Resistance - J.M. Dillard [2]
But as he had wandered the Enterprise’s corridors, Geordi so often in tow, B-4 had kept Data’s ghost alive for them all. Picard still struggled with a sense of guilt: in the most human and loving of gestures, Data had sacrificed himself so that his captain and crewmates might live. Even months later, Picard was visited too often by the horrible instant of materializing on the bridge, of seeing the dazzling flash of the Scimitar’s destruction, of knowing that Data was dead, incinerated into nonexistence…
There had not even been time enough to say good-bye. He missed Deanna Troi dreadfully; she was serving with her husband Will Riker aboard the Titan now, and only in her absence had Picard come to realize how much he had relied on her as a counselor not only in professional matters but in personal ones as well. He was limited now to remembering what she had told him shortly before she left the Enterprise with Will:
Data’s final act was one that brought him the most happiness; it gave his entire existence the greatest meaning. Yes, he could have lived centuries longer…but what’s the use of immortality if there’s no meaning to it?
Case in point, Picard thought, looking at the android in front of him. As the captain took his place beside Beverly, B-4 sat staring vacuously, oblivious to the feelings of the humans surrounding him. Data, of course, would have been keenly aware. Picard tried, and was entirely unsuccessful, to suppress a memory: Data, standing in the scalded dust of the desert world Kolarus, lifting B-4’s head from the sand and holding it before his eyes in unwitting imitation of Hamlet contemplating Yorick’s skull. Brother, Data had called him. So like Data, to have yearned for the closest of human relationships.
“B-4,” Geordi said, with the same gentle tone he had used so often with his old friend, “do you realize what we’re about to do?” La Forge unconsciously fingered the laser wrench in his hand. Nearby sat open storage compartments: one the size of a torso, another that of a human cranium. A third was designed to house limbs. B-4 would soon return to the state in which they had first discovered him: disassembled.
The android looked in turn at each of them: Beverly, Picard, then back at Geordi.
“You are sending me away,” B-4 said.
“Yes,” Geordi answered, his tone infinitely patient. “You’re going to the Daystrom Institute. They’re going to study you and learn about your design, how you were made.”
“How I was made,” B-4 echoed tonelessly. He glanced at the storage compartments, then at the deck.
“We’re going to deactivate you now,” Geordi persisted. “Most likely permanently. We talked about all this, remember?”
“I remember,” B-4 replied, distracted by the movement of another engineer passing by en route to her station.
Apparently more for himself than the android, Geordi added, “It’s a good thing you’re doing, B-4. You’re helping science.”
After a brief silence, B-4 looked up at La Forge and asked abruptly, “What is it like to be deactivated?”
Geordi was caught off guard; Beverly stepped in.
“It’s like…nothing,” she said. “Like being nowhere at all. It’s not uncomfortable. Humans might compare it to a dreamless sleep.”
“Nothing?” B-4 tilted his head in painful imitation of Data.
Geordi recovered and nodded. “You won’t see or hear anything. You’ll no longer receive any input.”
B-4 blinked, considering this. “That sounds very boring. I do not think I want to be deactivated now.”
Geordi shot an openly helpless glance at Picard. Beside him, Beverly shifted her weight, clearly uncomfortable.
“B-4,” Picard said sternly, “it’s too late to change your mind. You already agreed to be deactivated. That was a good decision, one you must abide by.” Now was not the time for dialogue. True, the situation might trigger memories of a lost friend, but swift action was required lest it turn maudlin. B-4 was not Data, and that was that.
There followed a