Star Trek: The Next Generation - 116 - The Light Fantastic

by Jeffrey Lang

  Aboard the Archeus

  “You’re Archeus, right?” La Forge asked.

  “No, Mister La Forge,” the computer replied. “The ship is named Archeus. I am Shakti, Data’s personal assistant.” The pleasant voice, faintly tinged with an Indian accent, came from everywhere and nowhere in particular. Like everything else aboard Data’s personal yacht, the comm system was top of the line.

  “Geordi,” La Forge said, settling into the passenger seat. “Call me Geordi.” He had stowed his luggage in one of the overhead compartments and then had been suitably impressed by the collection of beverages and snacks in the small larder by his seat. None of the amenities came anywhere close to being as impressive as the feat of having the Archeus land in the small clearing near his lodgings. La Forge couldn’t imagine what Data had done to get clearance or, failing the required permits, how high the fines might be. “Seeing as we’re going to be spending a little time together. It’s a bit of a trip to Rigel III.”

  “It is,” Shakti allowed, “or would be if we were going to Rigel. Forgive me for the deception, Geordi, but I do not believe we will have as much time to get to know each other as you might have expected.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Behind him, La Forge heard a soft click and felt a slight shift in the air pressure of the cabin. “Because you will be talking to me.”

  La Forge turned and saw his old friend and shipmate sitting in a low chair, looking very much the same as he had the last time they had seen each other. He had retained Noonien Soong’s features, though La Forge immediately noticed that the hair around his temples was dappled with gray and he had grown whiskers on his chin. He looked, La Forge decided, affable and wise. The word that surfaced in his mind was “paternal.” When he rose to greet his friend, La Forge saw there was a fiber-optic cable plugged into a port below the base of his skull, undermining the illusion of humanity. Feeling the pull of the cable, Data reached back and extracted the plug. He smiled sheepishly, then cocked his head in a manner La Forge remembered so well.

  Stepping forward, La Forge took the proffered hand, but then he pulled his friend into a quick, backslapping embrace. “It’s good to see you,” he said. “Even under the circumstances.”

  “Thank you for responding so quickly, Geordi. I had no idea you had re-formed your connection with Doctor Brahms or I would have . . .”

  “Stop. Whatever you’re about to say, forget it. Leah says hello and also, ‘Please finish this up as quickly as possible.’ ”

  “Nothing would please me more,” Data said. Turning his head to speak into midair, he snapped, “Shakti, plot a course out of the system. By the time you are clear for warp, we will have decided on a course of action.”

  La Forge barely felt the Archeus shift under his feet as Shakti expertly piloted it out of the gravity well. “How did you ever get clearance to land so close to . . .”

  “I did not get clearance,” Data said, turning away to run his hand over a control surface.

  Through the front port, La Forge watched as the city of San Francisco turned into a dot. The Pacific Ocean filled the view, but it quickly became no bigger than a puddle. “You must be doing half-impulse. The Port Authority must be tracking you by now.”

  “Let them.”

  “Data, they’ll know who did this. The fines alone . . .”

  “I do not care, Geordi,” he said, pulling a small table out of the wall. “I am exceedingly wealthy. Fines can be paid. Will be paid. Probably already are paid. Shakti is extraordinarily efficient.”

  “Thank you, Data,” Shakti said.

  “But, still . . .”

  “It is not a concern now, Geordi. We have only one concern.” He waved his hand over the top of the table, and a hologram of Lal appeared.

  La Forge understood the need for haste. Data had explained that much in the brief message he had left after La Forge had accepted his invitation. Lal was in danger. He assumed the problem was an engineering dilemma, something to do with her holomatrix. As he had on more than one occasion, La Forge wondered what he could offer in the way of help given that Data was the undisputed expert on Soong-type androids now that Soong was dead. “What’s the problem?”

  “She is gone.”

  “What? She ran away?”

  “No, she did not leave of her own volition. She was taken.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Because her abductor contacted me.”

  “Abductor?” La Forge exclaimed.

  Data waved a hand, and the image of a human man appeared in Lal’s place. He wore a long, black suit jacket, a waistcoat, and a wide black tie. The man’s forehead was high and his eyes widely spaced. Though La Forge had only ever seen this individual with his VISOR, there were enough peculiarities about his appearance that he could be recognized without speaking. “Moriarty,” he said. “James Moriarty. From the holodeck on the Enterprise-D.”

  “Correct.”

  “But that’s, well . . .” He paused sheepishly. “I’ve learned by now to never say ‘impossible,’ but . . .”

  “I appreciate your restraint, Geordi. And while it is not impossible, Moriarty’s return—and his claim to have abducted Lal—is highly improbable.”

  “But you believe it to be true.”

  “In the absence of a theory that better fits the facts, yes.”

  “But how? And why?”

  Data leaned back in his chair, laid the tips of his fingers together, and touched his index fingers against his lips. “Ah,” he said. “I believe I only know part of the story, but I shall relate it just as soon as we are in transit.”

  On cue, Shakti announced, “We have reached a safe distance from Sol and can go into warp. Have you selected a course?”

  “I have,” Data said. “Before we can do anything else, we need to be sure that Moriarty is actually at large. Set course for the Daystrom Institute. Best speed.”

  “Course laid in. Going to warp. We can average warp six point four in this region of space.” La Forge felt only the barest lurch as the Archeus shifted from impulse to warp drive.

  “Arrival in four point three hours.”

  “We’re going to talk to Bruce Maddox?”

  “No,” Data replied. “Commander Maddox would be obliged to report our questions to Starfleet. I believe our investigation needs to remain as covert as possible for as long as possible. If Moriarty is as clever as I believe he is, he will know if I attempt to contact the authorities.”

  La Forge looked askance at his friend. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. We should . . .”

  “Please, Geordi. Comply with me on this request, at least for now.”

  “But I’m a Starfleet officer. I should report this to . . . well, someone. Captain Picard at the very least.”

  “Who will immediately be obliged to report it to Starfleet Command,” Data said, his voice rising, “who will assume they must take action that could result in Moriarty either fleeing or withdrawing and possibly harming my daughter.”

  “Do you really think Captain Picard would place Lal at risk? After everything he’s done for you . . .”

  Data slapped the table with his open palm. “I have to assume the captain would do as he has usually done. I have to play the odds. First and foremost, he is a Starfleet officer. He would follow protocol.” He looked down at the table and at the tiny spiderweb cracks that had appeared in the surface where he struck it. Lifting his hand, Data pushed himself back from the table. “My apologies, Geordi, for losing my temper. I am concerned for Lal. She is my priority now. My highest priority.”

  La Forge thought back to his last conversation with Data in the Riding Club. He also found himself reflecting on his private thoughts about Captain Picard and how much the man had changed since becoming a parent. Data didn’t—couldn’t—know about those changes, and La Forge knew he probably wouldn’t be able to convince him otherwise. “All right,” he said. “We play it your way. For now. If a point comes where I thi
nk your cause would be better served by contacting Starfleet . . .”

  “I rely on your judgment, Geordi,” Data said. “As I always have.”

  The engineer was aware that he was being soothed, but he enjoyed the reassurance and the return of something resembling the relationship between himself and his old friend. “Okay, if we’re not going to the Daystrom to see Maddox, then who are we going to use to get us the information we need?”

  “I have asked Shakti to review the personnel files at the Institute in order to check if any old friends or colleagues are currently in residence. I found a candidate.” He swiped his hand over the cracked tabletop. Fortunately, the cracks did not seem to have affected the control surface.

  “Not Reg,” La Forge said. “He’s with Voyager . . .” His voice trailed off when he saw the image that appeared a moment later. “Oh, Data. No. Not him.”

  Data cocked an eyebrow and, for the first time since La Forge had come aboard the Archeus, the android saw a flicker of something that resembled genuine amusement. “I suspected that would be your response.”

  4

  A placeless place

  “You know my tale,” Professor Moriarty said to Lal. “Of my birth on the holodeck of the Enterprise, my voluntary return to slumber, and my subsequent resurrection.” He smiled and said, “So, you see, my dear, we have something in common.”

  Alice, voice as flat as a tapeworm, said, “I don’t. Know the tale, that is.”

  Lal could tell from Alice’s tone that she was annoyed. She wasn’t used to being ignored, especially by men. Human men, at least. And though Lal understood Professor Moriarty wasn’t human in any real sense of the word, he appeared to be human. And male.

  Moriarty turned to Alice and spread his hands in accommodation. “My apologies, Miss Alice,” he murmured. “How rude of me to assume. Where to begin?”

  “Like I said before, just Alice is fine. Begin at the beginning: You were born on the holodeck of the Enterprise . . .”

  “I was,” Moriarty said, settling back into his chair. “A rare convocation of events: a peculiarly phrased request and the extraordinary resources to garb the request in multi-spectrum light. These are the circumstances that led to my inception.”

  “Are you saying you were wished into being? Like a genie out of a lamp?”

  Moriarty smiled. “Out of a lamp. Yes.”

  Alice laughed and flipped her hair. “So, we have something in common. I was, too.”

  Moriarty puckered his lips, then grimaced menacingly. “Are you mocking me, Alice?”

  “Oh, no. Never. I never mock my jailers.”

  “Or your host.”

  “Or one of those,” Alice said. “Whenever I can find one.” She settled back into her chair, relaxing for the first time since they had arrived. Lal knew that Alice liked to have a secret, something she could keep close until it was opportune to share. She was content now and stretched her long legs out in front of her. “But I can tell my story later. Pray, continue.”

  “How gracious.” Moriarty bowed as well as anyone could bow while sitting. “Your Mister Data and his comrades brought me to life with a casual, if fortuitously phrased, wish, and poof! like the genie, I appeared. And, just like the genie of Aladdin’s tale, I was unanticipated. Fortunately, I had the good sense to retain my composure and play my part. I learned about my circumstances and found the means to navigate through the strange new world . . .”

  “You took the Enterprise hostage and threatened the crew,” Lal inserted.

  “As I said, navigation.”

  “And only released your hold when Captain Picard convinced you there was nothing he could do for you.”

  “A very persuasive speaker, the captain.”

  “And then you were awakened from your slumber by Lieutenant Barclay . . .”

  “Dear Reginald. I toast him every Yuletide. I understand he has prospered,” the Professor said, seeming genuinely pleased.

  “And again took control of the Enterprise until my father devised a ruse. You and the Countess were convinced you had attained independent existence and could leave the ship.”

  “Which we did, never to trouble any of you again.”

  “Until now,” Lal corrected.

  “Until now,” Moriarty conceded.

  Alice, showing every sign of enjoying the banter, laid a finger along her cheek and, smiling, asked, “Countess? There’s a countess?”

  “The Countess Regina Bartholomew,” Lal explained. “A persona the Professor commanded the Enterprise to create and imbue with an independent intelligence.”

  In a needlessly exaggerated fashion, Alice let her jaw go slack in a mocking approximation of complete disbelief. “How is that even possible? And, if it is, why isn’t it happening all the time? I know a thing or two about little boys, and if it were possible to make their little dream girls come magically to life . . .”

  “Because it isn’t,” Lal explained, folding her hands in her lap again.

  “Not anymore,” Moriarty said, mirroring her action and smiling slyly. “Steps have been taken. Except, of course, when they aren’t.”

  “There have been cases of holographic intelligences achieving sentience,” Lal offered. “Though usually only under extraordinary circumstances.”

  “Or if someone is willing to devote the processing power,” Moriarty countered. “And wants a lounge singer.”

  “What?” Alice asked.

  “Never mind,” Lal said, waving away the point. Alice didn’t like being dismissed, but Lal would deal with that situation later. Turning back to Moriarty, she asked, “So you were convinced, however briefly, that you were free to roam the universe at your leisure. What happened next?”

  “Ah,” Moriarty said, and leaned back into the chair. The seat back seemed to envelop him. The light in the room dimmed and the Professor’s face was wreathed in shadows. “We come to the pith, the nub, the crux, the point.” His voice was low and ominous. “The heart of it all.”

  Aboard the Archeus

  “Before I have to face the prospect of”—La Forge swiped his hand over the table’s control surface—“that.” The image disappeared. “You need to bring me up to speed. What happened after you left the Enterprise? I think you probably already know this, but the captain, Worf, everyone who knew you . . . they were all a little hurt.”

  “I thought I made my reasons clear in the message I left,” Data said.

  “Clear,” La Forge conceded. “Yes. But still . . .”

  “We meant no harm,” Data said.

  “No one ever does, Data.”

  A year ago—aboard the U.S.S. Enterprise

  “And there was no security alert?” Worf rumbled. “No one on the bridge was aware of the Archeus leaving the shuttlebay?” He gripped his half-full mug of raktajino and La Forge watched the veins in his hands bulge as the internal pressure built. “How is this possible?”

  “It’s possible,” the chief engineer explained, “because Data knows as much about this ship as any of us. When you come right down to it, all of us. Put together.”

  The captain set down his cup of tea on the table. The morning’s formal briefing had ended and now only the four officers who had known Data in the days before his resurrection remained, a knot of hurt feelings and, in La Forge’s case, a dull throbbing behind the eyes. Mister Scott’s gift had taken its toll: He was dehydrated and the inner lining of his skull was pulling away from the surface of his brain. “I understand he had his reasons,” the captain murmured. “Yet, I feel like an injured host.”

  “He should have told us they were leaving,” Worf grunted. “It was . . . contrary to regulations.”

  “He doesn’t consider himself to be a Starfleet officer,” Beverly Crusher offered. “That much is clear if nothing else is about this situation.”

  “He said as much before he left,” La Forge said. “More than anything else, Data says he’s a parent now and has to consider Lal’s well-being.”

  The
captain and the chief medical officer exchanged a meaningful look. Worf glared at the tabletop, lost in memories that La Forge would just as soon not have to know.

  “He pretty much told me what he had planned.” Spreading his hands before him, La Forge explained, “I’m sorry, Captain. I think I knew what was going to happen. I didn’t report it. I guess I just thought . . .”

  Picard waved away the apology. “Under the circumstances, Mister La Forge, I would just as soon not know. Consider yourself on report until I decide otherwise.”

  La Forge half rose from his chair. “I understand, Captain.”

  “Is that necessary . . .” Crusher began.

  “It is if Commander La Forge doesn’t want to face disciplinary action from Starfleet Command,” the captain snapped. “I know how they think. When I report this and there isn’t something on the record . . .”

  “Command will assume you condone the action,” La Forge completed his captain’s thought.

  “Precisely. This way, it’s in my hands. And considering everything else unfolding in the sector, it, too, shall pass.”

  Crusher smiled at her husband. An apology, La Forge assumed. Or reassurance. Either way, the gesture made him smile and feel mildly envious.

  “Is there anything else we can do?” Worf asked.

  The captain sighed and picked up his tea. He took a sip, then winced and set it aside. La Forge had noticed, on more than one occasion, that the surface of the conference room table too efficiently conducted heat out of small beverage containers. “We hope to hear from them sometime and find they’re doing well.” Looking out the conference room’s large ports at the shifting star field, he added, “Perhaps a Christmas card.”

  Aboard the Archeus

  “I had not considered that option,” Data admitted, clearly making a mental note. “The holiday season will be upon us soon.”

  “That wasn’t the point,” La Forge said.

  “But a good idea is a good idea.”

  “We were . . . well, ‘worried’ is too strong a word. Let’s say ‘concerned.’ Lal had just been revived and Doctor Crusher thought moving her so soon was putting unnecessary stress on her.”