Star Trek: The Next Generation - 114 - Cold Equations: The Body Electric

by David Mack

  “Trust me, Geordi, that’s just the tip of the iceberg.” He walked toward the master systems control, a table shaped like two conjoined octagons and situated on a low dais facing the warp core. La Forge followed him, and as he fell into step at the younger man’s side, Wesley continued in a subdued voice. “Once, in the Andromeda galaxy, I met eleven alternate-timeline versions of myself and had to persuade them to let me collapse our shared quantum-probability waveform to avoid a temporal paradox. You don’t know what ‘awkward’ means until you’ve persuaded eleven copies of yourself to let themselves be erased from existence while you get to go on living.” He paused to look around, as if he feared eavesdroppers. “I’ve actually seen this universe from the outside. I’ve been in the void between universes, and if there was any way for me to explain it in words, I would, but it’s the kind of thing you just have to see for yourself.”

  La Forge frowned. “I’ll keep it in mind for my next vacation.”

  Apparently sensing he’d given offense, Wesley turned apologetic. “Oh, hey, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not trying to be a dick about this. It’s just . . .” He struggled for words.

  “It’s okay,” La Forge said. “I get it. You’ve seen things and done things we don’t even have words for yet. That’s not your fault. You don’t have to feel bad about it.”

  Wesley nodded his thanks, but he still looked sad. “I wish I could tell you about it, because I know how much you’d love it, if only I knew how to explain it. I feel like I’m letting you down.” They arrived at the master systems control, and he started keying in new intermix formulas for the matter-antimatter reaction chamber.

  La Forge wanted to have unconditional faith in Wesley’s abilities, but he couldn’t help but remember the time on the Enterprise-D when another Traveler led them into chaos during a hyperwarp jump gone awry. Hoping a bit of gentle teasing would relieve some of the moment’s tension, he quipped, “Try not to strand us between universes.”

  “Wasn’t planning on it.” He cracked a crooked grin. “But thanks for the tip.” He tapped in his final adjustments to the intermix ratios. “All right, then. Scut work’s done.” He laced his fingers together and cracked his knuckles. Then his hands moved across the touch screen faster than La Forge could follow, entering a mind-bogglingly long and precise set of hyperwarp jump coordinates and flight-path information entirely from memory. “Now for some fun.”

  7

  No hail of greeting preceded the transporter beam that took hold of Data. He went from facing the low-angle blaze of a desert sunrise to being cocooned in a cerulean flurry of charged particles that flared white at the instant of transport. Then the blue storm spun apart, and he found himself inside the transporter bay of a ship whose design he did not recognize, serenaded by the falling hum of energizer coils powering down to standby mode.

  A brightly lit panel silhouetted a lanky, long-armed humanoid standing at what Data assumed was the transporter control panel. “Welcome aboard,” said the shadow.

  Data stepped off the transporter pad and down to the deck. “I asked to be met by Rhea.”

  “That wasn’t possible.” The stranger shut down the panel in front of him, leading Data to suspect the man had just secured the controls against tampering or unauthorized use.

  As the tall, dark figure turned to step around the console, Data noted the shape of his profile and searched his memory for a pattern match. He identified his host by his angular cheekbones and ocular ridges, as well as the precise slope of his rudder-like nose. By the time he stepped into the light, Data knew who he was. “Hello, Tyros.”

  The trim android with almond-shaped eyes behaved with restrained amusement. “You recognize me? Does that mean you have access to your father’s memories?”

  “Yes.” Data saw no point in lying. Tyros had met his father, Noonien Soong, on two occasions, acting as an envoy of the Fellowship of Artificial Intelligence. Noonien had refused both invitations to meet and perhaps travel with the Fellowship’s members as a teacher and peer, opting instead to perpetuate the solitary existence he had by then come to prefer. Tyros and the Fellowship had remained alarmingly well informed about Noonien’s activities, though Data doubted they were aware of the specific means by which his father had resurrected him. For now, the less I tell them, the better, he decided. “He refused your invitations. I, however, have need of the Fellowship’s assistance.”

  “You do understand that we’re an anarchic collective, not a charity?”

  “If it is a matter of compensation—”

  “Let’s start with some truth.” Tyros circled Data in slow steps, taking his measure with an unblinking stare. “How long have you been walking around in Noonien’s body?” When Data hesitated to answer, he added, “Don’t bother denying it. My visual receptors are as keen as yours—maybe more so. I can see this body of yours has been repaired and re-skinned at least once, maybe twice. But the core systems, the elemental structure, the unique components—those haven’t changed. This is the body Noonien built for himself on Terlina III. But sometime between my last visit with him on Yutani IIIa and here . . . you moved in. When did it happen?”

  He was an acute observer, Data realized. Lying to him would be difficult, and perhaps even counterproductive. “Six months, four days, nine hours, and thirty-one minutes ago.”

  The answer was specific without being overly revealing. Tyros considered it with a dour frown, then nodded. “All right. So that was you on Orion a few months ago.”

  “How long have you had me under observation?” Tyros looked surprised to be put on the spot. Data added, “If we are to build a foundation from truth, the effort must be mutual.”

  “Yes. You’re right.” He headed out an open doorway to a corridor and with a tilt of his head motioned for Data to follow him. “To be clear, we thought we were following Noonien. And we did so only out of concern for his well-being. We knew that if his true identity and the nature of his existence were ever discovered, it could put him in great jeopardy.”

  “I find it hard to believe your motives for surveillance were purely altruistic.”

  Tyros looked offended. “What are you implying?”

  “If you were monitoring Noonien as closely as you say, then you had to be aware of his attempts to track down the Immortal, Emil Vaslovik.”

  “You mean Akharin.” He guided Data around a turn, down a longer passageway.

  “Thank you for not denying it. I believe the only reason the Fellowship became aware of the Immortal’s talents in cybernetic engineering was that you noticed my father became obsessed with the man after my mother’s death. I presume you’d already known about her, as well?”

  The other android nodded. “We kept tabs on her, just like we watched you.”

  “I suspected as much.” He glanced sideways to watch Tyros’s reaction as he asked, “Is that why you murdered Hilar Tohm on Orion?”

  Tyros stopped and faced him. “I want you to know that I’m not the one who did that. Certain members feared that Tohm’s research into the Immortal’s finances might expose the connection between him and us, thereby revealing our existence to the universe at large. I disagreed, and I openly opposed the decision to kill her. Unfortunately, some members of the Fellowship are hard to sway once they’ve set themselves on a path of action.”

  “Do you know who was responsible for her murder?”

  “Is that why you’re here? To bring her killer to justice? Or take revenge?”

  Data shook his head. “No. I am simply gathering information about the individuals and group dynamics with which I will need to contend when we reach the Fellowship.”

  “In that case, take heed of this name: Gatt.”

  They resumed walking, and in less than a minute they reached the cockpit of the small starship. Tyros settled into the pilot’s seat and maneuvered the ship out of orbit. As he began plotting coordinates for the jump to warp speed, Data asked, “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see w
hen we get there.”

  “Are you implying that our destination is a secret?”

  Annoyed, the slender android looked back at Data. “It’s a rendezvous in deep space. The specific coordinates change on an irregular and arbitrary schedule. Based on the distance, route, and our cruising speed, I’ve determined which location suits our needs.” He turned around and resumed plotting the course, hunched over the controls to block Data’s view.

  Data looked up through the cockpit canopy at the dusty white orb of the planet from which he’d been plucked. “When my business with the Fellowship is concluded, how will I return?”

  “We’ll deal with that when it happens.” The ship’s engines thrummed with power, and Tyros steered the ship’s nose away from orbit and pointed it toward an open stretch of stars. “Take a seat, my friend. It’s gonna be a long ride.”

  8

  The Enterprise’s crew lounge—which former first officer Will Riker had named the Happy Bottom Riding Club, in honor of a famous pilots’ hangout on Earth—was all but deserted when Lieutenant T’Ryssa Chen arrived. Aside from a bored waiter and a nearly somnolent bartender, the only other person in the aeronautically themed recreational space was Lieutenant Dina Elfiki. The science officer glanced at the chrono as Chen hurried to join her at the bar. “You’re late,” she said as Chen sat down beside her. “Another minute and I’d have left.”

  “Sorry. Wesley had us upgrading half our sensor software at the last minute.” A brisk wave caught the bartender’s eye. “Raktajino, double strong, double sweet.” She signaled her gratitude to Elfiki with a gentle squeeze on the woman’s forearm. “Thanks for waiting.”

  Elfiki chided her with an arched brow. “So . . . ? What’s the big emergency?”

  “Taurik.” Chen drew a breath as she focused her thoughts. “I can’t figure him out.”

  Her earnest plaint received little sympathy from Elfiki. “In what sense?”

  “Pick one. I don’t know how to read his signals, he doesn’t get my jokes. I tried to touch his hand at dinner the other night, and he acted like I had the Argelian flu.”

  The science officer shook her head. “Yeah, you picked a real winner there. Tell me again: why’d you break up with Konya?”

  “I didn’t. He dumped me. And thanks for making me remember that.”

  Their conversation halted as the bartender brought Chen her raktajino. Then he looked at Elfiki and pointed at her Turkish coffee. “Another?”

  “No, thanks. I’m planning on sleeping sometime this week.”

  He smiled and cleared away her empty mug, then retreated to the far end of the bar to give them some privacy. Chen puffed on her steaming-hot drink for a second, then took a cautious sip. She swallowed fast and inhaled sharply through her teeth to soothe the mild burn on the tip of her tongue. “So, what do you think I could do to bridge the gap with Taurik?”

  A wide-eyed grimace and a shrug. “Beats me.”

  Chen couldn’t help herself: she gaped at Elfiki as if her lack of advice was a betrayal. “What? You must have some idea, some piece of sage advice.”

  “If you want tips on how to merge M-theory and quantum supersymmetry with unbounded subspace geometry, I can talk your ear off. But relationship advice? Please.”

  Driven by denial, Chen clung to her illusions. “Seriously?”

  Elfiki’s exquisite features gave her defensive glare an unexpected sharpness. “Why?” She gestured at herself with a head-to-toe sweep of her hand. “This? You think being born pretty makes me an expert on relationships?” She shook her head. “Think again.”

  “Oh, come on. I’d bet the majority of humanoids who meet you want to be with you.”

  “Well, I’d never know, because most of them are too scared to ask me out.”

  The notion seemed ludicrous to Chen. “I don’t believe it.”

  “Believe it. Most women I meet treat me with suspicion—which at least is a sign of respect, in its own twisted way. But the men I meet are just ridiculous. It always starts off well.” She held up one index finger and mocked a man’s greeting in a fawning voice. “Well, hello!” The phony glee ran from her face as she looked Chen in the eye. “Then they find out I have two doctorates, one in astrophysics and another in theoretical mathematics, and that I’m one of the ship’s senior officers.” She made a sadly comical noise as her finger curled into an obvious symbol for flaccidity, and her scowl betrayed years of disappointments. “Game over.”

  “Wow,” Chen said. She had intended to elaborate, but found herself at a loss for words.

  Elfiki nodded. “Tell me about it.” She propped her elbow on the bar and leaned her head into her hand. “Look, I’m no expert in love, and I know even less about Vulcan men, but I’m willing to offer whatever help I can. What is it you want from Taurik?”

  It was a fair question, and one that made Chen think a moment. “I guess I’d like him to show at least a bit of interest in me. Give me some cue that he’s attracted to me, you know?”

  “You might be asking for more than you think. I’ve seen the way some Vulcan men act in public with their wives. Forget about holding hands—you’ll be lucky if he touches two of your fingers. I’ve met glaciers that give off more heat than Vulcan men.”

  Chen shook her head. “No, that’s all an act. There’s major passion burning inside those guys. I’m talking volcano hot. Supernova hot. They bottle it up as a sop to cultural norms, but it’s there. I just want to tap into a bit of it. Is that so wrong?”

  “Sorry, the answer to that’s way above my pay grade.” A thoughtful sigh. “You’ve only been going out with Taurik for—what, a month now?”

  “Four months.”

  Elfiki rolled her eyes and sighed. “Yeesh. And things haven’t gotten physical yet?”

  “He still shakes my hand when he drops me off at my quarters.”

  “Are you kidding?” A pained groan signaled Elfiki’s growing dismay. “Damn, you do like a challenge. Dating’s hard enough without that kind of delayed gratification. Let me ask you this: What attracts you to him? Do you just want to jump him? Or is this something deeper?”

  “I don’t know. He’s handsome . . . in his way. And he’s smart. Really smart.”

  “That’s nice, but you’re not casting a co-star in the holovid of your life. What is it about him that makes you think both your lives would be improved by their occurring in tandem?”

  To Chen’s dismay, she had no good answer for that.

  To her relief, she was spared by the whoop of an alert followed by an announcement. “This is the XO: All hands to stations,” Worf declared, his deep voice filling the ship. “Prepare for hyperwarp jump in six minutes. Repeat, all hands to stations.”

  Both women sprang to their feet and hurried toward the exit. As they neared the door, Elfiki offered a parting shot of advice. “If you want him, tell him. If not, let him go. But either way, Tryss, make up your mind.”

  They passed through the Riding Club’s main doors and split up, heading in separate directions to their assigned stations: Elfiki to the bridge and Chen to main engineering.

  Hurrying her step to reach an open turbolift before it closed, Chen promised herself that one way or another, she would sort out her relationship with Taurik the next time they talked.

  * * *

  Quiet tension suffused the bridge of the Enterprise and afflicted Picard with a profound unease. It had been twenty years since he’d last entrusted the piloting of a ship under his command to a Traveler, and that jaunt had nearly ended in disaster. He could only hope that this jump’s short distance—a description he hesitated to apply to a journey of more than twenty-seven thousand light-years—would obviate the mishaps that had plagued the previous Enterprise’s guided leap.

  Wesley sat at the helm console to the right of Glinn Dygan, while the ship’s senior flight-control officer, Lieutenant Joanna Faur, monitored the ship’s status from an auxiliary console on the starboard side of the bridge. Worf, seated to Picard’s
right, kept a watchful eye on Wesley, who, despite being a highly experienced starship pilot, was no longer a part of Starfleet. No matter how much Wesley’s former shipmates trusted him, it was Worf’s job as first officer to nurture a seed of doubt, just in case this proved to be a mistake.

  “Final course adjustments plotted,” Wesley said. He swiveled his chair to an angle that let him easily look back at Picard and Worf. “All engineering stations answer ready for hyperwarp, Captain.” The hint of a smile on his face made Picard think of the days when Wesley was an eager teenage acting ensign, a precocious student whose true potential few had suspected.

  Twenty years ago, he reminded himself. How time has slipped away from us.

  Picard looked left toward Šmrhová, who glanced up from the security console when she sensed the subtle weight of his attention. “All tactical systems and personnel ready, sir,” she said.

  He turned his chair a few degrees farther to look aft at Elfiki, who said with a nod, “All sensors on line and running in passive mode as directed.”

  “Very well.” He turned his attention toward the main viewscreen. “Mister Crusher, engage warp drive and take us into hyperwarp at your discretion.”

  “Aye, sir.” With the smooth precision of a veteran pilot, Wesley eased the ship to light speed. “Warp one,” he announced. Then he leaned forward and pressed his palms against the face of his console. He closed his eyes and bowed his head, as if he were an old-time faith healer laying hands upon the sick. To the astonishment of the bridge crew, Wesley appeared to ripple in and out of substantiality, as if there were a coruscating field of distortion around him. The faster the effect strobed around him, the higher the pitch of the warp engines climbed—and the faster bent ribbons of starlight whipped past on the main viewscreen.

  From the auxiliary flight-status console, Faur called out, “Positional data suggests our velocity just passed warp nine—but our instruments still read only warp one.”