Kadar remained silent.
Picard shook his head. “No? Why not?”
His hand now free, he gripped Beverly’s arm and pushed her toward the Hidran captain.
“Kill her, Urosk! Surely someone with red hair once murdered a Hidran. Or is it only Klingons that are all alike in their thoughts and motivations. Perhaps I can find a Hidran that once murdered a Terran, and that will give me cause to murder you.”
“No,” Worf said, his voice stronger.
Picard twisted around—Worf was standing.
Weakly, the Klingon—Worf—took a step forward and dropped the knife into the dirt. “No one here is going to die.”
His hand fell from his wound. Blood trickled where moments ago it had gushed.
“Kill me now if you must,” Worf said, “but do not delude yourself into thinking it is justice.”
Phaser in hand, Urosk extended his long arm. He aimed at Worf—glanced to Picard a moment . . . then dropped the weapon from his grasp.
The phaser bounced once on the ground, and came to rest at his feet.
Chapter Seventeen
“COMPUTER, OVERWRITE-CODE THIRTY, access level seven.”
Geordi slid to the deck and quietly set down his phaser. The weapon was the first thing he’d searched for after the gas was blown clear. It was absurd, really—what was he going to do? Ask Data to announce his position so a blind man could take aim? Somehow, though, the weapon was a comfort. And, if worse came to worse, Geordi would just use the weapon to destroy a few key systems. That was his goal—keep the ship not totally defenseless, but weak enough that Data wouldn’t try anything drastic.
Unfortunately, without his vision, he really couldn’t go yanking wires and switching chips. One wrong pull and life support might go—or warp core containment, for that matter. It was amazing enough that he was able to find the Jefferies tube cubbyhole that allowed him an escape from the gas. He wasn’t about to test his luck again.
The computer would be his eyes, through his hand communicator. He knew as much as Data did about the Enterprise—the capabilities, the possibilities . . . the computer programing.
Data had reprogrammed the computer by taking control of certain functions and lock-outs. He was telling the computer what to do. Geordi was taking a different tack.
“Overwrite-code thirty enabled,” replied the computer. “Level seven, available.”
“Good!” Geordi nodded approvingly. Data hadn’t thought of any of this. “Computer, command functions are no longer accessible through any station or terminal on the Battle Drive.”
“Command functions switched to saucer access only.”
Despite the super-speed of nanoprocessors and the complexity of modern computers, they were all still, like their electronic-abacus ancestors, basically stupid. Computers could only do what they were programed to. Data, either damaged or . . . Geordi couldn’t guess what, had told the computer to do certain things—had activated certain aspects of the computer’s emergency programming. Geordi decided to trump Data by going a step further—rewriting the computer’s actual program. If Data was going to take over phaser controls, Geordi was going to make sure that Data could only control them if he were . . . say, doing so from Starfleet Command on Earth. If he wanted to use the tractor beams, perhaps he’d have to be in New Chicago on Mars.
“Computer, transfer to level eight, overwrite-code thirty-A.”
“Transfer complete.”
The only flaw in this plan was that Data knew the computer just as well as Geordi. He would find out what was happening, as soon as the command functions disappeared, and a battle of reprogramming would ensue. Unless, of course, Geordi took certain steps to protect his changes. He couldn’t lock Data out completely, but he could screen his path in a manner that would take Data time to find.
Geordi wagered that Data was, despite his recent fit of illogical conclusions, still a creature of systematic habit. If told to look for a needle in a haystack he’d start at one end and sort through the straw until he found what he was looking for or reached the other end.
So where would Geordi hide his needle? Dead center of a computer haystack—no matter which end Data began looking from, it would take him the longest amount of time to reach the middle. The android wouldn’t dive into the task randomly—he’d pick one end and work toward the other. Of that much Geordi was sure.
“Computer, access tenth nested command table.”
“Tenth nested command table available.”
“Disallow further changes to command pathways from any level but this one.”
“Working . . . acknowledged.”
“Restrict access to nested command tables, levels one through twenty, with vocal password protection.”
“Working . . . acknowledged. State password.”
Geordi smiled. “Five-seven-three-six-one dash two-nine-two-three-eight-three dash nine-six dash five-three-six-four.” He took in a deep breath, then continued. “Dash seven-three-two dash seven-three-one-two-five dash nine-nine-six-five-two-three-eight dash alpha-six-two dash gamma-eight-three.”
There was a series of beeps, then, “Password entered. Restate for verification.”
He wrinkled his brows. “Oh, right,” he mumbled. “Guess I got carried away.” He blew out a breath. “Computer, override verification function and accept password as entered.”
“Acknowledged.”
A chuckle pressed its way out—Geordi couldn’t help himself. This was pretty good even if he did say so himself. “Computer,” he began, grinning from ear to ear, “now restrict ability to request access to the password with another password.”
“Working . . . acknowledged. State password.”
“Mares eat oats and does eat oats . . . and little lambs drink coffee.” He laughed. “Figure that one out, Data.”
“Password entered. Restate for verification.”
“Mares eat oats and does eat oats and little lambs drink coffee.”
“Incomplete.”
“What? Oh.” Geordi smiled. “Figure that one out, Data.”
Another series of bleeps from the computer. “Acknowledged.”
This was going too well. As any engineer could attest, as anyone who worked on anything could attest, when things went off without a hitch for too long, it meant something bad was coming. Either what was being fixed wasn’t really broken, or a part was wrong, or something . . . No job hadn’t at least one problem lurking somewhere.
Geordi thought for a moment. What was next? What needed to be done? Assume Data found a way to the command pathways . . . real possible. What would he do?
“Computer, switch to Warp Propulsion Sub-system. WPS factor initiator control.”
“Switching . . . ready.”
“Restrict access to warp factor one acceleration. Use password in encrypted file: La Forge twenty-three.”
“Complete.”
“Restrict access to warp factors two through nine respectively, using passwords in the following encrypted files: La Forge twenty-four through La Forge thirty-one.”
“Working . . . complete.”
“Computer, you’re beautiful.”
The computer chirped in confusion.
“Delete files La Forge twenty-three through La Forge thirty-one. Overwrite current file allocations with life support commands located in nested area fifty-five and mark entire block as unmovable.” Even if Data wanted to recreate the erased files, he wouldn’t be able to: they were being overwritten with files that couldn’t be transferred. Geordi didn’t need a password for that—some things you could just never recover from a computer.
“Function complete.”
“Okay—” Geordi turned his head—thought he heard something . . . a change in the ship . . . a creak somewhere, a thrumming that shouldn’t have been there.
He was getting paranoid. Keep calm, go about your business. “Computer, are we still broadcasting a white-noise transmission from the deflector array?”
“Affirmative.”
“Disengage. Attempt to contact planet.”
“Channel open.”
“La Forge to Picard, come in.”
Static snapped back, then: “Picard here.”
“Captain . . .”
From behind: “Geordi, please put the communicator down.”
“Data—”
Geordi reached down and spun around.
“I have the phaser, Geordi.”
There was no anger in that voice—no animosity. It was . . . spooky.
“Why, Data?” Geordi asked, carefully setting the communicator down, making sure the antenna grid was open and sending. He pushed himself away, taking Data’s attention with him.
“I would ask you the same question,” Data said. “Are you doing this of your own volition?”
The voice was from another part of the room now—Data was moving about—keeping Geordi disoriented.
“Data, what’s happened to you?”
“Nothing has happened to me. It would seem I am the only one who has not been affected by whatever is coercing you.”
“Well . . .” Geordi shifted left along the wall, hoping that Data’s constant movement had led him away from the door. “I don’t think I’m being coerced . . . instead, I think something’s wrong with you.”
“I have run several diagnostics on myself. There is no evidence of any abnormality.” That casual voice—now from the left—so unmalevolent, so reasonable.
“You don’t see mutiny as abnormal?” Geordi said, moving right now.
“Please stop moving, Geordi. I have the phaser set on stun and aimed at you.” Matter-of-factly—as if describing a chess move.
Geordi stopped his shuffle and stood facing where he’d last heard Data’s voice. “Are you going to stun me, Data?”
“I would rather not,” Data said, “but that does depend on your actions. Please detail what you have done to the computer.”
“Why?” Stall stall stall. Data was a talker—keep him talking.
“It is necessary for my mission.”
“What mission?”
Data paused, obviously considering whether it was in his interests to tell Geordi. “I intend,” he began, perhaps thinking he could convince Geordi, “to take this vessel to Qo’noS. A course is set and we are already underway.”
“What?” Geordi gasped. “You can’t!”
“I can,” the android said coldly. “The Klingons must be stopped. It is my hypothesis that your mind, and the minds of most Enterprise personnel have been corrupted, perhaps coerced, into actions against your respective wills. This is farther reaching than I thought earlier. Captain Picard is also under their control.”
“Talk to Starfleet, Data—how could everyone be under a Klingon influence? How is it that only you are immune?”
“That you suggest I talk to Starfleet is evidence enough the Klingon influence is indeed pervasive. And I am evidently immune because I am an android.”
He’s not paranoid. Everyone is against him.
“So you’re going to do what at the Klingon homeworld, Data? Destroy an entire planet?”
“I sincerely hope not,” Data said evenly. “One can use the threat of violence as easily as violence itself.”
“And if they don’t comply with any demand you make?”
“Then,” Data said, from the area of the door now, “force must be used. A threat without intent and ability is no threat.”
“Then you’ll have to stun me, Data. Because you’re not getting my help. A threat not only has to be real—but the person you’re threatening has to care. I care more about stopping you than whether or not I’m stunned . . . or even killed.”
“Geordi,” Data said slowly, still near the door, “I am very sorry. I do hope you can be rehabilitated.”
Data’s voice fell quiet . . . his phaser whined . . . then silence dominated.
Chapter Eighteen
“GEORDI . . . I AM VERY SORRY. I do hope you can be rehabilitated.”
They heard the phaser whine, then silence.
Picard jabbed at the communicator he’d grabbed from Beverly’s jacket. “Picard to Data! Return to orbit and beam me aboard. We have found Commander Riker. He’s injured and needs medical care.”
He could still hear the open frequency—heard Geordi fall to the deck—then a footfall, and then the static crunch of a closing frequency.
He punched at the comm badge again. “Data!”
A closed frequency argued back. He should have spoken up sooner—while Geordi was talking. Perhaps he’d have had a chance to argue with the android himself . . . convince him somehow.
Kadar stepped forward. “I have confirmed the attack on my vessel. We have sustained damage and casualties.” The Klingon Captain was somber, his tone almost sympathetic. There was no accusation in his voice. Part of this was his fault—Kadar too had let the situation escalate, and perhaps he felt the regret Picard saw in Urosk’s eyes as well.
They stood together, Urosk and Kadar, Picard noticed. An almost surreal sight—for two people who’d been trying to kill each other fifteen minutes before, they were practically cuddling.
Quietly, Urosk pulled Picard’s attention with low voice. “My ship . . . We participated in the battle and have both caused and sustained damage.”
His wound still very sore, Worf shakily stepped forward. Picard realized now just how close to death his officer had come. Had the wound been a little worse, Worf might not be standing.
“Data must be stopped,” Worf said gravely.
Picard nodded and looked down at Beverly who worked on his arm. He wasn’t sure when she had begun or what she had done, but from his shoulder to his fingers, his arm was numb and he was glad of it. Worf probably could have used the same, but no mention was made of it. To do so would be an insult, and both Picard and Beverly knew that.
“Doctor—could Data have taken this grain? Might he be affected by it?” Picard asked.
Barbara, following Riker to the core of the little group Picard and his fellow captains had formed, spoke up. “Yes! I gave him some. I didn’t think it—”
“When?” Picard snapped.
She paused, taken aback, then said, “When I was with him on the ship. I was running tests and he was . . .”
Picard glanced to Urosk who remained silent. “He was reading the Hidran history of the war with the Klingons.”
Will Riker, appearing very much like a shipwreck survivor with his tattered uniform and rather rancid smell, pressed his way through to Picard. Deanna followed, her uniform looking no better. In contrast, physically they both looked rested and refreshed.
“I overheard,” Riker said. “I’ve made contact with the saucer section. We have a very confused ensign in command. He wasn’t been able to use communications until just a few minutes ago.”
“Our subspace communications are down,” Kadar said. “If you have access, we must alert our homeworld to protect itself. The Enterprise will go unchallenged—Worf’s ship would not be questioned. His brother sits on the High Council—Worf himself is respected.”
Worf straightened proudly. He looked stronger. No grain there—just ego.
“I know,” Picard grumbled. “But they’ll destroy the Enterprise, Captain. I can’t let that happen.”
“You can’t let Qo’noS be destroyed either,” Kadar said.
“I know that as well,” Picard said. “But if we can catch up to Data . . . reason with him . . . or trick him. I need your ship, Kadar.”
Kadar looked from Worf to Urosk, then back to Picard. There was no way to know what the Klingon commander thought, but Picard wagered there was some regret in there. “My ship is yours. But the damage is extensive—we are lacking materials and manpower. Five deaths, twenty-three injuries . . .”
Deaths . . . injuries . . . No sooner had Picard convinced these two warring parties to lay down their arms than they found the Enterprise itself had led an unwarranted attack.
“We’l
l help effect repairs,” Picard said. “If we can overtake him before he reaches Klingon space . . .”
“We must, at any cost,” Kadar said tightly. “If not, the Klingon fleet will have to disable or destroy your ship.”
The ship . . . the lives . . . Picard pulled away from Beverly, who’d been fussing with his numb arm, and faced Kadar, grabbing the Klingon commander’s shoulder with his left hand. “I understand that, Captain,” Picard said, making sure the Klingon knew Picard wouldn’t assign blame to those who were guiltless. “But if there is a way to avoid that,” he added, “I must try.”
Kadar said nothing, just nodded, but there was that flicker in his eyes. The flicker of a captain who knew what a ship was, what it meant to its master’s soul.
Picard nodded his gratitude then swung toward Riker. “Coordinate the Saucer with the Klingon vessel. I want their ship up and running within the hour. Data said Geordi had used the computer to lame the ship. Knowing Data, that’s temporary. We’ve been given knight’s odds, Number One—let’s not waste the advantage.”
“Aye, sir,” Riker acknowledged, moving away, already shelling out orders into his comm badge.
Beverly snatched Picard’s arm again and tried to wriggle it into a make-shift sling. The pain gone, he pulled away, but she struggled and he finally gave in and turned to Deanna.
“What can you tell me about Data’s condition?” he asked. “I assume you heard the broadcast.”
She nodded. “Data is difficult to read. Most people when they act irrationally have an emotional reason—Data can’t, yet from the sound of it, I’d say he regrets his action with Geordi.”
“Regret is an emotion,” Barbara said.
Deanna turned to her. “Confusion can manifest itself as regret in Data. He doesn’t really have emotions. He does have likes and dislikes, opinions, but . . . there’s conviction, not passion.”
“We don’t have time for a seminar, Counselor,” Picard said. “Give me something I can use.”
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