“Call me grandpa.”

Data, feeling dubious as he had been with all the old men who had made such uncomfortable requests before, calculated his response via operations in the billions computed within a nanosecond.

“Grandpa,” Data resolved, “where do babies come from?”

The old man smiled his old man smile, lopsided and hoary, yet affable all the same.

“A man who isn’t man asking a dying, brilliant, phoenix of a man where babies, little mans as they are, come from, eh?” The doctor, which the old man was, was clearly feeling affected, fast and loose from a few shots too many synthehol.

Again.

If Data could feel, he might have felt pity for the old doctor man’s state and subsequent conduct. Instead, Data’s positronic mind parsed the old man’s counter-question with ease and concocted a response.

“Yes.”

The old man once again smiled his old man smile, more lopsided and hoary than usual.

“Data, your activation switch better be in the off position, because I’m about to turn you on…”

Smiles.