Finally, this level-3 diagnostic was almost done.  Geordi sighed as he
sat at his desk, filling out the last of the extensive reports to
Starfleet.  He had to get home; it was late.

*

*

*

It was even later now.  [Damn,] he thought as he lifted his head off
his desk.  One bad thing about these optical implants -- he could
accidentally close his eyes and fall asleep.  It had happened several
times since they'd been installed; with the VISOR's overload of pain
and visual stimuli, that hadn't happened as often.

He still had to finish the report, but his stomach was reminding him
that he hadn't eaten since lunch.  "Computer."  Hmmmm, what to eat?
"Meatball sandwich.  Coffee, iced."  He hadn't had one of those
sandwiches in a while; it should really hit the spot.

The meal beamed into existence.  Geordi reached to get it and started
gorging himself.  [Ohhhh, WAY too many onions!  And garlic?  Wow!  Have
to reprogram that sometime.  But the coffee is excellent --  seems to
taste much better than it usually does.]

Geordi wolfed down his meal with no further ado and finished his
report.  Then it was time to go home and see Data, and he knew just
what he wanted tonight.

***

When Geordi walked through his door, he didn't see Data at first.
[Where has that man gotten to?] he thought.  Oh, there he was, over in
the corner by the replicator.  Containers of various shapes and sizes
were scattered on the nearby counter.  [Hmmmm, hope Data doesn't have
anything fancy planned.  I'm really not in the mood for fancy tonight.]
"Data?"

Data turned to look at him.  "Greetings, Geordi."  To Geordi's relief,
Data abandoned his container menagerie and approached.

Geordi stripped off his shirt and moved to embrace Data.  Their lips
locked in a long kiss ... or what would have been a long kiss, had Data
not pulled away abruptly.

"Mama Mia, that is a spicy meatball!"

"Huh?"

"Brush your breath.  Brush your breath.  Brush your breath with
Dentyne."

What was with all the singing?  [Ohhhh!]  Now Geordi understood.
"Sorry, Data."  He was used to the old, pre-emotion-chip Data, who
hadn't had a sense of smell.  "But Data ... "

"Yes?"

"You don't have to sing nasty songs to me.  You can just *tell* me,
really!"  Geordi went to the head to beambrush his teeth.  What was
Data's problem today?  And how could he stop it?  Maybe good,
old-fashioned sex would help.  He slipped off the rest of his clothing
while he finished decontaminating his teeth.

***

When Geordi returned from the head, Data had removed his own clothing
and sat on their bunk.  [Good!  So Data wants to get comfortable, too!]
But what was that stuff Data was holding?

It was a plastic tub of something yellow, which smelled just about as
vile as anything Geordi could imagine.  Data drew one golden finger
through its yukky, yellow surface and started to spread it onto his
already-firm penis.  "Tastes great," Data purred.  "Less filling."

What in stars was Data doing now?  "Ummm, Data?"

"Yes?"  Data perked up and seemed his normal self.

"That's not ... butter, is it?"

"Mantequilla."

"Huh?"  Geordi had been staring at the container of grease, but now he
had to do a double-take at Data.  Disturbingly, Data had used someone
else's voice; instead of his own pleasant tenor, the word had been
spoken in a gutteral bark.

"Mantequilla."

Now, *this* was getting to be too much.  Sure, sometimes it was fun to
play Data's silly games, but ...

"Parkay!"  Data burst out in a fit of giggling.  This really had to
stop!

Geordi touched Data's elbow, paused to take the tub of goo and set it
on the nightstand.  When he saw Data's eyes locked onto his own, he
spoke.  "Data, buddy ... I know sometimes you like to have a little
fun, a little variety.  But right now ... well, I can't do it.  I mean,
it hasn't exactly been my day, and night, at work.  If I could just get
you to do me a favor?"

Data nodded, seeming to comprehend.

"Could we just have a quick one tonight?  I only want to sleep -- if
you don't mind, pal.  Could you just ... take me from behind?  And
then, y'know, quick.  Because I have an early morning."  He paused to
search Data's expression for hurt feelings, hating himself for being so
short-tempered with his old friend.  But Data never had understood
subtlety.  "I'm really sorry about this, Data."

The light of comprehension dawned on Data's face.  "Of course.  You
deserve a break today.  I, too, am sorry."  Geordi caressed Data's
cheek and turned, lay prone on their bunk.  "Charlie."

[Charlie?  What *is* it with him tonight?]  He wondered whether he
should stop and ask Data what this all was about, but the warning bells
in his head weren't quite loud enough.  It wasn't unusual for Data to
get started on some weird kick; besides, Geordi was so sleepy that he
thought he might not make it through the preliminaries, let alone a big
discussion.  Anyway, Data's actions sounded brisk enough as he picked
through the assorted containers, probably getting their usual Deltan
sex lube.

Finally, the bunk sighed and moved as Data put his weight on it, and
Geordi felt the warmth of Data's knees on either side of his hips. It
wasn't long before Geordi felt the familiar, gentle pressure from
behind; he sighed in relief.  Now, finally, Data would let go of
whatever weird hobby he had started.  Finally, they could have some
time together.  Geordi relaxed and started to prepare for
lovemaking.

Until he felt a strange, burning sensation.

Right where he didn't want to feel it.

The burning gradually increased in strength until Geordi had to say
something.  "Data, you have to stop."

"But why, Geordi?"  Data held still.

"No, no, pull out."  The burning didn't lessen.  "It hurts, Data."

"Certainly, Geordi." Concern was evident in Data's voice along with the
usual courtesy as he retreated from Geordi.  "But I do not understand
why."

"Ohhhhhh, I don't know."  Geordi, through the increasing pain, turned
to look around them.  Data's penis and hands were smeared with a white
substance that, now that he noticed, didn't smell at all like Deltan
sex lube.  Then, on the bedside table, Geordi saw ... an oblong, white
object, covered with a thin film of bubbles.  It couldn't be ... it had
to be ... what he had once showered with at his great-grandma's farm
... "Data, is that *soap*?"

But before Data could even answer, the pain had spiked sharply, and
Geordi was running to the sonic shower, bending over to present his
rear end to its emitter.  "Ouch, ohhhh, geeeezzz, Data, *soap*,
old-fashioned soap!"

Data had followed him into the head and now gazed at him in confusion.
"But it is not soap.  It is Dove.  Dove is made with one-quarter
cleansing cream."

"Ohhhhh ... " The sonics were starting to ease the pain now, but Geordi
was only getting more annoyed.  "Data," he finally demanded from his
undignified position, "what is your problem lately?"

Data paused, seeming to ponder his answer.  Then, as if it were the
most obvious thing in the galaxy, he answered.  "I am a pepper.  She is
a pepper."

[Who's a pepper?  Spot??  And what in blerk is a pepper?  Okay, there
is something really strange happening here.  But what?]

Now the pain was almost gone, so Geordi deactivated the shower and got
out.  He approached Data, examining his friend's face closely.  Did the
yellow eyes have a somewhat glazed appearance?  Yes, and Data's brow
furrowed slightly as he clicked his head minutely to one side, as if
trying to reset.

"Geordi?  Would you not like to be a pepper, too?"  Data's tone was
distant.

[That's it.]  "Data?  I think you'd better lie down."

But Data didn't make a move.  Geordi, now very worried, took his arm to
guide him toward the bunk.  Data wasn't going anywhere, though, and his
expression was becoming blank, zombielike.

"Geordi?"

Worry was fast turning to horror in Geordi's mind.  Something was wrong
with Data -- very wrong.  "What is it, Data?"  Again he tried to urge
Data to the bunk.

"I have a headache *this* big," -- Data held out his hands near the
sides of his head -- "and it has ... 'Anacin' ... written all over it."
He swayed, just the slightest waver, and Geordi finally was able to
urge him, stumbling, to their bunk.  He sank down upon it, slowly as a
wound-down toy; Geordi helped him to put his feet up.  As his head
swayed, unbalanced, Geordi helped ease him back onto a pillow.

"Geordi?  What is happening?  Where are you?"  Data cast about the room
as if he was unable to see.  Geordi leapt up and slapped the commpanel.
"Duffy!  Beam a negatronic resonator to my location, STAT!  Medical
emergency!"  Then to himself, forgetting Data could hear, "How did he
fry his circuits this time?"

"It is not fried; it is Shake And Bake."  Data tossed his head side to
side as Geordi sat beside him to stroke his hair.  "I cannot believe I
ate the whole thing."  The resonator shimmered onto the bedside table.
"Where is the beef, Geordi?  Please, tell me.  Where *is* the beef?"

Geordi hurriedly adjusted the settings on the resonator.  He needed to
help Data through this ... this ... whatever.  Once he had Data calmed,
he could figure out how to fix him.

"I have fallen, and I cannot get up."

"Don't worry, Data; don't worry, buddy.  We'll have you fixed real
soon," Geordi mumbled as he finished setting the device.  Had to be
careful ... finally, he was able to activate it, pointing it at Data's
primary synaptic modules.

Data gazed straight ahead into nothingness, a beatific smile now upon
his features.  "I would like to teach the world ... to sing ... in ...
per-fect ... har-mo-ny ... ."  As the warble of the resonator grew
louder, Data's voice grew softer, slower, as his consciousness was
lulled into a slumber-like stasis.  When Geordi shut the resonator off,
the only sound to be heard was that of Data's slow, sleepy breaths.

Then Geordi started breathing again.

***

Bright sun, white sand, and tall coconut trees greeted Deanna as she
walked into Holodeck 2.  But a tropical vacation was the last thing on
her mind.  "MISTER Barclay!"  She didn't have to look far to find him
-- over there, among the groping hands of an ecstatic crowd of young
women.

As she struggled across the powdery sand, the sound of rending fabric
came to her, followed by the sight of uniform shreds flying through the
air all around the crowd.  An exclamation as someone fell.  "Girls,
please!  Please!"

"Hai karate," a sepulchral voice intoned.  "Be careful how you use it."
Deanna was past her limits of tolerance.

"Computer, end program."

The young women and the tropical paradise vanished, to be replaced by
the yellow holodeck grid.  And a stark-naked Reginald Barclay.  Deanna
stared coldly at him as he hastily grabbed a uniform shred to cover his
erection.

"Ummm, Coun-Counselor, I-I can explain.  I only wanted to ... "

"You realize, Mr. Barclay, that you are broadcasting your holodeck
entertainments by subspace carrier wave throughout the entire ship?"

"Ummmm, no, I did-didn't mean to.  I, I was just trying to transfer
m-my data f-from my quarters faster ... "

"That the meds dispenser in Sickbay produces only Anacin?"

"Um ... "

"That the replicator in twelve-forward produces only Bartles & James
wine coolers?"

"Uh ... "

"That the NAVIGATIONAL STATION asks only, 'Where do you want to go
today?'"

"I ... had to s-search through all the ad, advertisements in the
d-database to f-find this one.  They were stored s-serially, and ... "

"And that MY HOT CHOCOLATE was SECRETLY REPLACED with FOLGERS'
CRYSTALS?!!!"

Deanna could practically feel the steam boiling out of her ears; a
Betazoid killing frenzy was almost upon her.  Luckily for Reg, Worf and
Smeip showed up and dragged him, kicking and screaming and naked, to
the brig.

***

"Data?  Can you hear me?"

Data stirred a little on the biobed.

"Data?"

"Accessing."  His eyes gradually blinked open; he peered dazedly around
Sickbay as if orienting himself.

"Accessing ... you have disconnected the subspace modem in my left
upper first bicuspid.  Why?"

Relief washed over Geordi; here was the friend he had grown to love.
He sighed and patted Data on the shoulder.  "Let's just say ... four
out of five dentists surveyed recommend it."

END