Ghost Ship - Diane Carey [42]
“I’ll take those odds. Get Riker up here.”
“Report, Mr. Data.”
Picard hadn’t told them his plans yet. Riker now stood near him as Data and Geordi LaForge squared off before them on the bridge.
Riker hovered nearby, acutely aware of Deanna Troi’s absence. Was he just being too sensitive or was Data making a point of not looking at him?
Am I imagining it?
“From its actions and its capabilities-lightspeed, for instance,” Data began, “I shall risk concluding that it was indeed constructed and couldn’t possibly have evolved naturally. It possesses a rudimentary intelligence, reacting to everything on a basic, simple set of instructions, rather like an insect. When a praying mantis eats its own mate, for example, sir, it is simply doing what instinct tells it to do, without any concept of rightness or wrongness.”
Picard rubbed his palms against his thighs and resisted the urge to pace. “You’re telling me it’s the galaxy’s biggest bug.”
Data cocked his head in a semblance of nodding, but he wasn’t ready to commit to that. “Essentially.”
“Which leaves out reasoning with it,” Riker offered.
“Correct, sir,” Data said, “but if we can interface with it somehow on its own level, I may be able to effect changes in that simple programming enough to fake it out-” He caught it fast, and glanced at Riker. “Enough to alter its actions.”
Data’s self-consciousness disappeared as the turbolift opened and emitted Troi, with Dr. Crusher hovering after her, obviously unwilling to let the counselor out of her sight.
“Captain!” Troi blurted. Immediately she drew back, collected herself, and plainly announced, “Sir, they want something from us.”
Picard looked at her dubiously. “I beg your pardon? Have you been in contact with it again?”
“You could say that,” Crusher said, eyeing Troi. “For a minute there, thought we were going to lose her.”
“Indeed. Are you all right, Counselor?”
“Captain, they want something,” Troi pushed on, “something we can provide for them, or at least something they think we can provide.”
At the center of a brewing storm, Picard turned to accuse Data. “Well, Data? That’s certainly not the wrinkle we expected to develop, given your assessment.”
Data’s finely wrought lips slid open on nothing for a moment. “Sir, that cannot be accurate. All evidence suggests that the hostile is not capable of consciously wanting something from us. It has the intelligence of an insect on all response levels. It responds automatically to stimuli. Its reactions do not involve thought as we know it, but only stimulus and response.”
Picard wagged a finger toward Troi and said, “But the counselor tells us otherwise, while you”- the finger swung full about-“tell us it’s not attacking out of malice. Something in its very simple programming triggers its actions.”
“Yes, sir,” Data was glad to agree. “Our weapons attracted and agitated it.”
“We do have to realize that there may be a difference between the hostile and the minds I am sensing, sir,” Troi pointed out.
“But in any case,” Riker pointed out, “we have to deal with it. We can’t reason with it or frighten it, and there’s only a low chance of deceiving it. But the advantage is that we may be able to figure out its programming, as Data suggested.”
“But not,” Picard pressed, “if it’s rational.” He placed his hands upon the bridge horseshoe rail and gazed up meaningfully at Deanna Troi. “If it’s rational, we may find ourselves impaled on the horns of Mr. Data’s logic.”
Data stepped down to the main deck and stood beside his chair at the Ops station as though to draw strength from a companion. “I cannot decipher its program by its actions alone, sir. There would have to be some form of communication or interface. In deference