Immortal Coil - Jeffrey Lang [11]
Slowly, very slowly, he reached out and touched the transparent panel, studying the planes of her face. The strength went out of his legs, and Data slipped to the floor, finally settling with his back against the wall, staring blankly into the middle distance. A maintenance subroutine warned him that he should be alarmed by the number of processors that were cycling endlessly through a single thought, but Data found it impossible to rouse himself. There was no reason to move, nothing worth moving for, nothing worth caring about, nothing …
Then, without knowing why, he muttered, “I’m sorry,” and though the words felt bitter and hollow, it was the only thought his positronic brain could muster, so he said it again. And then once more. He said it again and again and again, his voice growing more faint with each utterance. And even when no sound came out, his lips continued to move.
Chapter Four
“I’M SORRY, CAPTAIN,” Data said, patting his eyes with a tissue. A significant pile, Picard noted, had accumulated on his ready room desk.
“You’ve already said that and I’ve already told you that you have no reason to apologize,” Picard said. “This has been a very trying experience for you. Add to that the fact that you have very little experience with these sorts of emotional upheavals … If it helps at all, Data, you should know that I experienced something very similar to what you’re going through when my brother and his son were killed. It’s a devastating feeling.”
Data nodded slowly. “I understand what you are saying, Captain, but that is not … that is not …” Before he could complete his sentence, Data was overcome by another wave of grief, his shoulders rolling as the sobs wracked him. As the intensity of his grief grew, Data’s head sank lower and lower until finally he was slumped over, face in his hands, his entire body shaking. Picard began to worry that Data might be about to experience some sort of breakdown when, suddenly, the sobs ceased. Data’s head snapped up and though his eyes were still watering, it was quite literally as if someone had turned off the faucet.
“Data?”
“Yes, Captain?” Data reached toward the container on the table and awkwardly tugged at the spray of tissues. He pulled free a wad, and gingerly wiped his cheeks dry.
“Did something just happen?”
“Sir?”
“Have you … deactivated your emotion chip?”
Data cocked his head to the side as if consulting an internal monitor. Finally, he reported, “Yes, Captain, the chip has been deactivated, but it was not done so by any conscious effort on my part.”
“Should we contact Geordi?”
Data considered, then shook his head. “No, sir. I do not believe that will be necessary. While I do not know if the chip was deactivated by some sort of fail-safe device or if I ‘unconsciously’ turned it off, I think it would be best if it were left that way for a while. Do not humans frequently go to sleep after they have received a severe shock?”
“I see what you mean. So, you think this might be your system’s way of ‘going to sleep.’ “
“Yes, Captain,” he said. He glanced curiously at the tower of tissues he’d built atop Picard’s desk, as if seeing it for the first time. “This is all quite fascinating.”
Picard settled back in his chair and rubbed his temples. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, it is.” Not to mention exhausting. He rose and looked around Data’s quarters until he saw the food