Ghost Ship - Diane Carey [57]
“I will, sir.”
“Uh … yes. Are we witnessing two kinds of contact here? You with the mechanism or whatever it is, and Troi with the life essences trapped by it?”
Data’s birdlike eyes darted sideways for a moment in a disturbingly computerish look of calculation. He stood completely still for a few seconds, then canted his brows and said, “That does seem to describe the evidence, sir. Counselor Troi seems to be the path of least resistance for the life essences in their attempt to contact us. They do seem to be separate from the entity which buoys them. I should have thought of it myself.”
“You’re doing enough,” Riker said, trying to ease the stiffness he sensed under Data’s tone even now.
Then the android said, “No, sir … not enough. I may have technologies within myself that even I do not know about and do not know how to use yet. Somehow, the mechanism and I have congruous responses to each other. I believe-” And he paused again, this time even more movingly. He didn’t look at Riker, but rather fixed his eyes on the forward screen, now a grainy gray wall. “On impulse-idle with only flight shields up, the mechanism did not home in on us. I believe it fixed on me and was then able to focus on the ship-“
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Riker interrupted. “It found Troi first and me next. You’re third on its taste test, so don’t start blaming yourself. It’s too … human.”
The proffered lightness didn’t come off. Rather the contrary. Data’s sudden silence was ponderous.
Riker rubbed his hands together and made a second attempt. “Look, Data, about before … “
“If I may say, sir,” Data said quickly, “your sense regarding my nature is correct. It seems I … have been deluding myself. I am … apparently more mechanical than living.”
Riker moved across the small space between them and tried not to look like a superior officer circling an underling. When it did start to look like that, he stopped and simply faced Data. “Now, listen. I want us to understand each other.”
“Yes, sir,” the android said clearly. “It is not your fault that … while I cannot be alive, I am apparently programmed to be self-deluding about it.”
The statement rang in the empty battle bridge. Several seconds ticked by, accentuating the fact that there was no real answer.
Data straightened then, as though to slough off the discomfort of those seconds. “Whoever built the entity out there knew what it is to be alive. It knew life and knew how to preserve life even when the body is gone. And it clearly recognizes machines for what they are.”
Shaking his head, Riker sighed. “You’re not making this easy on either of us.”
All at once Data fidgeted, actually changed the position of his feet.
Riker held out a palm and said, “At ease, will you?”
Data glanced at him. After a beat he crossed his wrists behind his back and looked at the floor. “It seems that I too am a mechanism,” he said introspectively. “A utensil. Not a creature. Not only may I not be human, but I may not even qualify as a lifeform. I may be less alive than the first protozoan that murmured through Earth’s primordial muck.”
With a sympathetic frown, Riker fought to digest the concept as Data perceived it. He felt suddenly crushed by his own mistake, and by his own inadequacy to ford this crossing.
“I am a versatile device,” Data went on, still gazing at the floor. His voice was completely without the emotional rasp that would have entered a human voice by now, and yet there was a heaviness in his tone that lent meaning to his confession. The harsh but meager lighting on the battle bridge played poorly upon the soft and pale contours of his