Chapter Thirteen
Man & Machine (Never in Anger)

"Merde."

Barely audible, the word was mumbled through taut lips as he shifted slightly in his seat. Discretely placing a steadying hand on his arm she watched as he fought the anger that had been on a slow boil for far too long.

". . .so, when Mr. LaForge notified the Bridge of the impending warp core breach how many different options went through your positronic brain?" Admiral Trane continued. Randall Trane had replaced Stopek for this part of the hearings. He had spent most of his career behind a desk at Starfleet Headquarters making decisions based on reports and computer analysis rather than actual field experience. He was supposed to be able to see things objectively but it still sent a chill into him whenever he looked into the golden eyes of this Officer.

"13," answered the android.

"And of those 13 options the one that you chose was?"

"To remain at my post, assist with the separation sequence and then attempt to help guide the ship to a safe distance from the star drive section."

"Your decision making process is unlike any other crew member is it not?" Trane knew exactly how different this officer was from the others. How could this machine possess emotions? And what effect did it have on his performance?

"I am considered unique in many respects," Data replied with his usual boyish innocence.

"Unlike other crewmembers, however, you have a complete record of every event, every thought that passed through your mind - is that correct?"

"Yes," Data answered as his head tilted slightly.

"Do you also have a complete record of the emotions that went along with these events and thoughts?"

"Yes. They have become fully integrated into my memory processors."

"Have you found the process of integrating these new emotions confusing at times?"

"At first - emotions are a very complex matrix."

Admiral Trane stopped to consider his next questions very carefully; he knew this line of questions was not going to be looked on favorably. But ever since reading about the Android's emotion chip several disturbing thoughts lingered his mind. To suddenly be able to feel, and everything that went along w/that in a single moment; it must have been completely overwhelming. The incident in the Amargosa Observatory backed that up. Yet, the officer had been cleared for active duty.

"What were some of the options you discarded in that moment, Mr. Data?"

Truthfully, too truthfully, Data said, "7 were possible Bridge commands, 6 were possible Engineering commands - including a personal attempt at a manual warp core ejection."

That was the option Trane had been waiting to hear. He knew damn well the Android was the only person that might have been able to withstand the radiation associated with that procedure. The Chief Engineer had already testified to the fact that no human could have completed that procedure in that time frame or withstood the radiation during the attempt.

"So it did cross your mind that you could have attempted a manual ejection?" Trane asked, his eyes lighting up like a hunter's sighting their prey.

"Yes," was the simple reply.

"And why did you discount that option?"

"Factoring in the amount of time, odds of possible success and my own chances for surviving such a procedure; I thought it better to remain at my post on the bridge to assist in efforts there."

"I'm curious, Mr. Data, did you have any particular emotion associated with that decision?"

Picard's knuckles were white from gripping his knees as he leaned forward in his chair. Beverly didn't understand his distress at first but it was becoming clearer as the Admiral brought the questions in a tighter circle.

She tried to keep focused on the proceedings but she could feel the anger emanating from Jean-Luc as he sat by; a silent witness to the play before them. His expression was still even but she had become even more attuned to his subtle nuances of emotions; the slight shifts he kept making in his posture told her he was doing everything in his power to control his anger.

Data cocked his head, although the access to his memory took less than a nanosecond, he found himself hesitating slightly before answering. When he did it was a single word, "Fear."

"That's the same word you used to describe your inaction during the incident at the Amargosa Observatory where a fellow officer was abducted and subsequently tortured was it not?"

Only Beverly's hand on his arm kept him from speaking out; he wanted nothing more than to tell that Admiral exactly what he thought of this line of questioning. If anyone was to blame for forcing Data back into duty too soon it was Picard; he recalled his own words to his Second Officer regarding controlling those emotions. Perhaps Picard had been using his duty as a shield in an attempt to keep his own despair regarding the deaths of his brother and nephew from consuming him but Data didn't deserve this.

Playing the same role as in Picard's hearing, Bernard Rossa leaped to his feet in protest. "That's a separate incident Trane - it has no bearing in this hearing."

Admiral Henry agreed but Trane countered, "It goes to support a pattern of behavior."

Henry agreed to allow a little latitude in this area.

Addressing the witness again Trane continued, "What were your calculated odds for your success for you completing a manual ejection of the warp core?"

"Since I was unable to assess the damage first hand, my calculations were based on the reported time of 5 minutes to breach, my ability to complete the procedure based on past drills and the time it would take to reach the engineering section.."

"And what odds did you came up with, Mr. Data?"

"I deduced that there would be less than a 2 percent chance for success, with only a 3 second window for error." For once, Data held his accuracy to whole numbers.

Trane looked at the artificial officer, holding his eyes for just a second before proceeding. "So you knew there was a possibility, albeit a slight one that you could have successfully ejected the warp core before a full breach?"

"Yes, I was the only person on the ship who might have been able to withstand the radiation in the area."

"And what about your chances of survival? What odds did you calculate for that?"

"Less than 1 percent," Data replied matter-of-factly.

"Would you say that this fear that you felt was associated with your odds of completing the procedure or with your own chances for survival?"

Bernard was back on his feet but before he could open his mouth to protest, another voice called. Behind him Jean-Luc Picard was on his feet yelling.

"How dare you! You're using his memory against him. Just because he can recall every thought, every emotion doesn't mean it can be held against him. He's a fully realized sentient being; and like all sentient beings he makes decisions based on a variety of factors. The fact that he can actually recall the minutiae necessary to come to a single decision doesn't allow you to hold him accountable for each of those factors."

"Captain, you're out of order!" Trane shot back as he came to his feet. "Your officer might have been able to stop a warp core breach. He admits he was the only one who could have completed the procedure and yet he didn't even attempt it. When the other computers on board broke down he should have-"

"He's not a computer Dammit! He's not just another expendable part of the ship and his life is worth just as much as anyone else-"

"Is it worth 17 other lives?" Trane cut in sharply.

"Order! Order!" Admiral Henry had enough of this scene.

But Picard had one final thought to voice on the subject, "You ought to think about the lives he saved by staying at his post. Because believe me if he hadn't, I can guarantee there would have been a hell of a lot more than 17 deaths."

"These proceedings will come to order NOW!" boomed Henry above the crowd.

Picard and Trane were still standing, glaring at each other; the tension in the room heavy with their anger. To his left Jean-Luc could feel Beverly tugging gently on his sleeve, trying to bring him back into his seat. He turned his eyes away from the scene before him to her hand; he had more than enough of this courtroom, Starfleet, all of it.

Grasping her hand tightly he announced, "Come on. We're going home." Then pulling her up without even giving her the opportunity to reply he stormed out of the courtroom.

Following along side him to the Transporter Room she found a new target for her anger. He had interlocked his fingers in hers so tightly she had little choice but to match his quickened pace. She didn't mind so much as they made their way past the determined group of reporters but even as they stepped into the transporter room he gripped her just as tightly. The technician seemed surprised by their early departure but he asked no questions. Jean-Luc's expression was enough to silence him. Picard dropped the Doctor's hand as he confirmed their destination to the technician and then called, "Energize."

She could have turned on him the moment; they reappeared inside the house but she waited. She followed him into the library as he launched into a colorful tirade. Yes, she agreed with him about the way they had treated Data on the witness stand but now her own anger boiled as she watched Jean-Luc search for just the right bottle.

It was a rare outburst from him. First the scene in the courtroom and now this venting. It was more her style, actually. And she was just waiting for the opportunity to display her style.

Picard poured himself a shot of the green liquid. There was barely a break in the flow of his analysis of today's events as he downed the first swallow. He held an empty glass to her; his way of offering her a drink. She shook her head negatively. He has no idea, she thought.

"Let's go change out of these uniforms, Captain," she managed to fit in between his sentences. He followed her up the stairs; glass in one hand, bottle in the other still ranting with the occasional lapse into his native French.

She retrieved two hangers from the closet as he removed his jacket and tossed it toward the bed. It hit the edge, hung for a moment then slipped to the floor. "Hmph," he offered watching it as he planted himself in the rocking chair by the window. Picking up his glass from the nightstand he began to sip slowly this time. Beverly shot him a cross look before bending to gather the jacket; he didn't even notice.

Removing the communicators from each uniform she set them on the nightstand; his closest to the bed and hers to the right just a few inches away. With both of them having a penchant for that side of the bed it was still a nightly jockeying for the preferred position. His tirade was slowing - she listened for the opening.

"Like he's just a machine . . ." she heard him repeat for the fourth time since they arrived home. "What the hell do they think? Just because he has emotions now he's suddenly incapable of . . . well, if they think . . . Can you believe the way they treated him?" he asked again as rhetorically as he had the other four times. But this time she was ready.

"I can't believe the way you treated me?" she said as the spark took hold in her eyes.

He looked at her in confusion, "What are you talking about? Or did I miss something?"

"Yes, you could say that." He should have noticed the full flash of fire that now raged in her eyes but he had been so caught up in his own anger he had mistaken her silence for agreement. It was his second mistake of the day. She stood and flared at him, "You have NO idea what I'm talking about do you?"

He considered her for a moment and somewhere in the back of his mind a warning bell started to sound. That last phrase was not a good indication; he quickly went over the day's events and tried to pinpoint the something she was about to inform him of. No, nothing springs to mind. Perhaps it wasn't me? He decided to defend himself even though he knew he had no reason to defend himself. "Beverly I have no idea what you're talking about. If-"

"No, of course you don't," she cut him off. "I'm talking about the way you dragged me out of there like I was some pet on a leash!"

Her words and his sudden realization struck him like a sharp slap. His mouth dropped open to offer an apology but all he could manage was a simple, "Oh."

"Oh? Is that it?" she asked placing her hands on her hips and standing directly in front of him. "You haven't stopped talking since we got home and suddenly 'Oh' is all you can say?"

He knew he should have apologized immediately even before he knew what he was apologizing for; but to him this was the least of their troubles. "Beverly, I'm sorry."

Unfortunately it came sounding out a bit more patronizing than he intended. He was sorry just that in the heat of things he hadn't really thought about her . . . He looked up just in time to catch the latest flash in her eyes. This time he was determined to cut off the source before it spread. "Beverly, I just didn't think- "

"No, you didn't think. You just assumed I'd follow you - that you spoke for the both of us. Well let me tell you something Jean-Luc Picard, NO ONE, no one, speaks for me. IS THAT CLEAR?"

A heavy sigh escaped from him as he dropped his head forward to consider the green liquid in his glass. "I'm sorry," he repeated quietly while running a hand over his smooth head.

Her defensive stance softened as she leaned back to rest against the edge of the high bed. Perhaps she had directed more anger into the situation than she should have but something told her that if she let this incident go by the next one and the one after that would be that much more difficult to head off. Jean-Luc Picard was a man who learned from his mistakes. And she never had any problem pointing them out to him.

Now it was her turn to help him diffuse some of his anger.

Kneeling before him she reached to help him remove his boots. He watched her silently knowing this was her way of saying it was going to be okay. His toes wiggled in his socks as he watched her. She placed his boots in the exact spot he always kept them at the side of the bed; three quarters of the way down so that he could sit up and find them in the dark if necessary. At first she had protested the position as she tripped over them both night and morning on her way back to bed from the bathroom in the dark. But she quickly realized this was one of those habits that she would just have to accept. After all he had let her have the lion's share of cabinet space in the bathroom.

What the hell, she thought as she removed her boots and placed them next to his closer to the footboard. He had finished sulking from the dressing down he had just received and was back to thinking about the hearing. His knuckles becoming white, squeezing his glass as he replayed the final line of questions.

"They're not going to get away with it you know?" she offered as she tossed her socks haphazardly in the general direction of her boots.

"You can say that again," he said responding to the gentle prompt. "Data, Will, Geordi, everyone's actions were completely in line with procedure and they went above the call . . . Leave it to some Admiral whose spent his whole life behind a desk to make such an inane comment."

He was back into a full-blown rage. She listened as she lowered her pants and stepped out of them. He half-watched her; noticing her manner had become slower, almost teasing. The black t-shirt was next. Every move deliberate now; she tossed the discarded shirt in his direction. It hit the arm of his chair and slid to the floor. His attention focused on her as his own words slowed to match her rhythm.

She was kneeling in front of him again. This time his socks were the target. Toes wiggling on the cool floor as her hands slipped up his pant legs to caress the backs of his calves. Wasn't she just angry with me? he couldn't help thinking. But his own anger frightened him, stopped him from his instinctive reaction to the sight of her clad only in the lace undergarments.

"Beverly, I don't think this is a good time. I'm still upset and I wouldn't want to . . . to redirect that anger in the wrong direction."

She pulled back to rest on the edge of the bed again, "What's wrong with redirecting some of that energy for other purposes?" she offered in a voice laden with innuendo. "I can't think of a better way to work out some of that . . . anger."

"I- I," he hesitated, "Beverly, never in anger."

"You're not angry with me are you?"

"No. But I don't want to use you that way."

She laughed, "I can't believe you're going to let that Admiral get to you that way; that you're going to let him win?"

Slipping back invitingly onto the bed; her body rested just below eye-level. Leaning back in his chair, he took an audible gulp from his glass.

"Merde."