BOOGEYMEN

by Mel Gilden

  “I’d say not,” La Forge said. “According to the diagnostic, the Boogeymen are gone. Right, Data?”

  “So it would seem.”

  La Forge shook his head and said, “I don’t know why I allow pessimists in Engineering.” He raised his voice and said, “Computer, start machete program.”

  Data glanced at him in surprise.

  “Running,” the computer said.

  “If you haven’t found anything,” Wesley said, “the problem must have been with the Boogeyman program itself.”

  “I don’t see any other answer,” La Forge said.

  “And yet,” Data said in the reasonable voice Wesley sometimes found maddening, “the Boogeyman program had nothing in it that might cause such a malfunction.”

  “You remember the entire program?” La Forge said.

  “Of course. An android never forgets.”

  “I’ve heard a lot about that Boogeyman program,” La Forge said. “Hell, I’m the one who installed it in the holodeck. I’d like to take a look at it.”

  “I can type it out in just a few minutes,” Data said. He sat down at an empty work station and began to type so fast his fingers were a blur.

  “I’d like to try it again,” Wesley said.

  “What? The Boogeymen? The training program?”

  “Both,” said Wesley.

  Even with his eyes covered, La Forge gave the impression he was squinting at Wesley. He said, “You’d better let me take a look at the programs first, Wes. Data doesn’t make mistakes, but sometimes even correct code can do funny things inside a starship mainframe.”

  Riker had listened to Picard’s story with some amazement. Though he’d used the Starfleet training programs just as every other fleet officer had, Riker claimed that he always knew in his gut when he was inside a holodeck simulation and when he was experiencing something real. “It must have been like a nightmare,” he said of Picard’s experience. “You never knew if you were really awake or just dreaming you were awake.”

  Riker’s comment struck Picard hard. He smiled. “Of course, Number One. You are referring to the philosophical conundrum stated by Chuang-tzu.”

  Riker looked uncomfortable, the way he always did when Picard sprang a history lesson on him. “Vulcan?” Riker asked hopefully.

  Picard shook his head. “You must read your history, Number One. Chuang-tzu was not Vulcan but a philosopher of ancient Earth, fourth century B.C. China, to be exact. On awakening from a dream he wondered if he had been a man dreaming he was a butterfly, or was now a butterfly dreaming he was a man.”

  “Ah,” said Riker.

  “Ah, indeed.” Picard ordered Riker to carry on and left for the exobiology lab, grumbling to himself yet again that Starfleet Academy was perhaps a little light on the humanities.

  He nodded to the security guard stationed outside the laboratory door and entered. Shubunkin and Baldwin were contemplating a model of the teardrop ship. Baldwin pointed a clear wand at the ship, and the top became transparent. He touched one of the miniature chairs with the wand and made it rise a few inches above the model.

  “If we can believe these chairs,” Baldwin said, “the members of the crew looked like us; they bent the way we do, anyway.”

  “That confirms the sensor readings we recorded on our first contact. Ninety-eight percent human. But humans need instrumentality. There’s no indication that they were telekinetic.”

  Almost to himself, Picard said, “And yet they attained warp speed without warp engines.”

  “Yes, yes,” Shubunkin said irritably. “Actually we have found instrumentation of a sort.” He took the wand from Baldwin and pointed to an artifact near the tail of the ship that looked like nothing so much as a small bass drum. “As near as we can determine, this focuses some kind of energy.”

  “What kind?”

  Baldwin shook his head, but he was not disagreeing with Shubunkin. He looked whipped. “Power output curves show a connection between the focusing mechanism and humanoid brain activity. Where that leads, who knows?”

  The three of them stared at the teardrop. Evidently d’Ort’d technology was so different from anything in the Federation that none of the usual signposts were helpful. Picard said, “Sensors indicated the humanoids were asleep while the ship was in flight. If, for the sake of argument, we assume that the humanoid brain activity has something to do with the ship moving at warp speeds, perhaps the sleeping does, too?”

  Shubunkin glanced at Baldwin to see what effect Picard’s question had had. Baldwin shrugged.

  “We’re still missing something,” Shubunkin said. “Some essential part of the puzzle.”

  “What about the natives of Tantamon Four?” Picard said.

  “According to Baldwin’s diaries,” Shubunkin said, “the natives cannot be the builders.”

  “Perhaps their ancestors?” Picard said.

  “Degenerate descendants?” Shubunkin said. “Impossible. Baldwin found no advanced artifacts except this single ship. Correct?”

  “Correct,” Baldwin said, and made talking-mouth motions with one hand as he rolled his eyes.

  Shubunkin pointedly ignored Baldwin’s impolite gestures and said, “Professor Baldwin’s own observations support the fact that the natives advance by cooperating instead of by competing, the method used by the natives of Earth and so many other planets. I’ve found evidence of competition on the ship.”

  “Your evidence is based on a theory.”

  “It is a law of exology!”

  “It’s a theory developed by a bunch of guys who’ve never been in the field!”

  “Gentlemen, please,” Picard shouted to be heard over their argument.

  Quietly, sarcastically, Shubunkin said, “Professor Baldwin has a theory of his own.” It was a dare.

  “It’s in the ship’s software,” Baldwin said, a little angrily, as if he’d suggested this before to no effect.

  Shubunkin said, “Can you understand the software? I can’t. I’m no computer expert. And even if you claim to understand it, you can still be wrong. We need primary data.”

  “Software is a tool. It has its own logic. I understand it well enough. I don’t know why you get so defensive when I suggest that the humanoid d’Ort’d are the servants of the other, more alien species.”

  “A servant, like their ship,” Shubunkin said sarcastically. “What does that mean? I tell you we need a second opinion.”

  “One of your would-be exologists?”

  It was obvious to Picard that these two had for hours been daring each other to cross a line and that neither of them was going to budge. He said, “Perhaps Mr. Data can be of help. Few beings know more about computers and their software than he.”

  Baldwin said, “Sounds good to me.”

  Shubunkin shrugged and folded his arms.

  Picard tapped his insignia and said, “Mr. Data.”

  “Here, Captain.”

  “Would you please join me in the exobiology lab on deck five?”

  “On my way, sir.”

  Data arrived, the usual inquisitive expression on his face. Baldwin said, “Maybe now we can get somewhere, eh, Data?”

  Data looked puzzled. “Have we met, sir?”

  A cold wind blew through Picard. He shot Data a look and said with exaggerated care, “This is Professor Baldwin. We picked him up on Tantamon Four. You escorted him to the conference lounge.”

  “I did?” Data said.

  “You did,” said Picard. Baldwin and Shubunkin looked at him, mystified.

  “Something wrong, Captain?” Shubunkin said.

  “As you may have known, Data is an android. To my knowledge he’s never before forgotten anything.”

  Chapter Eight

  DATA SAID, “I am incapable of forgetting anything.” He noted the worried expression on Picard’s face. “Have I forgotten something, sir?”

  “It would seem so.”

  “Forgetfulness is a most interesting sensation,” said Data. He st
ood motionless, a half smile on his face.

  Picard had seen Data like this before. Riker had once called him Pinocchio, and that appellation was not far from the truth. Data was fascinated with humans and humanity. Picard feared that instead of being dismayed by his defect, Data was intrigued by it.

  “Lieutenant Commander,” Picard said in a purposely harsh voice.

  Data looked at him. “Yes, sir?”

  More kindly, Picard said, “Given your recent linking with the main computer of the holodeck Enterprise, I am concerned that your memory failure may be a symptom of more serious matters.”

  “It is certainly possible, sir.”

  “I suggest you run a diagnostic program on yourself immediately.”

  “Ah. Might I suggest, sir, that by your same reasoning, my internal diagnostic programs are not to be trusted. As indeed, I am not.”

  Worse and worse, Picard thought. What did Data expect Picard to do, throw him in the brig? Picard was distressed to find that he considered this a real option. Hoping for something better, he said, “What do you suggest?”

  “It is not likely that the main computer has been contaminated by the Boogeymen. Therefore, I suggest that I allow the main computer to diagnose me. I suggest further that you ask Mr. La Forge to supervise this procedure.”

  “Done.” He tapped his insignia and said, “Mr. La Forge.”

  “Here, Captain.”

  “Meet me in the computer center on deck ten immediately.”

  “On my way.”

  Baldwin and Shubunkin did not entirely appreciate the seriousness of Picard’s problem, but they took time out from their quarrel and wished him well.

  Picard and Data hurried to deck ten, and Picard went through the identification process that had not worked for him on the holo-Enterprise. As the doors to the computer core control center slid open, La Forge arrived with Wesley. Picard glanced at Wesley but did not object to his presence. He might have something valuable to offer.

  The doors closed behind them, and they were alone with the main access to the brain of Enterprise. La Forge walked to the situation wall and studied it for a moment. “Everything seems normal, sir. What’s the problem?”

  “It’s Mr. Data. He’s forgotten Professor Baldwin.”

  Wesley started to speak, then thought better of it.

  La Forge raised his eyebrows and nodded. He said, “You’ll want a full diagnostic on him. Come on over here, Data. This won’t hurt a bit.”

  “I didn’t expect that it would,” Data said as he crossed to the wall of electronic ports. La Forge used an optical cable to plug him in, then sat down at one of the four central terminals and brought it up. Picard and Wesley backed off, watching as if La Forge and Data were performers in a stage play.

  “Put yourself into passive mode,” La Forge said as he made adjustments on his board.

  “Done,” said Data in a strange, flat voice.

  La Forge said, “We don’t have enough room in the mainframe for all Data’s programming, but we do have a copy of his diagnostic program, just in case something like this should come up.” He set a few defaults and said, “Just relax. Computer.”

  “Working,” said the computer voice and Data at the same time.

  “Access and run diagnostic program ‘Data’ on peripheral in port 6-665A.”

  “Working,” Data and the computer said together.

  Picard didn’t know what he expected to see, but what he did see was nothing. The computer spoke to itself in staccato electronic tones while La Forge sat back with his arms folded, watching Data. The android did not move. The expression on his face was blank. Picard said, “Anything to report on the holodeck problem, Mr. La Forge?”

  “Nothing yet, sir. But I have a few more things to check.”

  Picard nodded. He was eager to find out what the problem was. A few days or even weeks without the holodeck would probably not have a significant effect on his crew, but as Counselor Troi was certain to remind him, the ability to use the holodeck was important to their mental health. And La Forge knew what he was doing.

  The computer stopped twittering, and Data frowned.

  “Data?” La Forge said.

  Data worked the cable clear at either end and replaced his scalp. He rubbed his forehead with one hand while he stumbled to a chair and nearly fell into it.

  “Data?” they all said as they converged on him.

  “I feel most unusual,” Data said.

  “Unusual, how?” Picard said.

  Data’s mouth moved without making a sound. He seemed to be gathering his thoughts. Picard knew that Data occasionally had to access information from a nether part of his positronic brain, but he never had to organize his thoughts, at least not the way natural life forms did. Data’s thoughts arrived organized.

  Wesley said, “If I looked like that, Mom would have me down in sickbay. And I’d probably go.”

  “Data?” Picard said.

  “Most unusual,” Data said again. “My head and limbs are throbbing in a most unpleasant way. I feel very weak and tired.”

  “Are you sick, Data?” La Forge said.

  “Sick? Accessing.” Data made the usual jerky reading motions with his head. He stopped suddenly, a pained look on his face and a hand to his temple. He said, “Sick. Ill. Ailing. Disabled. Not up to snuff. I have no way of knowing if this describes my condition, never having felt this way before. But it is a logical working hypothesis. I do seem to be not up to snuff.” He smiled, evidently felt pain, and touched his temple again. “Captain, may I be excused?”

  “If you were any other crew member, I’d send you to sickbay. What do you suggest, Mr. La Forge?”

  “It does seem to be an engineering problem. And though I’m not a doctor, I doubt if what he has is contagious to other members of the crew. Come on down to Engineering, Data.”

  “Very well. This is most interesting. Ow.”

  “Ensign Crusher, would you see that Mr. Data arrives in Engineering safely.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  They got Data to his feet, and he and Wesley shuffled out together.

  When the door had closed, Picard said, “It seems likely that Data was infected by the main computer.”

  “It seems that way.”

  “Is this related somehow to our holodeck problem?”

  “You better hope not, sir. If we have Boogeymen in our mainframe, we are in big trouble.”

  “Exactly how big?”

  “I don’t know at the moment. But Data being sick could be a break for us.”

  “How so?”

  “It gives us two views of the problem rather than just one. The parallax could give us a clue or two.”

  “I want some answers, Mr. La Forge. Or at the very least, better questions. One hour in the conference lounge.”

  “Aye, sir,” said La Forge as he quickly left the room.

  Picard looked around. In the entire Federation only three or four cases of mental illness were reported every year. Not one case of computer mental illness had been reported in many years. If the mainframe of the Enterprise was the statistical anomaly, Picard was not confident that La Forge’s ideas about parallax would save them.

  Down in Engineering Wesley deposited Data in a chair, then sat across from him and watched. It was odd to see Data, who never got tired and normally had the posture of a machine, with his elbows on the table, slumping. He touched his forehead and winced occasionally. Yet Data’s skin color was the same as it always was and he didn’t sweat. Wesley guessed that he probably didn’t have a temperature. He had an operating temperature, but that wasn’t the same thing.

  Wesley said, “How do you feel?”

  Data looked puzzled for a moment and then said, “Generally, with my hands, but I have sensors all over my body. Did I say something funny, Wesley?”

  Wesley shook his head and said, “Sometimes I think that pretending you don’t know what humor is is the funniest thing about you.”

  Data did
n’t understand that, and Wesley knew it was pointless to try explaining it, so he just forged on with another question. He said, “What is your condition?”

  “Much the same as it was before. Tell me about being sick.”

  Wesley considered the question. Most ailments that were common before the twenty-third century had been eradicated. Still, germs, viruses, and other afflictions mutated constantly and were sometimes accidentally carried from one outpost of the Federation to another. People even occasionally caught cold. Wesley suspected that Data knew all this and really wanted to know how humans reacted to being sick. Data was a great one for playacting. His rendition of Sherlock Holmes was not the end. The drama group he directed was famous all over the ship.

  Wesley said, “I had a cold once.”

  “Cold? As in heatless, chilly, nippy, frigid—”

  “No, Data. A cold. A viral infection causing you to sneeze and cough and have a fever. Nothing really hurts, but you get bored with sneezing and coughing, and that’s after the infection makes you tired to begin with.”

  “I see that being the son of a doctor has had its effect on you.”

  Wesley was pleased by that, but he said, “Everybody knows this stuff, Data. But the important part as far as you’re concerned, is that when you have a cold you lie in bed with tissues to sneeze into and all your favorite books and a portable computer terminal and maybe some games you can play by yourself and a glass of water and some cough drops.”

  “Sounds cluttered.”

  “Maybe if you were well it would be, but if you’re sick, it’s just comfortable.”

  “I see. Comfort is a consideration.”

  Wesley nodded.

  “Useful information. Please excuse me,” Data said and rested his head on his crossed arms.

  Wesley sat there feeling helpless. If Data were human, he’d already be in sickbay. If he were just a machine, Wesley would already be poking a hyperspanner around inside him. But Data was supposed to be self-adjusting. He wasn’t supposed to get sick or broken or whatever.

  When La Forge emerged from the turbolift, Wesley went over to talk to him.

  “How is he?” La Forge said.