Immortal Coil - Jeffrey Lang [53]
As their descent began, Data was still struggling to understand how else he should have taken the question. “I am confused,” he said.
Rhea massaged the bridge of her nose and sighed. “Never mind,” she said. “Are we going to have this conversation often?”
“Since I am not certain what ‘this conversation’ is,” Data replied, “then my answer would have to be … yes?”
Rhea did not reply for the time it took for the turbolift to drop several floors, then chuckled softly. “Okay, point taken. I was just trying to lighten the mood. You seemed … tense.”
“I did?” Data asked, fascinated. “How do I act when I seem tense?”
Rhea didn’t respond immediately, then rolled her eyes. “All right,” she admitted. “I’m tense. You caught me off guard in there when you started talking about Vaslovik. I thought we were going to check that out some more. I’m sorry … I’m not really very good with conflict.”
Data replied,
“But you are the head of security.” “Different kind of conflict,” Rhea said.
“Oh,” Data said, not completely understanding. “But are we not now going to investigate it? We are going to his home—”
“I meant check it out some more before talking to the captain.”
Data felt abashed. “I … I did not understand that,” he said. “Chief O’Neil’s report seemed to me to be the confirmation we were looking for,” he said cautiously.
“I suppose,” McAdams said irritably, then rubbed the bridge of her nose again. “I’m sorry. I get cranky when I don’t get enough sleep.”
“I will make a note of that,” Data said cautiously. When McAdams didn’t respond, he asked tentatively, “Does this disagreement mean that you have lost faith in me?”
Rhea looked up and saw that worry lines had appeared around the corners of Data’s eyes. She reached up and smoothed the lines with her fingertips. “No, not that,” she said. “Never that.”
Chapter Fourteen
THE AWAY TEAM MATERIALIZED on the wide lawn beside a small A-frame building, rather unremarkable as private dwellings went. Looking up and down the narrow road, Riker noted that there were no other residences nearby, the closest being what looked like a small cabin on a hilltop almost 500 meters up the road, barely discernible through a stand of trees. He asked Barclay, “Have you been in this neighborhood before?”
Barclay nodded. “This is the Hollows, a couple of hundred kilometers north of the Institute. Most of the people who live out this far are longtime residents—staff members, technical staff, clerical workers. We, uh, transients, tend to live closer to campus.”
McAdams consulted the address code near the entryway. “This is the right house, though.” It was an old-fashioned structure with wide, deep windows and slate tiles on the roof. There were two cane rocking chairs on the porch, both in need of paint, with a low table between them. There was an air of quaint shabbiness about the place and though they approached cautiously, tricorders humming, Riker found it hard to imagine a less threatening structure.
Which, naturally, made him feel that much more on edge. “Rustic,” he said, then made a pass with the tricorder. “Nobody’s home,” he reported. “No defense systems, no surveillance equipment. In fact, I’m not reading any unusual EM signatures at all. Let’s go knock.”
Data was puzzled. “But you said no one was home.”
“Just being polite, Data. One should always knock before one is about to ‘toss a joint.’ “
To no one’s surprise, the door was unlocked. Vaslovik’s home was scrupulously tidy. The team proceeded slowly from room to room, cautiously taking readings, making observations. Judging by the lack of household gadgetry, he appeared to cook his own meals, wash his own dishes and sweep his own floors. A small private library of leather-bound books contained a wide range of literature and historical nonfiction. In the living room, McAdams paused to look through some padds lying on a coffee table, but reported there was nothing noteworthy on them: technical and scientific publications, some general arts and humanities