Immortal Coil - Jeffrey Lang [49]
McAdams sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, Data. I had no idea.”
“It is all right. You are doing your job. Your questions had to be raised. Unfortunately,” Data said, pressing on, “it leaves us no closer to knowing the truth about the incident on Galor IV than when we started. If murder was the intent, why leave Maddox alive? If there is an organized force responsible, then why have they not identified themselves? Typically, such individuals claim responsibility for crimes in order to gain recognition.”
“So what you’re saying is that none of this adds up. It wasn’t a personal attack, a terrorist act or an accident.”
Data shook his head and lowered himself into a nearby chair. “No. What I am saying is that I fear I am not adding up. I fear … I fear my emotions may have … may still … be clouding my perceptions. What I am saying is that I have begun to fear that I suspected a conspiracy because I very desperately wanted there to be a conspiracy.” He sighed again. “I have been reviewing some psychological files and found that it is often a mark of immature or unformed individuals to see conspiracies where none exist.”
Rhea walked over to him, knelt beside his chair and looked up into his lowered eyes. “Data,” she said. “I think you have a couple other problems you should worry about first. Number one: you have an astonishing lack of self-confidence for someone who is, in fact, smarter, braver and, in most every conceivable way, better than any other man I’ve ever met, artificial or not. Second …” And here she smiled …”For some reason, I find that amazingly attractive.”
Data looked down at Rhea and found that he could not resist the pull at the corners of his mouth. “It is,” he said, “a risk I live with every day.” And then, as if compelled by a power he did not fully comprehend, Data found he was leaning over, bringing his face closer to Rhea’s. He had half-closed his eyes and could see that she had done the same, but his were open just enough for him to notice that she wore the same soft smile she had a moment before. He also noticed that she smelled faintly of cherries and sandalwood, an odd, though appealing combination of scents. He felt the faint out-welling of her breath on his lips, noted that he could almost taste the coffee on her breath, and heard some older, more distant part of himself say, This day has taken some unexpected turns …
… And then the door hissed open.
A pair of technicians guided in an antigrav gurney bearing a figure wrapped in plastic sheeting and, a moment later, Reg Barclay entered. Neither of the technicians were paying the slightest attention to Data and Rhea, but Reg looked at them curiously, obviously noting their proximity, then blushed furiously.
Rhea smiled at Data, then straightened up quickly and instructed the technicians where to settle the gurney.
When the techs had left, Barclay said, “We had trouble getting the body out from under the slab without bringing the rest of the building down on our heads.” He flinched at the thought, then reached into his tool kit and pulled out a small blade, with which he began to cut the plastic in deft, sure strokes.
“Let me help you with that,” Rhea said, stripping the sheeting away from the android’s body as Barclay cut. When it was completely revealed, Data noted that the silver form looked, appropriately, as if a building had fallen on it. Gently, Rhea said, “Why not just take some baseline readings first?”
“Excellent suggestion,” Data said, and then he and Barclay carefully positioned the gurney under the lab’s central diagnostic array. Moving to the control console, Data brought the apparatus online and the sensors swept back and forth in a steady, rhythmic motion. He watched the datastream scroll down the screen and absorbed the readings as quickly as they were displayed. He began to nod his head quickly after the first several seconds, impatient for the array to get through with the predictable material: base composition; skeletal and muscular systems; circulatory