Intellivore - Diane Duane [67]
The sensation of pain grew worse as it came closer to Data, seized on part after part of his mind, the influence spreading again, pain growing more terrible and unavoidable. He had no defense against it, no previous experience of pain to help him know how to cope, and now his reaction was like that of a human child who feels the cut finger or the scraped knee for the first time, and can feel nothing but horror and betrayal at the cruel universe that allows such pain to occur. He floundered in it, not knowing how to fight, and the pity and anguish for the billion victims twined together in him—
Data felt himself drowning under the weight of it. Soon there would be no him anymore, only it/them, and it would have its way with everything. For this possibility, too, Data had made a plan. There was no telling what would happen to the Enterprise. But I have no choice—
Before the intellivore could tell what he was doing and react, Data programmed himself for a tenth-of-a-second shutdown … and implemented.
Everything went black—
—and then white.
He blinked and found himself staring at the screen, which had whited out. “Mr. Data!” yelled Captain Maisel. “Are you there?”
“Where else would I be, Captain?”
“Oh, Lord, you’re infuriating sometimes. Are you all right?”
“The hold the intellivore had on me is broken. I have your scan, Captain.” And then he added, “You are responsible for my recovery.”
“You did something first.”
“I shut down.”
“I hoped you might, even though it was a risk. I’ve been sending Enterprise’s command codes at you for the past couple of minutes.”
“Is that all it has been?” Data said softly.
“That’s all. But I got your screens up, just the visual-light function. The thing doesn’t like it; it backed off a little. Don’t just sit there, Data, go for it, before that thing pulls another trick out of the bag!”
Data reached back down inside himself to his connection to the heart of the ship, and made a shift, a change—
On Marignano, Ileen was still standing, hanging on to conn, staring at the screen—and the little sphere of light in front of them suddenly went so blindingly bright that the violence of it actually made her stagger where she stood.
“He’s back in the saddle,” she muttered. “I’m getting out of range. Paul? Get up, Paul!”
Her exec was staggering to his feet. “You all right?” Maisel said.
He looked at her, his face haggard. “I’m never drinking out of that bottle again.”
“You and me both. I need you working, now. Frances, get up!”
Pickup reached up to a nearby chair and pulled herself upright. “Captain, what—”
“We had a little run-in with our nasty friend there, but it didn’t finish the job. Don’t tell me,” Maisel said, hurriedly holding a hand up. “I won’t tell you mine if you won’t tell me yours. Take the conn. Get us out of range, and bring us around in a big circle. Mr. Data’s about to start digging, and I want to be in a position to help him if he needs it.”
“Look at that,” said McGrady. The screen had backed way down in intensity, as a matter of self-defense. Enterprise was pumping something like eighty percent of her warp engines’ output through the screens, with the instruction that they radiate in the visual spectrum.
“If that’s not what a nova looks like,” said Ileen, “it’s a real good imitation.”
“Kepler’s Star all over again.”
“I hope not. Come on, power those weapons up. Frances, get me a reading. What’s the planet’s sensor web doing?”
Pickup scanned briefly and said, “Getting flickers, Captain. Uneven spots in the planet’s sensor power curve. Overloads—”
“Good,” Ileen muttered. “I hope it likes it. Let’s see if the things of darkness really don’t like the light.”
Enterprise was swinging close by the planet on impulse. The light harrowed every bit of the planet.