Synthesis - James Swallow [42]
In the cargo bay, Zurin Dakal found it hard to keep his attention on his monitors, his gaze slipping back to the view on the wall screen, the live feed from the Titan’s forward sensors. He wanted very badly to be up on the bridge right now, sifting the tide of raw data that was coming in, enjoying the energetic shiver that raced through him every time he found himself on the cusp of learning something new.
Instead, he was here, standing sentinel over the AI’s nexus core, watching for any sign of threat. He wasn’t alone—Lieutenant Commander Keru and his security detail were with him—but Dakal had the distinct impression that he was missing out.
Keru crossed in front of him, and the Cardassian looked up. The Trill officer’s face was set hard. He had seen the man in this sort of mood before, and it wasn’t a circumstance Dakal wanted to repeat.
These were his thoughts as the AI suddenly spoke, the color pattern on its surface flickering. “You,” it said to Keru. “You resent my presence aboard this ship.”
The security chief stopped and studied the device. The look he gave it would have cowed any other being, but it seemed lost on the machine.
“You do not trust me, Ranul-Keru.”
“Don’t use my name as if you know me,” he replied. “And yes, of course I don’t trust you. Your kind attacked my ship, threatened the lives of my crewmates.”
“Those were errors,” said White-Blue. “We are seeking to correct them.” There was a pause, and the lights blinked out of sequence; perhaps it was the outward manifestation of the machine’s mental processes. “The data I recovered during my brief traverse of the Titan’s systems are interesting. I am curious about the dissimilarities between my culture and that of your organic societies.”
“If you’re looking for a conversation, you’re looking in the wrong place,” Ranul told it. “My job is to keep you confined, not to satisfy your curiosity.”
“But you did not keep me confined,” White-Blue answered. “If this was your duty, you failed it. You were also in an error state.”
“It won’t happen again,” said the Trill firmly, and Dakal heard the annoyance flaring beneath the words.
“You demonstrate a sublimated aggressive stance. It is visible in your voice pattern and body kinetics. I have a hypothesis regarding your negative predisposition toward me.”
“Really?” Ranul walked away. “Is it something to do with how your drones tried to kill Peya Fell or trap Dakal and me inside a radioactive wreck?”
“Negative,” came the reply. “It is because of Identifier: Sean Hawk. Species: Human.”
The Trill rounded on the machine, his color rising. Dakal stepped forward, reaching out. “Sir, perhaps you should not—”
Ranul didn’t hear him. “How do you know that name?”
“From your personal records. I read that your companion was terminated by a machine life culture. Species: Borg. Thus, you are ill disposed toward all machine life on a subconscious level.” White-Blue paused. “It is an understandable emotive reaction.”
For a long moment, Dakal was afraid that the officer was going to explode with fury at the AI’s bland evaluation of his lover’s death, but then Ranul took a breath and spoke. “You don’t get to talk about Sean. Ever,” he told the machine, and turned his back on it.
Dakal wanted to say something, but his train of thought was broken as Y’lira’s voice sounded over the intercom.
“This is the bridge. Ensign, are you seeing this?”
He looked back at the screen, and his eyes widened.
Cyan-Gray altered course, slipping into an orbital approach for the fourth world from the primary star. Titan moved with it, Lieutenant Lavena’s deft touch on the helm mirroring each motion of the AI vessel. Ahead lay a planet that resembled less a world than a mass of turbulent crimson. It was a dark and shadowed thing. The sunward face seethed with atmospheric chaos. On the night side they approached, great flashes of lightning hundreds of miles long cut ragged slashes in the murk.
Heavy shrouds of lethal radiation bled from