#sir you overestimate the capacity of my brain

[crswoodferns]

I need you to look me in the eye and tell me how people still think time is real

How else do you explain zoning out for literally half a second in class and suddenly instead of writing the name of the new chapter; sitting in an exam hall with questions on your paper and question marks over your head

[my-timing-is-digital]

‘You are a fine debater, sir, but we have had our fair share of time travellers, supposed, genuine or otherwise,’ Data stated factually. ‘It is not up to you to make that determination; it is my obligation to apprise my commanding officers of your arrival and they will decide on whether your presence is a potential threat to the Enterprise and could jeopardise the crew’s safety or not.’

Data was not being unreasonable, far from it. He was simply conforming to protocol; time travel was a sensitive topic in the 24th century and demanded to be administered with utmost diligence and pragmatism ⸺ time travel did not allow a bountiful margin for error. By introducing himself and perorating about matters that could in and of itself have astronomical repercussions with respect to how the future from this point forward would evolve, the Doctor had unwittingly infringed the Prime Directive.

And whatever insights the Doctor possessed concerning his positronic brain, its processing capacity and range, Data was relatively certain the majority of the “facts” were not applicable to Soong-type androids. He was a sophisticated design, yes, but he differed immensely from the image the man before him envisioned him to be. He had praised him and gave him credits that were undue; he gravely overestimated the android’s superior-to-24th-century-humanoid qualities. But somehow, a subroutine in the back of his mind inferred that the other would not bend so easily to arguments that were antithetical to the man’s misconception of the Commander’s programming...

And then, there was the matter of trust. He had no instinct that could guide him, no gut feeling he could rely on. Data was left dangling in the dark with not the faintest idea whether he was stumbling into a deceptively employed trap that could incapacitate or exploit him, or that the man’s words rang with sincerity and truth. Visibly confounded by this convoluted quagmire, desperately attempting to grasp the unfathomable, the android decided to resort to something that had always served him with immaculate precision, a method that was dependable to the last letter: regulations. Rules. His fundamental respect for all living organisms, to which this individual, whoever he might be, was no exception, still offered him the benefit of the doubt. However, that did not imply that he trusted him. Trust and naivety had led him down myriad hazardous paths and eventuated in erroneous actions and decisions that had almost cost him his life, more than once. He would not err again by neglecting to preserve a sense of vigilance, until his subroutines’ trepidation was placated and he could tether logical explanations to the man’s spiel, validating his statements that weighed so heavily upon blind trust... Something Data could not, at present, capitulate to, although he looked upon the exploration of the Doctor’s promising holoprogram with insatiable anticipation.

‘I must inform you, that as an android I am incapable of withholding information from others, and of generating falsifications or untruths; my programming, simply put, does not allow it. I cannot stray from the bedrock my creator has laid down for me; I must abide by my moral and ethical subroutines,’ he said patiently. ‘I hope you can respect that and know I do not harbour ill-intent nor is it my sole purpose to get you into trouble or chastise you, but I must stress that the gravity of this situation does not permit me to be lax and remiss in my conduct and approach to this... anomalous occurrence.’

Data had listened to him with excessive assiduity and with either warranted or unwarranted scepticism. And despite the evidence the Doctor presented to him, he could not disregard the fact that this individual was a stranger who had successfully gained unauthorised access to the lives and facilities on this side of the ship’s duranium hull. Perhaps it would be prudent to pursue a different avenue to convey the magnitude of this conundrum. And in order to establish that he opted to draw inspiration from the personal ramifications that would ensue should Data himself neglect to update his superiors on this aberration.

‘Sir, with all due respect, but if I fail to report this singularity to Captain Picard, I risk being court-martialled on the grounds of insubordination and deliberate concealment of potentially harmful information. That will definitely eventuate in the premature denouncement of my Starfleet career, which I am unwilling to sacrifice for the purpose of indulging you by my participation in your astutely devised holoprogram,’ the android said composedly, neither agitation nor sympathy audible in his euphonious voice; just the cool determination of a machine trying to find a solution, trying to solve a problem...

"Ah! Leave it to an android to be forward- of course, of course." He moves to slide his hands into his pockets and begins to think. He's not sure which crew of the Enterprise he's come into contact before, and it's been so long- well all the starship crews seem to blend together, you see!! And he can't be bothered to memorize every distinct crew member. The Doctor exhales and begins formulating a string of statements prepared to put Data into a position that's more amicable. Indeed, The Doctor has no quarrel with the Enterprise, and wishes to only get back to his ship and fly away- but stranger things have gotten The Doctor mixed up in all sorts of situations- so better to play it safe.

Okay, in a time of desperation, he moves to hit Data with something he almost usually never resorts to immediately: The Truth. The Doctor clears his throat, one hand near his mouth while the other hand rests in his pocket.

"Right, yes- You see: I am a Timelord. I'm usually referred to as The Doctor." He put a lot of Grandeos into the statement: Timelord. As if the race was still in the sky, blinking with the other stars. He said his name: The Doctor- with a puff of his chest, giving the name a lot of importance, even though it was nothing more than a title. "I am- for all intents and purposes- A Time Traveller-- From The Future-!" He quickly snaps his fingers and points towards Data, "Register my body language- I am telling the truth-" He pauses, inhaling. He does give Data time to actually scan him. The Doctor isn't aware of whether or not Data has the capacity to do a deeper scan, but in times like this- it's best to just let an Android scan whatever he wants. Data will register alien physiology- two hearts- a binary vascular system- and a significantly lower body temperature- as well as DNA that can not be physically logged or matched to any known races within the federation.

"Either I am telling the truth- or, whatever I am telling you is something I believe to be the truth." He intercepts, catching any attempt to put in, watching Data's body language with much precision. Data is a supercomputer, but in very many ways so is The Doctor. "Have the Holodeck do a scan for non-simulated objects. It'll detect you, myself- and a non-living object--" He ropes his proof into the mix, a risky play- but against a computer, it's his ace in the hole, "Ask for its exact measurements and your personal positronic mainframe will conclude that it can only be the size of a London Police Box from the twentieth century." He knows Data is precise- precise enough to know these things- any Android should be, and any Android with a Positronic brain would know things that no other ordinary Android should know.

"That is my ship- my SpaceTime Machine, to be precise-" He explains, still standing across from Data but having leaned slightly forward, hand in his pocket and finger extended- as if he's waiting to be released from that spot, "Now! Of course, you could alert your senior officers to me, and you could wait for them to get through all the necessary senior operating procedures in order to delegate me to the status of a non-threat-- if you had reason to believe I was a threat-- which I'm not." He explained, making a gesture with his free hand to accentuate how boring that all sounds. He continued, "But if you had every reason to believe I wasn't a threat-- which I'm not--" He paused to raise eyebrows at Data.

"Then, virtually- all you'd be required to do per Starfleet operating procedure is ascertain of your own accord that I am not a threat- which, to repeat, I'm not." He moved toward the window, opening it up and pointing down the photographically generated street to show the Police Box, which was a model and a paint job that should not exist in the programmed century of Arthur Doyle's work- meaning that this is not a Holodeck generated item. "And of course- if Starfleet can account for Time Travelling, then surely you must know that if I am from the future, your prime objective should be to get me back to my own time--" The Doctor cut him off to continue standing, leaning forward again. "And luckily for you! I have the means to do that of my own accord-- which I want to do! Meaning that for all intents and purposes-- I am a visitor who is a non-threat to the enterprise and doesn't have to be logged in any report for any reason due to his nature as a time-sensitive individual." He stood up straight, scratching the pink locks behind his head as he continued his speech- he had a few more bullet points to hit, and by god- he was going to hit them.

"Now-- that does just leave you with the simple conundrum: What to explain when a senior officer enters--" The Doctor predicts that by all means, logical and physical, an android would want to account for every exact possibility- or perhaps The Doctor is just paranoid, and tying up his own loose ends- either way, he gives Data a solution, "Seeing as I have no intention of leaving The Holodeck any time soon-- well... you could simply inform a senior officer or deck officer that I'm... simply a simulation you engineered to interact with an intellect as strong as you--" He raises his finger, "But of course," he intercepts his own logic with an assumed logical response to his own question-

"The only way the computer would be able to generate an intellectual equal of your own without endangering the crew would be to give it elements of characters who generate nonsensical statements for very little logical reasoning--" He finally concludes, doing a dramatic bow before Data, "Meaning that I am not an intruder..."

"I am the Holodeck's interpretation of The Mad Hatter~"