Star Trek: The Next Generation: Starfleet Academy #6: Mystery of the Missing Crew (12 page)

“What’s more, based on their interaction with you and the Yann, the Opsarra have agreed to a formal first contact. That’s a pretty good day’s work for a seasoned captain, much less a rookie who still hasn’t put on an Academy uniform yet. I’d say you’ve got a long and illustrious career ahead of you.”

The android was grateful for the favorable prediction. However, the captain was only one individual. Data still had a lot to prove to a lot of people.

Also, Captain Rumiel had been wrong about something: The Yann were not, strictly speaking, his friends. Since the return of the crew, he had neither seen nor heard from them. It was true that
he
had not made any overtures,
either
; but then, he had not wished to insinuate himself where he was not wanted.

Finally the android reached his destination: the ship’s lounge. He had no particular business there, but he had resolved long ago not to spend too much time in his quarters. After all, personal interaction was a necessity in the management of a starship—and the only way to hone his skills in that area was to immerse himself in public life.

Perhaps someday he would be equipped to take the initiative and actually begin a conversation. For the time being he was content to simply sit and observe.

As the lounge doors opened for him, Data scanned the crewmembers inside. As it happened, none of the faces visible to him belonged to people he had actually spoken with…

With the exception of one group, his fellow cadets.

True to form, the Yann were clustered together at a table in the center of the room. They were so involved in their discussion, they didn’t even look up as he came in.

But then, why should they? Just because the five of them had worked as a team to rescue the ship? That was only a temporary union, born of mutual danger and necessity, the android told himself as he headed for an empty table in a solitary comer. But as he sat down, he couldn’t help but wish that it were otherwise. He had valued the experience of being part of a group. And now that he knew what that was like, it made it more difficult to be separate and alone again.

“Excuse me,” said a voice. Even before Data looked up, he recognized it as Sinna’s. She smiled down on him. “Is this seat taken?” she asked.

The android looked at her, perplexed. “Taken
where
?" he inquired in return.

Her smile widened. “Don’t be so literal, Data. It’s an expression.
Taken
means ‘occupied.’ In other words, I’m asking you if I can sit down.”

As understanding dawned, Data nodded. Language could be such an imprecise form of communication, he thought—though he would have to become more skilled at it if he was to serve on a starship.

“Yes,” he said at last. “Of course you may sit. Please do.”

As Sinna deposited herself in the chair, Data caught a glimpse of the other Yann. They were still seated across the room, but their eyes seemed to be fixed on the android. No—on Sinna, he realized. They were watching to see what she was up to.

“Data?”

He turned to face her. “Yes?” he replied.

Sinna leaned forward. “Data, I want to be your friend. Would you like to be
my
friend?”

He could hardly think of anything that he would appreciate more. “I would like that very much,” he told her. There was something else he wanted to say. “I wish to thank you.”

Her brow wrinkled with surprise. “For what?”

“For the faith you showed in my abilities yesterday. If not for you, I might not have had the courage to act in accordance with my analysis of the situation.”

Sinna shook her head. “It’s I who should thank you,” she insisted. “If it wasn’t for your teaching me the value of independent thinking, I would never have had the strength to disagree with my fellow Yann.”

That was an aspect of the situation that hadn’t occurred to him—and a rather intriguing aspect at that. It was possible, he reflected, for two parties to benefit from the same experience in different ways. He would have to remember that, he told himself, storing the knowledge away for future reference.

“In fact,” Sinna went on, “I’ve come to envy you, Data. It must be nice to be different from everyone else. To act and think as you please, without worrying that your behavior will be compared with anyone else’s. To stand out in a crowd, just because of who you are. In short, to be
unique
.”

This was the most bewildering statement of all. “From my point of view,” the android confessed, “the opposite would seem to be true. I was just pondering the advantages of being part of a group … and of the comfort one must derive from such a condition.”

She laughed. “Rea1ly?”

Data nodded. “I am not programmed for deception,” he reminded her. “Although, now that I have had some time to assimilate what you said, I can see that there may be some advantages to my uniqueness after all.”

Of course, he still wished to be part of something larger than himself—to become an officer in Starfleet, as Captain Thorsson had advised. But it helped to know that someone valued him for what he was
already
.

“You know,” said Sinna, leaning even closer to him, “I can’t wait to get to the Academy. After what we went through here on the
Yosemite
, we should be ahead of the game.”

“The … game?” he repeated helplessly. “I do not understand the reference. Are you implying that—”

The Yanna held her hand up. “It’s all right, Data. We’ll just take it one step at a time.”

Under the circumstances, the android decided, that sounded like a good idea.

When roused (usually by his wife, Joan) from one of his frequent and enduring daydreams of a world where baseball players never go on strike and White Castle hamburgers grow on trees, Michael Jan Friedman will admit to being the author of sixteen books, including twelve
Star Trek
and
Star Trek: The Next Generation
novels (three of them collaborations with other authors). Mike additionally pens the
Star Trek: The Next Generation
and
Darkstars
titles for D.C. Comics (actually, he types them, but why split hairs?).

When he’s not writing—a condition that occurs less and less frequently these days—Friedman enjoys sailing, jogging, and spending time with his adorable spouse and two equally adorable clones…er, sons. He’s quick to note that no matter how many Friedmans you may know, none of them is related to him.

TODD CAMERON HAMILTON is a self-taught artist who has resided all his life in Chicago, Illinois. He has been a professional illustrator for the past ten years, specializing in fantasy, science fiction, and horror. Todd is the current president of the Association of Science Fiction and Fantasy Artists. His original works grace many private and corporate collections. He has co-authored two novels and several short stories. When not drawing, painting, or writing, his interests include metalsmithing, puppetry, and teaching.