"Six hours, nineteen minutes, 36.765 seconds."

"That gives us a little time, then, perhaps enough to work this out before there is violence. Very well, gentlemen, return to your duties. I will contact Jared and see if he has any response to Force Commander Sawliru's accusations. Perhaps he can shed some light how his crew came to possess the Conquest."

"Begging the captain's pardon, but the crew of the ship recommissioned her as the Freedom. For our purposes, either name is valid, depending upon which claim is held up as the correct one," said Data.

"Indeed," Picard said crossly. What to call the ship in question was the last-and least important-thing on his mind. "Commander, please have Counselor Troi report to me immediately. I need her."

When Data had a problem whose answers did not come swiftly or easily, he did what any human would do-he brooded about it. He did not consider his behavior emotional in the human sense. He merely desired to enter a place and mode of thought that would allow his mind to go over the possibilities. He sensed that what he did was more akin to the meditation that most Vulcans and some humans engaged in to sort out internal difficulties. Nonetheless, to any outside observer, it looked as if he were brooding.

He even had a special place to brood. The shuttle bay observation lounge. It was usually unpopulated, for the view was not as spectacular as that offered in other observation areas. Today he had a very big problem indeed to consider. As soon as he was off duty, he went to his special place and stared out the window at the stars, allowing his positronic brain to work at high speed, uninterrupted by other factors.

The questions that Data usually brooded about-or meditated upon-were those that all thinking beings struggled with at one time or another, he knew. Many would have considered them philosophical, psychological or religious in nature, ruminations on the meaning of existence and one's place in the universe. Yet some of his other problems were different; Data had a philosophical condition that humans didn't, one uniquely his own. He knew for certain which force in the universe had created him.

He was solely a product of human imagination, and as such he had no metaphysical crutch to lean upon. In many ways this was an advantage. He knew the purposes and reasons of his creation, and doubt about the meaning of life was absent from his thoughts. On the other hand, he had an artificial limit impressed upon himself by this knowledge. He had no true "culture" or "developmental stage" to be a part of. Data had never been a child. He had sprung, like Athena, fully grown from his father's head. There had been no other androids around for him to learn how to be an android after Data had been activated; humans were his teachers, and they taught him human things, which he greedily absorbed. Up until now it had been an acceptable philosophy.

But now everything had changed; he had discovered others of his kind. The Vemlans had provided an alternate model for him to base his actions upon, and more, to compare his past actions with. There was an entire ship of androids, and they did not act like him. In fact, they were more similar to his human companions than to him. They laughed, felt, schemed, cried, raged, and loved. They seemed to share the same weaknesses his adopted culture did. Yet they were decidedly not human in the way they thought.

A review of the history that Maran had sent him stopped mysteriously short-by three hundred years-of the time of their construction. Still, Data had been able to make inferences from the conversations with Maran and Kurta and Dren last night that allowed him to form a theoretical model of their hardware and software functions. He recognized a basic likeness here. Though there was an external similarity with humans, the goals and values of the Vemlans were similar to those he had developed himself: a need for knowledge that if found in a human would be labeled obsessive; a desire for excellence that no human could hope to live up to; a sense of planning and patience that could be seen in some organic cultures, but rarely in individuals. Both were beings of logical thought, surpa.s.sing, perhaps on some levels, the severely logical Vulcan schools of logic. The psychology, if one could apply the term to a constructed race, was very similar. The Vemlan androids had been programmed with basic emotions, emotions Data could not understand, but he saw enough similarity in character to make the a.s.sumption that, as a group, he and the Vemlan androids were the same.

Superficially, they weren't the same, of course. They had been designed differently, for slightly different functions. Their exterior casings were markedly different. The Vemlans looked human, while Data's features were styled specifically to tell him apart from true humans. The mannerisms of the other androids were almost indistinguishable from those of organic creatures, for some reason. Data's mannerisms reflected his mechanical nature in many ways. His memory was greater, he theorized, and his reasoning powers were far superior; he was designed, after all, for acc.u.mulating and relaying information. Of the two specimens, Data was structurally closer to the machine.

Yet these differences were unimportant, Data hypothesized. He considered the early Earth philosophers who rose beyond the boundaries of their cultures and geography to realize that humans were humans, no matter where they were in the world, and he began to understand what a leap that had been in Earth history. The realization that "all men are brothers" had brought Earth to peace after a long history of violent warfare, and unified it into one vibrant culture. On that basis, Data considered, these androids were his spiritual siblings. Most likely, they were capable of understanding his motivations in ways that humans had not.

Data's brief relationship with his brother and prototype, Lore, had not felt this way, but then Lore had tried to use his self-constructed status to dominate Data, and had constructed the fiction that Data was less perfect than Lore. Kurta and Maran had not. They understood loyalty and duty and respect in ways that the self-serving Lore could not. The thought of his brother, loose somewhere in the cosmos in possession of the last legacy of his father, Noonian Soong, began to drive his thoughts in unproductive directions. Data switched tracks.

He considered his relationship with the other android he had known: his constructed daughter, Lal. Lal was still with him in a way that no human could understand. His creation and reabsorption-the entire process of her existence and development-had changed Data in ways that not even he was totally aware of. True, he had not the emotional capacity she had developed-he had been forced to edit it out of the reabsorption or risk potential destruction himself. But he now understood better what it was like to sense another being that was close to yourself.

He had experienced that same sense of understanding, though to a lesser degree, when he spoke with the Vemlan androids.

Data sighed, an artificial gesture he had picked up from humans. He knew exactly why, physiologically speaking, humans needed to sigh, but he had sensed in his research that the need was not purely physical. It felt good to sigh. It gave one something totally uninvolved to concentrate on for a moment. Data sighed again.

But he had yet to come to any conclusions, save that the androids were beings very much like himself.

"Data?"

He turned, and saw Geordi La Forge standing in the open doorway of the shuttle bay lounge.

"Mind if I come in?" he asked, casually.

Data shook his head, knowing that in this informal case, a visual rather than verbal response would suffice. Geordi walked over to the chair next to where Data was sitting and slouched against the back.

"Commander Riker said you were a little upset. What's eating you, Data?"

"Eating me? I do not understand. There does not seem-"

"Idiom, Data! Idiom!" smiled Geordi, holding his hands up to halt the cascade of logic and query about to come forth.

Data stopped. "I see. You mean to say 'what is bothering you?' Correct?"

"Yes, Data. What's bothering you?"

Data paused for a long moment, a very un-Data like thing to do. Geordi took note. Of all the crew of the Enterprise, he knew Data best, inside and out. A pause might not be significant to a pa.s.sing acquaintance, but to Geordi it rang alarm bells.

"I seem to be experiencing severe doubt about my purpose and existence."

"I see," said Geordi, nodding. He wasn't all that surprised-he had been expecting something like this. "And does a certain alien ship have anything to do with your troubles?"

"That is the problem, Geordi. The crew of the Freedom is not completely alien to me."

"I see," the blind man repeated. "Care to talk about it?"

Data returned his gaze to the viewport, and continued the discussion as he watched the stars. "The executive officer of the ship, Kurta, spoke to me about my place in Starfleet and on the Enterprise. While we were discussing the matter, I brought up the nickname Commander Riker once gave me, and explained its connotations."

"Pinocchio. And?"

"She became upset, nearly angry. She asked me why I studied human interpersonal relationships and cultural mannerisms so intently, instead of developing my own, and then voiced doubts about my responses. Though she knows little about my situation, she spoke with great conviction, and as a similar logical being, I cannot fail to appreciate the accuracy of her findings. She made insinuations that indicated that I seem to feel inferior to humans and therefore studied and copied them only to perpetuate the illusion that I am human."

"You do."

"As flawed as this-What did you say?"

"I said that you do. You study humans and adopt their characteristics so that you can appear more human."

"You agree with this a.s.sessment?"

"Data, come on, stop acting like it's a death sentence," Geordi urged. "I swear, sometimes you act the most human when you're busy being an android! Look at you, defensive, insecure, even a little whiny."

Data considered the matter. "Perhaps I seem that way. But-"

"But, nothing." Geordi watched the stars for a moment as he talked. He didn't like being blunt with people-he tried to be sensitive and caring whenever he could; that was his nature. But sometimes subtlety and sensitivity were the wrong tools in a friendship. Especially with Data, whose positronic "feelings," quirky at best, had a difficult time understanding subtlety. But sometimes you had to be brutal in order to be a good friend, and Geordi knew full well that no one else on the ship could bear to bring themselves to speak harshly to the goodhearted mechanical man. I'm sorry, Data, he thought, but this is going to hurt me more than it will hurt you.

"Data, every time you don't understand an illogical human mannerism, you study it to death, and then use it at every possible opportunity, overly concerned that you've been conspicuous because you lacked it before. After a while, everyone gets sick to death of you and tells you to shut up. Like the time you picked up slang for the first time, and called Deanna a 'real nice broad' and told the captain 'aye, aye, Daddy-o.' "

"Impossible, Geordi," Data responded. "I have been programmed to place value on my physical well-being and the well-being of my companions, but I have no internal program that allows me to feel emotions such as fear and insecurity."

"Maybe not," said Geordi sharply, wincing at what he felt compelled to say. "But you do try your d.a.m.ndest to fit into human society. Obsessively, even. And when you try that hard, you usually miss the subtleties of the situation and fail. There's an ancient Earth expression for the way you act, sometimes-uptight."

While Data pondered the etymology and syntax of the saying, Geordi began speaking again. "Let me tell you a story.

"When I first got to the Academy, before I got my VISOR, I was just like you-anxious, scared I'd do the wrong thing, afraid I'd really mess up. Uptight. I was green as gra.s.s. It wasn't just being there, it was being there and being blind. Starfleet Academy had only graduated nine blind students before me, and I was afraid I'd really blow my chances.

"My senior adviser saw how jittery I was and decided to put a stop to it. He came to my bunk early one morning to tell me about something or other, and before he left he told me I had my socks on the wrong feet, and to switch them before morning inspection.

"I was mortified. I figured that everyone had been laughing at me behind my back for weeks, too polite or embarra.s.sed to point it out. I didn't want to let him know that I didn't know about it, so I thanked him and he left. I rationalized. Gloves go on a right or left hand, shoes are right and left, so socks must be the same way. I desperately wanted to ask someone about it, but I was afraid I'd make a total idiot out of myself. So I sat there and felt my socks, trying to figure out which one went on which foot. I felt them so long that I eventually figured out which was my left sock and which was my right sock."

"But, Geordi," said Data, confused, "there are no bisymmetrical distinguishing characteristics for socks."

"I know, Data. My adviser knew, too. But I was so nervous about it that I asked a good friend of mine if my socks were on the right feet after inspection that morning. I guess she looked at me pretty hard, like I was going crazy. Then she asked me whose feet they should be on."

"I do not understand," Data said.

"It's a joke, Data," Geordi sighed. "But more importantly, it's a story with a moral. I sat in my room all day that day, trying to figure out why my adviser had pulled such a cruel joke on me. I was really mad. Then I realized how foolish I'd been, trying so hard to do everything so correctly that I must have looked like an idiot all along. I found my adviser after that and thanked him. And after that I became the relaxed individual you see before you today."

"Are you suggesting that I am not relaxed?"

"Anything but, Data," Geordi said apologetically. "You remind me a little of a puppy who tries too hard to learn the tricks right. When you get one right, you ignore your accomplishment and go along to the next one, and when you get one even a little wrong, you browbeat yourself to death."

Data looked intently at his friend. "If you knew this flaw in my behavior, why did you not bring it to my attention before now?"

"Because it's not a flaw, Data, it's a personality quirk, and if you took away all our personality quirks, there wouldn't be any quaint human mannerisms for you to copy. Besides, you wouldn't have listened to me before now."

"Why not? Have I not always given due consideration to your advice?"

"Yeah, mostly." Geordi sighed. Geordi did a lot of sighing when he talked to Data. "But you always listen to the words and not their meaning. I couldn't tell you before because you weren't ready." Geordi changed the subject. "Data, don't you feel some kind of kinship with the other androids?"

"Yes, I do, Geordi. I have found a strong affinity exists between us."

"I thought so. And there isn't anything wrong with that. As a matter of fact, I encourage it. As entertaining and enlightening as my own company is, I think spending a little time with some folks built along the same lines as you would do you good. Your problem right now is that you've discovered yourself to be a swan among ducks."

"Idiom?"

"Check Hans Christian Andersen's fairy tales. 'The Ugly Duckling.' "

Information whizzed through Data's brain as he recalled the story. He absorbed it in an instant, and brightened as he grasped the significance. "Ah, I see. You are using the story as an allegory paralleling my own situation. The ducklings represent humanity, and the Vemlan androids are represented by the swan community. I am placed in the role of the misplaced swan hatchling who is mistaken for a duckling chick and treated with disrespect because of the mistaken impression," he said, with an air of satisfaction. "Interesting."

"You've been looking in the mirror and seeing what an ugly human you were. For the first time, you can look into the mirror and see what a beautiful android you are. I think you're a little scared. I certainly would be, in your place."

"Interesting," Data repeated. He seemed to find the insight useful. "Although I am not certain the term scared is appropriate, I believe I understand your a.s.sessment of my condition. So you believe the Vemlan androids are my people."

"In a way," Geordi conceded; there was no reason to get his mechanical friend overly excited about newfound relations. "Consider them distant third cousins, twice removed, or something like that. But Data?"

"Yes, Geordi?"

"Don't forget that I'm your friend. No matter what. Nothing you can do or say can lose you my friendship. And the people on board this ship-they're your family, too. Whatever else happens, you can't mess that up."

Data smiled, a rare but special occasion. "I will not forget, Geordi. You are my best friend."

"I know of no such authority, Captain Picard," said the image of Jared. "He has no jurisdiction over my ship."

"He seems quite insistent, Captain Jared," replied Picard, quietly but urgently. He was in the ready room, another cup of tea by his elbow. For this conversation he needed to think without all of the interruptions and distractions of the bridge. He decided he had made a wise choice; the conversation thus far had been a reiteration of innocence and a total denial of any wrongdoing. Jared and the androids had their story and they seemed to be sticking to it. "He hasn't said so yet, but his manner showed that he would be willing to recapture your vessel by force."

"An outrage," said the android captain instantly, with an edge in his voice. "The worst sort of piracy. If he attempts to do so, we will have no choice but to defend ourselves. You may tell him that."

"Perhaps. He also accused you and your crew of appropriating the Freedom, which he called the Conquest, without the permission or knowledge of her owners."

"An outright lie, Captain," Jared said, his face becoming even more intense. "Android labor built this ship, android brains designed it, and android hands launched it. We are its rightful owners."

"I see." Picard decided to pursue another tack. "Force Commander Sawliru claims to be from the planet Vemla, which you said was destroyed. Would you care to explain?"

Jared shook his head. "I said devastated, not destroyed, Captain. We chose not to try to rebuild because we felt we were unequal to the task. There are not very many of us."

Picard was becoming impatient, though he had the diplomacy not to show it. "I confess I find this tangle of stories, of fact and fiction and biased point of view, quite confusing, Captain. We rendered you aid in good faith, and though we ask nothing in return, I would appreciate honest answers to my questions. Sawliru spoke of other crimes, and made other accusations. It might be necessary for me to take action here, and I cannot do so without knowing the facts!"

"You would offer us protection?" asked the android.

"If the occasion merited it, yes, it would be my responsibility to take action to protect your ship. But there is no way I can make that decision if I do not know the facts!" Picard said, frustrated. "Force Commander Sawliru is in possession of considerable force. I would offer the services of this ship, as an agent of the United Federation of Planets, to independently and peacefully arbitrate this dispute."

Jared frowned. "My people and I would be taking an awfully big chance on your good faith, Picard," he warned.

"We have dealt in good faith. We will not change our policy," Picard vowed.

Jared continued to look uneasy, despite Picard's a.s.surances. "Captain, you have a superior ship. Dren hasn't stopped talking about it. From what he told me, you could ward off ten fleets the size of Sawliru's. If you chose to defend us, we would undoubtedly be safe. Yet though I am in command, I cannot make any a.s.surances on behalf of my crew. You must understand that we have been through ... much. We are the last of our kind, and we will fight to defend ourselves. Against Sawliru, and yes, against the Enterprise, however ineffectual conflict would be. We have been betrayed before." The glare in Jared's eyes flashed a stern warning.

"Understood, Captain," he responded, firmly. "I simply want to see the truth come out. Perhaps if the three of us-myself, you, and Sawliru-got together to talk ..."

"Sawliru?" asked the other captain, astonished. "You expect me to sit down with the man who accuses me of piracy?"

"It is the only way I will even consider the matter of protection," he insisted. "I want to hear all points of view on neutral territory, the Enterprise."

"You guarantee safe conduct?" he asked suspiciously.

"You have my word," Picard said, fixing the android with a steely stare of his own. "You shall come and go under my personal protection."

There was a long pause. "Then I shall be there," the android said, and abruptly disconnected the transmission. Picard sighed, and finding his tea untouched and lukewarm, drained it in one swallow.

One down, one to go, he thought, as he poured another. He didn't enjoy this political maneuvering, but he realized that it was a vital part of his job. Starfleet was a service organization, and part of that service was getting conflicting parties together to work out their differences with words, not with weapons. It was a maddening task, and usually doomed from the start, but rarely did anything bad come out of such negotiations. He hoped this would be one of those times where a difference of opinion could be addressed peacefully. He took a sip of tea while he put through a call to Force Commander Sawliru, with whom he would have to go through the entire process from the beginning.

Chapter Six.

THE ATMOSPHERE IN THE conference room was tense, Picard noted, but that was neither unusual nor unexpected in a case like this. It had taken him nearly an hour of haggling over the particulars, but the Vemlan navy had agreed to send a delegation to the impromptu peace conference. Of course, Worf had informed him that the fleet had arrayed itself in a strongly defensive formation, but Picard had expected that, after talking with Sawliru. The Force Commander was a military man, evidently on a military mission, and took no chances. He also, Picard expected, wanted to strut his fleet a little bit in front of both the androids and the Enterprise.

The captain sat at the head of the table in a position of neutral authority. To his left was a refreshed and relaxed Counselor Troi; he relied on Deanna for much, and desperately needed her insight on the positions of the conflicting parties. Successfully deceiving Deanna was almost impossible, he knew, and this was an occasion where it seemed to be vital to get the truth out in the open.

Past Deanna on the left sat the android delegation, Jared and Kurta. Maran had beamed over as well, but she was enjoying a much less stressful conversation with Commander Data in Ten-Forward. Picard had been informed about Data's rendezvous and made a mental note to keep an eye on his second officer.

The visiting androids were dressed in their usual tan coveralls, colored bandoliers of rank strapped across their torsos. Picard sensed that both were trying to present a casual, confident face for the event-though Jared retained his belligerent and impervious manner. But they also seemed quietly nervous to him.

He found the delegation from the Vemlan navy, on the other hand, confident, cool, and collected. Getting Sawliru to agree to the conference had been only slightly less difficult; the man seemed willing to partic.i.p.ate in preliminary discussion, even if only to investigate the Starfleet vessel. Sawliru had arrived via personal shuttle (he would not consent to an "alien" transporter beam) with a middle-aged woman he treated with extreme deference.

Introduced as Mission Commander Alkirg, the diplomatic head of the navy, she wore a formal yellow gown, with jewelry that hung from her neck, ears, hair, and gown in an effective, if gaudy, display of wealth. Her hands were sheathed in long yellow gloves and wore them as if they were for protection from infection as much as for style. Overall, she had an aristocratic, patrician air about her which reminded Picard of the worst sorts of politicians-those who felt innately superior, those whose minds could not be swayed by the most rational of arguments.

In these circ.u.mstances, that made him more than a little nervous.