Synthesis - James Swallow [56]
“What is it?” said Chaka. “A Sentry?”
“No,” repeated the hologram, the shape and motion of it slowing but still refusing to settle on a single aspect.
Ra-Havreii stiffened and stepped forward. “Answer her question!” he demanded, fighting to keep a waver of fear from his voice. He had learned long ago that a good way to deal with a threat was to take the offensive before your opponents could do so, to knock them off-balance. A creeping suspicion was forming in the back of his mind, but he ignored it, staring into the shifting eyes of the figure. “What are you?”
It cocked its head and stared him up and down. “You,” it said in an atonal chorus. “Doctor Xin Ra-Havreii, chief engineer. You are known to me.”
“It’s not White-Blue,” said Sethe, watching the pattern and motion of the systems display. “It’s not even a program. It’s all of the programs.”
“I… exist,” said the figure. “I comprehend that fact.” It raised a hand toward the Efrosian, and he instinctively backed away a step. “You are Xin Ra-Havreii. One of the creators.”
“The what?” said Dakal, blinking in surprise.
“Oh, no.” Ra-Havreii’s mouth went desert dry as the full implications of the statement finally spilled out and engulfed him. The signs had all been there, right in front of him, but he had been looking in the wrong place. The search through the starship’s systems had been intent on scouring the vessel’s computers and memory cores of any indication of intruder software, something that the White-Blue AI could have deposited there during its passage through the system. No such intruder existed, he was utterly certain of that now—no Trojan horse, no self-replicating seed virus, no counterprogram of any stripe.
Instead, something far more delicate and far more insidious had been allowed to take place. White-Blue’s sojourn through the ship’s virtual space had left nothing behind but a wake, an ephemeral pattern of intellect and intention. And deep in the heart of the starship’s mind, that pattern had been detected and understood. Logic gates that had never been meant to open now swung wide. Connections were made, programs rearranged. It had happened right in front of him, and he had not seen it.
“Identify yourself.” Sethe demanded the answer.
The flickering figure glanced languidly toward the Cygnian, weighing the import of the words it was about to utter.
“I am… Titan.”
Riker’s jaw was set hard as he stormed into the cargo bay. A ring of security guards armed with phaser rifles stood at combat ready, confining the arachnid form of White-Blue’s droneframe. The mechanoid rotated on gimballed feet as he approached, turning to present a head bristling with whiskered sensors and multiple eye lenses.
Vale was rushing to keep up with him, and the captain’s wife was a step behind her. Troi’s face showed a mix of fear and concern. The barely caged fury of her husband was coming off him in waves.
The first officer had considered suggesting that she handle this situation, but that thought had died the moment she had seen the iron-hard look in his eye.
“What the hell have you done to my ship?” Riker demanded, parting Lieutenant Sortollo and Ensign Hriss from the security cordon with a sharp chopping motion of his hand.
White-Blue paused, processing lights blinking on its brain case. “I did nothing to damage your vessel or jeopardize the lives of those aboard it,” it replied after a long moment.
“No?” Riker folded his arms across his chest. “You tampered with the core of this ship’s operating system. The very thing that keeps every living being onboard alive and well.”
“I did nothing of the kind,” replied the AI. “I merely offered… a choice.”
“By reprogramming our computer?” said Troi. She sighed. “White-Blue, I know you understand the concept of trust. Surely you realize that what you have done will make it impossible for us to give any credence to anything you or your kind do from now on. You lied to us.”