Immortal Coil - Jeffrey Lang [71]
Picard thought back to his conversation with Sam in the Enterprise’s lounge. For good works, the man had said. He nodded absently, staring at the detention cell’s blank walls. “Yes, Admiral,” Picard said. “I think I might. Would you excuse us?”
Haftel hauled himself up to his feet. “And here’s where I impart a secret to you, Captain, the secret of rising to my current lofty rank: Always know when it’s time to leave a room.”
Picard smiled. “I’ll take it with me to my grave, sir.”
Haftel shook his head. “Don’t bother, Captain. It’s not a very good secret.” He nodded to the prisoner. “It was a pleasure to speak with you, sir. I hope you don’t turn out to be a spy.”
Sam waved. “Thanks, Admiral. And remember: pour the vermouth on the ice, then strain it out. Then add the gin.”
“I’ll take it with me to my grave, sir,” Haftel said as the doors closed behind him.
“You know, Captain,” Sam said, “this quadrant of space has played host to a dozen sprawling empires in the past half-million years. Several of them have reached greater pinnacles of science and art. Most of them have been wealthier and one or two of them have actually made the leap to the next evolutionary stage, but none of them, none of them has been as … you’ll forgive the expression … humane as the Federation. And it’s largely because, somehow, you people have worked out a system where people like him …” he pointed toward the door, “… end up as administrators. You should be very proud.”
Picard sat down in the single chair, pondering the statement. Then, almost as if it were a casual thought, he rose and deactivated the cell’s force field. “I suppose I am,” he said, sitting down again. “And thank you, though I suppose I’ll have to ask you how you know so much about the last half-million years of local history.”
“Ah, well, thereby hangs a tale. How much time do you have?”
“Not as much as I wish I did,” Picard said. “In fact, I fear I am already running behind. Perhaps you should try to be brief.”
“Well, I’m a bartender. ‘Brief’ is not one of the things we tend to do well, but I’ll do my best. Where should we begin?”
Picard thought about the long list of questions he had been compiling and decided that Sam might be the type who would respond best to a less confrontational tone. “The bottle of wine—the Maison St. Gaspar. You said, ‘For good works.’ At the time, I thought I understood what you meant, but now I’m not so sure: what ‘good works’?”
Sam didn’t hesitate. “Your advocacy of Data during the hearing to determine his rights as a sentient being in your society. It was quite a feat. Seldom in the history of this universe has any organic being grasped the fundamental truth of artificial sentience.”
“And that is?”
“I think, therefore I live.”
Picard leaned back in his chair to ponder the ramifications of Sam’s pronouncement, to see if he could fit it into the events of the past few days. Finally, he said slowly, “That’s what’s at the core of all of this, isn’t it? The right to proclaim your existence—you, whatever you are, whether anyone is going to be happy about it or not.”
Sam shrugged. “Saying that proclaiming one’s existence is a right presumes everyone is working on the same moral plane. I am, by nature, a cynic, Captain. Let us say simply the reality of existence: thought equals life.”
Picard snorted. “This is all taking on a faintly familiar air. I know a pan-dimensional being who would greatly enjoy your conversation.”
Sam nodded. “I believe I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“I suppose it is,” Picard said, internally frowning at the thought. Suddenly, there was steel in Picard’s voice and he realized that he had been riding a rising wave of anger for the past several hours, a wave that was about to come crashing down on a barkeep’s well-coiffed head. “But there’s one significant difference between you and … that being: I have you locked in a brig and, unless I miss my guess, I can keep you here for as long as I like.