Boogeymen - Mel Gilden [38]
“No significant abnormalities,” La Forge said, and touched a control surface. The display froze, and he ran his finger under a line of code. He touched the control again, and the screen began to serve up more information.
“I thought everything was significant,” Wesley said.
La Forge shook his head. “A starship is the most complicated piece of machinery ever built by any of the Federation races. Its programs are enormously complicated, too, and the main computer and its satellites talk to one another all the time. Code gets duplicated. Information is recorded someplace where it might never be needed again. Subroutines written for specific one-shot purposes are left in memory. Every year or so we have to go into the computer with a machete and clear out the underbrush.”
Data looked horrified. “I presume you are speaking metaphorically.”
“More or less,” La Forge said.
The computer said, “End of diagnostic. No significant abnormalities.”
“That’s a relief,” Wesley said, thinking about the turbolift and the blue plastic spaceship.
La Forge turned his head in Wesley’s direction and said, “Yeah, it is. But you’re relieved about more than just the lack of abnormalities.”
“Maybe.” Wesley told them about the two abnormalities he’d just observed. “Significant or not?” he asked.
“I’d say not,” La Forge said. “According to the diagnostic, the Boogeymen are gone. Right, Data?”
“So it would seem.”
La Forge shook his head and said, “I don’t know why I allow pessimists in Engineering.” He raised his voice and said, “Computer, start machete program.”
Data glanced at him in surprise.
“Running,” the computer said.
“If you haven’t found anything,” Wesley said, “the problem must have been with the Boogeyman program itself.”
“I don’t see any other answer,” La Forge said.
“And yet,” Data said in the reasonable voice Wesley sometimes found maddening, “the Boogeyman program had nothing in it that might cause such a malfunction.”
“You remember the entire program?” La Forge said.
“Of course. An android never forgets.”
“I’ve heard a lot about that Boogeyman program,” La Forge said. “Hell, I’m the one who installed it in the holodeck. I’d like to take a look at it.”
“I can type it out in just a few minutes,” Data said. He sat down at an empty work station and began to type so fast his fingers were a blur.
“I’d like to try it again,” Wesley said.
“What? The Boogeymen? The training program?”
“Both,” said Wesley.
Even with his eyes covered, La Forge gave the impression he was squinting at Wesley. He said, “You’d better let me take a look at the programs first, Wes. Data doesn’t make mistakes, but sometimes even correct code can do funny things inside a starship mainframe.”
Riker had listened to Picard’s story with some amazement. Though he’d used the Starfleet training programs just as every other fleet officer had, Riker claimed that he always knew in his gut when he was inside a holodeck simulation and when he was experiencing something real. “It must have been like a nightmare,” he said of Picard’s experience. “You never knew if you were really awake or just dreaming you were awake.”
Riker’s comment struck Picard hard. He smiled. “Of course, Number One. You are referring to the philosophical conundrum stated by Chuang-tzu.”
Riker looked uncomfortable, the way he always did when Picard sprang a history lesson on him. “Vulcan?” Riker asked hopefully.
Picard shook his head. “You must read your history, Number One. Chuang-tzu was not Vulcan but a philosopher of ancient Earth, fourth century B.C. China, to be exact. On awakening from a dream he wondered if he had been a man dreaming he was a butterfly, or was now a butterfly dreaming he was a man.”
“Ah,” said Riker.
“Ah, indeed.” Picard ordered Riker to carry on and left for the exobiology lab, grumbling to himself yet again that Starfleet Academy was perhaps a little light on the humanities.
He nodded to the security guard stationed outside the laboratory door and entered. Shubunkin and Baldwin