The Complication

Conquest

But it was hard to stay focused when her body felt drained.

For the rest of the morning, Tasha prepared for her race in silence.

It doesn't all come down to you. She reminded herself.

Tasha was one of seven runners that would be competing on behalf of the Enterprise. She certainly wasn't the only one expected to contribute – but Tasha was one of the five scoring runners and was largely expected to carry the team.

Tasha closed her eyes and took a breath to steady her nerves.

Just gear up and do your best. She said to herself.

-X-

While Tasha changed into her kit, Data was out in the main room cleaning up breakfast.

He was part way through putting away the kettle when Tasha came rushing out. She began tearing the room apart in a frantic search.

"My socks! I can't find my socks!" she kept repeating.

Data was confused.

"You have a drawer full of socks," Data said.

"My race socks!" Tasha snipped as she dug under the sofa cushions.

Data didn't quite understand the significance, but he could tell they were important to Tasha. He dropped what he was doing and joined the search.

"I have to find them. I can't race without them," Tasha explained as they tossed her quarters in search of the socks.

"They are meaningful to you," Data observed.

"You can say that again," Tasha commented.

She gave up on the sofa and turned her attention to the built-in cabinet along the wall.

"I need them. They help me run better," Tasha said.

Data made a face.

"I very much doubt the veracity of that statement," Data said in a delicate manner.

Tasha stopped and turned back to him.

"I know, I know. I just... they do. It's hard to explain. I've worn them for every race I've ever entered," Tasha shared.

Data nodded in understanding and resumed his search.

"What colour are they? Do they look like your regular socks?" Data asked.

"Turquoise. And they've got little sharks on them. Like little fins on the-"

Tasha stopped talking as Data grabbed her hand.

"I know precisely where they are," Data said.

Tasha visibly relaxed.

"Come," Data said, guiding her to the bedroom.

Tasha was horrified as Data opened the garment reprocessor and produced a pair of freshly cleaned socks.

Data panicked.

"Tasha?" Data asked.

"You washed my race socks?" Tasha asked.

Her voice wavered. Her lip began to quiver.

"Was that a bad thing?" Data inquired.

Tasha really didn't want to break down. She knew Data well enough to understand he would be overcome with guilt.

But she was so worked up from the pressure of the race that she couldn't hide her distress.

"It was a bad thing," Data said knowingly.