Possession - J.M. Dillard [92]
Troi shook her head and whispered, “I sense no one.” If Data was around this curve, he would be blessedly alone.
Still cautious, Alexander and Worf turned the corner—and halted; Deanna glanced cautiously over the Klingon’s shoulder, right into Data’s beautiful inhuman face.
The android sat upon the deck beside an open panel, his hands poised over four computer padds upon his lap, playing them as a concert pianist might coax a complicated melody from his keyboard. At the sight of Troi and the others, he instantly stopped.
“Counselor?” His tone was wary as he scrutinized the group.
Troi stepped around the Klingon, smiling with relief. “We’re all right, Data! We’ve been looking for you.”
Deanna never saw his hand move, but suddenly Data was holding a phaser on them.
“Unfortunately,” the android said, “I have no reliable manner in which to test whether you are, indeed, ‘all right.’ “
Worf snatched the back of his son’s shirt and hauled the child back so that he was behind him; at the same time, the adult Klingon stepped in front of Troi, clearly prepared to take the full brunt of the phaser blast. “Then how can we convince you we have come to give you aid, Commander? Together we must protect both you and the counselor, and prevent the Vulcans from coming aboard the Enterprise. We cannot do that if we are trapped in a perpetual standoff!”
Data lowered the phaser. “Your actions, Lieutenant, have proved it already. The crew members infected by the entities are incapable of sacrificing themselves for anyone, even their own children, as you just attempted to do.” As if that settled the matter, Data matter-of-factly returned to his computer padds, his hands moving over them in a blur of activity. “Apparently, Alexander paid far more attention to my maintenance course than I thought at the time.”
The boy rolled his eyes impatiently as his father gave him a stern look.
Buoyed by optimism, Troi sidled over to watch the android work. “What are you doing, Data?”
His hands never paused. “Several things. I am sending false readings that will tell anyone attempting to locate me that I am in twelve different random locations. I am sending printed and verbal instructions to the noninfected crew members to secure their quarters and trust none of their fellow crew members, no matter how normal they may seem. I have added deliberate errors to noncritical functions of the ship to cause minor disruptions to normal procedures. The entities have difficulty coping with stress—it may cause some of them to erupt into violence. When the Vulcans arrive, they will automatically scan the ship. If enough things are going wrong, they may hesitate to beam aboard. Oh, yes … I have correlated all known information about the entities—including the Vulcan and Federation reports and Skel’s entire research library—into my positronic network so that I can allocate large resources to inventing a detection device and also a containment field.” He turned his face toward them to reveal a small device on one side of his head, its blinking lights flashing in the same coordinated pattern with the exposed circuits.
“You’ve been a busy android,” Kyla said drolly.
“Actually,” Data replied, still busily manipulating the padds, “I have still had time to plan future computer sabotage, diversionary tactics, and escape maneuvers. However, it is true I have not had the resources left to work on my poetry.”
“Well, that is a relief,” Worf grumbled. “How long can we safely stay here?”
“I estimate another four-point-three minutes.” Data finally halted his hand movements and glanced up. “That is the one unfortunate reality I have been unable to alter. The computer work I am doing is continually being counteracted by Geordi in engineering—as I anticipated. It does take him longer to overcome