“This is not a logical response,” he told the human. “Time is running out. Not just for Dr. Steinberg, but for all of us.”
“No!” shouted Majors.
Taking a step toward the android, he narrowed the gap between them even more. Majors’s free hand clenched into a fist. “There’s plenty of time for Captain Clark to figure out what’s happened. She’ll send someone after us. And we’ll be out of here before the planet ignites.”
“Perhaps,” Data conceded. “But there is no guarantee of that. And even if the captain manages to get us off the station, there almost certainly will not be enough time to remove the occupants … or the lizard beings.” He paused. “Or to give the doctor the care she needs.”
But Majors was shaking his head back and forth–much too quickly for anything the android told him to sink in.
“No, no, no,” he groaned. “We can’t try to pilot ourselves out of here. We’ve got to wait for the captain. That’s the only way we’re going to get off this station alive.”
As Majors went on with his tirade, he seemed to have forgotten about Sinna. She had noticed and was starting to take advantage of the situation by gradually circling around behind him.
However, the Yanna wasn’t in position yet to knock Majors down. And if he realized what she had in mind, he might do to her what he had done to the bulkhead. Data had to make sure that didn’t happen—and the only way he could do that was to keep Majors focused on him.
The ability to deceive was not one of the android’s strong points. In fact, he was not equipped for it at all. But in this case, Data would have to try to exceed the limits of his programming. He would have to try to cover his friend’s actions or see her skewered by Majors’s phaser beam.
“Er … let us say you are correct,” the android told the upperclassman. “Let us say the captain does rescue us from our predicament. What will she say about the way we conducted ourselves? What report will she make about our failure to help everyone else on this station?”
Majors’s eyes opened wide as he considered the possibility. “You’re right,” he murmured. “Everything I’ve worked for … all these years … it’ll go down the drain. I’ll be drummed out of the Academy.”
With each word, Sinna was getting closer to her destination. But she still wasn’t there yet.
Abruptly, Majors’s eyes brightened. “Unless … she doesn’t find out what happened.” He smiled crookedly at Data. “And she won’t … if there’s no one to tell her about it.”
“What do you mean?” asked the android.
“What I mean,” the upperclassman explained, “is that the survivors write the history books. You would’ve learned that in your Academy classes if you’d survived long enough.”
“Cadet Majors,” said Data, “you must think about what you are doing. You must ask yourself if it is worth taking a life merely to salvage your career in Starfleet.”
The upperclassman nodded. “It’s worth it, all right. Besides … you’re not really alive. You’re just a bucket of bolts that thinks he is. And as for your friend the Yanna…”
As soon as Sinna came to mind, Majors seemed to guess what was going on. Whirling, he found her directly behind him, about to strike. But with his phaser aimed at her midsection, he was in a position to strike first.
And he almost certainly would have, if not for Data’s inhuman quickness. Reaching out, he grabbed Majors by the left shoulder and spun him around, so that his phaser beam cut a black swathe in the bulkhead instead of Sinna. Then, with his other hand, the android took hold of the upperclassman’s wrist and squeezed with just a fraction of his great strength.
Unable to hold on to it, Majors watched the phaser fall to the deck with a clatter. In a flash, Sinna had darted over and snatched it up. Only then did Data release his fellow cadet.
As soon as he was free, Majors threw a punch at him. The android hadn’t expected that, but he saw it coming in time to move his head to the side and avoid it. He ducked a second swing as well. Then, with the utmost care not to injure the man, Data thrust him toward one of the bulkheads.
Majors rounded on the android, his face a tortured mask of emotions that Data could not begin to interpret.
“You tricked me!” he barked.
“Yes,” said Sinna, smiling grimly as she pointed the upperclassman’s phaser at him. “Pretty good for a mechanical man, wouldn’t you say?”
The irony wasn’t lost on the android, though he chose not to comment on it. “If you will watch over Cadet Majors,” he told the Yanna, “I will proceed into the airlock.”
Sinna nodded. “Good luck, Data.”
“Thank you,” the android told her. Then, pulling open the airlock door, he crawled inside and shut it behind him. A couple of meters ahead, he saw the outer door—the one that led to the vacuum of space.
Pulling out his tricorder, he checked the time. There wasn’t much of it left. It had been four and a half hours since they left the Republic. In another fifty-five minutes, they would all be incinerated—unless his plan worked.
Data put his tricorder back in its place and made his way to the outer door. It opened just as the inner door had, with a slight pull. The android stuck his head out into the starlit vacuum of space.
There was no mistaking the fact that the station was surrounded by asteroids. However, the one it had crashed into wasn’t visible from Data’s vantage point, no doubt because of its location on the other side of the facility.
He could see the line of raised handles that ran between two of the station’s large, white cones—from the airlock to a point somewhere beyond. That point, though difficult to locate right now, was his destination—the operations center.
Pulling himself out of the airlock, Data latched on to the first of the handles and began the most unusual journey he had ever undertaken.
The android couldn’t help but remark inwardly on the still and entrancing quality of the void. It was not like scanning the heavens through an observation port, he reflected. He wasn’t standing on the deck of a ship or space station and gazing out into space, all the while remaining separate and aloof from it.
At this moment, it seemed to Data that he was part of space—that he had been fully integrated into a larger plan, a celestial drama that most beings never knew. It surprised him that he should perceive it to be so, and yet he did.
But the biggest surprise of all was the awesome spectacle of the impending super-Jovian planet ignition. Painted on such a large canvas, it was so compelling … so extraordinary … the android had to make a conscious effort not to pause and stare at it.
The larger of the two gas giants—the one that would actually blaze into life as a new sun—was a dusky orange color, with bands of silver and brown drifting through it. The smaller gas giant was a light blue throughout. And between them, where their warring gravities were bending light and other energies, Data could discern twisting filaments of blight crimson.
All in all, quite intriguing, quite engaging. Though Data had no feelings per se, he had long ago recognized in himself the ability to appreciate beautiful things, and this was certainly the most beautiful phenomenon he had ever been privileged to see.
What would Captain Thorsson of the Tripoli say if he could see the android now? After all, Thorsson was the one who had encouraged Data to join Starfleet in the first place. It was the only way, the captain had told him, that he would be able to satisfy his enormous curiosity about the universe.
And after just a couple of weeks, he was doing just that.
Of course, he could take little comfort in the fact. He still had to reach the station’s operations center, and as quickly as possible, before the spectacle of the converging gas giants became a scene of destruction. Turning away from the two planets, he concentrated as hard as he could on the task ahead of him.
Making use of handhold after handhold, he pulled himself along the skin of the alien station. It did not require much effort, given the lack of gravity.
In fact, a child could have accomplished it, providing that he or she was able to survive out here.
As he proceeded in this fashion, the next airlock came into view. With his goal in sight, the android began to think about what he would do once he reached it. Fortunately, he still had his phaser. Otherwise, he might have had to punch a hole into the hatch in order to gain access to the interior space beyond it.
Data had barely come to this conclusion when the metal surface beneath him shuddered noticeably. Just in time, he tightened his grip on the handholds—because a moment later, the station bucked savagely beneath him, almost throwing him off.
It continued to buck, like some rabid space-beast, each motion more violent and vicious than the one before. The android could only cling to the station’s hull, his cheek pressed against its cold, hard surface, and hope that the strength of his android limbs was equal to the task at hand.
Still, he had the presence of mind to seek out the cause of the quakes. Just over the horizon to his left, Data could see the distant blue gleam of thrusters on the other side of the station.
Apparently, Commander Sierra had been right in his assessment of the situation. The station’s propulsion system was active but damaged in some way. Unfortunately, if it was moving the facility at all, it was propelling it deeper into the asteroid belt.
And in the process, the android was forced to wage the struggle of his brief life. Somehow, he had to hang on. If he failed, he knew, he would be sent pinwheeling out into the emptiness of space.
And once Data was out there, he would have no way to propel himself back; nor was it likely the Republic would find him in time. He would simply drift through the void until the super-Jovian world ignited. And not even an android could expect to survive a conflagration of that magnitude.
These were the images that came to mind as Data fought to maintain his hold on the station. They made him even more determined to ride out the tremors. And if the prospect of destruction weren’t enough, there was the knowledge that he was the only hope for Sinna and the others.
A few seconds later, however, the vibrations subsided and finally vanished altogether. Spurred by the knowledge that they might start up again at any time, the android made his way across the remaining distance as quickly as he could.
In a matter of a few short minutes, he reached the airlock.
CHAPTER
10
Taking out his phaser, Data adjusted the setting so that it would provide a tight beam and sufficient force to spring the latches on the airlock cover. Then, aiming it with almost surgical precision, he activated the device.
A tiny red beam sprung out of the phaser’s emitter array and vaporized the latch. Moving over, he did the same thing to the next latch, and the next. Then he replaced the phaser in the pocket reserved for it in what was left of his containment suit. Finally, with great care, he grasped the edge of the airlock cover and pulled.
The hatch swung up easily on its hinges, with no hint of a complaint. Bringing his legs around in front of him, the android slipped down inside the airlock. Then he closed the cover behind him and used his phaser to weld it shut.
Making his way from one end of the airlock to the other, Data wrestled open the inner hatch. Then he inserted himself through it until he emerged into the space beyond. Looking around in the soft yellow glow of the emergency lighting, the android saw that he was in another cargo bay. And unless he had made a horrible miscalculation, the entrance to the operations center would be just down the corridor.
Wary of meeting a lizard creature or two, Data took out his phaser again. Then, the doors yielding as he approached, he stepped out of the cargo bay and looked around.
No lizard beings. But there was another set of doors. With no time to waste, the android darted toward them. As they opened, they revealed a large chamber.
Data took it in with a single, sweeping glance. Had he been human, he would have breathed a sigh of relief because this was clearly the alien station’s center of operations.
The ranks upon ranks of monitors were proof of that. Most of the monitors were alive, indicating that the station’s systems were still largely operational.
Unfortunately, the eleven individuals who were slumped over onto the control consoles were anything but operational. They were of the same race as the aliens the android had found in the botanical gardens—and just as unconscious. A quick scan with his tricorder revealed to Data that there were no lizard creatures in hiding; though, given how little he knew about the transformation process, that might only be a temporary condition.
His tricorder was also able to act as a chronometer, telling him how much time he had left. Twenty-two minutes, thought the android.
Only twenty-two minutes … and then the super-Jovian planet would burst into solar flame. Would it be enough?
Data’s first priority was to clear the operations center of the senseless aliens. Spotting a small room off the main area, he carried the aliens inside and locked them in by melting the door controls with his phaser. Then he turned his attention to the various station monitors.
The only question then was whether he could do what he said he could do: pilot the station out of the asteroid belt. Without another moment’s hesitation, the android applied himself to his self-imposed assignment.
First, he familiarized himself with the computer system’s protocols. Then he asked the computer to display all the categories of information he would require in order to pilot the station.
It was more than Data had expected. Then again, the level of technology on the station was somewhat more primitive than that currently in use by the Federation—and more primitive systems generally required more expertise to operate.
Unfortunately, the assimilation of that expertise would take a while. But there was no other option at hand. All the android could do was follow the lightning-fast scroll of information across the monitors in front of him and do his best to keep up.
By the time he was finished, another twelve minutes had gone by. The super-Jovian world would ignite in slightly more than ten minutes, he remarked inwardly. Touching the station’s helm controls for the first time, he ran them through a diagnostic cycle. Fortunately, everything checked out all right.
Data could maneuver the station all right; the only problem would be thruster power. Based on what he had seen during his climb out in space, the thrusters were only operating sporadically.
It didn’t take long for the android to confirm that fact on his control board—at least as far as the starboard thrusters were concerned. The set on the port side was still in working order, it seemed.
Activating the port thrusters, Data began to withdraw the alien space station from the asteroid it had run into. It wasn’t easy, considering how firmly certain parts of the facility had embedded themselves in the asteroid’s surface. However, with a gentle nudge here and there, the android managed it.
Almost miraculously, there were no hull breaches. Though the station’s outer skin had buckled in some places, it had not broken.
The next step was to maneuver the station out of the asteroid belt. That was a more intricate task. Some of the asteroids were so close together, they barely gave Data any margin for error. But somehow, he found a way to get through even the tightest squeeze.
In fact, he was almost done when he came to the narrowest passage of all. According to the android’s calculations, he had no more than several meters’ clearance on either side. Leaning just a bit closer toward the monitor ahead of him, he focused on the adjustments he would have to make in order to fit the station through the space provided.
Then he applied port thrusters—the only ones he could depend on—and started ahead. The station was halfway through when he heard a loud bang behind him and then a shrieking, as of twisting metal.
Allowing himself only the quickest of glances, Data saw that three of the aliens he had deposited in the next room had turned into lizard beings. And he had underestimated their str
ength, because they had managed to tear open the door he had welded shut.
The android didn’t dare give the creatures any more of his attention. If he did, he would be running the risk of damaging the station or worse, jamming it into a place from which he couldn’t extract it.
So when the first of the lizard beings tried to twist his head off, he grabbed it by its wrist and flung it into another control console, but he didn’t look away from his monitor.
When a second one clawed at his arm, he backhanded it with all the power he could generate—sending it sliding back across the floor of the operations center, judging by the sound. But he didn’t turn away from his monitor.
Even when the third one leaped on him, clamping its teeth down on his artificial neck, he didn’t flinch. He simply pried the creature’s jaws loose and pinned it down against a part of the console he wasn’t using.
The lizard being hissed and slashed at Data’s hand, trying to free itself. But he couldn’t let it go. The station was almost free of the asteroid belt.
In the back of his mind, the android knew that the creature might destroy his neural net at any moment with an electrical discharge. But he resolved to expose himself to that risk, if that was what it took to complete his maneuver.
One of the station’s cones scraped against the asteroid to port, hard enough for the contact to send a vibration through the operations center. Setting his jaw, Data rotated the alien facility three degrees—just enough to avoid a second such incident.
The lizard being in his grasp writhed and spat, tearing at him with its feet as well as its hands, shredding what was left of his containment suit and much of the Academy uniform below it. But the android continued to ignore the creature. And a moment later, he was rewarded as the station slithered free of the asteroid belt.
The Republic was visible now, hovering just outside the belt, its hull gleaming in the lurid light of the imminent ignition. No doubt, the captain would be glad to witness the station’s withdrawal.
Star Trek: The Next Generation: Starfleet Academy #7: Secret of the Lizard People Page 7