Synthesis - James Swallow [52]
Riker had the sense that wasn’t the only question the machine was asking him. “Yes,” he replied. “I guess we can work together.”
“Sir,” Keru hissed. “Is that really a good idea?”
“The art of diplomacy is knowing when to compromise,” noted Deanna.
“The art of security is knowing when not to,” retorted the Trill.
“It’s done, Keru,” said Riker. “That’s an order.”
“Confirmed,” said One-Five. “White-Blue will return to the Titan and assist the organics.”
The remotes accepted this and turned around, moving away, back toward the small shuttles that had brought them. One-Five’s screens glittered and became windows again, letting the red light of the planet below return to fill the long chamber.
Only Red-Gold paused, drifting before them. “Your presence here is a minor impediment. You would be advised to ensure that it does not become an obstruction of any note.” The machine floated away, the red glow around it pulsing in waves.
SIX
The corridor was cold like a meat locker, and it smelled of smoke and ozone. Emergency illumination strips powered by chemical reactions cast a watery yellow light along the angled walls of the Titan, showing scorch marks on the tan carpet and brushed metal as black, inky slicks. Panels hung open overhead, and here and there, deck plates had been removed so that engineering staff could get to the clusters of bioneural gel packs beneath. Most of the packs had burst or curdled in the flashover from the fire that had roared down the corridor in the brief moments before it had vented to space. It was blind luck that none of the Titan’s crew had been in this length of passageway when Cyan-Gray’s ill-fated attack was happening. The thought of being caught in such a circumstance made Christine Vale’s skin prickle.
She folded her arms as she stood there in the gloom, feeling the chill. Full life-support function had yet to be restored to this section of the ship, and her breath made small puffs of vapor as she exhaled.
She heard footsteps and turned. Tuvok and Keru approached, the Trill eyeing his surroundings with open concern, the Vulcan apparently untroubled by either the cold or the dimness.
“Commander,” said Tuvok. “You summoned us here.”
“Was the observation lounge full?” asked Keru with a raised eyebrow.
“I didn’t ask you down here because I like the atmosphere,” Vale replied. “Frankly, I remain concerned that there may be security issues aboard the Titan, and this place is the closest I could think of as secure.”
Keru looked around. “No working intercoms or computer systems.”
“We can’t be heard here.” She paused.
“Captain Riker and Commander Troi are with the AI,” Tuvok went on. “They are several decks above us. I doubt the Sentry have the functionality to eavesdrop through tritanium decking.”
“I’m still not convinced. I’ll grant you this may seem like a somewhat paranoid choice of meeting place,” said Vale, “but just humor me.”
“You say ‘paranoid’ as if it’s a bad thing,” said Keru. “I’ve always thought it was part of the job for a security or tactical officer.”
The Vulcan frowned slightly. “I prefer to describe myself as watchful, Lieutenant Commander. Your choice of terminology carries the unpleasant suggestion of mental infirmity.”
“We’re not here to debate,” Vale broke in. “I asked you both to meet me because I want you to generate a plan of action for dealing with these AIs.”
“In case they turn against us,” Tuvok added.
“There’s definitely a chance of that,” said Keru. “I got a hostile vibe from Red-Gold and some of the others during the away mission. And at best, I think the less militant ones look at us as little more than some sort of curiosity.”
Vale was nodding. “Our presence