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

by Jeffrey Lang

  “I have made my terms clear, Mister Fajo,” Data said. “My position is non-negotiable. I am willing to give myself up in exchange for the Exo III android template.”

  “The slug,” Fajo said. “Yes. I know. You’ve been ever so clear about that. I have it ready in the next room, which, if I even need to mention it, is heavily shielded from both sensors and transporters.”

  “Naturally.”

  “I’ll need to do a scan of you before you can take the slug.”

  “Wait,” La Forge said, pivoting around on his heel. “What? We never agreed to that. Why would you . . . ?”

  “Do you really think I’m so naïve?” Fajo asked as he retrieved a device from somewhere under his voluminous robe. “I know what you think of me—that I have no ethics, no sense of morality . . .”

  “You did kidnap Data and murder an innocent . . .”

  “I collected Data,” Fajo corrected La Forge. “As I believe I’ve stated already, he is not a person, but a machine that wishes to imitate a person. And he does it very well, I might add.” He paused, amused with himself. “See? I even called Data a him and not an it.”

  “And what of Varria?” Data asked.

  “Who? Oh . . . her. Well, that was self-defense, obviously. She was attempting to steal—”

  “Save,” La Forge insisted.

  “My property. If a woman came into your house—was invited into your house—and attempted to take something that belonged to you, wouldn’t you feel entitled to defend yourself?”

  “With a Varon-T disruptor?”

  “It was the closest thing to hand . . .”

  La Forge felt he was on the verge of approaching Fajo with outstretched hands at neck height. Obviously sensing the oncoming storm, Data waved him back. “Don’t,” he mouthed without speaking aloud. Stepping forward, he removed his jacket and handed it to La Forge. Rolling up the sleeve of the ugly purple shirt he had donned for the meeting, Data tapped a pressure-sensitive switch on his forearm. A small access panel slid open and Data quickly removed a chip set. He handed the tracking device to Fajo without comment.

  “I’m still going to scan you.”

  “Of course.”

  Fajo did, but quickly, all the time wearing a rueful smile, certain he had scored a hit with his rationalizations. He scrolled through the scan results, stopping a couple times to carefully study a point, but was ultimately satisfied. “In there,” he said to La Forge, indicating a door that appeared on the far wall.

  “I’ll need to check it.”

  Fajo waved him away without either looking at him or replying. He was too busy reveling in his new acquisition. “This way,” he said to Data. “I’ve been working on the lighting. I’m not sure the shirt works as well as it did before. Very considerate of you to find another so like the first . . .”

  “Yes,” Data said, following.

  As soon as La Forge stepped through the arch, the lights flickered on and the door shut behind him. “Hey! Wait!” he said, spinning around. He slammed on the door with the flat of his hand, but the resultant thunk was heavy and resonant. “Dammit,” he muttered. Turning to the center of the room, he found a roughly humanoid-shaped blob wrapped in what looked like silver tape. A recording of Fajo’s voice piped up as soon as La Forge reached out to touch the slug. “Be careful not to disturb the wrappings. If the slug is exposed to atmosphere, it might degrade. It’s really quite old.”

  Sighing, La Forge unslung his tricorder and scanned the slug. The results were muddled: The tricorder couldn’t decide if it was examining living tissue or a machine. For a moment, it appeared active, like it was responding to the scan, but as soon as La Forge tried to burrow into the readings, the responses dried up. He tapped his communicator and said, “I’m assuming you can hear me, Data. Fajo may be trying to scramble the comm signal, but I’m betting you can hear through even these walls. I have no idea what I’m looking at, but it’s responding the way you predicted based on the old Enterprise medical logs. He might be trying to pull a fast one, but I don’t think so. In his own twisted fashion, I think Fajo believes he’s being honorable. And, if that’s the case, well, then I guess I have to do as you requested.”

  No one replied.

  “All right,” La Forge said. “Fine. I’m done.” He re-tapped his badge. “Archeus, lock onto my coordinates. One . . . well . . . two, I guess, to beam over.”

  “Locked on,” Shakti said. “And I’m sorry, Geordi.”

  “Yeah,” La Forge muttered as the beam took him. “Everyone’s sorry. Nobody does anything, but everyone’s sorry.”

  * * *

  “Ah,” Fajo said. “I was right. The purple doesn’t quite work with these filters, does it?”

  Data shook his head.

  “Turn slightly this way . . . No, face me.” He tapped a key on the control unit and the lights grew slightly brighter, then dimmer, then more orange. “That’s not right, either.”

  A monotone voice announced, “Commander La Forge has left the premises.”

  “Did he take the slug with him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Filthy thing.”

  “His ship has gone into warp.”

  “Good. Raise shields. I don’t want him to feel like he’s invited back anytime he wants to visit. Disagreeable man.” He studied Data. “I’m really not sure what you saw in him, frankly.”

  “He was my friend,” Data said. “My best friend.”

  “You don’t need friends, Data. You have admirers. That’s much better in the end.” He adjusted the filters, moving quickly through a sequence of colors from deepest indigo up to sunset red. Fajo didn’t appear to be happy with any of the combinations. “It must be the shirt. It just doesn’t work, does it?”

  “No,” Data agreed. “It doesn’t.”

  “I’ll manufacture some other designs in other tones. Maybe a gold or a . . .” He stopped and peered intently at his new acquisition. “What did you say?”

  “Good-bye,” Data said, and his head tipped slightly to one side. Intelligence faded from his eyes. His mouth hung slightly open, and the tip of his tongue was visible behind his teeth.

  “What?” Fajo asked. “Wait, what? Data?” He approached and snapped his fingers in front of the android’s face. “Are you there? Are you . . . ?”

  The Daystrom Institute

  “There,” Albert said, removing the heavy helmet and sitting up. “Done.”

  “Couldn’t resist that little tweak there at the end, could you?” Shakti asked.

  “I’m only human.” He climbed precariously out of the device. “Do you need help powering this down, young lady?”

  “No,” Shakti said. “I’ve got it. You’d better scoot. The day shift will be here soon. It’s a good thing Fajo was so eager to take delivery. It would have been awkward to do this during working hours.”

  Albert removed the connectors and probes from his chest and wrists. He was sure they had been cutting off his circulation. The Breen remote control interface hadn’t been designed for humans. Only Shakti’s assistance had made it possible, though, Albert flattered himself, his acting was probably better. He had the impression that Shakti would have started improvising too much. “Any sign of pursuit?”

  “No,” Shakti said. “Not that Fajo would know where to look. I scanned his vehicles and he didn’t have anything capable of tracking us through subspace. He’s just going to have to be happy with his empty-brained new acquisition.”

  “He might be, you know,” Albert said. “It might be enough for him to just have the shell of one of Soong’s earlier models.”

  “I prefer the version of the story where he thinks Data just turned himself off to spite him. He said he didn’t believe Data was a person, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t want someone to talk to once in a while.”

  “You think he’s lonely?”

  “I think he’s dying,” Shakti said. “And no matter how many toys he has . . .”

  “Don’t say it,”
Albert said. “Too predictable.”

  Shakti sighed. “Sure.” Another sigh. “I guess.”

  “You’d better go. Those two won’t be able to get anything accomplished without you.”

  “What makes you think I can’t hold two conversations at the same time?” Shakti asked. “But you’re right. I should go, though I’ll check in later and let you know how this all works out.”

  “I look forward to it, dear girl.”

  “Me, too! Bye!”

  And then she was gone. There was no outward sign that she had left, but Albert felt a gap, an absence, where there had been none a moment before. He smiled and felt mildly surprised by the way the muscles in his face stretched when he grinned. It was unfamiliar, but he enjoyed it.

  He walked over to the empty case where the android body had been stored and pressed the button that shut the door. Shakti said she could conceal its departure for several weeks at least, assuming no one looked for it. And when you came right down to it, the body could be disposed of in whatever manner its next of kin—which was Data—desired.

  Albert had no doubt that, somewhere, Noonien Soong was laughing loud and long.

  Aboard the Archeus

  “That was fabulous, Geordi,” Shakti said.

  “Thank you, Shakti.”

  “If I had an eye, I would have been wiping it. Really. ‘Everyone’s sorry. Nobody does anything, but everyone’s sorry.’ I’m getting choked up now just thinking about it.”

  “I appreciate that, Shakti.” La Forge settled into the copilot’s chair and was surprised to find, despite what he assumed was Shakti being sarcastic, he was deeply satisfied with his performance. Rare were the times when La Forge permitted himself to indulge in an act so devious as the trick they had just played on Fajo, but, then again, rare were the occasions when someone so deserving of deceit crossed his path. He suddenly felt a desire to contact Leah and tell her about what they had done, which surprised him, since he had barely thought about her since they had parted . . . how long ago now? He had to check his chrono and was startled by the answer: fewer than two days had passed.

  “I also was impressed with the authenticity you brought to your role,” Data said. He had been scanning the slug with a type of tricorder that La Forge had never seen before—no doubt something Data had cobbled together for the occasion—but had stopped long enough to offer what sounded like a sincere compliment. What am I thinking? La Forge asked. Of course it’s sincere. It’s Data. He doesn’t know how to not be sincere . . . does he?

  “Thanks, Data. It wasn’t that difficult. To be honest, I think I was tapping into some authentic emotions.”

  “As any good actor would.”

  “No, I mean actual current emotions.”

  “You are experiencing doubts about our activities?”

  “About tricking Fajo? No. And, besides, we more or less gave him what he wanted.”

  “More or less,” Shakti said, and giggled.

  “And we’re going to give Harry Mudd what he wants, too,” La Forge continued, ignoring the interruption. “Except, really, we aren’t, are we?”

  “He asked us to bring him this device,” Data stated, pointing to the slug. “And we will.”

  “But we’re not going to let him use it,” La Forge replied.

  “I do not think it would be advisable,” Data said. “My readings indicate the device has been compromised. Fajo was correct about exposing it to atmosphere. Clearly, the Exo III technology was very delicate . . .”

  “So, we’re following the letter of our agreements,” La Forge stated, “but not the spirit.”

  “I do not believe we have violated any ethical or legal precepts,” Data said.

  “Not yet,” La Forge replied. “But I feel like we’re skating right up to the edge.”

  “We are dealing with persons who are careful to never say precisely what they mean or to reveal their true feelings. I am doing what I think I must to maintain parity.”

  “I understand,” La Forge said. “And, please, be sure you’re understanding me: I don’t think you’ve violated any ethical or legal precepts. I just . . .” He faltered. “I can’t believe I’m missing the good old days of firefights with Romulans and Cardassians! Even Q would find some of the ambiguities difficult to navigate.”

  “Since my resurrection,” Data observed, continuing to scan the slug, “I have found the universe to be a much more muddled place than previously.” He looked over at La Forge and cocked his head in a familiar manner. “I find it reassuring that I am not the only one who has found this to be the case.”

  Before La Forge could respond, Shakti said, “Pardon me, boys, for interrupting the therapy session, but we’re coming up on Mudd’s station. I just hailed him and filled him in on the results of our visit. He is most excited. I think you’d better beam down before he has some kind of infarction.”

  “Understood,” Data replied. “I assume you were circumspect about describing the condition of the device.”

  “Naturally.”

  “Then please beam us down as soon as we’re in range.”

  The overhead panel opened. La Forge stood up and got into position. “Is it just me,” he asked, “or is she getting more chipper as this mission goes on?”

  “Shakti enjoys a caper,” Data replied.

  “Who doesn’t?”

  18

  Mudd’s World

  “So, is that all you’re going to do all day?” Mudd snarled. “Stand around and stare at the pieces?”

  While La Forge and Data were traveling to Fajo’s lair, Mudd had retrieved and uncrated the components of the Exo III device—the “bed,” as he referred to it. There was a large rotating slab neatly divided into two semi-circles, each with a dimpled area and a large clamp that appeared at first to be only a restraint, but on closer inspection was revealed to contain sophisticated sensor technology. Nearby, there was a control panel, deceptively simple in layout and construction. Using his custom tricorder and his internal sensors, Data had been able to create a rough schematic and determined the machine was, as he had hoped, largely intact and functional. Whatever else might be said about the lost engineers of Exo III, they built their work to last. Well, the hardware, anyway. Data still had grave concerns about the condition of the slug.

  “I am collecting information, Mister Mudd,” Data replied. “Which will be essential if we choose to use the device.”

  “Unless you just want to climb in now,” La Forge said, “and I’ll just flip the switch.”

  Mudd scoffed and shifted his weight inside his mechanical chair, but otherwise remained silent.

  La Forge wandered around the components, too, scanning with his tricorder. He sidled up to Data and asked, “What do you think?”

  “It is a remarkable device,” Data said, experiencing genuine admiration. “Elegant, durable, flexible, though, as we suspected, the bed is no more than a transmitter. Based on these scans, it can transfer an impressive amount of data with little to no error, which makes sense when you consider it is duplicating not only information, but the connections between data points. A persona, if you will.”

  “So, you think it could function?”

  “I believe it could.”

  “If we had a viable slug,” La Forge added sotto voce.

  “Indeed.”

  “Do you want to be the one to tell him?”

  “I believe we should avoid the subject for now.”

  “What are you two mumbling about over there?” Mudd growled. “If you’re going to talk, talk to me.”

  “Our apologies, Mister Mudd,” Data said. “We were discussing technical issues. We meant no disrespect.” Data was not certain how much longer it would be valuable to maintain the subterfuge that La Forge and he were Noonien Soong’s employees, but he could not think of a reason to disabuse him of the notion, despite the fact that it left Mudd feeling entitled to be abusive.

  “I know a thing or two about technology, my lad. And I’ve been
able to hire a few others who knew a bit more than me. They all concluded the same thing: The machine should work.”

  “But we can only use it once,” La Forge added. “And do you really want to take a chance before you know for certain?”

  “You might not have noticed, boy-o,” Mudd said, spreading his arms dramatically, “but I appear to be running out of options.”

  “And even if it did, we would not have the complete machine to show to Professor Moriarty,” Data added, “which is, after all, the point of this excursion.”

  “Professor Moriarty?” Mudd stammered. “Have you lost your mechanical mind? Is there some madman running around naming himself after imaginary criminals?”

  “For shame, Mister Mudd,” a new voice chimed in. “Let’s be careful about who is calling whom criminals.”

  Data, La Forge, and Mudd all froze. Only Mudd’s eyes moved, scanning the air over their heads. “Who’s that?” he asked. “I didn’t give anyone permission . . .”

  A holographic projector in the arm of Mudd’s chair winked to life and projected a low-resolution image of James Moriarty into the center of the room. “Good day, gentlemen,” Moriarty said, bowing stiffly at the waist. “But you should be more careful: Speak the devil’s name and he will appear.”

  “Have you been eavesdropping, Professor?” Data asked.

  “Nothing so tawdry, Mister Data. Mere coincidence. I had just contacted your aide de camp, Miss Shakti, and she said I could interrupt your meeting.”

  Shakti chimed in. “I thought you’d want to take the call.”

  “Thank you, Shakti. You were correct, as ever.”

  “And she tells me you have some good news, Mister Data,” Moriarty said. “Please share it.”

  “Wait!” Mudd bellowed, confused and suspicious. “Who the devil is Mister Data?”

  “I am,” Data said.

  Mudd’s eyes narrowed and flitted from side to side. “You mean the Mister Data? Soong’s Data?”

  “Correct.”

  “You’re dead!”

  “I recovered,” Data said, growing weary of the repetition. “Professor, we have located a device that has been used in the past to transfer human consciousness to an android body.”