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

by David Mack

  “What did you expect I would do after we reached the Enterprise?”

  He shrugged his refurbished shoulders. “I figured you’d hand me over to Starfleet. Let them take me apart and study me.”

  “Then you were mistaken. I gave you my word. I intend to keep it.”

  A melancholy half smile softened Gatt’s fearsome countenance. “When you come back, can you fix the damage to my face?”

  “If you like.”

  Gatt nodded. “I would.” He turned toward his dim reflection in a dark computer screen. “I think I’ve been a monster long enough.”

  28

  Everyone in the Enterprise’s observation lounge was either standing or pacing, adding to the meeting’s already tense atmosphere. Arms crossed, Picard lingered at his usual place, at the head of the conference table. Worf directed his intense stare out the shaded windows at the Machine, while La Forge hunched over the table, his weight on his hands. Šmrhová wandered back and forth in front of the windows while taking care not to crowd Worf. Data stood at the opposite end of the table from Picard, and Wesley traced a slow path to and fro behind Chen, who stared at a scrolling flood of code on the lounge’s master systems display.

  “Time is running out,” Picard announced. “We have less than an hour to do something.”

  Šmrhová scowled at the Machine. “I guess begging for mercy won’t get us anything.”

  “It is unlikely,” Data said. “I would advise against any strategy predicated on an appeal to empathy.”

  “We need to reframe our argument,” Picard said. “Instead of rooting it in our values, or our needs, we need to make a case to the Body Electric in terms it considers valid.”

  The proposition exacerbated Wesley’s frustration. “In other words, figure out what it wants. I’m sorry, but that feels like all we’ve been trying to do since we got here. Do we have even the slightest idea yet what the hell that means?”

  Picard put on as calm a disposition as he could manage, to cool the room’s emotional temperature. “Perhaps it would be helpful if we started by asking, what do the machines value?”

  La Forge lifted his palms from the table and straightened his posture. “Information.” He nodded at Chen, who remained fixated on the screen full of code. “What the machines consider valuable is information. To us, it’s culture; to them, it’s biology. It’s part of why they think we’re useless—because we don’t share our information the same way they do. We don’t matter because we can’t merge with them.”

  An idea raised Šmrhová’s brows. “What if we could?” Noting the confused reactions, she continued. “What if we translate our genetic information and brainwave patterns into the kind of raw code the Machine uses? Maybe we could make it see us as more like the Body Electric.”

  Data frowned. “I do not think that would work. It would not constitute a merging of true life-forms as the Body Electric understands it. To them, the genetic sequences of organic beings would be little more than junk code.”

  Worf turned away from the window. “Then what information can we offer them?”

  La Forge shrugged. “That’s the root of the problem. Over the last billion years, the Body Electric has colonized tens of thousands of galaxies and visited millions more. At this point, even if we could deliver the sum total of all this galaxy’s knowledge and raw information, it would be a drop in the bucket compared to what the Machine already has. Us trying to buy it off with every last bit inside our computer core would be like a pauper trying to bribe a tycoon.”

  Chen recoiled from the master systems display. “My God!” She whirled to face the others. “It’s a work of art!”

  Picard fixed her with a look of mild reproach. “Lieutenant, I hope you have more to contribute to this discussion than hyperbole.”

  The half-Vulcan woman took a breath and held up her hands to stave off further criticism. “Sorry, sir, but I was speaking literally. I’ve been doing some analysis of the Machine’s deep code, looking for patterns in its past movements and clues to its future plans, and when I plotted them out in three dimensions, I realized what it’s really doing.” She called up a series of star charts on the MSD’s main screen. “We’ve been so fixated on the workings and effects of its cosmic-engineering project that it never occurred to us those details might be of only secondary importance. This network the Machine is building out of galactic cores isn’t just some coldly functional energy- and data-transmission system. Those are its functions, not its purpose.” She manipulated the image on the display to show the peculiar three-dimensional symmetry formed by the nodes of the Machine’s network. “Taken as a whole . . . it’s a work of art.”

  Stunned and slackjawed, the other officers drifted toward Chen, all mesmerized by the image on the screen behind her. “That’s incredible,” La Forge said with wonderment and admiration. “They’re using the subspatial lensing caused by collapsing subspace around supermassive black holes to create an energy pattern that’ll remain visible for billions of years.”

  “Wow,” Wesley said, regarding the new information with awe. “A network like this, in this configuration, would remain detectable as an artificial construct to every galaxy in this universe, at least until they vanish from one another beyond the cosmic light horizon.”

  Šmrhová wrinkled her brow at Wes. “The cosmic what?” She grew defensive as everyone else in the room looked at her with shock and pity. “What? . . . So I got a C-minus in astrophysics at the Academy. Can someone just fill me in, please? In simple words?”

  La Forge replied, “Because the universe is expanding at faster than the speed of light, some points within it are too far apart for the light from one spot to ever reach the other, and vice versa. In the distant future, the expansion of the universe will separate galaxies, and eventually even stars, by such vast and ever-growing distances that for an observer in any given system, the rest of the cosmos will look dark and completely empty. Even now, there are parts of the universe beyond our view. This limit of the observable universe is the cosmic light horizon.”

  “Okay,” Šmrhová said. “I remember that chapter now. Thanks.”

  Worf continued to look mystified at Chen’s revelation. “I do not understand. Why would the Machine go to this much effort over billions of years . . . just to make a work of art?”

  Data regarded the images on the screen with mournful eyes. “They are creating it for the same reason that the Milky Way’s first humanoids seeded the galaxy with their own DNA. For the same reason that primitive humanoids painted on cave walls, or learned to carve shapes from stone. For the same reason that Beethoven wrote music, or that my father created androids in his own image. For the same reason that I, like the organic beings I was made to emulate, felt compelled to create my daughter.” Tears shone in his eyes but refused to fall as he looked at Picard. “We create to deny the inevitability of our own oblivion.”

  Heavy silence settled over the room, and Data looked back at the star charts and code strings on the display. “I have an idea how to broach one last conversation with the Machine.”

  29

  Hasty repairs had rendered the Cumberland barely ready for service, but even in its ravaged state, the runabout was still the best choice for an away mission to the Machine. Engineers and mechanics swarmed over the ship, scrambling to make last-second fixes as Picard, Wesley, and Data gathered outside the small starship’s open starboard hatch. Crusher and La Forge were there to see the trio off on their fateful voyage.

  Data watched as La Forge busied himself checking Picard’s and Wesley’s EVA equipment. Wesley tugged at the seams of his environmental suit. “I don’t get it. Starfleet can rebuild entire planets, but it still can’t make these things comfortable.”

  “Look on the bright side,” La Forge said. “At least it’s not a formal dress uniform.”

  The younger man laughed. “Good point.”

  Crusher was doing her best to remain stoic, but she was failing. She pressed her pale hand to
Picard’s cheek. “Are you sure you want to do this? You could always send Worf.”

  “He said the same thing.” Picard smiled to reassure his wife. “He was rather cross with me when I pulled rank.”

  “Not as cross as I’m going to be if you don’t come back.” She poked playfully at his chest, though he probably couldn’t feel it through the suit’s generous padding. “So you’d better come back.” She stood on tiptoes to clear the extra bulk of his EVA suit and kissed him.

  As Crusher and Picard parted, La Forge handed the captain his helmet. “Better put this on. The runabout’s life-support system is working, but only barely. One direct hit, and you’ll be breathing coolant.” Then the engineer turned to face Data. “Be careful in there, all right?”

  Data, the only member of the away team who had no need of an EVA suit, took La Forge’s advice with a lopsided grimace. “I am afraid the time for caution is past, Geordi. With less than half an hour until the Machine completes its mission, a heightened level of risk seems to be called for.” Then he smiled, gave La Forge a brotherly hug, and clasped his shoulder as they parted. “Do not be afraid. I will be back soon. I promise.”

  Crusher stood in front of her adult son with tears in her eyes. “Wesley . . . I . . .”

  “It’s okay, Mom. I understand.”

  “No, you don’t.” Fear gave her voice an edge. “My husband and my child are flying off to face down a machine that destroys galaxies. If this goes wrong, I could lose you both.”

  Wesley kissed his mother’s forehead. “And if we don’t go, we’ll all die.”

  “But even if you succeed—”

  “Mom, one thing at a time.” He hugged her. “No matter what happens . . . I won’t let this end without us getting to say good-bye. You have my word on that.”

  Leaning back, she sleeved tears from her face. “Your word as a Traveler?”

  He looked into her eyes and smiled. “As your son.”

  Picard rested a hand on Wesley’s shoulder. “Time to go.”

  La Forge handed Wesley his helmet and helped him put it on, and then he checked the seals on Picard’s. “Okay, you guys are good to go. Good luck over there.”

  Wesley seemed reluctant to leave until Picard ushered him into the runabout with a gentle sweep of his arm. The young Traveler sidestepped inside the ship, followed by Picard.

  Data was the last of them to enter, and he paused in the hatchway to look back at his friends, and at the Enterprise, for what he hoped would not be the last time. Then he stepped all the way inside and closed the hatch behind him.

  Picard had moved aft into the passenger compartment to make room in the cockpit for Wesley and Data. The android settled into the pilot’s chair and powered up the ship’s engines. “How soon after we leave the shuttlebay will you be able to shift us inside the Machine’s core?”

  “Almost immediately,” Wesley said. “We just need to be clear to navigate.” A sheepish grin. “Some of the more experienced Travelers could just pop us from here to there without leaving the shuttlebay first, but I guess I still have a bit of a mental block on that front.”

  “Lifting off in five seconds,” Data said. He engaged the runabout’s antigrav coils to lift it half a meter from the deck. “Three. Two. One.”

  A low hum of impulse power resonated in the Cumberland’s spaceframe as the ship glided forward, through the invisible force field, into space. The Enterprise’s warp nacelles loomed large on either side of the small starship for a few seconds, and then the runabout was clear and banking into a wide turn that put it on a heading for the Machine.

  “On course,” Data said. “Begin spatial shift when ready, Mister Crusher.”

  Wesley closed his eyes and pressed his gloved palms against the cockpit console. Waves of photonic distortion rippled across the panel, moving outward from his hands, while Wesley himself began to flicker in a strobing pattern. In seconds he became ghostlike, a semitransparent apparition, both there and not there, at once solid yet intangible.

  Then the stars dimmed and faded to black outside the runabout . . .

  . . . and the interior of the Machine was revealed in fleeting bursts of spectral light. Just ahead of the runabout was the Machine’s central core structure, suspended in its six-point frame.

  Data increased the magnification of his visual receptors and adjusted their light-response frequencies until he was able to see the open space in the core where the previous away missions had landed. “Final approach initiated. Touching down in ten seconds.”

  As he guided the ship down to the landing point, he saw a legion of mechanical sentries moving to intercept the Cumberland. Beside him, Wesley observed the Machine’s response with wide eyes. “Uh . . . Data? They don’t look too happy to see us.”

  The moment the runabout set down with a mild thump of contact, Data was out of his chair and heading aft. “I will deal with this. Stay here.”

  He opened the hatch and strode out to confront the approaching swarm of sentient machines. It comprised a multitude of forms, in a wide range of shapes, sizes, configurations, and modes of travel. They rolled, crawled, flew, and walked. They moved on wheels, on treads, on invisible wings. Some were dark as night, others gleamed in silver and gold; some shimmered like living crystal; some flowed and beaded like liquid mercury.

  All Data could do was stand his ground . . . like a man.

  The throng massed before him, and a ball of undulating glass fibers coruscating with a million hues of light floated ahead of its kin and moved toward Data. He opened a flap on his arm to reveal his inner workings, and he allowed the rainbow cluster to snake some of its glass tendrils inside his arm to form a bond through which they could communicate.

  A narcotic surge of power and presence infused his neural net as contact was made. He fought the urge to let himself sink into the depths of that majestic artificial intelligence.

  I have come to plead for one last parley with the Body Electric. As a fellow synthetic sentience, I request that right and privilege.

  The Machine replied with a signal of overwhelming power,

  He looked back at the runabout. I ask that my friends be permitted to stand with me.

 

  Will you promise them safe passage?

  The Body Electric had the vexed manner of a put-upon parent.

  Data beckoned Wesley and the captain to join him. The two men emerged from the runabout and walked forward to stand with him—Wesley on his left, and Picard on his right. He transmitted both sides of his conversation with the Body Electric to his shipmates via the comm transceiver built into his matrix, and he served as their communication link, relaying signals from their suits’ transceivers to the Machine. We wish to inquire about the nature of your undertaking.

 

  Apart from its intrinsic functions, is it, in fact, part of a work of art meant to represent the achievements of the Body Electric for cosmic posterity?

  The Body Electric surprised him by answering simply,

  With Chen’s hypothesis confirmed, Data knew his next challenge was to build common ground upon this discovery. Why create a cosmic work of art?

 

  Are you suggesting that the universe has an intrinsic need for this creation?

 

  Your work of art is not life. How does it serve the universe’s need?

 

  Picard asked, “For how long?”

 

  “But eventually the singularities that power it will evaporate. It will fade.” His observation met with a prolonged silence from the Body Electric. He pressed his point. “If the purpose of your work is to preserve the legacy
of coherent information in the universe, how do you reconcile your labors with their inevitable dissipation?” Picard’s query was received with silence, but Data sensed a profound disquiet in the Body’s shared matrix. “Will not the collapse of your work signal the end of your own existence? And is the reach of your work not limited by its inability to surmount the universe’s continually accelerating expansion? What will happen when the cosmic horizon grows so distant that even your work cannot bridge its darkness?”

 

  “So you have accepted the inevitability of your own end?”

  Another protracted silence was broken by the declaration,

  Picard took half a step forward. “Then I submit to you that your masterwork is inherently futile—and, as such, it is irrational. It is a mission unworthy of a civilization so great as yours.”

  His accusation stoked the Body’s anger.

  Wesley joined the conversation. “What if we proposed an even greater creation? One that would last until the very end of the universe itself? One that only the Body Electric could achieve? Would you consider adopting that project and abandoning this one?”

  Condescension infused the Machine’s reply.

  On the spot, Wesley cleared his throat, then started his pitch. “You could create a cosmic network linking all the galaxies of the universe. It would be a means of sharing energy and information that would exploit deformations in cosmic topography that occurred shortly after the Big Bang, and it could be maintained indefinitely, long after the cosmic light horizon has isolated all the galaxies of the universe from one another. It—”