All was quiet in the home of the Cantinians. The fire was spitting; the Pepsis were frothing; the pies were baking; the jack-o-lanterns were grinning, though it was not yet Halloween. Data and Sax drifted between the dusty tables.

“Who set up the pumpkins?” asked Data, starting a staring contest with one of them.

“Someone needs to dust these tables,” said Sax, swiping a single, solitary finger across the width of a table and bringing it up to his nose. He sneezed.

Data seemed to not have heard Sax. “But who would take the time to cut up all of these pumpkins. What ghastly grins they have.” He shuddered. “It reminds me of when I traveled to 1913 England.”

“What does England in 1913 have anything to do with these dusty tables?” inquired Sax.

“What?”

“Oh, never mind.” Sax sneezed again. “I’ll just do it. I mean, would it kill someone else to clean up these dusty tables some time? No! It wouldn’t, but no, I always end up dusting. And what do I get for it? Nothing . . .”

Sax wandered off, talking to himself in just this manner.

JW wandered in, talking to himself in nearly the same way Sax had been, save for one difference: JW was discussing a new book with himself.

“Data!” cried JW. He appeared simply ecstatic. “Lookie what I got! Where’s Zif? I have to tell him, he’ll be excited to see what I’m reading!”

“What? What is this? Here—hand it over.” Data took the book from JW’s hands and flipped it over back and forth a couple of times in his hands.

How Data survived the next moment in time is beyond anyone’s comprehension, despite his impeccable talent for life. In two moments, following the moment where Data somehow miraculously survives JW’s wrath, JW’s mouth will—quite literally—drop to the floor. He will be flabbergasted and angry—and no one likes an angry pie-fiend. Here is that moment.

Data sighed softly, nodded his head a couple of times and handed the book, in its golden binding, back to its owner. “Ah, I’ve read this. Good book. She dies in the end and never finds her father.”