured that, yes."

"Giving birth is a Herculean task in itself, both physically and mentally," Dr. Crusher continued. "So the last thing you need is to have to battle with ghosts from the past at the side."

Tasha let out a mirthless laugh. "So what are you going to do: drug me senseless?"

"No." Dr. Crusher shook her head. "But I would like you to consider the option of a caesarean section."

Tasha was silent for a moment. "A caesarean section... that's when you get her out in an operation, right?"

"Yes, that's right. It's just as safe as giving birth the natural way. The recuperation time is a little longer, but with the bioregenerator, the difference is barely half a day."

"And then I don't have to go through all those labour pains and stuff?"

"Well, just a few. Nobody knows better than your body when the baby is ready to be born. So we wait until you go into labour, and once that's properly underway, we give you a local anaesthetic and get her out through a shortcut. And you'll be fully conscious – you won't miss her first cry or anything."

Tasha took a slow, deep breath.

"You don't have to decide yet; I'd just like you to think about it," Dr. Crusher emphasized. "The option is there. And under the circumstances, a caesarean is perfectly justifiable."

But Tasha shook her head. "I don't need to think about it. I want the operation. I don't think even I realized just how much I dreaded having to give birth again – until last night. You've really taken a load off my shoulders, doc. Thanks."

"Good." Dr. Crusher smiled. "So now all we have to do is wait for her to get ready to face the world. And I'm giving you one basic rule to live by: if it hurts, don't do it. Your body is under enough strain as it is; no need to add to that."

Tasha grimaced. "Yes, doctor."

But that was easier said than done, Tasha discovered. The baby seemed to get heavier every day. And considering that she was supposed to gain a whole kilo in just a few weeks, the odds were pretty high that it wasn't just her imagination.

And if the ever growing weight and size of her belly weren't enough, the baby's head had slowly slid down into her pelvis as well. Which gave Tasha indeed more room to breathe, but it did very little to make it easier for her to get comfortable.

"I can't do anything anymore," she complained to Data one evening as she was desperately trying to find a comfortable position on the green couch. "I can't sit, I can't stand, I can't walk... I can't lie down, I can't sleep... No matter what I try, she's always terribly in the way. And there's always some muscles heavily protesting."

From the computer in the other room, Data answered unperturbed, "According to the available medical texts on human pregnancies, that is not exceptional at this stage."

Tasha scowled. "If you had to carry this kid in your belly for twenty-four hours – one day only! – then you'd sing a different tune," she retorted in a decisively menacing tone.

To which Data was blissfully oblivious. "That would be a most intriguing experiment, yes. Unfortunately, my body is not able to provide the delicate life support required to sustain an unborn child."

"We could make something and tie it onto your belly," Tasha proposed in a sudden vindictive mood. "A pillow or two, filled with real heavy and bulky stuff."

"Would that resemble being pregnant?" Data asked.

"You bet! You'd have the best experience of your life: a continuous backache, can't get comfortable in any position, you can't sleep..."

"I do not sleep," Data reminded her as reasonable as ever. "And my muscles cannot ache. Nor do I perceive discomf..."

A bright coloured baby-toy missed his head by a mere inch and crashed against the far wall.

He looked back at Tasha with an almost perplexed expression. "What did you...?" he began, but Tasha's angry screams drowned out his every word.

"Shut up! Just shut up, will you? !"

Totally puzzled, Data turned back to his computer without a word, while replaying the situation in his positronic brain in order to determine what he had said or done wrong to upset her so badly that she had been compelled to attack him.

The search came up with nothing.

Which was only following the frequently recurring pattern he had begun to distinguish over the past five days: he was talking with Tasha, Tasha got angry with him, and he was invariably unable to determine what he had said or done wrong. Yet he never got the chance to inquire with her as to what exactly disturbed her so much in his behaviour, for the equally invariable next step was...

Exactly. She was crying.

And if there was one thing Data had learned over the past few days, it was how to deal with a crying Tasha.

So he sat down next to her, placed his arms around her upper body, and drew her close to him. Just as she had taught him. He was not sure what she found so palatable about it, but it seemed a reasonable hypothesis to assume that his physical proximity gave her a sense of security and support. Much like that night a few weeks ago, when she had asked him to come and lie down in bed with her and hold her.

"I'm just so tired, Data," Tasha cried. "I'm just a huge breeding machine. I want to have my body to myself again. And sleep for three days in a row. And I'm sick and tired of hanging around, just waiting for it to happen."

That was old news. They were eight days into the four week period during which their little Myrna was expected to be born. And Tasha's patience – never her forte – had already been depleted after the third day. As a matter of fact, he regarded the probability of a connection between her recent unexplicable outbursts and her eagerness to conclude this pregnancy fairly high.

"Was there still no change in the level of that special hormone this morning?" he inquired.

"Not a twitch," Tasha sobbed. Every day she reported to sickbay to have the level of a certain labour inducing hormone checked. Once the level of that particular hormone went up, it would all be a matter of days. Two, three at the most. But so far there had been no change whatsoever.

"What if she never comes out?" Tasha bawled.

"I do not think Dr. Crusher will allow that to happen," Data assured her. "Surely you are nearing the point where it is advantageous for both of you that she exits your body."

"But how much longer?" Tasha cried.

"At most 19.21 earth days."

Tasha groaned. "That's nineteen more sleepless earth nights, too."

"Affirmative. Unless of course she is born before that," Data pointed out.

But Tasha didn't listen. "Data, can't you come and stay the night with me again? You know, just lie behind me, and hold me? And talk with me when I can't sleep?"

Data's eyes searched her tear stained face. "Have you had any more nightmares?"

She nodded. "A few. But mostly just very weird dreams. Disturbing." She blushed a fiery red as she recalled last night's utterly embarrassing erotic idiocy... "I think I would... appreciate having someone around when I wake up from those." Not that she was ever going to share those dreams with anyone, but...

Data nodded. "I will spend the night with you whenever my duties permit me to," he promised.

"Thank you, Data." She snuggled up to him even closer for a moment, and then untangled herself from him. "And sorry I yelled at you."

Deanna Troi nearly ran into Data as he stepped out into the corridor the next morning. "Good morning, Mr. Data," she smiled. And smiled even wider as she realized whose cabin he had emerged from – at 7.45 in the morning.

"Good morning, Counselor," he greeted her in return, and fell into step beside her as they both walked towards the turbolift.

"Counselor, may I ask you something?"

"Of course you may, Mr. Data."

"It is about Lt. Yar. I am exceedingly puzzled by her behaviour. For the past days, I apparently upset her a great deal, to the point that she throws things at me with such force that it is evident that it is her intention to damage me. Yet my analysis of my speech and behaviour has not been able to detect what I say or do wrong that could upset her to such a degree. Could you perhaps tell me where I am at fault, so that I may avoid upsetting her in the future?"

Deanna smiled at his earnest request. "I don't think you're all that much at fault, Mr. Data." They entered the turbolift and ordered it to the bridge. "But with the baby due any day now, it's quite natural for Tasha to be nervous. And her being a woman of action, who is used to taking matters in her own hands, I can imagine it must be very frustrating for her, too, to just have to sit around and wait for the baby to come."

Data nodded. "Yes, she has mentioned that very often lately."

"And for her, you're the most logical person on whom she can take out her frustration. After all, clinically speaking you're the one who got her into this. If you hadn't gotten her pregnant, she wouldn't have to deal with that heavy uncomfortable baby in her belly twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.

"I see. Perhaps it would be advisable for me then to stay away from her until the baby is born. In order not to upset her anymore." He frowned. "But she does seek my company a great deal. Why would she do that, when I upset her so?"

Deanna smiled. "Because she needs you, Data. Don't stay away from her. She needs your strength, your reassurance, your calmness – even if her behaviour towards you suggests exactly the opposite. Some psychologists think it's the mother's way of testing how far the father-to-be will go to accommodate her and the coming child."

"Ah." The doors of the turbolift hissed open and they stepped out on the bridge. "So her behaviour is considered normal for this stage of pregnancy."

"Yes. Perfectly normal," Deanna replied as they walked down the ramp together. "Just be patient with her. Do whatever she asks you to. Try to keep her happy – no matter how mad she gets with you. It's really perfectly normal."

Riker in the Captain's chair grinned. "Trying to understand a pregnant woman, Data?"

"Yes, sir." Data sat down at his station. "Do you happen to have any helpful insights in the matter, Commander?"

An even broader grin. "Only one: don't even bother, my friend. No man has ever understood a pregnant woman."

And Deanna chuckled. "Oh yes, you've got so much experience with pregnant women! Haven't you, Will?"

"Lots," Riker agreed in jest.

Data's interest was piqued. "In that case, Commander, could you please explain to me why Tasha threw..."

But Riker held up his hands. "Just kidding, Data. I'm sure you've got more experience with pregnant women by now than I do."

"Come!" Picard called as the doorchime sounded.

Beverly Crusher took a good breath, and entered the ready room.

"Dr. Crusher?" Picard greeted her from behind his desk. He gestured to the opposite chair, and slightly nervous, Beverly sat down.

"I've decided to accept the position at Starfleet Medical, Jean-Luc."

Picard leaned back in his chair. "I see." A momentary silence. "Well, I'm happy for you, Beverly. I really am. It's a great promotion. And a deserved one. But I do regret losing my Chief Medical Officer."

She nodded. "I'm sorry to leave the Enterprise, too. But considering all the factors, I think it's for the best."

He raised his eyebrows. "Wesley?"

"I haven't told him yet. He knows about the offer, but..."

"I mean, are you doing this for Wesley?"

She sighed. "Partly, yes. He'll be going to the Academy soon. But he's still so young, Jean-Luc, and I don't want to be on the other side of the galaxy when..." Her voice trailed off as she noticed Picard's gently amused expression. "You think I'm overprotective, don't you."

Picard smiled. "A little, yes. Beverly, the boy is sixteen years old. You're going to have to let him go. And soon."

"I know." She sighed. "Believe me, Jean-Luc, I know. But he's all I've got. I don't want to be half a galaxy away when he'll be standing on his very own feet for the first time."

Picard's smile broadened. "I'm sure he will do just fine. You have raised him to be a very fine young man."

She returned the smile. "Well, after all he is the son of his father."

Picard gave an earnest nod. "And of his mother."

They smiled in unison at that, aware of what neither of them felt like saying out loud: that Jack Crusher would have been proud of his son.

"Anyway," Dr. Crusher continued, "I would very much appreciate it if you could keep the lid on the news of my leaving. At least for now. I've got a few patients whom I'm afraid would be very upset by such news. I'd rather not risk that at the moment."

Picard raised an eyebrow. "Yes, how is Natasha?"

She chuckled. "Were my words that transparent? Tasha... Well, she's tired, nervous, touchy, of unstable temper, eager to get it all over with..." She smiled. "The usual in such cases. But she's doing fine."

"It won't be long now, am I correct?"

"Any day now. She'll be exactly forty weeks tomorrow."

"That will make fourteen children on the Enterprise under the age of three." Picard shook his head. "I keep wondering when – or rather: if my grandfather instinct will ever kick in."

December 8th.

The magical date had flashed with red neon letters in Tasha's brain ever since the strike of midnight.

December 8th. The date of Myrna's officially calculated E.T.A. Of course Data had shown her to the zillionth decimal that the probability of Myrna being born on this very date was fairly small. Still, it did nothing to alter Tasha's perception. No matter how for the past fortnight she'd been hoping, praying, begging, urging, pleading with the baby to come out right now, December 8th was still D-day.

For the hundredth time at least she cursed the fact that Data was on nightwatch this night of all nights. For she was tense. And nervous. She sure would have welcomed his company and conversation to help her get through this long night.

Instead, it was just her, her oversized baby-belly, and a dozen or so pillows that she kept moving around to try and find a somewhat comfortable position. But even when she did, it never lasted long. There was always some muscle or flattened organ or baby-limb causing aches and pains. Which in turn invariably made her hold her breath. Was this it? A contraction? The baby finally coming?

Not that it was very likely. As of yesterday morning, there was still no change in the level of that blasted hormone. Apparently, Myrna found her warm little nest quite cosy, and had no intention of leaving it yet.

But she was so fed up with it. All she wanted now was for this blasted baby to come out. Preferably ASAP, and rather yesterday than today.

The baby really was strong enough now – around 3,400 grams, Dr. Crusher had announced two days ago, but it felt like twenty kilos at the very least. If she'd grow any bigger, Tasha was sure her belly would simply burst open. Already you could clearly see – and feel – the bumps of her pointy elbows through the thin layer of skin and muscle tissue – all that separated their Myrna from the outside world. Surely the kid must realize, too, that there was no room for her to grow any further in there!

Yet her body stubbornly refused to raise the production of that stupid hormone.

But perhaps today? If the baby wouldn't be born today, then perhaps at least that hormone level could go up? Even the tiniest little bit? Just so she'd know that the end was in sight?

Carefully, she rolled onto her back. It was the only position that allowed the poor overstrained muscles of her back to relax a little. Unfortunately, it also meant that Myrna completely flattened all her mother's intestines, including...

With a groan she struggled to get up and make it to the bathroom in time. How was a girl ever going to get some sleep this way?

When she came back to bed a few minutes later, she realized that little Myrna had shifted her position. Oh so slightly, but it took quite some trial and error before Tasha found a new position that was bearable. At least for a while.

She reached out and found her commbadge on the nightstand beside the bed. "Tasha to Data."

"Data here."

"Data, when are you coming to bed?"

"My watch ends at 0600 hours."

She glanced at the chronometer. And groaned loudly. It was barely half past two in the morning.

"Tasha?" came Data's slightly worried voice over the comm.

"Nothing. Yar out." She slung the commbadge back on the nightstand in frustration. And overshot it by at least a meter. Oh well, she'd worry about finding it tomorrow. Or today. Or whatever.

She sighed, and shifted slightly further onto her back. But that meant the pillow there became totally uncomfortable. And adjusting that one meant that the one under her heavy belly suddenly provided insufficient support. And...

Suddenly she chuckled. For Data of course didn't mind her moving around all the time – she had trained him well by now in helping her to get comfortable, and besides, he didn't sleep anyway. But would a real human partner be equally patient and understanding if his hyperpregnant partner kept moving around all night long?

She doubted it. And tried to envision it to pass the time. With Riker and Deanna for example. As good an example as any, since it was a public secret on board that they had been lovers in the past. Actually, most people (herself included) thought they'd still make a perfect couple.

So she brought an image of Deanna to her mind, very pregnant and unable to get comfortable in bed.

And Will? She could imagine him being very loving and helpful to begin with. A few hours. A few nights perhaps. But then he'd probably start complaining about his own sleep deprivation, and simply turn his back to her. Maybe even pretend to sleep.

No. For that matter it really wasn't so bad to have Data. Sure, he drove her crazy sometimes, but at least he was always willing to help. Unassuming, undemanding, infinitely patient, always putting her wishes before his own... The guy was almost too good to be true. Definitely too good to be human.

Her thoughts went back to that night a few weeks ago. The first time he had stayed the night with her. How she'd had to teach him how to hold her. And how oddly comfortable it was to lie against his chest, with his strong arms around her. The unfamiliar sense of security it had given her to physically feel that someone else was watching her back for her.

She remembered how she had awoken several times that night to her old, but nonetheless terrifying nightmares. And how his mere presence, the feel of his arms around her were sufficient for her to realize that she was safe. That any man – any gang who tried to get their hands on her would have to get past Data first. And Data was stronger than ten men put together. He would never allow anyone to touch her.

She sighed, and stretched her right leg to – hopefully – nip a beginning cramp in her calf in the bud. That, too, was a lot easier to take care of when Data was at hand. Clearly he had made himself pretty much indispensable lately.

Suddenly she wondered how things would be between them once Myrna was born. There would be no reason for him to come and stay the night with her anymore. Instead, they had agreed that he would be taking care of Myrna most nights, so that she – Tasha – could sleep.

She knew he had already requested and been granted a more standard duty schedule for when Myrna was born. Which she thought he thoroughly deserved; the poor guy worked twice as much as anyone else on the ship. Including three nightshifts a week.

Data had once told her that he had offered the Captain to take all the nightshifts as commander on the bridge. Perfectly reasonable from his point of view, since he didn't sleep anyway. But she was ever so grateful that the Captain had graciously refused the offer, saying that it wouldn't hurt the others to do their share, and that he – Data – should instead take the opportunity to pursue his own interests.

She couldn't help a smile. Data's interests were infinite. Literally everything held his interest. He was just so sweet. The sweetest guy she'd ever met. And the only man she had ever fully trusted. For even around her closest colleagues – the Captain, Riker, Geordi, O'Brien, her subordinates, her friend Worf, yes, even young Wesley – she was always on her guard, ready to counter any pass they might make on her.

But not Data. With Data she felt completely at ease. Safe.

And it was a rather startling discovery to realize that she was going to miss having him in her bed at night...

And waiting...

The magical December 8th passed as uneventful as the fourteen previous days of waiting, and by the time the ship's inner lights were dimmed for the night, Tasha was positively ready to explode.

Fortunately for her – and unfortunately for him – Data was off duty that night. She had summoned him at her side as soon as he got off duty, but whatever he did, whatever he said, he could do no good in her eyes. So she snapped at him at every turn, bawled him out, yelled at him, ranted, raged at him... until in the end he quietly observed that the only logical thing for him to do was to leave her alone for now, since evidently all he did tonight was upsetting her.

"Don't you dare!" she growled.

So he stayed, totally at a loss as to why she insisted on his company when apparently he irritated her so much, but coming to the conclusion that it would be better not to ask.

Tasha's mood didn't change once they finally retired to the bedroom, and Data silently hoped she would fall asleep pretty soon. And preferably sleep through the entire night for a change. No one had ever treated him like this before, and even though it was true that he had no feelings that could be insulted, he was quickly discovering that he did not particularly care for the experience of being yelled at non-stop for no apparent reason.

His wish did not come true. After no more than ten minutes in bed (with nothing but snapping and yelling at his address), Tasha announced that she wanted to go to the holodeck. Now. And she already threw back the covers.

They got more or less dressed – Data only needed to put on his shoes – and off they went in search of an unoccupied holodeck.

The first three they passed were taken, even at this late hour. But holodeck 4 was free.

"Computer," Tasha ordered. "I want a program with a lot of crockery. And no people."

"Working," the computer replied.

And Data raised his eyebrows. "What do you want to do with a lot of crockery?"

"Trash it."

The computer forestalled a further inquiry into the purpose of crockery trashing. "Program complete. You may enter when ready."

Tasha stepped up to the door, and it opened up to a sunny banquet hall, with three long tables, all set to the overflow with sparkling glass- and chinaware.

"Good," was all Tasha said. She took a small plate from the corner of the first table, and hurled it with all her might at the nearest wall, where it shattered into a thousand pieces before dropping to the marble floor.

Another plate followed. And another. A wineglass. A finger bowl. A cup. A saucer. A side plate. Another plate. Another glass.

"Tasha," Data ventured. "What is the purp..." But he had to duck quickly to avoid the flying saucer that was aimed right at his head. It shattered against the holographic wooden door that masked the holodeck exit.

He tried again. "Would you perhaps..." A wineglass came flying straight at him, and he quickly stepped aside.

"Tasha, I..." He only just managed to fend off the heavy decanter that was on an intercept course with his head; it shattered on the floor beside him.

He stared at the million glass splinters at his feet. And back at Tasha, who was still furiously hurling the elegant crockery at the wall. The floor near the wall was covered with glittering splinters.

And he decided that his chances of surviving this holodeck visit undamaged would significantly improve if he would just keep his mouth shut and did not interfere with whatever it was that she was doing. And after all, the crockery was replaceable: it was only holographic...

So he retreated to the door, and watched Tasha clearing off one place setting after the other. Out of sheer habit, he kept count of the number of crashes. Halfway through the middle table she changed her tactics and began to simply crash the stuff on the floor, and it wasn't until she was nearly through with the third and last table that she finally sank down in one of the plush chairs and buried her head in her hands.

After she'd sat there motionless for a full minute, Data decided it seemed safe to – cautiously – approach her. "Tasha?" he ventured as he was but two feet from her.

She looked up, her eyes brimming with tears. "Data!" She grabbed hold of his wrists. "Data, please wake me up and tell me that it was all a bad dream? That I'm not really pregnant?"

Data blinked. He was more than willing to do whatever Tasha asked him to, but... "That would be a lie."

Tasha positively howled. "But I don't want to be pregnant anymore! And I don't want a baby!" With one sweep of her arm she sent the next place setting crashing to the floor – Data jumped back only just in time – and she burst out in tears.

At last: behaviour he was familiar with.

So he sat down on the chair next to her, placed his arms around her upper body and gently pulled her against his chest as she had taught him.

"I'm so tired of this," Tasha cried. "Everybody keeps telling me that it won't be long now. If anybody is going to say that again I'll kill them! Why doesn't this stupid baby come out? I went down to sickbay four times today to check on that stupid hormone. And still nothing!"

Data frowned. "I was not aware that a rise in the hormone's level could be achieved by checking it more frequently?"

She shoved him away in utter frustration. "Oh, get lost, you fool." She placed her elbows on the table and buried her face in her hands again. For if this really wasn't some horrible nightmare – and she knew Data was incapable of lying – then there was nothing she could do except resigning herself to the fact that she was indeed pregnant. Very pregnant. Terribly pregnant. Going to have a baby any day now.

When she looked up, Data was gone.

He wasn't in her quarters. He wasn't in his own quarters either.

"Computer, where is Commander Data?"

"Lieutenant Commander Data is on deck 13, corridor section C."

"The shuttlebays? What the heck is he doing there?" Tasha muttered.

"That is not a valid question," the computer chided.

"I wasn't talking to you," she gave back. She activated her commbadge. "Yar to Data. Come in, please."

"Data here."

"Data, what are you doing on the shuttlebay deck?"

"I am getting lost."

"What!" Tasha felt her heart jump to her throat. Was he going to...!

"You told me to get lost," she heard his calm and utterly reasonable voice explain. "So I switched off my directional sensors and started wandering about the Enterprise."

"Data, I didn't mean it like that! That you really should get lost – literally! You better switch on that directional sensor again and get back here."

"I do not know where it is."

"Where what is? Your directional sensor?"

"Affirmative. I do not know where anything is. I do not know where I am."

Tasha sighed. "Okay, Data, you better stay right where you are. Don't take another step. I'll get help." And as an afterthought she added: "And don't you dare go into the shuttlebay!"

"Where is the shuttlebay?"

"Never mind. Just don't take another step."

"Understood."

"Yar to La Forge."

No reaction.

"Yar to La Forge. Geordi! It's urgent!"

A muffled, "La Forge here."

"Geordi, Data is lost, and he can't find his directional sensor. Can you fix him?"

There was an unintelligible splutter in reply. "Tasha? What do you mean, Data got lost?"

She explained the problem, and Geordi promised to go and fix his friend right away.

When they both showed up at her door some twenty minutes later, Tasha felt rather sheepish. "Sorry, Geordi. I suppose it was my fault."

He smirked. "You bet it was. You know as well as I do that our friend here has a tendency of taking things literally. But tomorrow I'm going to alter Data's programming in such a way that he won't be able to switch off his directional sensors anymore. Safety first!"

Another entire, endless week of waiting passed before Dr. Crusher finally announced one afternoon that the level of the labour inducing hormone in Tasha's body was beginning to rise. At last...

Tasha suddenly felt the tears streaming down her cheeks upon hearing the news. "Oh doc..."

And Dr. Crusher hugged her. "The end is in sight now. At last, eh? Now it's just a matter of a few days till it's all over."

"So when will it be now? Tomorrow?" Tasha untangled herself from the doctor and brushed at her tears.

Dr. Crusher shook her head. "Not likely; that's too soon. Count on maybe the day after tomorrow, but most likely the day after that."

Tasha stretched her aching back. "So the 17th or the 18th." She rubbed at her lower back. "Three more days at most. I think I can live with that. At least now that I've got a definite date to go by."

The 16th passed without any major events, as the doctor had predicted. Tasha went down to sickbay eight times, just to be able to hear that the hormone level had gone up again since last time.

The 17th she got restless. Apart from checking in at sickbay about every hour – Dr. Crusher's smile got wider with every next time she came in – she spent most of the day in what very soon now would be their daughter's room, rearranging the baby clothes, fingering the empty crib, hugging the bunny and the plush cat to her chest, and desperately trying (and failing) to get comfortable on the couch.

She didn't really need company that day. Data was on duty for most of the day, but several weeks ago already he had ordered the computer to grant her permanent access to his quarters. That would make things a little easier once Myrna was born.

Once she was born... Around midday, Dr. Crusher had predicted that she was likely to go into labour during the latter half of the following day. Another twenty-four to thirty-six hours... How were they ever going to pass?

When her very last morning as mother-to-be dawned, she had found the answer: she was going to put up proper Christmas decorations in the nursery, in Data's quarters, and in her own. Maybe she had missed out on the warmth of a family Christmas as a child, but dammit, she was going to see to it that her daughter would not have to miss out on that. And considering that – when she'd be born today – they wouldn't get out of sickbay until it was almost Christmas, she'd better make sure it was all fixed beforehand.

So she got dressed, barely allowed herself to grab a bite to eat, and went down to the ship's store and ordered three 7 foot Christmas trees (the real ones, that smelled like resin) and boxes full of tree ornaments, garlands, tree lights, wax candles, three Nativity scenes, angels, stars, snowmen, Santas, twinkle lights, Christmas stockings, Santa hats, snowspray, Christmas wrapping paper, ribbons and three presents for each of them. Everything was beamed over to their respective quarters, and Tasha was so busy decorating the rest of the day that she totally forgot to go down to sickbay to check on the all important hormone.

So by three o'clock, Dr. Crusher decided to make a house call to see what she was up to. And found Tasha in Data's quarters, precariously balanced on a chair, trying to place a golden angel on top of the fully trimmed Christmas tree in the corner. And a slightly bewildered looking Data, working at a computer that was practically hidden under the Christmas decorations.

She saw how Data glanced at Tasha, and then back at her. "I have regularly offered my assistance, doctor, but she either insists that I lack the aesthetical program for tasteful Christmas decorations, or she ignores me completely," he whispered. It sounded almost as an apology.

She smiled a little. After all, she was a mother, too, and she vividly remembered Jack's appalled expression when he had come home one night to find his nearly 42 weeks pregnant wife on top of a rather rickety ladder, obsessively painting every ceiling in the house. Offers to do it for her, heartfelt pleas to leave it until after the baby was born all fell on deaf ears; those ceilings had to be nice and yellow before the baby arrived, and nobody could do that better than his mother. But once the painting was done, she hadn't even had time to completely finish putting the furniture back in place before she had gone into labour with Wesley.

"Don't worry, Mr. Data," she reassured him quietly. "It's just her nesting instinct; yet another indication that it really won't be long now. Now why don't you let her handle this Christmas mess by herself, and you go and find Geordi to celebrate your last hours of freedom. Are you on duty tonight?"

"I have only the nightwatch today. But Commander Riker has promised to be on standby, to take over as soon as I am required in sickbay."

"Good. Now why don't you go and do something fun. Ten Forward, or the holodeck or something. At the moment, the best thing to do is simply to stay out of Tasha's way. We'll call you as soon as the baby is underway."

Data nodded. "I will. Thank you for the advice, doctor." He got up and cast one more glance at Tasha, who stood perched over a wooden Nativity scene. And he shook his head in what looked like wonderment. "Her behaviour today has been most... intriguing."

On that note he left, and Dr. Crusher casually ambled over to Tasha.

"Tasha?"

"Mm?"

"What are you doing?"

"I've got to finish this. Before the baby comes."

"I see."

Silence while Tasha arranged the small wooden sheep into a flock.

"Well, when you're finished here, could you please come down to sickbay for a final check-up?"

"Sure."

"Good. I'll see you there then."

No reply. So Dr. Crusher left the cabin with a big smile on her face. "That won't be long now..."

But it wasn't until after six before Tasha showed up in sickbay. And it was a rather unresponsive Tasha, with eyes and thoughts that seemed to be lightyears away.

Dr. Crusher and nurse Ogawa exchanged a knowing smile as the doctor ran the medical scanner over Tasha's huge belly. "Fifty-three centimeters, approximately 3,700 grams. A healthy sized baby."

No reaction.

"And your body is absolutely primed to go into labour. It's only a matter of hours now."

A sigh.

"Tasha." Dr. Crusher took Tasha's hands in hers, and slowly, Tasha looked up, with a sudden expression of dawning realization where she was.

"Doc?"

"Yes." She smiled. "I believe you've been pretty busy today. Are you tired?"

It took a moment to penetrate, but then Tasha nodded. "But I got it done."

"Good. Then you go straight to your quarters now and take a last little nap. You'll be going into labour any moment now. So as soon as you have somewhat regular contractions I want you to call me and come straight to sickbay. Okay?"

"To sickbay. Yes."

Tasha slid her heavy body off the examination table and walked out into the corridor. She almost seemed to be sleepwalking.

And Dr. Crusher grinned at her nurse. "I don't know what plans you had for tonight, but you better cancel them. We'll be playing midwife before the day is over."

Tasha waddled back to her quarters on autopilot. People greeted her as usual, Riker even tried to strike up a conversation as they shared the turbolift, but she was barely aware of anyone. And when she entered her Christmassy quarters, she went straight to the bedroom and rolled down into the multitude of pillows on her bed. She was just so tired... She just couldn't be bothered with anything anymore.

Except perhaps her commbadge. The small piece of metal dug painfully into her shoulder the way she was lying. At least that was an ache she could do something about. So she pulled the thing off her shirt and threw it somewhere towards the nightstand. All she wanted now – all she had wanted for the past few months – was to sleep...

Amazingly enough, she dozed off pretty quickly. But the respite was pretty short: a painful, oddly familiar cramp in her belly awoke her with a start. She moaned and wrapped her arms around her belly as the pain grew in intensity, while pressing down the baby's head uncomfortably hard into her lower body. But after a minute or so, the cramp slowly subsided, leaving Tasha slightly out of breath.

She rolled onto her back, wrestled some of the pillows out of the way, and pushed her fringe away from her forehead.

So this was it. The first contraction. She'd be going into labour now – she was in labour now. And soon Dr. Crusher would end it all and get little Myrna out through the surgical shortcut.

She caressed the giant curve of her belly. It wasn't really a nice round curve anymore; it was rather bumpy, with lumps showing the baby's every limb and every move. It was amazing that she still fit in there.

"Soon you'll be out now," she said quietly to the little creature still lying so uncomfortably heavy inside her. "I suppose it will be very different. Maybe even frightening at first. But don't worry. You'll be okay. We'll take very good care of you, I promise."

She realized it was the very first time she spoke to her unborn daughter that way. Sure, she'd been scolding her a bit during those nocturnal karate sessions, but so gentle, almost as a loving parent...? Maybe she was mother material after all?

But as a new contraction took hold of her belly, she realized that her first task now was to get this baby out of her. She tried to let the pain just come over her, without reflexively tensing every muscle in her body as Dr. Crusher had instructed her. But somehow that seemed more difficult on her back than it had been when she was lying on her side with the first one. So as the pain and the downward pressure increased, she struggled to roll over to be able to handle the pain a little better.

Still, was it just her imagination or was this contraction really so much stronger than that first one? She dug her teeth into her lip. The pain was even worse than she remembered from that other time, and with this giant belly there was no way she could roll herself into a ball as she instinctively tended to do whenever she was hurt. And didn't it ever pass?

But of course it did, and as Tasha lay there, trying to catch her breath, she decided she had enough proof that the baby was on the way. She was going down to sickbay right now to have this over and done with.

Make that: after she'd gone to the bathroom. She struggled to sit up... and suddenly she couldn't hold it!

She surprised herself by practically jumping up to dash to the bathroom, but too late: a veritable wave of lukewarm fluid already came streaming down the inside of her legs.

She looked down in horror at her own shocking incontinence – but then she realized. Her water had broken! She'd really better get to sickbay!

Or better get changed first. It'd be rather embarrassing to walk around the corridors showing off that she'd seriously wet herself. And a few more minutes wouldn't make much difference.

So it was but shortly after 1930 hours that she left her quarters and headed for the turbolift.

Walking was extremely uncomfortable nowadays. Myrna's head lay so deep in her, that it felt as if she would just drop out from between her legs at any moment. Dr. Crusher could assure her as much as she wanted to that such wouldn't happen; it still felt that way. Good thing this was the very, very, very last time she would ever have to walk with a hard balloon between her legs. For here was the turbolift, and from this turbolift it was a mere thirty meters walk to sickbay. And that was it.

She had the lift to herself. Good – then she didn't have to keep a straight face when she'd have to brace herself for the uncomfortable braking of the lift.

It was even worse than usual. The baby's head was forcibly pressed down into her pelvis, and it didn't even get better when the lift came to a halt. She staggered out, and realized as another painful cramp began to sear through her belly that the braking of the lift had coincided with her next contraction.

She held onto the railing along the corridor wall, struggling to stay upright as the pain washed over her. But the downward pressure of the baby was so forceful, so agonizing that all she could think about was trying to ease it off. Maybe a more horizontal position...?

With her teeth drawing blood from her lip, she sank down on her knees. And then on all fours. The baby was still pressing down hard, but at least it was somewhat bearable this way.

Suddenly, something shifted in her mind. The rubble... The street... The pain... Shouting behind her. Sounds of a fight. This was her chance – she had to get away!

With the awful cramps attacking her belly at full force, she crawled out of the dark alley. Where could she go? The pain was too violent; there was no way she would be able to run off.

There. A manhole to the old sewerage system. She'd hid in the sewerage before. She might have a chance there if they didn't see her go in.

She crawled over and worked the lid off. A last glance back at the fighting – there was a roar; had they spotted her? Quick then! Before they came after her!

Hurriedly she climbed down the hole, closed the hatch behind her, and started to crawl in a zigzag route through the underground labyrinth. "Have to keep moving! Keep moving or they'll find me!" she told herself over and over again.

But every new cramp was worse than the previous, slowing her down considerably. It couldn't be! She knew she was with child, that was true, but it couldn't be! Not yet! Too soon! Her belly had barely begun to expand; the baby couldn't possibly be ready to come out yet! And giving birth... Noooo! She couldn't! Not alone! She didn't want to die! It just couldn't be!

She bit her lip to ravels. The waves of pain got worse and worse, but she had to keep moving or they'd find her and take her again. She couldn't let them find her, not like this...

"I see you've taken my advice." Dr. Crusher grinned as she entered Riker's quarters and discovered Data at the poker table.

Data nodded. "I am celebrating my last hours of freedom, as you suggested, doctor. I have spent some time chatting and playing chess in Ten Forward, now there is the officers' poker game, and if there is still time after that, Geordi and I have booked a holodeck till I go on duty."

"Don't count on it," the doctor told him. "I expect we'll be called out of this game within the hour."

"That close, huh?" Riker finished shuffling the cards and began to deal them.

"Any moment now." The doctor picked up her first card.

And Geordi slapped his friend on the back. "Aren't you nervous yet, Data?"

"You know I cannot feel nervosity, Geordi," Data pointed out. "Besides, what is there to be nervous about?"

Geordi grinned. "Well, if I'd ever come on the brink of becoming a Dad, I assure you I'd be a nervous wreck. I think all men are."

Data frowned and turned to Dr. Crusher. "Should I attempt to be a 'nervous wreck' then?"

The room echoed with laughter, and Data glanced around in puzzlement until a still laughing Dr. Crusher put her hand on his arm. "No, Data. You just be right who you are. You'll be of much more help to Tasha if you're not a nervous wreck."

And with that, the first poker game began. Followed by another. And another. And another. And another. Data seemed totally unperturbed, but every now and then, Dr. Crusher couldn't stop herself from glancing at her watch. Could she really have been that far off in her interpretation of Tasha's condition?

So when the poker night was broken up at 2230 hours, she quickly excused herself to page Tasha to hear what was going on. "Dr. Crusher to Lt. Yar. Tasha?" she repeated as she got no acknowledgement.

Still nothing.

"Computer, locate Lt. Yar."

"Lt. Yar is in her quarters."

Maybe she was fast asleep? Better let her sleep then; she could use the rest.

Come to think of it, a nap might not be such a bad idea for herself either. It had been a long day, and if she was going to have to play midwife halfway through the night, it might be wise to get some sleep while she could. And as long as that baby wasn't on the way...

So It Did Happen after All!

She knew something was wrong the moment she woke up from the beep of the alarm clock system.

0700 hours. Tasha should have been long in labour by now.

She took her commbadge and sat up. "Dr. Crusher to Lt. Yar."

No response.

"Dr. Crusher to Lt. Yar. Tasha! Acknowledge, please!"

Still no response.

"Computer, where is Lt. Yar?"

"Lt. Yar is in her quarters."

Then why didn't she answer?

"Dr. Crusher to sickbay."

"Dr. Selar here."

"Dr. Selar, has Lt. Yar checked in at all during the night?"

"Negative, doctor."

Her hand tightened around the commbadge. "Then I'm going to see her first now. Crusher out."

She threw back the covers and hurriedly got dressed. A quick brush through her hair, make-up could wait... For she had this sudden awful hunch that Tasha – upon going into labour – had been overwhelmed by the trauma from that miscarriage she had had as a teenager, and lay now in her cabin confusing past and present, all alone, going through labour and giving birth without any support... She could just kick herself! Why hadn't she gone and checked on her after the poker game last night?

Wesley appeared in the doorway. "Mum, have you seen my..."

"Sorry Wes, gotta go." She ran past him and out the door. Tasha's quarters were a few decks above hers. The turbolift, a run down the corridor attracting quite a few stares...

The doorchime got no response, so she ordered medical override of the doorlock and barged into Tasha's cabin.

A quick look around was enough to establish that Tasha wasn't there. Had she just missed her?

"Computer, the location of Tasha Yar."

"Lt. Natasha Yar is in her quarters."

What the heck...!

And then she saw it. The commbadge, lying on the floor next to the nightstand. The Starfleet commbadge that also served as a personal locator for the computer.

Which not only meant that Tasha could be anywhere, but also that the computer would be of no help in locating her real whereabouts.

She looked around for clues, and noticed the jogging-pants and underwear left on the floor. Weren't those the pants she had been wearing yesterday?

She picked them up, and immediately noticed how damp their crotch and the inside of the legs were. Damp; not wet. She brought it to her nose. "Amniotic fluid alright. But it's had so much time to dry that it must have been yesterday evening when it happened. Dammit!" That meant Tasha had probably been in labour all night! The baby could already be born by now!

But where was she?

Wait, one more chance. She dashed back out into the corridor and rang the doorchime at Data's quarters. But neither there did she get any response, and another medical override showed that Data's cabin was as deserted as Tasha's own.

That was it; she was out of logical options now. "Dr. Crusher to Data."

"Data here."

"Data, have you seen Tasha?"

"No, doctor. I have not seen her since yesterday afternoon, when you advised me to go and celebrate my last hours of freedom."

"Dammit!"

"Is something bothering you, doctor?"

"Yes, Data! I've found pretty strong evidence in her cabin that she's gone into labour hours ago, but I can't find her. She might be giving birth this very minute!"

"Would you like me to come and help you search for her? I do not think the Captain would object to my leaving my post for that."

"Yes, by all means!" That gave her another idea. "Dr. Crusher to Worf!"

"Worf here."

"Worf, I need everyone you can spare. We've got to locate Tasha as soon as possible, but she doesn't have her commbadge on her."

"Aye, doctor."

"And Worf, tell your people not to approach her. She's probably in full labour. I just need you to locate her for me."

"Understood. Worf out."

And as the security people swarmed out over the ship, Dr. Crusher shook her head as she went down to sickbay awaiting the announcement of their success. It seemed that the arrival of the first newborn on the Enterprise-D was going to stir up the entire ship...

But it weren't Worf's people who stumbled upon Tasha. It was Geordi.

He walked into Engineering that morning, whistling an old Mars tune. After Lt. Commander Leland T. Lynch had broken his neck in a nasty but stupid accident last month, the Captain had made him Acting Chief Engineer awaiting Starfleet's assignment of a new one. And even though his temporary promotion had a tragic cause, he enjoyed the role and the responsibility to his heart's content. This was his dearest wish in life: to one day be responsible for the care of a beautiful ship like the Enterprise. And a few weeks practice on the job was so much to the good.

After the Engineering's nightwatch had filled him in on the state of the engines, he took over and began to run the daily routine checks, meanwhile wondering why he hadn't heard from Data yet.

He chuckled to himself as he recalled their visit to the holodeck last night. Data had wanted to try and experience being 'a nervous wreck' if that was indeed the norm for human males on the brink of becoming a father, and had called up some program of a banquet hall that was – as far as he knew – intended for large scale diplomatic gatherings. Instead, Data had started hurling every holographic plate, glass, bowl and whatever else was on the tables at the wall, crashing every piece of glass- and chinaware into a thousand pieces. And at his baffled inquiry, Data had explained that this was what Tasha had done ten days ago, when 'a nervous wreck' was a fairly accurate description of her mood. "However, I assure you I will restrict myself to throwing the crockery at the walls. I will not attempt to damage you by throwing it at your head, like she did with me." Once he'd gotten over his laughing fit, he'd happily joined his friend in the crockery crashing, and when they were through the vast amount of crockery available, they had simply reset the program and started all over again. It sure had been – as Data would say – a most intriguing experience.

But when they had parted, he had made Data promise to let him know as soon as the baby was born. Dr. Crusher had been so adamant last night that the baby could come any minute now, that he thought it odd that he hadn't heard anything yet. Perhaps Data had forgotten? No, not Data. Not possible. Which could only mean that the baby wasn't born yet. Poor Tasha.

He switched to the check of the secondary systems.

And that's when he heard it: a strange, irregular moaning sound, with an eerie echo to it.

He froze, trying to determine where it came from. If this came from the engines, they'd have a major problem on their hands.

Slowly, he walked in the direction of the sound. It was... It came from the Jefferies tube! "Now what the heck could make a noise like that?" he muttered. He opened the hatch and crawled inside to take a look.

Inside the tubes there were even more disturbing sounds echoing off the metallic walls: sobbing, stifled crying, groans, and a lot of heavy panting. Someone was there, and in pretty bad distress, too, he realized.

"Hello? Where are you?"

A terrified shriek was his reply. Followed by crying, moaning, panting, and shuffling. As if they moved away.

"Don't be afraid, I'm not going to hurt you," he called as he quickly crawled forward towards the sound. "I just want to help you. Where are you?"

A howling, "Nooooo!" came floating back to him from the crawlspace ahead veering off to his right.

And there she was: drenched in sweat, with a haggard, terrified look in her eyes, desperately trying to get away from him. But even his untrained medical eye could see that she was in terrible agony, and that her body relentlessly forced her to push at the baby even as she made haphazard attempts to flee from him.

"Tasha?" He gulped. Hard. She wasn't about to have the baby on him, was she? He sure couldn't help a kid into the world! He needed help here! And fast!

He slammed his commbadge as he saw Tasha drag herself around a corner. "La Forge to Dr. Crusher!"

"Crusher here."

"Doc, I've got Tasha in the Jefferies tubes here. I think she's about to have the baby!"

"Thank goodness! Where are you?"

"In the Jefferies tubes, deck 36, intersection K46. The shortest way in is via Engineering. Tasha is trying to get away from me; she looks almost wild, doc. She's in an awful lot of pain."

"Don't go after her. I'll be with you in a moment."

"Acknowledged. La Forge out." He listened for a moment. He could still hear Tasha's moans and muffled crying. He shuddered. Giving birth sure was ghastly business...

Dr. Crusher joined him but a few minutes later with a bag of supplies and a blanket. "Where is she?"

"In here. Hear? And she's taken the first turn left. She can't have gotten far."

"Good. I'll take care of this. But I've also sent for an anti-grav stretcher to come to Engineering. When I call you, can you show them the way? But only after I call you."

"Roger, doc." He began to move away to get back to his own work, but hesitated again. "And wish Tasha luck from me, will you? She sure looked like she'd need it."

"I will. And Geordi?"

"Yes?"

"Get Data here on the double, will you? I wouldn't want him to miss out on the birth of his own daughter."

Geordi grinned. "Him rather than me!" And as he crawled off, the doctor already heard him page his best friend. "La Forge to Data!"

"Data here."

"Data, you better get the hell over here, man: you'll be a father any moment now!"

"Where are you?" As unperturbed as ever.

"In the Jefferies tubes. Better come down to Engineering on the double and I'll show you."

Dr. Crusher crawled off with her supplies in the direction Geordi had indicated. She turned left as instructed, but there was still no sign from Tasha other than the heavy panting and moaning echoing off the walls. She couldn't have gone far.

And indeed: at the next intersection she spotted the haggard looking Tasha a few meters down the righthand tube.

"Nooo! Get away from me!" Tasha desperately struggled to sit up, but clearly couldn't quite manage it anymore. So she furiously began to push herself away in a semi horizontal position.

One look at her was enough for Dr. Crusher to have her worst suspicions confirmed: in her mind, Tasha was back on her home planet, reliving the secret traumas from her youth. She was going to have to snap her out of that. And it took precedence even over checking on the baby who – as she clearly saw from Tasha's bulging crotch – was on the very brink of being born the natural way.

And if that was the way it was going to be, then Tasha was going to need every fiber of strength she had. So nix with the tranquillizer; back to basics.

She quickly overtook the struggling, heavily panting Tasha. Tasha made an unexpected forceful attempt to push her away, but the doctor knew what had to be done: she slapped her in the face. Hard. Two times. Three. Four.

The haggard look in Tasha's eyes slowly vanished as they focused on the friendly face of the familiar doctor. "Doc...! I'm..." A long moan as her body forced her to push at the baby again. "The baby... I'm..." And then she burst out in tears. "Help me, doc... She's..." Another unignorable urge to push. "She's... It hurts so much...!" Moaning. Pushing. Panting. "She's too big! I can't... Pain...!" She fell back down, clearly exhausted. But her body wouldn't relent – she had to keep pushing, whether she wanted to or not.

Carefully, Dr. Crusher pulled her in her arms and soothingly wiped the sweat of Tasha's forehead. "I know. But you're almost done: the baby is almost out. And I'll give you something for the pain right away."

Tasha clung onto her. "But it hurts..." she half cried, half panted through another push. "Hurts so bad...!"

"I know." Dr. Crusher rocked her oh so gently. "I know it hurts terribly, Tasha. But let me give you something for the pain, so you can push her out that very last bit. She's already pushing at the exit; all that's needed now is to get her out. I promise: it's almost over now." Cautiously, she untangled herself from Tasha, and moved back to check on the baby. But her mere approach of Tasha's bulging nether regions caused an agonized, "Nooo! Don't touch me!" And desperate crying. "Don't take me again... Please no!"

Dr. Crusher froze as Tasha once more tried to back away from her. Had Tasha been raped back then while she was...? ! No wonder she had...

But no time to dwell on that now. There were far more urgent matters at hand. "Tasha, try to stay focused," she urged gently. "You're on the Enterprise. I'm a doctor. I'm here to help you; I am not going to 'take' you."

Crying, panting, another half-hearted attempt at pushing. A desperate, "Doc... help me..."

"Yes. I'm here to help you. But in order to help you get the baby out, I'm going to have to touch you down here." She waited a moment as Tasha once again was forced to push. It seemed to have little effect. "Will you let me touch you? I promise I'm not going to hurt you."

Tasha just kept panting. Another attempt at pushing. "Just... get her out..." she brought out.

"Okay. I'll be as gentle as I can." She ran a quick tricorder scan on the baby – she was doing okay so far, but she really ought to get out of her cramped predicament pretty quickly now. Obviously, Tasha had been pushing for quite some time already. At least the child lay in the most favourable position. Tasha herself was slightly dehydrated, but for the rest, her physical readings were within the norm of the circumstances; that was good.

She took the hypospray. "I'm going to give you something now to ease the pain. Don't be afraid; I won't hurt you." Tasha still shrank back as she placed her hand, and then the hypospray on her lower belly, but at least she allowed her to touch her now. "That should make the pushing a little less of an agony. Now push!"

Tasha tried.

"Push! With every ounce of strength you got!"

Another half-hearted attempt. And she burst out in choked tears again. "I can't..."

"Yes, you can. You can do it. Just a little further and she's out. Now push!" the doctor encouraged her.

"I can't!" Another forceful urge to push took hold of her, but she just couldn't seem to find the strength to really push along.

"Tasha, you can do it if you focus on it. Focus on one thing only: that baby has to come out. And you can do it. You're nearly there. So push!"

More exhausted crying. Another half-hearted attempt. Clearly, snapping her out of that delusion unfortunately had snapped her out of her concentration as well. And Dr. Crusher realized it could get really tricky to get her fully focused again on getting the baby out. Perhaps they should go to sickbay first after all – at least all the necessary tools to assist her were at hand there.

And there was Data. "Doctor," he greeted her. And then turned to Tasha. A slight frown furrowed his brow. "Tasha, are you alright?"

"No... Just leave me alone..." Another vague attempt at pushing out the agonizing bulk from her lower body. And more tears. "I can't do it! It's... I don't... I don't want this baby," she half cried. "Just get it out of me..."

Data frowned. "Had we not agreed that I would take care of the baby?"

Dr. Crusher shook her head at him, and told Tasha: "Tasha, the quickest way to get her out is for you to push. Push as hard as you can! You're nearly there, so come on: just push!"

As a moaning Tasha tried again, Data inquired, "Doctor, were you not going to deliver our daughter through a caesarean section?"

"I was. But the baby's come way too far for that. She's almost out, see? Performing a caesarean now would be rather hazardous to both Tasha and the baby. Safer to let her be born the natural way now."

Data looked back at the panting Tasha. "She seems to be in extreme distress. Is there anything I can do to assist her?"

"Yes. You can help her push along if you like." She placed his hands on Tasha's belly, around the baby's buttocks and told him to gently push downward whenever Tasha pushed.

But Tasha pulled him away. "Hold me," she panted. "I want to... sit up. ... Easier."

Dr. Crusher saw with surprise that but a few words of guidance from Tasha – in between some more vague attempts at pushing – were sufficient for Data to position himself behind her and hold her in the exact position Tasha wanted him to. It was obvious that they had quite some experience together in helping her to get comfortable. And with her head resting in his lap, and her arms wrapped around his where he held her under her armpits, she seemed to draw strength from him, and suddenly her pushing was strong and focused enough again to be effective.

Gently, she supported the strained tissue as it overstretched to try and let the baby's head pass, but Tasha barely flinched at her touch now that she felt Data's arms around her. One more push – no, one more... and the baby's head didn't slide back anymore. "Good! Gently now. Her head is almost out."

Tasha panted, pushed again, and oh so slowly she felt the front part of the heavy bulk leave her body.

"I've got her head!" Dr. Crusher announced. "Easy now. Just a little more now. Push calmly to get the shoulder out. You're doing just fine."

Now that the first bulk had passed, it was slightly easier to push out the next bit. Tasha pushed, and panted, pushed, and panted along with the doctor's quickly changing instructions, and at last, she felt the baby's torso slithering out of her, and Dr. Crusher lifting her out completely.

Tasha let out a gasp of relief.

And Dr. Crusher, too, couldn't quench a little laugh as she wiped off the worst of the smear from the baby's face. "There! I knew you could do it!" She took out her medical scanner to check the baby.

"Is she alright?" Tasha panted anxiously.

The doctor smiled. "She's fine. A very healthy young lady." She cleared the child's airways, gave the tiny bum an expert slap, and after a first difficult breath, the fragile cry of a newborn echoed through the Jefferies tubes.

"Medical log, stardate..." She glanced at her watch. "41965.4. Lt. Natasha Yar has given birth to a daughter, earth date December 19th, 2364, at 0912 hours." Her voice sounded rather croaky, and she swallowed to get the lump out of her throat.

"Can I hold her?" Tasha asked with tears in her voice.

"Sure. Just a moment."

Tasha winced, and bit her lip as the doctor swiftly tied off and cut the umbilical cord. Not that it really hurt, but the idea of severing her baby's sole life support from the past nine months... Now she'd really have to struggle to stay alive on her own...

And then Dr. Crusher placed her on her chest...

Tasha held her breath. Her daughter... This was the child she'd been carrying for all those months. The child who'd kept her awake through so many nights. The child she'd been struggling for an unaccountable time today to get out of her. The child who was an exact copy of herself, but oh boy, was she going to see to it that she'd have a happier childhood than she herself had had. The child she was never, ever going to let go...

"So what's her name?" Dr. Crusher inquired.

"Myrna," Tasha answered, still a little out of breath. "Myrna Data Yar." Carefully, she caressed the baby's bald head. "She's beautiful," she whispered with tears in her voice. "Absolutely perfect..." The little nose, the tiny mouth, her long eyelashes, the cute little ears, the tiny little fists...

She looked up at Data's face hovering above her. "Our daughter, Data."

A barely perceptible nod. Data seemed absolutely mesmerized by the sight of his daughter.

She took one of his hands from where they lay, still holding her around her upper chest, and brought it over to the baby. "Come and meet our little Myrna," she smiled, and placed his hand on the baby's back.

At first it just lay there. She looked up at him. His eyes were glued to their little daughter, and held an almost astonished expression she had never seen from him before. "Data?"

Still without uttering a word, he began to caress the baby's back, oh so gently. Maybe it was the different texture of his skin that attracted Myrna's attention, for she opened her eyes and...

Tasha gasped. "Doc!"

"What?" Dr. Crusher knew when to make herself scarce, but whatever was the matter clearly called for her expertise.

And then she saw it, too.

The not quite focused look with which Myrna now looked up at her mother came from bright yellow eyes. Data's eyes.

Continuing with their life with Myrna

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