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Sub Space 9207_C04
"Not this one," said Baxter gravely. "With this particular
contagion, we have more questions than answers. It's immune to all of
our filters, most of our scanners, and we can't even tell if it's alive
or not." He looked up. "Make that couldn't. About a week ago, someone
here in Bern connected it with something we'd seen before, and in doing
so, confirmed that it's definitely alive. But not organic."
Beverly looked confused. "But how is that possible?"
"You'll see in a minute, although you actually already know," said
Baxter cryptically. He tapped a key and an image clicked into view on
the big monitor. "Does this look familiar to you, Doctor Crusher?"
She peered at the stark image. The contaminant looked black and
prickly; there was no real symmetry to it, and yet something oddly
linear. She shook her head. "I don't recall ever having seen this
before."
Baxter tapped a key and the image increased in magnification ten
times. "How about now?"
It definitely looked familiar, but Beverly still couldn't place it.
There was a discernible pattern in the object, but it didn't quite click
it. She shook her head again.
He tapped the same key again, and the image enlarged another
tenfold.
Beverly gasped. She recognized it.
It wasn't geometrically perfect, but it was certainly taking on a
kind of concise conscentious design, mechanical in nature.
Except for the fact that it wasn't cubical, it was a Borg ship, in
microscopic miniature. And it was growing.
"It's a Borg virus," breathed Beverly.
"Yes," said Dr. Baxter. "Now you understand the reason for all the
secrecy - and why you, of all people, were summoned here."
She walked closer to the monitor, as if studying the face of an
enemy more closely. "What does it do?" asked Beverly, still speaking in
hushed tones.
"Well," said Baxter, "so far we've had over forty-five reported
cases of this infection, all over the planet. Only six of them have so
far advanced to what we call the second stage, and only one of them is
in the latent, or third, stage." He tapped at some more keys. "Brace
yourself, Beverly," he said in all seriousness.
A picture of a normal-looking Caucasian infant appeared on the
screen - normal-looking at first glance, anyway. Looking closer,
Beverly was about to remark that the baby looked dirty, but then she
realized with horror that the small scattered patches she saw on his
skin weren't dirt - they were metal.
"His name is Christopher Alexander McReady from Glasgow. Ten
months old, and so far, the oldest, most advanced known case of the
micro-Borg infection," said Baxter.
Beverly cupped a hand to her mouth. "My God," she said, feeling
very much like sitting down.
"Ironically, it was only because of our recent success in
understanding nanotechnology, and its new medical applications -
bionanotechnology - that we were able to understand the nature of this
new phenomenon."
"How - how did this happen?" she asked, although she already
realized the answer.
Baxter explained anyway. "Starfleet's work on that angle has traced
it back to when the Borg ship exploded in this sector two years ago,
naturally. Apparently, the explosion scattered countless numbers of
these micro-Borgs into the Earth's atmosphere. It's only in the past
year or so that they've reached the surface." He indicated the
image of the contaminant, which was now black and grey, with noticeable
metallic bits sticking out from everywhere. "From what we can tell, it
begins life on the molecular level, although we're having a hard time
pinning down anything smaller than cellular."
"What happens once the infection takes hold?" asked Beverly,
punching up data on the console pads and perusing it.
"Over a period of weeks, the contagion branches out using the same
quasifractal geometry that the Borg used to regenerate their ship. The
growth serves a two fold purpose: it begins fortification of the child's
tissue and bone, and it also begins to slowly process and reprogram the
data in nervous system. After a period of weeks after infection, there
is evidence of slight mental retardation in the child. Christopher here
is already causing our brainscans hell with his readings; his reaction
to standard psychiatric tests is virtually nil, and we project that his
mind will be completely devoid of human emotion and creative impulse by
the time he reaches the age of five."
"That's horrible," said Beverly numbly.
"That's not all of it. You've never seen a Borg child. Our main
theory for that puzzle right now is that, after the mental programming
is complete, the Borg program initiates a temporary neural 'shut-down'
for perhaps up to a decade or more, during which the child is comatose
while the physical systems - skull, epidermis, any external attachments
like weapons or tools - build up into full Borg condition, ready to be
used when the child is reactivated after adolescence." Baxter called up
the image of the cellular Borg contagion again. "Starfleet figures that
most of them never came in contact with humans or animals, but somehow a
few of them managed to infect women who were pregnant at the time." He
cleared his throat. "Based on what I know, I happen to disagree with
that conclusion."
Beverly turned to him. "Why? What do you think?"
"Well, number one, I think that there are a lot more of these things
floating around than Starfleet does. None of our sensors can detect
them at the state that they were in when they first invaded; it's only
at this more advanced stage that the contagion can even be noticed."
She gulped. "Number two?"
"Number two," continued Baxter, "I think these things don't have to
infect pregnant females to do their dirty work... My research has
indicated the possibility that the micro-Borg, at a certain stage, will
go ahead and infect a healthy newborn infant if it comes into contact."
This was sounding worse and worse to Beverly.
"And number three," he said. "Number three, ah..."
"Yes?" prompted Beverly.
"I, ah, believe that these contagions don't infect by chance. I
believe that they are programmed to actively seek out and infect
pregnant women."
Beverly looked back at the image of young Christopher MacReady, who
was already part-Borg. She recalled Kate Pulaski's report of the Borg
incubation drawers from system J-25. She imagined what the future would
hold for Earth if this infection ran unchecked: children, all over the
world, growing up as unliving cyborg killers.
It would be the ultimate revenge from a race that knew nothing of
revenge, nothing of passion. Revenge from beyond the womb. The legacy
of a race from whose throes the Federation was only still recovering
from. Children of the Borg.
Kivas Fajo was sweating profusely under the gaze of his lovely
benefactoress.
"Now, now, Fajo," soothed Ardra. "You knew you were going to have
to surrender this prize sooner or later. I would think you had prepared
yourself for this moment."
"One can never prepare oneself for a tragedy of this magnitude,"
the trader protested. "The thought of that benzi-herder putting his
filthy hands on this treasure...." Fajo could not continue.
Ardra took great delight in her travelling companion's plight, but
said nothing. The expression on her face was more telling than words.
Fajo sulked off to a corner while Ardra busied herself at the controls.
After a short while, an eternity to the little Zibalian, Ardra informed
him that Imprimi Five central control had given them permission to enter
standard orbit around the blue-gray world visible in the small view
screen.
"That was easy," Ardra remarked. "It seems Kortu is indeed
interested in making a trade. All we have to do is sit back and wait
for him to send the proper coordinates for your meeting." She leaned
back in the command chair and amused herself by watching Fajo pace up
and down the small control room.
Imprimi Five was a heavily fortified world in the far corner of the
Brial cluster. The planet was an important trading center for this
sector and had some strategic importance to the Federation. The Ferengi
were all too interested in this place and the Federation was determined
to insure that it at least had a toe-hold here. For that reason,
intensive negotiations were underway to sway this world into the United
Federation of Planets. The Imprimi were an untrusting and irracible lot
and had sent scores of UFP ambassadors and diplomats away empty handed.
The Imprimi authorities argued their independence would be threatened by
an alliance with the UFP, but keenly insured that the Federation had
hope of a successful agreement. The Imprimi had no intention of joining
with the UFP, but it was in their best interest to appear so. Little
did the Federation know that legal trade was only a small part of
Imprimi Five's daily business. Contraband and arms sales made up the
majority of the trade here, but the Imprimi authorities took great pains
to insure that all outward appearances indicated the planet's business
practices were above reproach. This facade was quite successful.
Fajo jumped at the sound of the beep from the communications system
while Ardra calmly acknowledged the message. She turned toward him and
spoke. "Remember that this area is heavily fortified. I can't transport
you back to the ship until you're clear of that building. The shielding
prevents any outward penetration.... Are you listening to me?" She
took Fajo by the shoulders and gave him a teeth-rattling shake. "Are
you sure you can handle this? The 'master negotiator' looks like he's
going to faint!"
"Nonsense, my dear," rallied the trader. "It's just that I'm not
eager to give my most prized possession to such a plebeian who can't fully
appreciate its worth. This has nothing to do with nerves. Nothing
whatsoever. I just need to change into something a bit less....damp."
"While you're making yourself presentable," said Ardra in a
dangerous tone, "I suggest that you think about the ramifications of
this meeting. You had better hope that Kortu will trade the
micro-organisms we need in exchange for this so-called treasure of
yours. Those organisms are our only hope against the Enterprise. If he
doesn't, you'll be stranded here and I won't lift a finger to rescue
you. Not only that, but if you bungle this deal, Kortu will eat you
alive!"
A short time later, Fajo found himself fighting the disorientation
he felt from Ardra's transporter beams. He looked around and found
himself surrounded by burly Imprimi security guards. He had never felt
so small in his life as he was pushed this way and that. Soon, both he
and his package were thoroughly scanned and probed to the satisfaction
of the guards.
"Here now!" he protested. "Is this any way to treat a guest of
Vrail Kortu?" The guards said nothing as they left him. Ardra had
insisted that the meeting between Fajo and Kortu be held in a public
area. Curious onlookers noted Fajo's handling by the guards, but soon
lost interest. After all, it was a common enough sight in this place.
Fajo soon found a nearby chair and sat perched on its edge, resting the
package on his knees. He waited. He paced. He sat down and waited
some more. Finally, a bronzed door opened behind him and he stood up
suddenly, knocking the package over in the process. Quickly, he put it
upright and gained some measure of composure before Kortu strode into
the room, accompanied by two aides.
"Kevas Fajo!" a voice boomed. "I never thought it would be my
displeasure to gaze at your ugly face again!" The man crossed the room
in two strides and stood in front of the tiny trader, so close that Fajo
was forced to take a step backwards.
"You're too kind, Vrail" Fajo said with a grimace, controlling the
urge to kick this giant in the shins. "I see you've done quite well
since our last meeting," said Fajo with a concerted effort to be
cordial. Kortu had the upper hand here and they both knew it.
"And I see by your presence here," scoffed Kortu, "that the fates
have not been equally kind to you. How unfortunate for you, Kivas."
"My fortunes had taken a turn for the worse, but that's in the
past," began Fajo. "I no longer deal in rare trinkets. I have my
sights set on more important things..."
"Indeed!" laughed the Imprimi trader. "Considering the item you
wish to trade for, I'd say you have your eye on something quite out of
your league, but no matter. What you do with these organisms is of no
concern to me, as long as my price is paid." Kortu motioned Fajo to
follow him to a more private corner of the room in which they could not
easily be observed. Several of his aides took up strategic positions to
insure that no passers-by could intrude. Kortu moved toward a nearby
chair and beckoned Fajo to sit. "Enough pleasantries," said Kortu, his
face taking on the non-descript expression necessary for such
negotiations. "Show me the item you have clutched in your hands."
Fajo sat before him, noticing the two aides taking up their
positions behind the sofa in which he sat. Carefully, he began to
unwrap the package and then looked up at Kortu. With a poker face to
rival that of his competitor, he said in a flat tone, "I don't see the
merchandise we spoke of, Vrail."
Kortu touched a button on a control panel that appeared silently
from the arm of his chair. In a moment, another aide entered with a
small case and placed it in Kortu's hands. He opened the case to
reveal four small vials. "I'll demonstrate the actions and potency of
this organism when I'm convinced that the item you have there is
authentic."
Fajo hesitated a moment, then continued to unwrap the package. He
held the item out gingerly toward his competitor. "Here it is, Vrail,"
Fajo spoke in a reverent tone. "And here are the papers to prove its
authenticity. The last known surviving costume worn by Elvis Presley
himself!" Kortu's eyes gleamed greedily as he snatched the prize out of
Fajo's hands. "Careful!" gasped Fajo. "It's very old and quite
fragile! You must not tear the containment packaging or you'll reduce
it to dust!"
"Idiot!" Kortu growled. "I already know that it had been specially
treated to withstand air and sunlight for short durations. This is
meaningless to me unless I can take it out and touch it. Do you think
I'd be content to just gaze upon its beauty?" Kortu touched the side of
the packaging and an invisible seam opened. He reached in and carefully
pulled out the white rhinestone encrusted jumpsuit. Fajo tensed, but
said nothing. He made a mental note of the exact location of the case
holding the precious vials at Kortu's feet. Kortu ran his hand along
the front of the jumpsuit. Horrified, he watched dozens of rhinestones
clatter to the floor. "You sludgeworm!" rumbled Kortu. "This isn't
authentic! Elvis's rhinestones were held in place by studs, not stuck
on his costumes with glue!"
Fajo didn't take the time to talk his way out of this fiasco. He
promised himself he would personally strangle the tailor who had
manufactured the replica. He had sworn to him that glue was the
attachment of choice in the 20th century! Fajo moved quickly and
grabbed the case at Kortu's feet and broke into a gallop. The large
Imprimi guards were no match for the quick and agile Zibalian. They had
been given orders not to shoot while they were in this open area. That
was to wait until Kortu had ushered Fajo into the smaller and
noise-proof room in which the test of the organism was to have taken
place. As Fajo ran, he repeatedly jabbed at the button on a wrist strap
that was to have activated Ardra's transporter. He was still within the
confinement shielding and the transporter was useless here.
Fajo darted in and out of the crowd and tumbled into an outrageously
dressed matron standing near an elaborately decorated bar. Imprimi
officials surrounding the woman gaped openly at this stunning scene. The
Imprimi security guards had taken aim (to hell with orders, if this man
escaped they would be put to death instantly!) and one was just about to
pull the trigger of his disrupter when Fajo grabbed the woman's arm and
pulled her roughly into an adjoining corridor.
"No!" shouted Kortu. "You can't risk harming the Ambassador!
Follow him! He's almost outside the containment field! Lose him and
you die..."
Fajo and the woman rounded the corner to safety. He hit the button
on his wrist once more. This time, he felt the familiar and welcomed
pull of Ardra's transporter beam. The guards arrived just in time to
hear the disembodied protestations of the female hostage: "How dare you!
Do you know who you are manhandling here?? I am the Daughter of the
Fifth House! The Keeper of the Sacred Chalice of...." In a flash, they
were gone.
One lone, exceedingly tall and slender man watched his mistress
shimmer away before his eyes. Not knowing what to do to help, he looked
around in confusion. Finally, his face brightened. He knew exactly what
to do. He raised his mistress's unfinished drink from the bar and
saluted the area where she had stood just moments before. With one
gulp, the drink disappeared just as quickly as his mistress.
Picard stepped into the cybernetics lab quietly, while the room
echoed with a faint, unfamiliar sound.
"How is he, Counselor?" Picard murmured to Troi.
"I believe he is... crying, Captain," Troi replied. "At least, that
is the way he is feeling - profoundly sad. It began when he started
processing the memories of Lal." Troi looked over at the door to the
supply room where Data had 'asked for some time alone'. "As you can
hear, he doesn't seem capable of crying like humans do. Not from the
sound of it. It's.. like nothing I've ever heard before."
The sound stopped. Troi turned to Picard. "It's quite bizarre. He
shifts from emotion to emotion so quickly, as the memories pass through
his conscious mind. Right now, he's feeling better... no, quite good.
No, it's more than that."
Geordi stepped in. "Counselor?" he asked. "Things any better?"
Deanna shushed him with a wave of her hand. "I think so, Geordi,"
she responded in a low hopeful whisper.
Just then, the supply room door opened and out walked Data with a
strange expression on his face.
"Ah, my friends!" he said enthusiastically. "Thank you, Captain;
all of you, for being so patient with me. I am glad you are with me to
celebrate my new existence."
"Data?" Geordi said. "What do you mean?"
Data turned and smiled at him. "My new existence as a human."
"Commander Data, you are *not* human," Picard blurted out.
"Sir, please address me by my proper name," Data replied. "I am Lt.
Commander Data Soong. I am the son of Dr. Noonian Soong."
"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?" Ardra screamed at Fajo. She stomped noisily
and rapidly toward the front of the bridge, and began making hasty
preparations for the ship's departure.
Fajo stumbled off of the transporter pad. "What I did was get our
microorganisms! I had no idea the fool would think to touch his prize!
I think he secretly wanted to wear it!"
Ardra turned and snatched the container of vials out of his hands,
slammed them into the hands of one of her crewmen, and decked Fajo with
a right hook.
She proceeded to lift him up from the floor by his lapels and
snarled into his face, "What you have done is set a major black market
arms dealer's fleet after us. And we have only warp 6 capability. And
we have 3 contraband photon torpedoes, laser cannon, Dolomite shields.
And if we live through this, then I'm going to kill you."
Just then she bothered to notice the woman Fajo had brought aboard
with him. "Who is this?" she said.
"Er, Ardra my dear," stammered Fajo, "may I present Ambassador
Lwaxana Troi, Daughter of the Fifth House -"
"Never mind that!" Ardra yelled. "Why is she here?"
"I- I grabbed her as a shield."
The woman frowned. "I want off of this ship immediately," she
declared. "This is a criminal act! I am Lwaxana Troi, important
diplomat of the Federation, and the last time I was kidnapped there was
hell to pay!"
"What are you mean, kidnapped?" Ardra snapped, and turned to one of
her beefy crewmen. "Daine, kill her and throw her out the airlock."
"WHAT?!" Lwaxana screeched. "If you so much as harm me in any way,
you'll be sorry! I have friends in high places! Jean-Luc will find
you! He always had the most perverted thoughts about me."
"Wait a minute," Ardra said. "Jean-Luc.... Picard? Captain of the
Enterprise?" New and conniving thoughts were aborning in Ardra's
ever-active mind.
"You got it, you... you badly dressed whoever you are," Lwaxana said
triumphantly. "Jean-Luc and I - why, we're intimate friends."
Ardra looked Lwaxana up and down with a critical eye.
"You got to be kidding me."
"Counselor," said Picard gently, yet with a dangerous edge to his
voice. His eyes did not waver from Data.
"I'm not sure what's happening, sir," said Troi.
"Don't be distressed, my friends," said Data with a cheery smile on
his face. "Today marks the beginning of a new life for me, and I am
very happy that I can share the occasion with you." He walked up to
Picard and put a friendly hand on the captain's right shoulder. Picard
glanced at Data's hand uncomfortably. "And you, Captain Picard, deserve
the highest order of gratitude. You, who have wisely seen fit to allow
me this greatest of gifts despite earlier reservations. I am grateful,
sir, for your unimpeachable kindness and patience."
"Data," said Picard carefully. He took a step back, letting Data's
hand fall contentedly into open air. "Are you functioning
satisfactorily?"
Data's eyes fairly bulged with glee, as a morbidly fascinated
Geordi and Deanna watched. "No, captain, no!" he exclaimed with
delight. "I am most profoundly and most definitely NOT functioning
within normal parameters! Isn't it fantastic?" He turned around as if
to face an opposing audience, arms spread wide in embrace of some large
but intangible substance. "I'm imperfect, I'm flawed, I'm... human."
The others could just barely hear him whisper "Thank you, father,"
as an afterthought.
"Commander," said Picard, "I remind you again that despite whatever
changes your programming has caused, you are still an android."
"Captain," said Geordi, tugging on Picard's sleeve. "Something is
wrong here. Something is seriously wrong, Data shouldn't be acting
like this even with the chip."
Data suddenly whirled alarmedly. He bit his knuckle with a look of
tender anguish on his face. "My poor father," he said. "My poor late
misunderstood father...Dr. Soong was everything to me, and they took him
from me! His greatness must be honored appropriately." He strode up to
Picard with a purposeful gait. "Captain," he said in a respectful tone,
"I respect that we set course for... for Soong's World, at warp nine, so
that we can erect a monument worthy of my father's memory." Before
Picard could speak, Data raised a finger. "But first," he said, a
dreamy smile filling his face, "I think that I shall take a nap."
Without any further ado, Data sat on the laboratory floor, and then
curled up on his side, the smile never leaving his face. Within
seconds, the others could hear the electronic simulation of a light
snore emanating from Data's still form.
They looked at each other.
"Geordi," said Picard gravely, "I don't think that you have any
choice other than to deactivate him until we can discover how to remedy
this... condition."
Geordi nodded solemnly, and squatted next to Data's body, which was
still smiling blissfully. "Sorry, Data," whispered Geordi, and he
switched Data off. The snore abruptly stopped, but the smile remained
frozen on Data's face. "I'll get Costa in here to help me, Captain,
and we'll let you know if we make any progress."
"Understood," said Picard, eyes unsure. He turned to Deanna.
"Impressions, Counselor?"
"Well, I could definitely feel something," Troi replied. "But it
still wasn't the same thing as human emotion. It's difficult to
explain, but it was just.. different somehow. Calm at first, and then
chaotic."
Picard drew a breath. "I'm reminded of the tale of Ophelia,
Counselor," he said, as thoughts lumbered in his head.
"From Hamlet?" queried Troi.
"Yes," said Picard. "She went mad upon learning of her father's
death, and rambled senselessly to her family, going from one emotional
extreme to the other."
"Ophelia drowned herself, if I recall," said Troi quietly.
Picard sighed. " 'Driven into desperate terms," he quoted, " 'whose
worth stood challenger on mount of all the age for her perfections.' "
He left the room, and Troi followed.
Geordi and Costa ran through Data's diagnostics time and time again.
There was no clear reason for Data's strange behavior. There was no
mechanical failure, no electrical problems, even his programming seemed
intact and uncompromised. "Damn!" Geordi said, pounding his fist on a
nearby console, causing Costa to jump slightly. "There's only one thing
left to do." Geordi moved over toward Data and popped open the access
panel in the android's neck. "I'm sorry, pal," he said softly as he
removed the emotions chip. He closed the access panel and gingerly set
the chip aside as he reactivated the android.
Data's eyes flew open and he blinked a few times as if resetting. He
balled up his fists and spread his arms wide while attempting his version
of a yawn. "Ah! What a refreshing nap!" He looked around sleepily while
scratching his belly. "What is for breakfast?" His face changed to a
puzzled frown. "What happened to my ability to use contractions? I...
cannot say ca... I cannot... Geordi!" His voice started to quaver and
his entire frame trembled slightly. "What...is...hap-pen-ing? I...I
am..." He reached out for his friend in confusion.
Geordi gaped openly but soon found his voice. "It's alright, Data.
We'll fix this somehow," he said quietly as he reached behind Data's back
and quickly deactivated him once again. Data slumped over in his arms
unconscious as Geordi cursed under his breath. His worse fears, it
seemed, had come to light.
Geordi nervously paced the floor in Picard's ready room as he gave the
captain his report.
"Sir," he explained, "I can't help him! Costa and I ran every test in
the book on him, before and after I removed the chip. Nothing is wrong
with him. Everything is wrong with him! Removing the chip didn't help and
may have caused him even more harm. I don't know what else to do."
"Commander, sit down!" said the captain while rubbing his strained neck
muscles. "You're not doing Data or anyone any good by agitating yourself
this way." Softening, he added, "You have done all you can do, Geordi. A
friend can ask no more. Now, it seems we need the assistance of
cybernetics experts."
"Exactly, Captain," said Geordi as he perched on the edge of the chair.
"I already tried to contact Bruce Maddox and Admiral Haftel, but they're
away on sabbatical and can't be reached. I'm sorry, Sir, I don't really
trust either of them with Data, but I had to try to contact them. I know
that no one else at the Daystrom Annex on Galor IV has the expertise to
handle a situation like this. Besides, it will take weeks to reach Galor
Four from here, even at warp seven. If only I could do something else for
Data. If only I had more information on what really makes him tick..."
"Everything we know about Mr. Data is on file in our computer," Picard
stated. "Perhaps a cyberneticist will be able to glean something from that
information that you may have missed. I share your concern, Geordi, but
let someone else handle it now."
Geordi was shaking his head during this, not really hearing Picard's
words. "No, Sir," he said finally. "Everything there is to know about
Data is NOT in the ship's records. It's on that planet where we last saw
Dr. Soong! Sir, you know as well as I do that we had to get the Potts boy
to a starbase medical facility and we didn't have the time to get any of
Soong's notes or schematics before we left. If I could just get my hands
on those notes!" Geordi jumped to his feet in his excitement. "If I
remember its position correctly, Sir, that planet we found Noonian Soong
on is closer to our present location than Galor Four and...."
"Geordi," the captain interrupted, "surely there is another way. You
don't know that the information you need is still there, or that you'll be
able to understand it even if you find it. I think the best course of
action is either to take Data to the Daystom Annex ourselves or to leave
him here at this starbase until some other means of transport becomes
available."
"Sir!" protested the engineer. "We can't just leave him here in that
condition! We owe him more than that. Please, at least let me try first."
Picard sat in silence gazing up at Geordi's face. If there was a look
of pleading under that visor, few could have recognized it, but Picard did.
The captain continued to look at Geordi as he tapped his comm badge.
"Picard to bridge. Commander Riker, retrieve from the ship's logs the
coordinates of the forest world we visited last year, the one Dr. Noonian
Soong was found on. How long would it take us to get there?"
Riker's voice could be heard over the comm link. "Stand by, sir."
After a slight pause, Riker relayed the coordinates. The Enterprise could
reach the planet in a matter of days.
"Good," said the captain while trying to hide a small smile. "Lay in
a course, warp factor 6. Picard out." To Geordi he said, "Now, out with
you, Mr. La Forge. I need to say my goodbyes to Admiral Grieg before we
take our leave of Starbase 133."
"Yes, Sir!" answered Geordi. His ear to ear grin was there for all the
world to see as he exited the ready room.
Picard watched the viewscreen intently as the planet below them
spinned peacefully in its orbit. Geordi stood at Worf's side as the
Klingon busied himself checking the readings in front of him.
"Sir," Worf said with a furrow of his ridged brow, "Sensors are
picking up one humanoid life form on the planet below. The same
coordinates as Dr. Soong's lab."
Picard and Riker each turned to eye the Klingon. "Are you sure, Mr.
Worf?" asked Riker.
"Positive, Sir," came the gruff reply.
"Surely, it can't be...." said the captain incredulously. "Mr. Worf.
Send down a security team with Mr. LaForge. We don't know what
situation he'll run into down there."
"Understood, Sir," replied Worf as he and Geordi turned toward the
turbolift.
A shimmer of light lit the darkened, heavily vegetated area where
Worf, Geordi, and Lt. Costa materialized.
All at once, lights blazed around them and a force field
materialized out of no where. The men formed a circle, trying to look
into the lush greenery for their attackers. The blinding lights
prevented any detection and they could not escape the force field. All
they could do was wait. In a few moments, the lights and force field
disappeared as mysteriously as they came. The away team cautiously made
their way to a lighted structure visible through the trees. Worf
entered the lab first, his phaser drawn.
A tall and slender man turned as they entered and replied,
"Greetings, gentlemen!" His blue eyes caught the weapons in their hands,
but he remained calm. "Please. Those weapons are not necessary here.
Do you wield them for protection from me? Or do you intend something
else? Surely, this is not the typical behavior of members of the
Federation that I've been led to believe."
Geordi moved into the room at the sound of a familiar voice. When
he saw the man's face, he couldn't believe it. Data? No! This man
was human! Geordi started to say something when the humming sound of a
mechanized vehicle met his ears. He turned to see an automated
wheelchair appear through a doorway, carrying an ancient, gnarled human
who should have long since been dead.
"Full power to engines!" Ardra snapped into the communications
system.
"Aye, but we'll never outrun them while in open space," her
beleaguered engineer sighed back.
"Damn!" she yelled and spun around in the captain's chair. "Daine,
check those sensors; how long have we got until they catch us?"
He bent over the scan window. "Well...," he said, "We are going Warp
6.3, a speed we can maintain for about seven more minutes, and Kortu's
fleet are going about warp 7, a speed they have no problem with. He's
not even bothering to order them to top speed; he knows we can't outrun
them."
"Well, what can we do?" Ardra said with frantic gestures. "Map of
this sector on screen." Her eyes ran back and forth over it quickly.
"Maybe we could run into this asteroid belt."
Daine shook his head. "They would have no problem blasting through
that belt, while *we* would most likely suffer shield failure in the
middle of it. I *told* you we should have bought those shield systems
that-"
"Shut up!" Ardra pointed towards a system of gas giants nearby. "We
could hide in that system, somewhere, couldn't we?"
"No," Daine replied. "That is a completely useless idea. Ardra. We
need to go here." And he pushed his console to highlight a large cloud
of gas that might be considered a small nebula that they were passing
by.
"Oh *good*," she said. "It's get blasted by Kortu or go into a bed
of pirates."
"It is our only option," he replied calmly.
"Do it," she said.
The ship lurched then with a shot from the nearest of Kortu's
friends.
"Aft shield hit," Daine replied. "20% loss."
Another hit rocked the ship, the force overcoming the inertial
dampeners so that the occupants felt 'slapped up sideways'. Daine
grunted. "They got the port shield down to 5% with that one," he
sighed. "But we're almost there." A final hit buckled the aft shield
as the ship disappeared into the murky gas of the nebula.
Ardra put her hands to her head and closed her eyes. "What now?"
she muttered. "We are going to get ransacked by the first ship we bump
into in here. Unless...." She punched the comm. "Fajo! Get up here!
And bring the prisoner with you." She turned to Daine. "All stop," she
ordered. "I just bet Fajo has some business associates in here too. And
if we can't use him to get some help, we still have the Betazoid bitch
and she's good for something in the Federation."
Fajo appeared on the bridge looking like someone had beaten him
senseless. He stood numbly as Lwaxana Troi pushed in front of him and
marched up to Ardra. "What is the meaning of this?" she said. "This
ship has been throwing us about down there. You *don't* have a decent
replicator, and that little man is boring me to tears. I want to be
released immediately."
Ardra sat back in her chair, trying to control her temper that had
been steadily boiling since first having to listen to this woman.
"Fajo? Have you not been entertaining our guest?" she asked, beckoning
him forward.
He shuffled towards her chair. "Please," he said mournfully,
"please let someone else keep watch over her. I can't think. I can't
eat. She's driving me crazy."
"She's *your* guest," Ardra said, smiling. "But as a matter of
fact, I'll separate you two for awhile."
"Good," Troi said. "He has been having the most vulgar thoughts
about me. And you too."
Ardra ignored this. "Fajo, we are in the Lorax nebula. If we leave,
we shall be shot to bits by Kortu's fleet. If we stay... well, you know
what we'll run into."
Fajo paled. "Ardra... I'm in no condition to think about this."
"You don't have to think," Ardra laughed. "You just have to
squeal."
Picard paced the bridge, waiting for some sign from the party below.
He had never claimed to understand the way his second officer dealt with
problems, but this... was unconscionable. Data had always been the best
definition of an officer, unless... he decided something should go his
way. Then, he stubbornly reduced the issues involved to black and
white, as though the grey had never existed for him to contend with.
Now, he seemed to have damaged himself in a manner that Starfleet's best
couldn't repair. And if the answer wasn't on the planet below...
Picard frowned. What was that about 'Data Soong' being his correct
name?
He sat in the captain's chair, pondering. Could the old man have
had other intentions than giving Data emotions? It certainly was a
human response to want his creations to call him father. Picard
suddenly realized that Soong might not have found this malfunction a
malfunction at all. But the other symptoms; the erratic behavior. It
reminded him of.. Lore. The thought of Data acting - no, *becoming*
another Lore chilled him inside.
"Well well well," the old man chuckled. "Looks like we have some
visitors."
"Dr. Soong," said Geordi, moving cautiously forward. "It is you,
isn't it?"
"Of course it's me," snapped the man in the chair. "Who'dya think
it'd be?"
"I... I think I'd better contact my ship," said Geordi, glancing
back and forth from Soong to the man standing next to him who looked an
awful lot like Data. He happened to notice that Worf's stare was fixed
completely and utterly on the mysterious tall man with the blue eyes.
"Away team to Captain Picard," Geordi said into his communicator.
"Go ahead, Commander," came the captain's response from the bridge.
"Captain, we've found Dr. Soong's laboratory," said Geordi. "And...
Dr. Soong as well."
There was a pause, then a slightly dismayed: "His corpse is still
on the planet?"
"No, sir. I mean yes, sir. I mean - Dr. Soong is still alive,
Captain."
Another pause. "Stay there, Mr. LaForge, I'm on my way down.
Picard out."
The communication channel closed, and Geordi looked at Soong with
a puzzled stare.
Soong's eyes twinkled back with an amused gleam.
On Earth, two highly competent medical officers, Drs. Beverly
Crusher and Raymond Baxter, completed an hour-long briefing on the
Borg cellular mutation. They didn't feel very competent at the moment.
"That's the basic data, ladies and gentlemen - the dry bones, as my
great-uncle used to say," said Baxter. "Dr. Crusher and I would be
happy to answer any questions you might have."
The first one was from Commander Ito, and it was the kind of
response the weary doctors had been expecting. "You've given us plenty
of information on how the micro-Borg infection is doing its dirty work,
Dr. Baxter, but there was a noticeable lack of information in your report
dealing with how we're going to stop it," he said.
"No doubt about it, sir," said Baxter. "This one's tough. I don't
exaggerate when I say that this is a kind of biological phenomenon that
we've never seen the like of. However, Dr. Crusher has been doing some
work in the area of bionanotechnology which may hold some clues."
"I didn't mention it in the brief," interjected Beverly, "because
our progress so far hasn't yielded enough data for a formal report."
"An informal one then," piped up the gravely voice of Dr.
Stevenson. "What do you know?"
"Well," said Beverly, "I was running record comparisons on the
disruption field that blocks out most of our sensors. It would be
easier if we had an adult Borg to work with, but what we do have is
enough for our purposes. Anyway, this field is a variation on the one
that prevented individual Borg soldiers from being detected by ships
sensors during our encounters in the past. I think we've got a hook
into it. The comparison studies I was doing came up with one marginal
match, with a similar field produced by the parasitic mutation native
to Tarchannan Three."
"A recent Enterprise mission," noted one of the seated officers with
a hint of surprise.
"Correct," she acknowledged. "The Tarchannan mutation was genetic
in nature, though, whereas the Borg infection doesn't touch the host's
DNA. However, both use the same neurological 'pulse' frequency of
information transmission throughout the nervous system. And here's the
pot of gold - like the Tarchannan parasites, the micro-Borg apparently
sets up shop in the thalmus, where a makeshift kind of cellular control
processor is established."
"Dr. Baxter said something about nanotechnology," prodded Ito.
"I'm getting to that," said Beverly without impatience. "All along,
we've recognized that the only weapon we have which can combat the
infection at its source and on the same level were nanites. And one of
biggest problems there is finding out exactly where that source is,
which we've made headway on. What I propose is to program a collective
of nanites to infiltrate the thalmus of an infected host and destroy the
Borg infection."
"Nanite brain surgeons," mused Dr. Lieson. "Cute idea, but can we
outfit a group of cell-sized nanites with offensive capability? It's
not as easy as shrinking a dozen type II phasers down to microscopic
size and saying 'Go to it'. And what makes you think that the Borg
virii won't be as impregnable to our nanites as the full-grown kind are
to phaser energy?"
"Those are problems which we have yet to resolve," said Beverly
diplomatically but haggardly.
"Amazing. Simply amazing." Katherine Pulaski stirred her drink and
sat back. "I had no idea such a thing was possible."
Deanna Troi sipped her frozen chocolate dessert. She had spent the
better part of an hour in Ten Forward filling in Pulaski on the
highlights of what the doctor had missed in the last 2.5 years of being
off the Enterprise, and had just finished the story of Data's emotion
chip.
"I foresee a difficult road for him," said Troi glumly. "Even if
they find a way to repair him, he may never be the same. It worries me
that part of the innocence that made Data so special might be gone
forever."
"An android with emotions," said Pulaski, still shaking her head.
"Deanna, if anyone but you had told me that, I don't think I would have
believed them."
"You weren't on the ship when we encountered Lore," replied Troi
flatly.
"Yes, but Data! After all those times I told him he would never be
more than a machine," sighed Pulaski with a wistful air. "You know,
Deanna, ever since I was reassigned to the Repulse, I've been thinking
about that... about Data. And I told myself that if I ever had the
chance, I'd apologize to Data for all the things I said. Somewhere in
my head, I knew that I was wrong about him all along, but the scientist
in me wouldn't admit it."
Deanna gave her a charitable smile. "Somehow, I don't think Data
was offended."
"Wasn't he?" wondered Pulaski. "Now I'm not so sure. I think what
worries me the most is that I had finally decided that Data, in his own
way, on his own level, experienced some form of emotion without
realizing it - and then to find out that he purposefully implanted a
chip to give himself artificial feelings." She sipped her drink, and
put her chin in her hand. "It reminds me of a friend I had when I was
growing up... her name was Helen. And when we were teenagers, Helen was
always envious of my attitude toward life; she always said that I was so
bright-eyed, so joyous. Well, it didn't seem that way to me, but she
ached... hungered to feel the same way. And the week of my seventeenth
birthday, Helen was found unconscious with artificial stimulants in her
system."
"Oh no," said Deanna.
"She wanted to be like me so badly," said Pulaski. "And the entire
time, it never occurred to me to let her in on the secret; to tell her
that there's no pill or drug you can take. You have to find it within
yourself. I'm wondering if it's too late for Data to do the same
thing."
On the surface of the planet, in the laboratory of Dr. Noonian
Soong, a man in a motorized chair was whirring about the room, delighted
at having fooled man and death yet again and having the opportunity to
boast about it. Jean-Luc Picard was not feeling as festive. He
abruptly sent Worf and Costa back to the ship, and now it was just him
and Geordi.
"Dr. Soong," said Picard impatiently, "our away team reported you as
dead well over a year ago. And yet here you are." Out of the corner of
his eye, he noticed the man who looked like Data silently leave the
room, apparently attending to other duties.
Soong whirled his chair around to face Picard. "And yet here I am,"
he said, still amused. "Tell me, Captain, why did you leave me here?"
"We had a medical emergency on the Enterprise. But we sent word to
Starfleet, and another ship was supposed to come here to - "
"Oh yes," said the aged cyberneticist. "Now I remember. You'll
have to pardon me, Captain, my memory isn't what it used to be. The
faithful crew of the USS Monitor. When I explained how I had recovered
in the weeks after Lore left here, and how I merely wanted to be left
alone, Captain Hopkins was very cooperative. And discreet." He cast a
pointed eye at Picard. "I hope I can trust you to maintain that same
level of discretion, Captain Picard."
"Doctor," said Picard testily, "I will not tell you what to do or
where to go, but I do require some answers. By luring Data here with
your homing device, you diverted the Enterprise from a critical medical
emergency and risked the life of a young boy who needed immediate
attention. How can you assure me that you won't attempt the same sort
of irresponsible behavior again?"
Soong let out an ancient sigh. "I'm sorry, Captain. It was wrong
and irresponsible of me to manipulate your ship like that. But where my
boys are concerned, I'm afraid that my rationality isn't what it should
be."
Picard nodded. "Indeed, doctor. In fact, I would call that an
understatement. This chip that you so generously designed sent Lore on
a rampage from which he still hasn't accounted for, and it now threatens
the well-being of my second officer as well."
The chair zoomed forward a few feet. "Data has the chip?" asked
Soong urgently.
"Yes. He retrieved it from Lore during a recent confrontation on
the Enterprise."
Soong kneaded his chin for a few seconds, then said, "You must
listen to me, Captain. Do not allow Data to use that chip under any
circumstances. The consequences would be most unpleasant."
"Doctor," said Picard gravely. "Your warning is too late. Data has
already implanted the chip into his systems, and is now in a coma."
"What?!" exclaimed Soong. "This is terrible. Data should not have
tried to use the chip on himself."
"I must confess to a certain amount of puzzlement, Doctor," said
Picard. "I was under the impression that the chip was specifically
designed for Data."
"Oh, it was, it was," moaned Soong. "But once Lore integrated it
into his systems, the programming was rewritten. Re-oriented. It's
worthless to Data, and dangerous."
"But sir," said Geordi, addressing Soong. "We checked the chip out
on our computers. It didn't appear that the data has been compromised
by Lore's systems."
With some trepidation, Soong replied, "Ah, with all due respect,
Commander LaForge, you didn't know what to look for. The information on
that chip was encoded in such a way as to provide self-verification
routines in the event of a programming anomaly."
"I beg your pardon?" said a confused Picard, but Geordi understood.
"What are you saying?" he said, aghast. "That if the chip had a
problem, it was designed to lie to diagnostics and say it was fine?"
"Well, what was I supposed to do?" snapped Soong. "This was no
simple algorithm, I'm talking about an entire emotional grid!
Feelings, like anger, hurt, joy, sadness! By definition, the chip
provides an imperfectly unpredictable set of responses; I tried and
tried, but I couldn't FORCE the chip to test out consistently. It
wouldn't work otherwise."
Geordi still couldn't believe it. "It's like taking a test, making
a low grade, and then changing the answer key so that all your answers
come out right," he mused incredulously.
"I never imagined anything would go wrong with the chip," said Soong
morosely. "Not until Lore showed up. And after he left, I had hoped he
would have stayed clear of your ship." He shook his head sadly. "And
Data wanted those emotions so badly."
Picard folded his arms. "Doctor, Data has been deactivated until we
could find out what was wrong with him and how to fix it. Will you beam
up with us so that you can examine him?"
"I'm sorry, Captain, but I refuse to leave this place. Data must be
transported down."
"As you wish," said Picard curtly. He was in no mood to dig up new
bones of contention with the elderly scientist. "Do you believe you can
repair him?"
"Well, if anyone can, I can," said Soong, but it was not with a very
assuring voice.
Geordi was wandering around the lab looking at things. He peered
off into the dark exit where the mysterious man at Soong's side had
stolen off to. "Doctor, before we leave, who was that man we saw when
we first arrived?"
Soong's frown gradually spread into a proud smile. "Oh yes." He
spoke quietly into something pinned to his clothing. "Seth, come here,
I'd like to introduce you."
"Coming, father," came the response. Presently, the man returned to
the central laboratory, and stood facing the officers. In the light,
Geordi and Picard had a better look at him. He was slightly taller than
Data, with tussled brown hair, perfectly human peach-colored skin, deep
blue eyes, and was wearing non-descript work clothes. Other than that,
he was a perfect match for Data.
"This," said Soong gently, "is Captain Picard and Commander LaForge.
Gentlemen, this is my son, Seth."
"Your son?" queried Picard.
"Yes," said Soong proudly. He beamed at the man. "I finished
building him just a few weeks ago. Seth is my third and most
perfected android."
Unperturbed, even cherry, the very human-looking android named Seth
smiled at Picard and Geordi. "Good afternoon, gentlemen. I'm pleased
to meet you."
Geordi reached out with a smile and shook the android's offered hand
after a moment of hesitation. Seth's grip was firm but gentle, belying
the strength Geordi knew to be in that hand. Picard and Seth also
exchanged greetings, but the captain was in no mood for further amenities.
He immediately turned back to face Dr. Soong. Geordi thought he saw
something odd flash across Seth's face after Picard's abrupt treatment.
Could it have been a look of hurt? Confusion? No, couldn't be.
"I apologize for being blunt, Dr. Soong," began the Captain, "but
when can we transport my second officer to your lab? If you are feeling
up to it, I hope that we can begin at once."
"By all means, Captain," said Soong, "send him down. With Seth's
help, hopefully I can do something for the boy."
Picard contacted the ship to arrange for Data's transport to Soong's
lab as Geordi took the opportunity to chat with Seth. "You know, you
look an awful lot like your brother," said Geordi.
"I'm not surprised by the resemblance," said Seth. "We were created
from the same mold. However, there were a few revisions." Geordi was
about to pursue these revisions when a glimmer caught his eye. Data
materialized in front of them, lying prone and silent on a stretcher.
Soong wheeled over to Data's side and motioned for Seth. Seth
quickly cleared a nearby table of books, papers and toy dinosaurs. He
then easily picked up the other android and placed him gently on the
table. Soong peeled open an access panel on the side of Data's head and
peered inside intently. He picked up this probe and that, clucking
gently to himself with each reading. Geordi could only guess at the
function of some of the tools the old scientist was using. Soong's
hands trembled slightly and he almost dropped one of the probes, which
Seth deftly retrieved for him. Geordi cringed inwardly and wondered if
Soong could really do anything to help his friend. He had had a very
bad feeling about this since the day Data first mentioned the emotions
chip to him. For some reason, seeing Soong hovering over Data didn't
seem to offer him much comfort. He glanced over at the captain. By the
look on Picard's face, Geordi knew the captain was not any happier about
this than he was.
After what seemed hours, Soong straightened and rubbed his tired
neck muscles. He pushed his wheelchair back from the work table and
slammed what looked to be a delicate instrument down on the floor in
frustration. He sat there in silence until Picard prodded him. "Well,
Doctor? Can he be repaired?" he said quietly.
"No!" spat Soong vehemously. "No, I won't make that kind of
decision! I can't!" He put his head in both gnarled hands and was
silent once more.
Picard moved toward the old man and asked gently, "Doctor. I don't
understand what you mean. What decision?"
The tired, craggy face lifted and old faded eyes peered into the
strong gray eyes of the captain. "Data's matrix has been irreparably
damaged by the effects of the altered chip. He will never be able to
function properly again. He can no longer properly process any input.
To him, a dream, a hallucination could not be differentiated from
reality. And right now, he is hallucinating, to put it into a term you
can understand. If he were human, you could say he has gone quite mad."
Soong paused and looked at Seth. Never taking his eyes off his latest
creation, his newest son, he said, "The only way to save him is to
replace that matrix. There isn't time to create a new one. There are
only two others in existence: Lore's and....and Seth's."
Picard glanced over at the other android but could not read the
expression he saw there. "Couldn't you activate Lore's homing beacon and
bring him back like before?"
"It won't work," Soong answered. "After I recovered, I fine-tuned my
equipment and tried to re-activate the beacon in Lore. I thought I could
do...something for him, but he never responded. My first-born must have
found out how to deactivate the device. It's painfully easy to do,
really... " The old man lapsed into silence once more. With a deep
sigh, he continued. "Captain, it looks like I must choose between Data
and Seth. It's the only option open. How can I choose between them?
How can a father 'kill' one son to save the other?"
Picard's jaw quivered for just a split second. "Doctor, I'm afraid
I don't understand."
Soong mopped a thin layer of sweat from his brow. He looked up.
"Captain, do you have any children?"
Picard's eyes lowered. "No, Doctor, I don't."
"Then you wouldn't."
"No, I mean - what is this choice you're talking about? What does
Seth have to do with Data?"
Soong pressed a button on his armrest and the chair whirred softly
closer to Picard. He fumbled with his wool coverall and found a small
circle of metal which was attached to the cloth. "Do you see this,
Captain? Do you know what it's for?"
Picard sighed and gave the indicated trinket an obligatory
examination. "It looks like a communicator somewhat."
"That's exactly what it is. I made it for Seth. For me. One word
from me, and, no matter where he is in this building - on this planet,
for that matter - Seth comes to me. I built it as a safety precaution,
in case I suffered a seizure or in case Lore came back, but you don't
know what having such a link with another being is like. Reassuring.
Stability beyond description. With Seth finished, I feel, for the first
time ever, as if I can finally leave this life with my affairs in order."
Picard was silent as the chairbound Soong moved around the lab fiddling
with this and that. "I know what you're thinking, Picard. Get on with it,
old man - what about Data?" He chuckled very slightly. "Data. Shuffling
off to Starfleet to become a hero. Who would've thought? Not me, that's
for sure. I followed his career, of course... whenever I could get access
to a public subspace news net. Very glorious. Gallivanting around on the
Enterprise, while his dear old dad remains content to tinker on this rock.
Who'd remember me?"
"Doctor," interjected Picard softly. "Your name is legendary in
cybernetics - in computer technology... in virtually every journal -"
"Journals!" shouted Soong bitterly and with sudden anger. "I don't
want journals! I want a son!" He shook his head with a deep sadness,
and sighed. "The day I heard about Data's promotion to lieutenant
commander... that was the day I started on the preliminary plans for
Seth. I wanted a son, not some distant progeny at which I could point
to from afar and say, 'That's my boy,' knowing no one would hear. I
need someone who will stay with me, and who will carry on my legacy when
I'm gone - not just in design, but in action. Seth is that legacy. I
programmed him with a strong sense of familial respect that Data could
never possess. I gave him a predisposition toward cybernetics, so that
he could continue my work. I even built him to look human - for me,
not to appease any damn colonists. I know it's selfish of me, but at my
age and station, I have a right to be selfish. I'd hoped that with
Seth, I could wipe the slate clean, start fresh. Just the way Adam and
Eve did. I never realized that once again I'd have to choose between
two of them."
"And you're certain that there's no other option?" suggested Picard.
"We could take Data to a Starfleet cybernetics lab; you know that
the technology has advanced since you built him."
"You're not fooling me, Picard," crackled the old man. "And I doubt
you're fooling yourself. You know as well as I do that Starfleet
wouldn't know the first thing to do with Data. Still," he said, pausing
a little and thinking. "Your Mr. LaForge gave me an idea. There is a
chance I can do a software-only transfer of Seth's internal matrix - a
copy of the outerlying structure without having to transplant any of the
hardware. I'll need time."
"You'll have it," said Picard firmly.
"One thing, Captain," said Soong. "Please don't mention anything
I've told you today to either Seth or Data."
"Of course not," replied Picard. "You have my word."
In another room of the building, a man listened to Soong's words
through a makeshift communicator line, carelessly left open with a brush
of fingertips a minute before. The man pondered what he had overheard
for exactly 0.00781 nanoseconds, and then came to a decision.
Dr. Raymond Baxter strode down the corridor carrying a box of disks.
The disks contained volumes of information, and it amused him to
reflect, for an instant, that there was a time in history in which he'd
be straining with the weight of bound volumes of paper with ink writing
on them. Thinking about ink reminded him of the monthly obligation to
write his wife in Nassau. He filed the reminder away in the attic of
his mind, hoping he'd find fifteen minutes during the busy week to carry
out the task.
Beverly Crusher met him by way of an intersecting corridor. "Good
morning, Ray," she greeted tunefully. "Ready for our little meeting?"
"Hello, Beverly," he replied. "I hope so. Talking to lawyers is
something I try not to make a habit of. I'd rather be in a laboratory than
in a conference room any day."
She chuckled, as the two walked on. "Don't tell anyone on my ship, but
I feel the same way somehow," she said.
He smiled. "You sound almost cheerful this morning."
"Well," said Beverly, "I guess it's because of all the headway we
seem to be making lately. With the nanites' help, for once I think that
we're finally going to win this one. What worries me is what we're going
to do about the children who've already progressed too far to be helped.
Did you talk with the doctor from that nanotechnology group last night?"
"Yes, I did - for four and a half hours. And I don't have to tell you
that we didn't make four hours worth of headway. I'll tell you about it
later." Raymond Baxter sighed a small sigh. "We've been at this for weeks
without much more support than a supplementary team of nurses, lab techs and
gofers," he said. "I guess it's about time things start looking up."
"I guess we'll see," Beverly said hopefully. "And I believe this is
our stop," she said, halting and turning toward a conference room door.
The door whooshed open silently and the duo walked in.
In the room there was a standard conference table. Seated already
was a woman with severe though not unattractively pulled blonde hair.
She rose.
"Good morning, Doctors," she said amiably, shaking their hands.
"My name is Samatha Raffel, I'm with the Federation-appointed Board of
Nanite Legal Representation. I thought I'd get here a little early and do
some catch-up reading."
"Thank you," said Beverly politely, as the two doctors sat down
opposite the attorney. "I thought there were going to be two of you here."
"My partner was tied up back at the office. Seems like our superiors
want him to be in two places at once. I'm fully prepared to begin,
however, so if you've got no objections... ?"
Beverly and Ray looked at each other. Baxter nodded. "Please, Ms.
Raffel, go ahead, by all means."
"Fine. Now then, six days ago, a Federation science vessel made
contact with the nanite colony on Kavis Alpha Four and using a special
computer link, made contact with the leader."
"Wait a minute," interrupted Beverly. "I'm sorry to break in so soon,
but - 'made contact with their leader'? The nanites have a government?"
"Well, of sorts," replied Raffel. A brief look of concern flashed
across her face. "You *do* accept the position that the nanites are
sentient, don't you?"
"I suppose," said Beverly. "It's just going to take some time to grasp
all the ramifications. We don't really KNOW if they're sentient or not, do
we?"
"An object whose status of sentience is ambiguous or uncertain must be
treated as sentient by representatives of the United Federation of Planets
until sentience or the lack thereof can be determined and verified beyond
any reasonable doubt," quoted Raffel. "That's a thirty-year judgment,
in a case where the USS Intrepid found a collective of vibrating rocks on
Rhepia Four."
"Did they turn out to be sentient?" asked Baxter curiously.
"Sentient, Dr. Baxter?" returned the lawyer, amusedly. "The vibrations
turne
d out to be a full-scale musical composition, performed by Rhepians
in greeting for the Intrepid away team, which, when heard through the
proper amplification, is as complex and as rich as anything you've ever
heard by Mozart or Bach."
The doctors were silent.
"So," continued Raffel, "as I was saying, a Starfleet science team
contacted the nanite colony, and, with some difficulty, managed to convey
the general idea of requesting official aid and assistance concerning this
epidemic to them."
"Already?" said Baxter. "I thought that's why we were meeting with
you."
"That Starfleet science team had to go through my group first, Doctor,
I assure you. You're meeting with me because I want to be able to
safeguard the existences of any nanites chosen to serve as micro-cellular
surgeons in infected humanoids." She spread out a small group of personal
data pads across the table. "So what are you proposing, for starters?"
"Well," began Beverly, "ideally, each infected host would need a
cluster of twelve nanites arranged in a spheroid pattern, with four of them
equipped with microscopic force charges of a type that our nanotech-
nologists have developed. The charges, when activated, will serve as
dampening fields designed to drain the Borg contagion of all its energy,
after which the mutation is halted. The paraferrous matter that remains
can either be surgically removed or allowed to be dissolved by the host's
thalmic acids depending on how far along the infection is."
Samantha Raffel paused to punch some notes up and then asked, "Are we
talking about one solitary nanite collective here?"
The two doctors looked at each other uneasily. "Actually," said
Beverly hesitantly, "I think that ideally, we'd like one collective for
each individual case of infection, to ensure that each case has an equally
optimum chance of being cured."
"I see," said Raffel thoughtfully, poring over the data handed to her
by Dr. Baxter. "Now," she said, looking directly at the two doctors.
"Convince me that this operation won't harm the nanites in any way."
Baxter cleared his throat and Beverly sighed. Now began the hard
part.
"You know, you're a contemptible little man," spoke up Lwaxana
suddenly.
Fajo blinked, stirred from his scheming reverie by the outspoken
Betazoid. He turned to Lwaxana, first frowning in irritation, then
magically shifting his expression to one of oily charm. "I... you and I
don't have to dislike each other, Mrs. Troi," he said. "Why do you always
have to insult me?"
"It's not hard to do," sniffed Lwaxana primly.
"I mean," said Fajo, spreading his arms in a gesture of friendliness,
"you and I could be allies. Even friends."
"What?" said Lwaxana, taken aback. "Never. I don't have to be a full
telepath to know what kind of person you are."
Fajo nodded, good-humoredly. "And what kind of person is that?"
"You're a sleaze. A crook. A snoffel," she said, almost offhandedly.
"A snoffel?" said Fajo, puzzled. "What's that?"
"That's Betazoid for 'sleazy crook'."
"Mrs. Troi," said the trader, giving his best puppy-eyed look, "I don't
know what kind of stories you've heard about me, but I'm really a nice guy
once you get to know me."
"I'm sure," said Lwaxana. "I've met more pleasant Ferengi. I've heard
all about you from my daughter on the Enter-", she sputtered, suddenly
realizing her gaffe.
Fajo's eyes widened. "You've.. you've got a daughter on the
Enterprise?" He nodded to himself and tapped his fingers together. "I
see. How interesting, how very interesting. Well, Mrs. Troi, I'm sure we
have a lot in common," he said, thinking of how much Lwaxana Troi and he
very much wanted to get rid of the same person. Perhaps he'd have a chance
soon.
"Tell me, Chief, have you ever considered taking up another holodeck
sport?" asked Pulaski, smiling. "Something a little less dangerous, like
maybe Parrises Squares?"
O'Brien sat on the examination table while Pulaski repaired his
sprained arm. "Doctor! Kayaking is a real sport, you should join me on
the holodeck and try it some time."
"And end up sitting next to you in my own sickbay?" she replied. "No
thanks. According to Dr. Crusher's medical logs, this is the fourth time
you've checked in with an injury from that program. Either be more careful
or pick another game."
The good natured transporter chief hopped off the table. "Thanks a
lot, Doc," he said with mock sarcasm.
"So while you're standing there letting your ligaments mend," said
Pulaski, "tell me what you think of married life. Last time I was on
board, Keiko Ishikawa was the girl you were trying to get up the nerve to
ask out for dinner in Ten Forward."
"Well, it's everything - and nothing - I expected," said O'Brien.
"It's like opening up a slice of everything I am and sharing it with
another person. I can't really describe how it feels. But then - you've
been around that block more than once."
"Just goes to show you that I never learn," said Pulaski wistfully.
"And it's different every time."
"I hope I never have to find that out," said O'Brien.
"Doctor?"
The third voice was one both officers recognized, the commanding sound
of Will Riker entering sickbay. He approached with a somber expression on
his face.
O'Brien stood at attention and nodded in acknowledgement. "Commander,"
he said.
Riker nodded back perfunctorily. "Chief." He turned to Pulaski.
"Doctor, may I speak with you for a moment, in private?"
"Why, certainly, Commander," said Pulaski. "Will you excuse us,
Chief?"
"Of course, Doctor," replied O'Brien automatically. "See you later
on," he said, leaving.
"Why don't we go in my office?" offered Pulaski, and Riker followed her
into a small executive office which, while technically belonging to the
absent Beverly Crusher, had already acquired the small personal touches
that were uniquely Kate Pulaski. "Now, Will," she said, sitting down.
"What can I do for you?"
"It's about Geordi," said Riker. "I'm concerned that he's pushing
himself too hard over this business with Data."
"Well, that's a little out of my jurisdiction," replied Pulaski. "Why
don't you talk to Deanna? She's head of psychological sciences."
"She's unavailable," said Riker curtly. "The captain is sequestering
her empathic abilities for when they revive Data in engineering. Which has
to do with what I'm worried." He looked down, swallowed, then looked back
hard at Pulaski. "If, God forbid, anything should go wrong with Data, I'm
worried that it may push Geordi over the edge."
"Commander," said Pulaski seriously, "I know I've been away a while,
but I remember Geordi LaForge as one of the most level-headed officers on
this ship. That was why Captain Picard made him chief engineer when I
first came on board. And Geordi's lost friends before."
"Normally, that's true," said Riker. "But Geordi and Data have a
special relationship. It's more than being best friends - it's... it's
hard to explain. Geordi regards Data as his most reliable pal, his most
intimate friend and the most fascinating technical specimen he's ever had
the chance to work with. Geordi once described it as being best friends
with your '57 Chevy, whatever that is. I got the general idea, though.
Geordi thinks of Data as someone who's confident, supremely able to handle
any situation, someone who doesn't care what others think of him - Data is
everything Geordi wishes he were."
Pulaski thought of Helen. "I understand your concern, Will," she said.
"I'll try to have a talk with him sometime next shift. I'll also send a
note to Counselor Troi's office just so she'll see it sometime. Thanks for
stopping by."
"Thank you, Doctor," said Riker, standing up. "I mean it."
Pulaski smiled hopefully at him. "I know you do."
