Paramount Global owns the Star Trek franchise. This is a piece of fan fiction based on Star Trek the Next Generation.

You are not friend

    “Data we want to go to the Luminaria.” Wil ordered.

    It was obvious that Data was not happy with that thought but he entered the coordinates into the transporter station. Everyone got on the transporter pad except Data. “You are going with us.” Wil ordered.

    Data glared at him, “great.”

    The little ensign behind the podium was shocked. So many of the commanding officers had never been in the transporter room at one time during his watch. Data climbed onto the pad. “Energize.” Picard ordered. 

    “Yes sir.” Came a weak reply.

    Soon they materialized in the corridor to the Luminaria. “What was that little display about?” Wil snapped.

    “I have no desire to be here.” Data answered.

    They all entered the room. “Okay,” Picard asked. “What is this?”

    “It is a Luminaria. It takes light waves and generates images of thought.” Data answered.

    “That could be very personal.” Beverly remarked.

    “You have no idea how.” Data almost snarled.

    “Data you did a marvelous job playing tonight.” Deanna smiled.

    “Thank you.”

    “How do you feel?”

    “I want to go to bed. I am tired.”

    “How does this thing work?” Picard asked.

    “Sit down sir.” Data answered.

    Picard did. The room filled with light, images started to appear on the walls. It was the vineyard in the small French village where Picard grew up. He and Robert were wrestling in the mud. Marie caught them and what started out as a fight ended up in laughter. The Picard brothers ended twenty ears of bitterness during that fight. Picard had mixed emotions about this memory. The next image that appeared was of him and Beverly when they were trapped on Kesprytt. Picard got up. “I take it the rest of you have tried this?”

    “No,” Data responded. “Only you and I, sir.”

    “Geordi.” Wil promptly reminded him.

    “Geordi isn’t here.” Data turned and walked out of the room.

    “Data,” Deanna called after him. She looked at Wil with concern. “Another contraction. Data!”

    “And you say he’s not schizophrenic.” Will offered.

    They all rushed after him. By the time they were in the corridor, he had disappeared. 

    “Where did he go?” Beverly asked.

    “Where did he go George? Huh! Where did he go?” Came a childlike voice.

    “I have zero patience for games.” Picard snapped.

    “Then you will get zero help finding Mr. Data.” The Jormungand’s voiced turned back to its feminine adult tone.

    “We are sorry.” Beverly answered. “What do you want?”

    “You are not truly friends of Data’s.”

    “What would make you say that?” Deanna asked.

   “He doesn’t want to be over here, yet you made him come anyway.” 

    “We are trying to get to the bottom of what is bothering him.” Picard answered. “Sometimes we do things that are distasteful. But they have to be faced.”

    “Picard, Jean-Luc – captain, your service record is impeccable.”

    He looked around, “thank you.”

    “Is Data alright.” Beverly asked.

    “Crusher, Beverly – doctor. Data is fine.”

    “Then where is he?” Deanna asked.

    “Troi, Deanna – counselor.” There was a pause. “Ewe Beta.”

    “What is wrong with me being a Betazoid?”

    “Half Betazoid. Your father was an honest man.”

    “What do you know about my dad?”

    “More than you.”

    “That’s enough!” Wil shouted.

    “Riker, William Thomas – commander; hot head with a healthy libido.”

    “Right.” He hissed. “Are we finished with the 20 observations?”

    There was silence.

    “Nice Wil.” Beverly remarked.

    They found themselves on the bridge. “Okay.” Deanna sighed.

Paramount Global owns the Star Trek franchise. This is a piece of fan fiction based on Star Trek the Next Generation.

The rehearsal

 Jean-Luc and Beverly walked down the corridor. She was the first to speak, “Jean-Luc?”

    He interrupted her, “Beverly?”

    They looked at each other blushing like school children. “What do you think about that little display?” she asked.

    The door to his quarters slid open. He motioned for her to enter. After the door slid closed behind them, he spoke. “I wonder if that was how Romeo felt?

    “What do you mean?”

    “Can I get you anything?”

    “No, I’m fine.” She said as she sat on the couch.

    His door chimed, “come.”

    It was Deanna and Wil. Deanna looked around and saw Beverly, “are we interrupting?”

    “No, not at all.” Beverly answered. 

    Deanna and Wil joined Beverly on the couch. Picard sat in a chair close to Beverly. “We were trying to figure out what happened in there?” He commented.

    “As were we.” Wil offered. For 5 minutes, I was Casanova.” He grinned.

    “A criminal?” Beverly asked.

    “No a lover with wit and charm. I can see me retiring to write my memoirs.”

    “Would you have 12 volumes?” Picard asked.

    “More.” Wil laughed.

    “I can almost envision that.” Picard smiled, “I fancied myself to Romeo.”

    “Romeo?” Deanna asked. “A passionate yet doomed lover?”

    “Yes.” Came his honest reply. “That makes twice Data has done something to invoke strange emotions in us.”

    “Maybe he is just giving us the opportunity to think about things that we should?” Wil inquired.

    “That was by far the best piece of music I have ever heard.” Beverly stopped.

    “What was that thing, for the lack of a better description? That developed in the corner of the room?” Wil asked.

    “You can’t convince me otherwise that it wasn’t the,” Beverly stopped.

    “Essence of a person.” Picard finished her sentence.

    “Exactly.”

    “And did it curtsy at him?” Deanna asked.

    “I thought it did.” Beverly remarked. “It was as if it was in the room already.”

    “Invisible. But his playing made it take form.” Wil added.

    “You don’t think that could have been inside Data and his playing brought it out?” Beverly frowned.

    Deanna analyzed, “I think that would have made his behavior more complex than that it has been. If that would have been the case, he would have acted schizophrenic.” 

    “You don’t think Data has been acting like two different people?” Picard asked.

    “No, I think he has been acting like a person who is confused, desperate.

    “Do you think he is acting out events that have happened in his past?” Picard asked.

    “No, I think he is remembering events in the past during those periods of turmoil. I still stick to my hypothesis that someone or something is communicating with him.” Deanna spoke. 

    “The formation in the corner could have been an attempted reconstruction of whomever is communicatingwith him,” Beverly interjected.

    “Do you think that is her ship?” Wil pointed out the window.

    “Her?” Picard questioned.

    “In my head, that outline was of a woman.”

    “And on the Jormungand in the Luminaria we saw part of a conversation Data was having with a woman.” Deanna remembered.

    “She had harsh things to say about Admiral Westerfield.” Wil added. 

    “He wasn’t invited to this rehearsal.”

    “Could it have been her?”

    “She would have to be a powerful being in order for that to happen.” 

    “Powerful, perhaps in trouble?” 

    “That is an interesting theory.” Picard voiced.

    “She said lots of things that I have questions about. She said she was a Goodwill Ambassador. I’ve tried to research Good Wil Ambassadors but there isn’t anything in our database.” Beverly hissed.

    “She also felt that Westerfield deployed her without proper authorization from the president.” Deanna commented.

    “None of this was in your reports.” Picard snapped.

    Deanna looked at Wil. “We are having a hard time writing a report. The things we want to say just don’t sound right. They don’t make any sense.”

    “If they don’t make sense to us, how are they going to make sense to you” Wil added.

    “What is a Luminaria?” Picard asked.

    “You have to see this thing?” Wil answered. He tapped his communicator. “Data, meet me in Transporter room 2.” He turned back to the group. “Let’s move our meeting.” The four friends moved to transporter room 2 where Data was waiting.