NEW: The Sound of Truth [PG] TNG,Data 2/2

[Melinda J Loges]

Disclaimers and other assorted stuff:

PARAMOUNT owns the Star Trek universe, Data, Picard, Troi, Bajor,
Cardassia, etc., etc. (But they don't own Terra, hah!) I'm just mucking about
in their playground for fun-not profit. No copyright infringement intended.

This is my first posted story, so if I've violated any sacred format rules, please
be gentle. I've tried not to. I welcome any comments; send to my e-mail.

Historical note: This is set near the end of the seventh season of TNG (i.e.
pre-emotion chip) and does rather eradicate the continuity thereafter. Oh well.
It makes specific reference to "The Measure of a Man" (season 2) and "The
Offspring" (season 3.)

"The Sound of Truth" and characters created specifically therefor: Copyright
1997, Melinda Loges.


The Sound of Truth (Part 2 of 2)

Jasal sat in the middle of his bed, enticing Spot with a ball of yarn.
Data had just finished adjusting his storage space to make room for her clothing
and the other belongings he had retrieved from her parent's quarters.
Hairbrush, her violin, some of her favored toys-particularly the prized set of
real wooden building blocks. That had been a gift from her grandparents. He
glanced to the shelf behind his desk, to the closed box that sat, untouched since
the morning's memorial service, in the corner. It was a Terran antique, 18th
century, a miniature chest of cherry, delicately carved, from an Italian master.
Her parents still spoke Italian in the home, she had told him, looking
backward while she looked... 'Forward?', he had supplied. 'Outward.' Her
words had confused him; her great-grandfather had been an admiral in the
formative years of Starfleet. They were a modern family, why would they
oppose her marriage to a Bajoran? 'I don't know, Data, there are some
questions that have no answers...'
The box held their holographic message to him. He had not played it;
the service had been too brief-too inadequate-for the tragedy it mourned. He
was not yet ready to hear their final words to him.
Jasal giggled and Data looked back to her, in time to see Spot leap
after the trail of red yarn, catch a claw in the bedcovers, and tumble to the floor.
The cat marched away from the bed, tail straight in the air. She jumped to the
desktop and began to soothe her wounded dignity with a bath. Jasal looked
over to Data, and struggled to stop giggling long enough to speak.
"Aren't you going to chase her off the desk?"
He regarded the yellow tabby. "To do so would be futile; she is more
stubborn than I." He sat down on the edge of the bed. "Jasal." He stopped,
searching for the right words. "It is late. Perhaps you should prepare for bed."
"Will you read me a story?"
"Of course. Choose whichever you like."
They sat together on the sofa as Data read to her. She leaned against him and
laid her cheek against his chest when he put his arm around her. The story was
an ancient Bajoran fable about the miracle of joy. He enjoyed the Bajoran
mythos; the ideas were provocative, presented with such grace that the culture
itself became a work of art.
She began to fiddle with his communicator when he finished the story.
He waited, eyes on the brown hair.
"I miss them," she whispered.
"As do I."
She looked up to his face. He saw tears in her eyes. He pulled her legs
onto his lap and held her.
"It is all right to cry, Jasal. It is all right to be sad."
"Are you sad?"
"I cannot be sad. I do not have feelings."
"But you miss them."
"They were my friends."
She nodded. He tightened his arms around her and carried her to the
bed.
"Where will you sleep?" she asked.
"I do not need sleep."
"Then why do you have a bed?"
He held up the covers for her. "Sometimes I lie down to activate my
dream program."
She climbed in, but grabbed his arm as he began to lay the covers over
her. "Data, will you... will you stay with me?"
"Yes, Jasal, I will be here all night."
"Can you lay down with me?" He looked at her, surprised. "Please."
He removed his shoes, and slipped into the bed next to her. She rolled
over and pulled his arm around her waist. Eyes closed, he ordered the
computer to lower the lights. She was quiet for a while, but then he felt her
body tremble, and heard stifled sobs. He sang to her, very softly, a simple
lullaby, until the trembling stilled and she slept.
When he was sure she was sleeping soundly, he crawled from the bed
and went to his desk. He placed the carved box in his lap and slowly opened
the lid. Gently, he picked up the two pieces of jewelry that lay next to the
holographic base. The betrothal bracelet, the only link that had remained of
Netil's past. And his ceremonial earring, painstakingly designed and fashioned
in a refugee camp. Data closed his hand around them, placed the hologram on
the desk, and activated it. The image flared in the darkness.
Sylvannia-quiet, serious, but always smiling. She spoke of their
friendship, of the honor he had done for them. He closed his eyes and her last
words repeated in his head.
'I know you have doubts; put them aside. She is your child now. And
you can give her all that she needs. Take care of her, Data. Take care of our
baby...'

A week passed. The child's care had smoothly become a part of Data's
routine. Counselor Troi had kept him informed of her daily sessions with Jasal-
she was beginning to heal. He had steadfastly avoided any mention of his
guardianship, and he guessed from the counselor's expression that she knew he
was stalling.
He could do so no longer. He had reached his decision, it was time to
implement it.
He sat at his desk, trying to compose a communication to Jasal's
grandparents. But whatever words he set down seemed deficient. He stood and
paced the length of the room, willing his thoughts to consolidate. She was
happy enough with him for now; he was familiar to her, she trusted him. And
he would not add his own doubts to the burden of her loss. She needed him.
But soon, when she had recovered from the shock, he would not be enough.
*She will be home soon.*
He paced; the room seemed incomplete without her. He recognized
the gradual changes in his systems, already becoming significant.
Reallocation of subroutine resources; reassignment of algorithm priority. The
changes were not conscious, not voluntary, and soon she would be more
consequential than any other being in his life. And when she left...
He shook his head at the thought. He could not keep her with him
simply because he did not want her to leave.
The door opened and she ran in. After telling him about her day, she
settled down to practice her violin. He sat at the desk to listen.
He smiled when she laid down the bow. "I am impressed. Your
technique has improved."
Grinning, she came behind the desk and climbed into his lap. She
tapped the computer panel. "What were you doing?"
"Composing a message to your grandparents."
She turned to face him. "Why?"
He had to tell her. He had to tell her now.
"We must determine who would be the most appropriate long-term
guardian for you."
"You're my guardian," she said quickly.
"Jasal, I cannot-"
"You're my guardian. I live with you." She pushed away from him.
"You have to keep me. You stood for me. You have to."
"I will always be here for you, Jasal. But I cannot give you everything
that you need."
She shoved his arms away from her. "You don't want me!"
"It is not a matter of what I want."
Her hands closed into fists and she started to cry, choking on her
words. "You don't want me! You're going to leave me!" She hit him, tears
streaking her cheeks, and then she pounded on his chest and arms. He let her,
his hands on her legs to give her stability. Finally she subsided and folded into
his arms. He pulled her close, her face pressed into his neck, tears seeping into
the collar of his uniform. He rocked her as she cried. Without recognizing the
impulse, he began to stroke her hair.
Her words came, muffled. "Why did they leave me?"
"It was not their fault, Jasal. They did not wish to leave us."
Words burned his processors-his ethical programming rebelled at their
insistence. He tightened his hold on her. He wanted to hold her to his body
forever, to protect her, to shield her from any more pain. Pushing aside the
conflicting messages, he overrode the level one priority on what amounted to
his conscience.
He could not send her away, not yet. Whatever the consequences,
whatever the cost. The words impelled him.
"I want you," he said softly.

Picard shoved the monitor away from him with disgust. His mouth a
hard line, he tapped his communicator.
"Bridge: Alter course for Starbase 29. Warp five. Mr. Data, my ready
room."
Data entered a moment later and approached the desk.
"Sir?"
"Commander Bergelli's parents have decided to contest your custody of
Jasal."
There was no change in expression, the hands hanging loose at Data's
sides never moved, but Picard saw the flash behind the golden eyes. Data sat
down in the chair facing the desk. His eyes never left Picard's face.
"We've been ordered to report to the JAG office at Starbase 29. He
took a deep breath, staring at the desk. "If you don't voluntarily relinquish
custody, there will be a hearing to determine your competence."
"Starfleet supports this?"
"Officially, they must pursue it. Unofficially..." He looked up. "I have
no idea what they think. The Bergelli family..." He trailed off, and then forced
himself back. "Starfleet Command cannot afford to ignore the issue."
Data nodded; his eyes fell and he studied the floor beneath the desk,
inscrutable. Picard watched him, trying to penetrate his thoughts.
"What will you do?"
"I have accepted responsibility for her; I cannot abnegate that
responsibility."
Picard lifted his mug from the desk, and ran his fingers along its edges.
He kept his eyes on the cup. "A hearing might be... difficult for her."
"You believe I am acting selfishly?" Data said to the floor.
"I didn't say that."
Data lifted his eyes to Picard's face. He was silent. Picard set the cup
down, pushed it away from him. He fingered the arms of his chair. Finally, he
faced his friend, some beast of conscience forcing the words from him.
"Is this in her best interests?"
"She has stated, unequivocally, that she wishes to remain with me."
"Data, she's only six years old. What she wants is-she can't possibly
know what would be best for her."
"And are my wants to be discarded as well?"
Picard fell back, stunned.
Data's eyes closed; his head jerked to the side. "I am sorry, sir. That
was unwarranted." He stood, walked to the corner beyond the couch. His back
turned, he spoke.
"You supported my custody before."
Yes, he had-where had this bloody conscience been then? "There is a
family friend, a schoolmate of Commander Bergelli's, who is willing to take the
child. She lives on Earth, close to Jasal's grandparents. She-"
"Would be a more suitable guardian than I."
"As suitable." Picard sighed. "Data, I'm not suggesting that you
should give her up. I'm simply asking that you consider her needs objectively."
"How shall I do that, sir?" he said quietly. "At present, 53.8 percent
of my conscious mental functions are devoted to her. I would not care to hazard
a guess on the state of my unconscious programming." He turned back to
Picard. "She is a part of me now. I can no longer separate her needs from my
own."
"You love her."
"I am not capable of love." The voice was familiar-calm, impassive-
but the words sounded harsh, almost bitter. And Picard was now, finally,
disillusioned with the refrain.
"You do one hell of an imitation." He watched the man-*the man*-
standing still and stolid before him, poise belied by the trace of tension in the
brow, the flutter in the breath. Picard's thoughts congealed-conscience be
damned.
"You are relieved of duty until the matter is settled, Commander."
Data stepped forward, his mouth parted. "Go, Data, prepare for the hearing.
Whatever you decide, I will support you."

Picard, Data, and Troi transported down to the JAG facility on
Starbase 29. An aide escorted them to Admiral T'Paia's office. Picard still
hoped, futilely he knew, that a hearing could be avoided.
T'Paia greeted them with diplomacy. Picard studied the admiral
surreptitiously, but there was no flaw in her composure. A battle between
android and Vulcan-at least he wouldn't be faced with raised voices.
They seated themselves and T'Paia turned to Data.
"I presume you have familiarized yourself with the Bergellis'
deposition, Lieutenant Commander Data."
"Yes, sir."
"Do you wish to dispute?"
"Yes, sir."
She considered the terse reply, with the inevitable raised eyebrow. She
turned to Troi.
"Commander Troi, the child has been in the Lieutenant Commander's
custody for ten days, correct?"
"Yes, Admiral."
"And what is your professional assessment?"
Troi's eyes flashed to Data's dispassionate gaze. Picard could see
reservation in her posture, in the slight movement of her hands. He slammed
down control on his own thoughts, literally clenching his teeth-dammit, she had
to be detached, that was her job-but some part of him wanted to lash out, to turn
on her the accusations that had flayed his own conscience. *You can't do this!
He's your friend!*
Troi answered, measuring her words. "Jasal seems to be fairly well
adjusted to the situation, Admiral."
"'Fairly well adjusted?'"
"This has been an enormous-"
"I realize that she has experienced a considerable trauma, Commander.
I am asking you to evaluate the wisdom of leaving her in the care of an
android."
Troi hesitated, eyes twitching from Data to T'Paia.
T'Paia leaned back, fingers laced, thumbs tapping. "You are an
empath, are you not?"
"Yes, sir," Troi said, nodding.
"Can you not sense the child's emotional disposition?"
Troi let her gaze drop to her knees. "Sir, all my senses tell me that she
is happy with Data, that she loves him and trusts him completely." She looked
up. "All my instincts tell me that, eventually, she will need more than he can
give her."
T'Paia turned to Data. "Lieutenant Commander, would you care to
make a rebuttal?"
"With respect, Admiral, I am not here to debate my colleague's
perceptions."
The eyebrow jumped. "You do not feel her objections merit a
response?"
He regarded her, eyes focused on the rigid face. "Your duty, sir, is to
determine whether I will be a competent guardian, not to insist that I be an
exemplary one. I do not believe that any parent can hope to provide everything
that a child might require."
She inclined her head to him, granting a small smile. "Your point is
well taken, sir. I ask that you tolerate my inquisition. I assure you I do not
demand perfection."
He inclined his head in response. "As you wish, Admiral."
She laid a hand on the desk, glancing down to the monitor. "This is
not your first experience with parenthood."
"No, sir, it is not."
She looked at him. "Has your previous experience colored your current
perceptions?"
"I fail to see how it could not." He paused. "Nor do I see why it should
not. Lal was very special to me."
"Perhaps your feelings for Lal are affecting your judgment more than
you realize."
"Your point, sir."
"I am concerned that you are acting on your desire for a second
chance."
"Perhaps I am."
Troi gasped, and Picard inhaled sharply. Data ignored them both, his
gaze steady on T'Paia's face. She waited. At length, he relented.
"Your concerns are valid. I am not entirely certain that my
motivations are... pure. I also believe them to be immaterial. Commander
Bergelli and Lieutenant Atyo designated me as Jasal's guardian. Whatever the
moral implications of their decision, their wishes are clear."
Picard watched the android with growing wonder. This was not the
person who had moved to obey when ordered to give up his android daughter,
not the person who had sat by, silent, unassuming, while others had argued his
sentience, the very existence of his soul. Picard's stomach rolled, a sudden fear
gripping him, when he recognized the intensity in Data's eyes. He would not
give this child up, no matter what the consequences.
T'Paia stared at Data; Picard could almost see the glint of metal as
their eyes fenced. "You considered them your friends," she said.
"I did, sir."
She leaned forward. "You are a machine. Do you not question the
credibility of calling your interactions friendship?"
"When a person's needs and desires become as important as one's own,
sir, that is friendship, and one's humanity, or lack thereof, is not relevant."
"You are a worthy opponent, Lieutenant Commander."
"I am committed to my cause, Admiral."
She looked to Troi. "Do you believe the child would suffer if removed
from his care, Commander?"
"Well, to some extent, but-"
T'Paia shook her head. "I do not require a full answer, Commander.
Yes or no will do."
Troi frowned. "Well, yes, sir."
"Thank you." T'Paia turned back to Data. "I will make every attempt
to forestall these proceedings."
He smiled. "Thank you, Admiral."
Picard sat back, reeling.

Data closed the book in his hands and placed it beside him on the sofa.
Jasal was curled up on his lap, head settled in the crevice of his arm, feet
crammed into the crack of the cushions on the couch. He had received the
Admiral's report hours ago. He did not know how she had managed to support
his claim, nor did he care.
Jasal was his.
She smiled up to him. "I like that story."
His mouth quirked. "Your tastes are indulgent."
She nodded, eyes closing. "I love you, Data." He was silent, his
doubts hammered. His fingers combed her hair. It did not matter.
"Do you love me?" The voice came, soft, insistent.
The answer reverberated in his processors-'I am not capable'-and he
recoiled from it. She did not need the truth, she needed the words. Those
words. He saw Lal's face. He had wanted to give her those words, wanted to
give her that feeling. His ethical routine had been too forbidding; the lie had
not come. *You are incomplete...*
How would it sound?
Would it sound like a lie? Would an act be enough for her? His eyes
rested on the still body in his arms. She was asleep. Did it matter? When this
precious being needed to hear the words, did truth matter?
Signals streamed down his pathways. Ethical commands clashed with
impulses he could not identify, demanding the words, demanding the feeling
that his systems could not provide. It was wrong to lie. It was wrong to deny
her those words. Paradox.
His circuits could produce no answer. This was learning. Finding
answers when heuristics failed.
How would it sound?
"I love you," he whispered.
She stirred in his arms, snuggled deeper into his embrace. "I know
you do."
Scarcely ten minutes later, he laid her in his bed and pulled the blanket
over her shoulders. He brushed his fingers across her cheek, pushed a tendril
of hair away from her eyes. He started to turn away, then stopped, leaned over
and pressed his lips to her forehead. He straightened and recognition shocked
him.
There had been no protest.
He had uttered the words, he had claimed the feeling, and his
conscience had been silent, assenting.
Truth.
He raised a finger to his lips, made the barest contact with the skin he
had touched to hers. The Captain's words came to him in an echo-'attention,
protection, guidance...'
He stared at his fingertips. Perhaps the truth lay in the action after all.
He turned down the lights and sat, the quiet breathing from his bed
and the gentle purr of the cat beneath his hands creating resonance with the
tenor of his thoughts. Tomorrow he would request family quarters. They could
decorate together...

[Rosemary]

I like this story. Data's emotional evolution is dealt with believably
and all the canon characters stay true to life. Wish the writers of TNG
had been as brave with the character's development.
Keep up the good work
Rose

[Mary Jo Hurd]

Hi Melinda,

This was a very *VERY* well done story.
I'm trying to type this with tears in my eyes.
<sniff>

I've never seen a better humanized-Data story.
I could see and hear this one throughout.
<going for kleenex>

Keep up the good work and thanks...
--
Mary Jo Hurd
Voyager/Janeway/Mulgrew fan