by Jeffrey Lang
Troi walked around the container and laid her hand on Data's arm. “My condolences, Data.”
Picard searched the android's face for a sign of emotion, and, finding none, wondered if Data had deactivated his emotion chip. Picard knew that since the chip had been installed there had been a few times where a flood of unfamiliar emotions had forced Data to disengage the chip, but it was not something the android enjoyed doing. He had discovered that turning off the chip did not make the emotions go away, but shunted them into a kind of buffer where they lay in wait until the chip was reactivated.
Then, he spoke and Picard knew that the chip was engaged. “Thank you, Counselor,” he said, his voice trembling slightly. “It means a great deal to me to have you all here.” He caressed the edge of the coffin. “And I'm sure that, if she knew, it would mean a great deal to my mother, too.”
Chapter Three
Geordi stepped forward. “She was an amazing woman, Data,” he said, laying a hand on his friend's shoulder. “I know there's nothing anyone can do to make it better, but if you ever need to talk . . .” His voice trailed off then and Picard saw that his chief engineer's eyes were tearing up.
Data nodded. “Thank you, Geordi. I appreciate your concern.” Then, he continued in a more clinical tone, “However, I feel I must point out that although I permitted myself the indulgence of calling Dr. Tainer my mother, she was not my biological parent. She merely assisted Dr. Soong in the creation and development of my body and positronic brain.”
“Which is as good a definition of ‘mother’ as any, Data,” Troi said softly, mustering a smile.
Data smiled back. “That may be true, Counselor, but I learned of Juliana Tainer's existence and her role in my creation only a few short years ago.”
“And in that time, you'd formed a warm attachment to each other,” Troi pointed out. “Data—please don't try to downplay the significance of this event. She was your mother in every meaningful sense of the word and you should allow yourself to mourn her passing.”
Data nodded and said, “I understand what you are saying, Counselor. And though I know I should feel some sense of loss, I am disconcerted to report that ever since my mother's husband informed me of her passing, I have felt curiously removed from events, almost as if this has been happening to someone else.” Turning to La Forge, Data said, “Perhaps we should run a diagnostic on my emotion chip after I have interred my mother's body.”
Seeing that Geordi didn't know how to respond, Troi interrupted and said, “I think your emotions are functioning perfectly, Data. The death of a loved one can frequently provoke a feeling of dislocation. It's one of the ways we cope with the flood of emotion. Just give yourself a little time. Perhaps you should consider taking some leave.”
Data shook his head. “No, Counselor. I find that what I want to do most is return to my work. I feel a strong desire to immerse myself in a task.”
“Which is what Starfleet officers almost always say . . .” Troi sighed. “As you please, Data. But you know I'm always available if you need to talk. If there's one thing I know about, it's the role a mother can take in someone's life. . . .”
Riker asked, “There was no problem with the Atrean government, Data?”
“No, Commander,” Data said. “The Atreans have no strong spiritual beliefs about the status of the body after death, so Pran Tainer had no compunction about granting me possession of her remains.”
“And there was no . . . confusion?”
“The biofeedback circuitry continued to work after her demise,” Data said, correctly interpreting Riker's comment. “Dr. Soong planned for this eventuality very carefully. Even though my mother's positronic brain ceased to function, her power cells continued to fuel the feedback processor that masked her true condition. And, most fortunately, I arrived soon enough after her ‘death’ that I was able to prevent any form of autopsy being performed on her. The Atreans have a ritual called the tai-lun where the husband and close friends sit with the body overnight, somewhat similar to the Klingon custom Ak'voh—”
“Excuse me?” Rhea McAdams said, stepping forward between Riker and Picard.
“Ak'voh,” Data repeated. “Some Klingons practice a tradition of watching over a fallen comrade to keep away predators, possibly dating back to—”
“No, no,” McAdams said, waving her hand. “I know what Ak'voh is. What I mean is—” She stopped, started over. “I'm sorry, Commander. We haven't even been introduced.”
“An oversight on my part,” Picard admitted. “Data, this is Lieutenant Rhea McAdams, our new head of security. She transferred aboard while you were away.”
Data extended his hand and McAdams shook it. “How do you do, Lieutenant? I wish you success in your new duties.”
“Thank you, Commander. Please accept my condolences and excuse my rude behavior, but I have to confess I'm a little confused.”
“Again, my fault,” Picard said. “I should have briefed you more thoroughly before inviting you down here. Data, I explained to Lieutenant McAdams about your mother's death, but I did not feel comfortable telling her about her unique condition. However, under the circumstances . . .”
“Certainly, sir,” Data replied. “Perhaps you could speak to her while I download my flight record to the ship's main computer.”
Riker followed Data as he disappeared into the shuttle, and Picard drew McAdams aside. “As you know,” he began in a low voice, “Data is an android—the only fully functional android that Starfleet is aware of. He was created by Dr. Noonien Soong, something of a maverick in the field of artificial intelligence.”
McAdams nodded. “Yes, sir. I read this in my personnel briefs. The colony on which he was created was destroyed in an alien attack. Data was recovered and activated by Starfleet, which he subsequently joined.”
“Yes, at least partially so he would have opportunities to find his creator,” Picard said, “which he did, as well as a ‘brother’ named Lore. The part of the story that almost no one knows is that Soong was married. His wife—the woman Data thinks of as his mother—was fatally injured, and rather than lose her completely, Soong created an android duplicate of her and transferred Juliana's memories to the android's neural net. Soong programmed her to believe she was the original Juliana.”
“And never told her the truth?” McAdams asked, sounding slightly appalled.
Picard shrugged. “I believe he must have felt it was a kindness. He had installed a complex masking system into the body so no one ever discovered her true nature until she met Data several years ago. He noticed that she blinked in Fibonacci sequences—”
“Right,” McAdams said blankly. “That would give it away, wouldn't it?”
“In any case,” Picard continued, smiling, “Data was able to determine that Dr. Tainer's android body was designed to simulate the passing of years and would eventually expire. When Pran Tainer contacted him, Data knew that the time had come and he would have to act quickly if he was going to preserve her secret.”
“But he called her ‘mother,’ ” McAdams said. “Maybe this is just my being new to the situation, but it strikes me that Dr. Tainer is more like a sister.”
“She helped Soong assemble Data,” Picard explained. “And was responsible for some of his most distinctive characteristics. She's the one who insisted that Soong give Data a creative capacity, and, perhaps most significantly, influenced Soong to not give Data emotions.”
“Why?”
“She was concerned about Data developing like Lore, who had something of a psychotic streak, I'm afraid. He proved so dangerous, in fact, that Data felt compelled to deactivate him, but it was a difficult decision . . .”
“...Because he was family,” McAdams finished for him. “Yes, I understand. The only thing I don't understand is why no one else has been able to design a Soong-type android.”
“There have been attempts,” Picard replied. “Data's components, though complex, are quite well understood now. Everything could be repl
icated—except for the positronic brain. Every attempt . . .”
From behind them, Picard heard Data say, “... has been unsuccessful. And, to date, there has been no clearly identifiable reason why.” He walked down the ramp again, this time carrying a small travel case. “Or, to put it another way, there has been no clearly identifiable reason why my positronic brain—or that of my brother Lore's, or Juliana's for that matter—functions. Several theories have been advanced, none of them easily provable, though I am intrigued by Bronwin and Satar's recent note in Advances in Artificial Intelligence where they postulated that there was some unique, as yet unidentified substance in the components Dr. Soong incorporated into his positronic brains. However, my own investigations into that theory have been inconclusive.”
“Perhaps,” McAdams said, “Dr. Soong was successful because he believed so strongly that his work should succeed. Belief is a potent force. Just look what it did for Tinkerbell.”
Data cocked his head to the side, a gesture that Picard associated with him accessing some deeply buried file. “That is an interesting theory,” Data commented. “But it would be extremely difficult to prove. It would also suggest that my daughter's positronic brain went into cascade failure because I did not believe strongly enough in her.”
“I'm sorry,” McAdams said. “Your daughter?”
“Yes,” Data replied. “Lal. I constructed her several years ago. She lived only fifteen days, but I was . . .” He hesitated, then resumed, “I cannot say I had strong feelings for her because I did not have feelings at that time. However . . .” He paused again, seeming to search for the words. Finally, Data said, “I do not know how to express what I am feeling.”
“I understand,” McAdams said. “And please forgive me for speaking so cavalierly about something I could never understand.”
“You have no reason to apologize, Lieutenant. I have studied the literature on the development of positronic brains in great detail and many less credible ideas have been advanced. For example, in volume 72, issue 2 of Positronic Review, M'Yea posited—”
“Data,” Picard said gently.
“Yes, Captain?”
“Surely this can wait until you've attended to your mother's remains? And I believe Lieutenant McAdams is scheduled to return to her duties.”
“Perhaps you are right, Captain. My apologies, Lieutenant. I did not know you were still on duty. Thank you for coming down here to meet my shuttle.” Data extended his hand and McAdams took it. They shook hands formally, the way you do, Picard thought, at the conclusion of a funeral.
“Maybe we can continue our conversation at another time, Commander.”
“I would enjoy that, Lieutenant.”
After McAdams left, Data turned back toward the coffin and reactivated the antigravs. The crate rose a few inches off the ground, and without speaking, Picard, Riker, La Forge and Troi took up places at the four corners of the coffin. Each put a hand on their corner and carefully guided it toward the turbolift, Data following. They passed no one en route, Riker having already cleared the corridors between the shuttlebay and their destination.
They rode in silence. When the lift halted, they guided the coffin carefully down the corridor, then up to the doors to Data's lab. After he had keyed in his pass-code, Data turned to his friends. He thanked each of them formally in turn, then said, “I deeply appreciate your concern; however, I believe I require some time alone now.”
“Of course, Data,” Troi said, quite properly speaking for them all. “We understand. Please call if you need anything.”
Data nodded, thanked them all again, then carefully pushed the coffin through the doors. After the doors had closed, the four pallbearers simultaneously inhaled, then slowly let out their breaths. “Is it only me,” Riker asked, “or is anyone else hungry?”
Data stood silently for several seconds, then methodically set to work opening the coffin. It was only a matter of a few minutes' work to transfer his mother's unchanged remains to one of the transparent cases he had installed several months earlier after the Enterprise-E had been commissioned. After securing the door on his mother's crypt, Data stepped back and regarded his “family”: the three nameless, failed prototypes Soong had created first; then Lore, then Juliana and then, last of all, Lal. Staring at his daughter, Data became distantly aware that a number of background subroutines were halting as more and more of his resources were being consumed, as one thought, one idea, tumbled incessantly through his mind.
Slowly, very slowly, he reached out and touched the transparent panel, studying the planes of her face. The strength went out of his legs, and Data slipped to the floor, finally settling with his back against the wall, staring blankly into the middle distance. A maintenance subroutine warned him that he should be alarmed by the number of processors that were cycling endlessly through a single thought, but Data found it impossible to rouse himself. There was no reason to move, nothing worth moving for, nothing worth caring about, nothing . . .
Then, without knowing why, he muttered, “I'm sorry,” and though the words felt bitter and hollow, it was the only thought his positronic brain could muster, so he said it again. And then once more. He said it again and again and again, his voice growing more faint with each utterance. And even when no sound came out, his lips continued to move.
Chapter Four
“I'm sorry, Captain,” Data said, patting his eyes with a tissue. A significant pile, Picard noted, had accumulated on his ready room desk.
“You've already said that and I've already told you that you have no reason to apologize,” Picard said. “This has been a very trying experience for you. Add to that the fact that you have very little experience with these sorts of emotional upheavals . . . If it helps at all, Data, you should know that I experienced something very similar to what you're going through when my brother and his son were killed. It's a devastating feeling.”
Data nodded slowly. “I understand what you are saying, Captain, but that is not . . . that is not . . .” Before he could complete his sentence, Data was overcome by another wave of grief, his shoulders rolling as the sobs wracked him. As the intensity of his grief grew, Data's head sank lower and lower until finally he was slumped over, face in his hands, his entire body shaking. Picard began to worry that Data might be about to experience some sort of breakdown when, suddenly, the sobs ceased. Data's head snapped up and though his eyes were still watering, it was quite literally as if someone had turned off the faucet.
“Data?”
“Yes, Captain?” Data reached toward the container on the table and awkwardly tugged at the spray of tissues. He pulled free a wad, and gingerly wiped his cheeks dry.
“Did something just happen?”
“Sir?”
“Have you . . . deactivated your emotion chip?”
Data cocked his head to the side as if consulting an internal monitor. Finally, he reported, “Yes, Captain, the chip has been deactivated, but it was not done so by any conscious effort on my part.”
“Should we contact Geordi?”
Data considered, then shook his head. “No, sir. I do not believe that will be necessary. While I do not know if the chip was deactivated by some sort of fail-safe device or if I ‘unconsciously’ turned it off, I think it would be best if it were left that way for a while. Do not humans frequently go to sleep after they have received a severe shock?”
“I see what you mean. So, you think this might be your system's way of ‘going to sleep.’ ”
“Yes, Captain,” he said. He glanced curiously at the tower of tissues he'd built atop Picard's desk, as if seeing it for the first time. “This is all quite fascinating.”
Picard settled back in his chair and rubbed his temples. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, it is.” Not to mention exhausting. He rose and looked around Data's quarters until he saw the food replicator. “Do you know what else humans do when they've received a nasty shock?” He spoke to the unit: “Tea. Lapsang Souchong. Hot.”
D
ata looked up, curious. “Not Earl Grey, Captain?”
Picard picked up the cup and inhaled the tea's smoky aroma. “When I was a boy,” he said, smiling warmly, “this is what my mother used to make whenever one of her sisters would visit with the latest emotional crisis. She was a woman of remarkable patience, my mother.” He paused for a moment, lost in memory, then shook himself. It was getting late. “Would you like a cup?”
Data considered the idea, then replied, “Yes, Captain. Thank you. I believe I would.”
Picard nodded, then asked the replicator for another cup. As he carried it to Data, he asked, “Do you think you could reactivate the chip if you wished?”
Data took the cup and answered, “Yes, Captain.”
“And will you?”
“I do not know, sir. Perhaps I should discuss this with Counselor Troi. She might have valuable insights to offer.”
Picard sipped his tea, then said, “Actually, I was surprised you didn't call her when you realized that you were in distress. Or Geordi, for that matter.”
Data inhaled the tea deeply, but did not drink. He set the cup back in its saucer, then replied, “I cannot say for certain, sir, but I believe my decision to call you was a purely emotional one. When my cognitive functions stabilized, the first memory I accessed was the conversation we had in stellar cartography aboard the Enterprise-D when I was feeling overwhelmed by my emotion chip.”
“Yes, I remember,” Picard replied. “I told you that if you really wished to understand what it meant to be human, you would have to try to cope with the feelings, both pleasant and unpleasant, to grow from them.”
“Yes,” Data said. “And I took great comfort from your words. In my overwrought condition, it is possible I was seeking that comfort again.”
Picard shrugged and set his cup down on the table. Leaning forward, he said, “Well, whatever the reason, I'm glad I was able to help . . . even if I'm not sure exactly what I've accomplished so far. Data—what exactly can you tell me about this emotional condition you were experiencing?”