The Oppressor's Wrong (6 page)

Daniels sighed. “I'm so glad you thought this through, but I'm not a teacher, Data. I'm a security officer.”

“I am unsure how that would disqualify you from teaching art. Do you not have hobbies outside of being a security officer?”

Sage spoke from where he was busy rubbing blue and green paint on a canvas. “He blows things up.”

“You also paint. As I said, I read your service record and personal file.” He glanced back at Sage. “I am also aware that Mr. t'Saiga is a well-known artist on his homeworld. Though—he frowned—“I do not believe I would enjoy his style of painting.”

Daniels chuckled. “It takes all kinds, Data. I'm flattered you've chosen me to help you, but I'm not assigned to the
Enterprise.
I'll be on Starbase 375 in less than two days.”

“I do not mind.” Data grinned. “And besides, you owe me for rewriting your program.”

Daniels was surprised the ship's sensors didn't register a
thunk
from his jaw hitting the floor of the studio. He closed his mouth, but couldn't stop the laugh that built up from spilling over.

Sage had also turned, his smock a blue, green, and
yellow mess, as were his hands up to his wrists. “Damn.” He chuckled. “You learn fast.”

Daniels sighed. He couldn't really say no. It was his habit to paint most nights, and to handwrite Siobhan a letter every night, because she said he needed the practice. His penmanship was terrible.

But—how to teach? It would be easy for his wife—she did this for a living. He set his brush down, slid from the stool, and moved to the covered canvases. Daniels lifted the covers of two of them and looked beneath. “They're painting models.” He looked at Data. “You do that before?”

“Yes. But I am afraid my renderings no longer resemble the actual model's contours and lines. She was—” He hesitated. “Imperfect.”

“Data.” Daniels pushed up his sleeves as he moved back to the android. “The first thing we have to do is get rid of that attitude. Art isn't about perfection.”

“Nope,” Sage said to their left.

Data frowned. “Is art not about reproduction?”

“Noooo'” Daniels chewed on his lower lip. He ran a hand through his thick blond hair. How would Siobhan put this? “Art is about;in essence—emotion.”

This statement caused Data to perk up. “Please. Go on.”

“A machine can replicate something, making an
exact copy. But that's just a copy. Art is more the
impression
of something. You've studied Van Gogh? Monet? Michelangelo?”

Data nodded. “I have studied all of the great artists of Earth, as well as various artists on five hundred other worlds whose artistic tastes are closest to my own. I was able to integrate their styles into my neural processor.”

Daniels lowered his head, looking at Data through his brows.

Sage stopped what he was doing. “Oh no, no, no.” He grabbed a towel on his stool and wiped his hands and actually managed to get most of the paint off them. “You need to core-dump that bit of nastiness right now.”

“Now?”

Sage nodded. “Now.”

Data's focus shifted and he froze.

Daniels thought for a second he'd broken something.

Then Data blinked and looked at Sage. “I have successfully dumped all five hundred and twenty-seven art files from my positronic matrix.”

Daniels' eyebrows arched. “Oh. Wow.”

But Sage seemed happy. “Good. Okay. Let's try this another way. Before you can really begin to understand art—and let's go with painting for now—you
have to understand that art is subjective, Mr. Data. Subjective. Not objective.”

A frown creased Data's brow. He shook his head. “No. I do not understand. Almost all species appreciate art, so how can it be subjective?”

Daniels stepped in. “Subjective to the individual, Data. Like this.” He turned, motioning Data to follow him. He went to a covered canvas and gently pulled back the sheet. “Look closely at this piece and tell me if you like it or dislike it.”

Sage stepped closer. “Yow …”

Data moved to stand beside Daniels. He tilted his head to the right, then to the left, and finally shook his head. “I do not like it.”

“Good. You see, because I do like it. I like the way the artist added depth to the shadows here”—he pointed with his free hand—“and here. I also like the colors they used in creating her hair.”

“But—” Data turned a confused expression to him. “It is a rainbow. The model's hair was brown.”

Daniels nodded. “That's why I like it,” he lied.

“Boss,” Sage started to say from behind Data, but Daniels gave him a look he hoped said,
I'm lying through my teeth.

And boy, did he continue to lie about his likes and dislikes on most of the paintings in the room. He'd decided to express an opinion that was the opposite
of Data's on most of the paintings, just so he could prove to him that art was subjective. This was a good start, or so he thought, because all the paintings were of the same subject.

After seven paintings Daniels moved to the stack of canvases, grabbed a clean one, and handed it to Data. “Okay, you said the counselor wanted you to finish a project, right? I'll start one with you and we'll see if that works. I already have mine sketched out.”

Data moved his stuff to the easel closest to Daniels's, while Sage went back to his masterpiece.

Daniels already had a picture in his mind of what he'd like to paint and had started a light outline on the canvas. He leaned over to look at Data. “Something wrong?”

“I do not know what to paint.”

Oh great.

“Why don't you think of something from your memory—something that makes you feel happy. A scene, or maybe a place.” Daniels had a sudden inspiration. “Or maybe a pet?”

Data's eyes widened and he smiled at Daniels. “I can paint Spot.”

“Spot?”

“My cat.”

Daniels nodded.
That'll work.
“So let's say we paint for one hour, and then we turn in.” He stifled a yawn.
“And then maybe tomorrow we can paint for another hour.”

But even after an hour of painting Data had only a few brush strokes on the canvas. Daniels had watched him with his peripheral vision. The android would dip his brush, mix colors, and lift his brush'only to pause and lower his arm.

And then he would stare at the canvas.

“Travec to Daniels.”

Daniels blinked and tapped his combadge. Why was Travec calling him this time of night? “Daniels here.”

“Why are you not in your quarters asleep? You know your particular circadian pattern requires at least seven hours of solid sleep. The computer insists you are in the art sciences studio. You are not here to experience relaxation.”

Daniels eyes widened.
You have got to be kidding me.

“This guy is unreal,” Sage said, his golden eyes wide, his ears twitching back and forth.

But before he could answer, Data tapped his own combadge. “Lieutenant Commander Travec, this is Lieutenant Commander Data. Mr. Daniels is in art sciences because I requested his help with a project. He has been kind enough to assist me.”

There was a pause.
“Of course, Commander. Just make sure the lieutenant reports to the holodeck at oh-nine-hundred
hours. Captain Picard and Commander Riker will be viewing the Antwerp simulation.”

Daniels looked at Data. “Thanks.”

“You are welcome, but the hour is late, and I am detecting fatigue in your movements. Perhaps it is time to end the night.”

Daniels glanced the room's chronometer. It was close to oh-one hundred hours. He cleaned his brushes, put away his palette, and covered his canvas. Coming up next to Data, he noticed a faint outline of a cat on the canvas.

He wasn't sure what to say or how to work with Data. He had noticed that La Forge had been firm but gentle with the android.

“Data,” he said, trying to mimic the chief engineer's tone. “You're going to have to actually put more paint on the canvas if you want to see the image.”

Data responded with slumped shoulders. “I am afraid I am still failing.”

“No. It's not really failure, Data. It's fear.”

“Fear?” He shook his head. “I was sure I had conquered my fear of emotion. That was one of the first emotions that nearly overwhelmed me—before I discovered anger and rage.” He looked thoughtful for a second. “Perhaps one day I will tell you what happened, but not now.” He stood and covered his painting,
rinsed his brushes, and then put his palette away. “We will do this again tomorrow.”

Sage was already cleaned up and heading out the door ahead of Daniels and Data. Daniels noticed Data smiling as they entered the turbo lift.

“Do you play music?” Data asked.

Daniels shook his head. “I'm afraid not, but I do enjoy listening to it. Especially Estro Rama. The string work is incredible.”

“I am not familiar with that composer.”

Sage yawned, leaning against the turbolift door. “Sleepy-time music. Not enough movement, if you ask me.” The turbolift opened. “I'm out. In the morning, Pádraig.”

Daniels stepped out as well and looked back at Data. “Night, Data.”

“Good night, Pádraig.” He nodded. “And thank you.”

*   *   *

“T'Saiga to Daniels.”

Daniels pried his eyes open. He saw darkness. “Siobhan?”

“No, it's me, the other one you spend all your time with. You up?”

With a sigh he rubbed his face. “Lights.” And then he sat up on the edge of his bed. “No, and yes.”

“Please wake up now, Mr. Daniels,”
Travec said.
“You are needed in holodeck three.”

What?
Daniels narrowed his eyes.
What about my circadian cycle?
“What—what time is it?”

Sage answered.
“Uhm … oh-four-hundred hours. I couldn't sleep, so I came down here to get the simulation ready for the captain and Commander Riker.”

“So why in the name of all that's holy are you calling me?”

“Lieutenant Daniels,”
Travec said,
“It was I who ordered the dog to call you.”

“Travec, I've just about had it with you.”

“Food should not speak unless requested to.”

Daniels cleared his throat. “Mr. Travec, why do you need me?”

“We've found a strange—well—I'll say ghost for lack of a better word. Mr. Barclay's with me.”

Ghost?

“I'll be right there.”

Twenty minutes later, in holodeck three, Sage, Travec, and Barclay showed Daniels the anomaly puzzling them. Daniels stared at the monitor. “I don't see it.”

“Perhaps it has something to do with your lack of sleep.” Travec marched over to the right side of the display and thrust his three-fingered hand at a cluster of stars. “It's right here.”

Daniels stood, squinting at the holograph. Abruptly what Travec had been referring to appeared. A secondary image was visible along the right of the conference room.

“That looks like—” He looked back at Sage. “What is that?”

“We don't know.” Barclay moved to take Sage's vacated seat and touched a few panels. “It looks like Deep Space 9—from a great distance.”

Daniels looked back at the image. “Could it be something residual? Caught in the buffer?”

“That's preposterous.” Travec turned back to the console. “I would expect such a lack of information to be apparent at the Ferengi bar, but not here.”

Sage scanned the information on the monitor. “Well, it looks like you might be right, Pádraig. Seems the initial launch from the rewrite kept a residual image.”

Travec sniffed. “That was not the fault of the program but of the technician, who was incapable of following proper protocols. You did not dump the buffers.”

Sage glared at Travec, who'd come to stand on the other side of the console. “Travec, I did dump the buffers.”

Travec gestured at the image. “Not from where I'm
standing. But I do suggest you get this fixed before the captain and the commander arrive.”

Daniels heard the two of them arguing, but he didn't have the strength to break them up. He was too engrossed in looking at the image to the right of the simulation.

If he squinted he could make it look like DS9. But it looked more like a field distortion. And then it was gone.

Daniels yawned. “I'm going back to bed.”

Barclay's eyes widened. “But'but you—re going to let me do this by myself?”

Daniels turned to leave. “I have confidence in you, Reg.”

“Confidence? In me?” He looked at Sage. “I can tell he—he's new.”

L
ater that morning, Daniels slipped into the holodeck just before Captain Picard, Commander Riker, and a tall, female security officer. Porter came in a step behind Daniels. Barclay, Sage, Travec, and La Forge were already there, fine-tuning the ghost image.

Barclay moved next to Daniels and whispered in his ear. “It's all fixed now.”

“Thanks, Reg,” Daniels said as he began powering up the amphitheater.

“Mr. Daniels,” Picard began, and turned to the security woman. “This is Lieutenant Althea Huff, our acting security chief.”

Daniels nodded to Huff. “It's a pleasure to meet you.” He smiled and turned to Sage. The two stood at
the console as Picard, Riker, and Huff moved back behind them to watch the amphitheater.

“This will begin much the way it did at Quark's,” Sage said. “But we've been able to add depth four-dimensionally, which has made it easier for us to confirm the bomb.”

“Computer,” Daniels said, “execute simulation Antwerp Daniels zero zero one.”