Immortal Coil - Jeffrey Lang [13]
“I’ve heard worse,” Picard said kindly. “Now, tell me what happened.”
Data sat up straighter and seemed to be peering into memories of the distant past. “As I laid my mother to rest,” Data said, folding his hands into his lap, “I had an insight.” He looked up at his captain as if seeking permission to tell him, so Picard nodded. “You are going to die.”
Picard waited for him to continue, the silence stretching on uncomfortably until, finally, Picard lifted his hand and said, “And … ?”
Data let the other shoe drop. “But I will not,” Data continued.
Picard struggled to keep a neutral expression, not sure whether his impulse was to reply with exasperation or to laugh. Finally, he managed to say, “That’s not necessarily true, Data. Not to be morbid, but any number of things could happen.”
“Of course, Captain. I could be crushed beyond repair or vaporized by a phaser or the Enterprise could be destroyed by a Romulan warbird, but these things are true for everyone aboard the ship. What I was referring to was the natural course of every biological entity: if nothing happens to hasten it, your death will occur at the end of its natural span, whereas I have been designed to continue functioning virtually forever.”
Picard nodded, trying not to let Data’s analysis of his life expectancy color the conversation. “All right, Data. I think I see your point. You probably will outlive all of us, but such is the nature of your existence—you’re an artificial life form. I thought you understood that.”
“Understood?” Data asked, his voice rising sharply. “Yes, I have always understood it. I have always known that I will attend your funeral and Geordi’s funeral and Counselor Troi’s funeral … the funeral of every person aboard the Enterprise. And then, if I decide to join another crew, I will attend the funerals of those shipmates, too.” Picard saw that Data’s eyes were beginning to grow moist again and heard his voice crack with emotion. “And then there are those who have already died—my mother, my daughter, my brother …” He bent his head and rubbed at his eye with the heel of his hand. “And Tasha …” Data paused and collected himself. “There has not been a day since she died when I have not thought of her, but today … today was the first time I understood, truly understood that I will never see her again. If there is such a thing as an afterlife, Captain, I will not even see her there because I will not die.” He dropped his head between his hands and stared at the floor. Picard waited, listening to Data breathe deeply, watching him struggle to hold back tears.
Several minutes passed and Picard had the peculiar realization that he had never listened to Data breathe before. He knew that Soong had programmed his creation to simulate many basic human functions—respiration, circulation, even digestion—but they had never, the two of them, sat in a room together with neither of them speaking. He had known Data, had thought of him as a friend, for more than ten years, but had never sat in silence with him for more than a moment or two. It was a sobering thought.
“Captain,” Data said very quietly, still staring at the floor, “I want to deactivate my emotion chip.”
Picard stirred, shifted his weight and asked, “Do you feel like it might shut down of its own accord again? Are you afraid it might endanger other systems?”
Data shook his head, then looked up. “You misunderstand me. I want to turn it off—forever.”
Picard frowned. “Data—we’ve had this conversation before. You yourself made reference to it earlier. I’m going to tell you now exactly what I told you then: you can’t hide from your feelings every time they become unpleasant.”
“But is that not precisely what you instructed me to do when the Borg invaded the Enterprise?”
Picard’s shoulders sagged. He had not forgotten about that. When the Enterprise had traveled back in time to the twenty-first century to prevent the Borg from changing Earth’s past, the Borg had circumvented their defenses and taken over the lower decks of the ship. Picard had led a raiding party to