A lone figure entered the Cantina from out of the cold. The winter chill, which normally would have swallowed up the heat in a normal home, did not make it past the threshold; instead, it was beaten back by the warm, comfortable smell of baking pie. The man cleared his throat with a rather long-winded haaarrumph, which gave the other Cantinians a vivid image of Ebenezer Scrooge. It was easy to tell that the silhouette was a man’s, because of the broad shoulders, the lack of a protruding chest, but mostly because of the fiery red sideburns. The young man wore a brown frock coat and a darker brown pair of slacks; around his neck was wrapped a checkered scarf which slithered down all the way to his feet, which were clad in a dirty pair of blue Converse shoes. The young man shook the snow out of his red mane of hair.

“I’m diggin’ the scarf, Zifnab,” said an imposing trench coated man.

“Since when have you ever said ‘diggin’,’ Data?” replied the figure, who apparently went by the peculiar alias of Zifnab. “I’m glad you like it though. The Doctor lent it to me.”

The man called Data raised an eyebrow, and snapped his fingers. A stool appeared beside him, as well as a mug of foaming root beer. Zifnab sat down and stole quick sips of the root beer and licked the foam from his lips.

“Ever since,” Data replied, “I met Dax.” He tapped his head.

Zifnab sneered derisively, flaring his nostrils. It was a sign that he was disgusted.

“Eugh—you know how I feel about those snakes, Data. I’m disappointed that you’ve become one of the snakeheads yourself. I don’t care if they claim to be ‘good;’ they’ve caused too much trouble in the past.”

“I do know how you feel, Zif.” Data nodded his head forward and closed his eyes momentarily. When he looked up, there was a different look in his eyes, as if a different conscience was in control. His eyes flashed with a strange light. His voice deepened and echoed slightly. “It’s good to see you, too, Zifnab. I want to make it clear that I have a great deal of respect for you, despite what you may feel about me.”

Zif smacked his lips. “Oh, don’t let it talk for you. Suppress it! Suppress it!”

“I could kill you with a snap of my fingers,” said Dax.

“Data’s fingers. You’re just a parasite.”

Data nodded again, and when he came up, his eyes told Zifnab that it was Data who was in control.

“He’s not a parasite, Zif. Well—maybe, technically, he might be considered that, but I would consider it more of a mutual relationship. I mean, Dax gives me an even longer life—“

“But you’re already immortal.”

“That is beside the point. I also have all of Dax’s memories and I’m resistant to poisons and other diseases that I would not normally be able to defend against.”

Zifnab made a pssshhhttt sound and waved his hand, eschewing Data’s argument.

“And,” Data persisted, “I allow Dax to survive, giving myself to him as a host.”

“Freedom,” said Zifnab, taking a pull on his root beer. “That’s what you’ve given up.”

“I brought you something, Zifnab.”

“Whatever it is, I don’t want it.” Zifnab drained his mug and stood up as if to leave.

That same eerie, gritty voice. “You will like her. I certainly did.”

Data cut in, “Ew, that’s gross. Don’t remind me of those memories. I’ve been trying to block them out.” The Time Lord-turned-Tok’ra host shuddered.

“Zifnab, meet Anise.”

A lovely lass, as Data would have called her, emerged from the door to which only Data had access. She was dressed in the tan-coloured garb of her species, clothing which covered just enough to allow the mind to wander and leaving the imagination to roam.

Two of the other women in the room, Virvel and Rose, spoke together, “Men . . .”

The redhead blathered and bleeted.

“Well!” he harrumphed for the second time. “This changes nothing.”

Anise set her goddess-like gaze upon Zifnab. “It is my pleasure to meet you, Sir Zif. I have heard so much.”

Dax clamped his fingers over his mouth, laughing heartily through his fingers.

Zif glared at Dax and Data as he and Anise stepped out of the room. After they were gone, Data took control of his body.

“Good one, Dax,” he said, wiping tears from his eyes. “He won’t complain again for another couple of days.”

“You underestimate that one’s tenacity, Data.”

“Perhaps I do.” Data sobered up and looked at his own drink thoughtfully. He took a swig of the foul-smelling liquid. “Perhaps I do.”