“Kid,” Kathryn says after a while, “your parents didn’t actually christen you ‘Data’, did they?”
“No.” Data smiles up at her. “It is how I think of myself, however.”
“I’m not judging, honey. Seven’s the same. Fresh juice for you, right, and coffee for Geordi? Latte?”
“Thanks,” Geordi says, and when she goes to get their order, “Data, I feel like you’re not taking this seriously. I figure, we get this right, we can do a pushcart on the sidewalk and get foot traffic in. Ice-cream by Chez Entreprise, you get it. ”
“An admirable objective,” Data says, and gets up to pace; Kathryn knows he does that mostly when thinking. “However, the flaw in the plan…”
“Is the plan,” Seven murmurs under her breath; she glances up at Kathryn and grins. Kathryn shushes her, not very seriously. It’s a beautiful day, the winter sun filtering through the window glass and falling into pools on the tiles.
“Is the plan,” Data says, and Seven laughs very quietly into the sound of milk frothing. “Geordi, no one wishes to eat wasabi mocha ice-cream. Nor…” – he stops pacing, peers at the list in front of Geordi – “saltwater bubblegum.”
“People eat saltwater taffy!” Geordi says. “Chilli chocolate goes down a storm!”
Data nods and turns around, making another crossing of the glass. They’re one of only a few customers; the morning commuter rush is over and the hipsters haven’t gotten up yet. “Saltwater taffy,” he explains, with the air of a man addressing a small, confused child, “is not made with saltwater.”
“It isn’t?” Geordi leans back in his chair. “Huh. Next thing you’re gonna tell me Swedish Fish aren’t made of fish.”
“Also,” Data continues, “people actually want to eat it.”
Kathryn laughs, properly, and goes back to their table with a tray. “Coffee for you, Geordi – to the left a bit” – Geordi’s hand lands on the cup – “that’s right. Data, honey, the juice of the day has grapefruit in it, I figured you couldn’t have it. I got you an americano instead.”
“Thank you, Kathryn,” Data says seriously, and Kathryn shakes her head and smiles. They’re sweet kids, she thinks, but they work too hard.
Seven looks up from the coffee machine as she comes behind the counter.”Grapefruit?” she asks, and Kathryn nods, pleased: Seven never misses a thing.
“Interactions,” she says, waving a hand around her head.
“I will remember” – and Kathryn knows she will. Seven sets down the jug she’s holding, marches with all determination out into the space of the cafe and says, “Inedible ice-cream from a pushcart is inefficient. Perhaps you both should stop sublimating your true desires.”
“Seven!” Kathryn says, waving her arms around, then gives up.
“Ice-cream is available for sale at a number of establishments between here and the boardwalk,” Seven continues, “and the sun is out, and the day is…”
Geordi laughs. “Young and bright, like us. Data” – he grabs Data’s hand – “come on. We’re going out, you and me.”
“We are, are we,” Data says, sounding amused, and of course it’s him who remembers they haven’t paid for their coffee, and does so before the two of them disappear into the sunshine; Kathryn watches them go with a small smile before turning around and saying,
“Seven, you’re a damn hypocrite.”
“Please explain.”
“No.” Kathryn smiles and puts a hand on her shoulder. “But I promise we’ll close up before the sun goes down.”
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