Ghost Ship - Diane Carey [63]
“And now Captain Picard must decide what to do. Because I know … I know that thing means to destroy this ship when it finds us again. It believes that is its purpose. Yet I have received impressions inconsistent with that goal.”
“Like what?”
“Like fear. Am I right? That isn’t consistent.”
Geordi shrugged lamely. “I dunno. It could be. You mean it’s afraid of us?”
“No. It is afraid for us.”
“Sorry, but you’ll have to explain that one. I just see well, remember? I’m no psychologist.”
“The aliens who created it actually knew what life is made of. They knew the moment when consciousness and sense of self begin in a mass of cells. Somehow they encoded the entity with the belief that it must absorb us in order to protect us from this very ship.”
“That’s great,” Geordi grumbled, “just great. Doesn’t it have the brains to know the ship is what’s protecting us from the environment of space?”
“It is a tool, Geordi. A mechanism that decides for itself according to its best judgment.” Data spoke softly, as though entreating him to understand what it could be like to rely only on memory and not on intuition, on programming rather than insight. He paused, and flattened his hand even more intimately on the display board. “It is my greatest fear,” he said, “that I may find I am nothing more than a tool.”
Aching with empathy, Geordi felt the sting of his own helplessness. He could mutter some useless reassurances, but he had no answers. None that would satisfy or comfort Data as there might be comfort for a human being. Data’s relentlessly analytical mind wouldn’t allow him to accept simple answers, and he had stumbled onto a question that defied answers, and would defy them until time ground to a tired halt. Then everything would start up again and the question would resurface, slippery as ever.
“Data … ” he said finally, “if it’s any consolation, I don’t think I could be friends with a machine.”
The android’s eyes lost their focus for a moment. The kind words ran through his body, and actually warmed him. Geordi could see the change.
Then Data looked at him askance, and his mouth lengthened into that crooked little grin. “Thank you, Geordi. I will never forget that. No matter what happens.”
Still soft, still sentimental. No slang, no trappings. That was the real Data. Except for the hint of foreknowledge in his tone, which Geordi didn’t digest for several seconds.
Perhaps it was that Data didn’t look away, but that he kept gazing with that curious look, a look that said he had something else cooking in his idea kitchen, and after a moment Geordi took a suspicious step toward him.
“What do you mean, no matter what happens? Hey!”
The deck dropped out from under him. His arms and legs flared out with the initial shock of being lifted, and he realized that he too had committed the crime of forgetting where human ability stopped and android ability took over.
“Data, put me down! What are you-” The room spun, and he was deposited neatly on his feet at the top of a stack of heavy-stress storage units. As he got his balance he noticed the flash of metallic skin as Data plucked the insignia-com from Geordi’s own chest and stepped down from the crates.