Immortal Coil - Jeffrey Lang [96]
Watching the expression on Data’s face, Vaslovik suggested, “Take the first doorway to the left and go to the top of the stairs.” Data turned to leave, but before he left the room, the professor called, “Thank you for everything you’ve done for her, Data.” He bowed at the waist, a solemn, courtly gesture that might have been learned centuries earlier in some fine, shining court. For a moment, Data felt that he was once again catching a glimpse of the old warrior he had seen for a moment through Soong’s eyes on Exo III.
“I believe, sir,” Data said, returning the bow, “that it is I who should thank you. You saved my life today.”
“Well,” Vaslovik said, straightening, “the day is still young. We may trade favors before it’s over.”
Data recalled again the brief view of the gigantic spacecraft he saw through the escape pod window. He would have to attempt to contact Starfleet soon; it was his duty. But, first, there was something else he needed to tend to.
The stairway was wide and curved to the right in a lazy spiral. As Data ascended, and the music grew louder, he wondered what he would say to her first. Confront her for lying to him continuously about her true nature? For hiding her knowledge of the Maddox affair? For concealing her relationship to Vaslovik? No, he realized. While it displeased him that she had done those things, he found he understood why she had felt compelled to. She needed to protect herself, she needed to experience life among humans, and she needed to learn who she could trust.
She trusted me.
Data clung to that thought as he reached the top of the stairs, and the music changed once again, from Liszt to playful variations of “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star,” first performed as if it had been composed by Mozart, then by Beethoven, then by Wagner. The virtuosity displayed by the musician might have seemed pretentious if it weren’t so obvious that she was having so much fun. There was no door at the top of the stairs, only a wide archway that opened into a cavernous space. As he had known she would, Rhea sat at a grand piano on a wide platform framed against the stars. The concert space was at the top of the station’s tallest sections and was completely enclosed by a force field so carefully modulated that there wasn’t even a hint of blue shimmer. The floor was highly polished black marble and it reflected the stars so well that it looked as if Rhea was floating in space.
She must have sensed his presence, but Rhea did not look up, not right away. Her dark hair was pulled back in a nonregulation ponytail that Data found to be aesthetically pleasing. She had changed into civilian clothing, probably something that she had left behind at the station: dark slacks and a long-sleeved plum-colored blouse. Her eyes were half-closed and she did not look at her hands as she played.
Rhea looked up then, smiled and beckoned to him to join her with one hand though she continued to pick out the simple tune with the other. When she reached the last stanza, she finished with a minor chord that reverberated throughout the dome.
Data clapped his hands lightly as he climbed the three steps to the platform and Rhea bowed her head, blushing. “That was lovely,” Data said. “I did not know you played.”
“I just tried for the first time a little while ago while you were resting,” she explained. “I was looking for something to do, so it seemed like a good time to learn how to play the piano …” And here she laughed. “Believe me, it sounds as strange to me as it must to you. Vaslovik, Maddox, Barclay, Zimmerman … they gave me all this knowledge, all these abilities, but they also gave me the ability to be astonished by them.” She smiled, a little wistfully, Data thought, then asked, “Do you play?”
He walked across the wooden floor to stand beside her and saw that she wasn’t wearing shoes, but had been working the pedals with bare