Reunion - Michael Jan Friedman [56]
Greyhorse shook his head. “You know, Data, there’s intuition and there’s intuition. My relatives would fit your great-engineer model to a T. They’re intuitive as hell-when it comes to machines, at least. But put them in a room with other humans and they have as much intuition as the furniture. Same with me, I’m afraid. I never wanted to be like them, but … well, you know the saying. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. I’m a whiz when it comes to dealing with people’s bodies. But when it comes to dealing with their minds-dealing with them as people-I’m a zero. A robot, was He smiled. “You, on the other hand, appear to be a machine. You believe yourself to be a machine. But trust me on this, Data. You’re more human-more intuitive in many respects-than the entire Greyhorse clan put together.”
The android found that hard to believe. He said so.
“You haven’t met the Greyhorse clan,” the doctor pointed out. “No,” Data agreed. “But I have met you. And you do not seem to be lacking in positive human qualities.” The doctor peered at him from beneath the ridge of his brow. “Appearances can be deceiving, Commander. Deep down I am a very uncaring person. You need an example?”
The android didn’t quite know what to say. “I’ll give you one anyway,” Greyhorse offered. He leaned closer. “I know about the attack on Tricia Cadwallader. I walked into sickbay and saw her lying there, and your Dr. Crusher told me the whole story.”
Data was surprised, given the captain’s orders to keep the assassination attempts secret. However, he didn’t interrupt. He merely filed the information away for future consideration. “I know,” the doctor continued, “and yet I cannot really say I feel for Commander Cadwallader. Oh, I am concerned on a professional level—comI have as much pride in my work as the next surgeon, and I hate to see it marred or mucked up. But as far as my feelings for Cadwallader the individual-the person with whom I worked closely for years and years—I find I have none. The fact of her injuries leaves me cold as clay.”
Data cocked his head as he so often did when comprehension eluded him. “But what about your efforts regarding the slipstream?” he asked. “Did you not say you came to help?” Greyhorse waved the suggestion away with his large, meaty hand. “Self-preservation, my friend. Nothing more, nothing less. If the ship is lost or destroyed, so am I. And I prefer to survive-to return to Starfleet Medical, where I can go on with my charade: the humane and dedicated healer.”
He got up. Data watched him, trying to make sense of what the doctor had said.
“Sorry I couldn’t be of more help, Commander. If anything comes to me, I’ll let you know.” He paused. “Oh, and … I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention my visit to Professor Simenon. He’d only mock me. You know, for overstepping my professional bounds.”
“I understand,” the android assured him.
“You see?” Greyhorse said. “You really are more human.”
Then he left.
The captain was still sitting in his ready room, still thinking, when the sound of chimes interrupted his reverie. Someone out on the bridge wanted to see him. Picard looked to the room’s only entrance, wondered briefly who might be out there. Then, reluctantly, he straightened in preparation for whoever it was. “Come,” said the captain. The doors opened. It was Ben Zoma. And he did not look very happy: “Have a seat,” said Picard.
His former first officer sat down on the opposite side of the captain’s desk. It was a familiar position for both of them; they’d conversed this way on the Stargazer hundreds of times. But this is not the Stargazer, the captain had to remind himself. And Ben Zoma was no longer his exec. What had his life been like for the past decade? Could he have changed enough to become a killer?
“Jean-Luc,” began the olive-skinned man, no longer
his usual jovial self. “I want some answers. And I want them now.” Picard met his gaze. “What sort of answers, Gilaad?” Ben Zoma leaned back in his chair. “Where is Cadwallader? And don’t tell me you don