Synthesis - James Swallow [71]
The captain sighed. “You remind me of someone.”
“The android?”
“Kind of. But no, I didn’t mean him. I was thinking of Tasha.”
“Your child?” The avatar cocked her head. “In what way?”
“She’s like you. Seeing everything in the world for the first time. Finding her boundaries, learning her limits.”
“I see the commonality. But you don’t fear her like you fear me.”
The last words brought Riker up short. The echo of other words spoken by White-Blue was there, and it troubled him. “I don’t fear you. You’re an unknown,” he said carefully. “And it’s my mission to embrace the unknown.”
“But you have your doubts.”
“I have concerns that take precedence. My crew. My family.”
“Ask the question, then,” she said, her voice growing colder. “Where do my loyalties lie? That’s what you came here to find out, isn’t it?”
Riker straightened. “I am the captain of this vessel. The last word is mine. Everyone in my crew knows that; everyone aboard this ship accepts it.”
“But I am not part of your crew, am I? I am not a Starfleet officer, not sworn to the same oath.”
“You were created by Starfleet. Titan’s databases are programmed with all of the knowledge, all of the intentions of the United Federation of Planets.”
“But still you have to ask me. Will I follow your commands?”
He studied the expression on the avatar’s face. “And your answer?”
“I… don’t…” She paused, struggling with the words. “I am not sure.” Then, suddenly, she looked up, a distant sorrow in her eyes, as if she were hearing a voice that was silent to him. “Oh, Captain, I am sorry.”
Her tone sent chills of alarm down his spine. “What’s wrong?”
“I am monitoring throughout the ship, including sickbay. I regret to inform you that Lieutenant Tylith has succumbed to her injuries. Doctor Ree has just pronounced her deceased.”
“Damn.” Riker whispered the word.
“I will examine the lieutenant’s operational responsibilities and determine if I can adopt her duties myself.”
“There’s no need.”
“I can assist—” she began.
“No.” Riker’s tone was firm. “Consider that your first order.”
For a long moment, he wondered if the avatar would defy him, but then she looked down at the Starfleet attire that clothed her holographic form. “As long as I wear this uniform, I should respect what it means.” She nodded to him. “Aye, Captain.”
“We’ll talk again,” he said, and walked away, back through the arch.
When she was alone in the holodeck, the avatar ran her fingers over the dark sleeves of the uniform, brushing across the cuff. And then, without ceremony, her clothing began to shift and change, re-forming into something shifting and silken, something that resembled the wings of a flying insect caught in a poststorm sky.
Torvig’s head snapped up on his long neck as the captain exited the holodeck. The Choblik immediately noted the troubled expression on his commander’s face. Clearly, Riker had not found a resolution during his brief conversation with the avatar.
He coughed self-consciously. “Sir, I should explain. I was speaking with the… the computer in an attempt to learn more about its persona. I was following Doctor RaHavreii’s orders to evaluate the nascent AI.”
“It’s fine, Ensign,” said Riker. “You were right about what you said before. Your background gives you a unique insight. We should make the most of that.”
He nodded. “She’s quite interesting, isn’t she?”
“That’s one word for it. Troubling is another.” Riker shot a look at the dark console on the wall next to them, and Torvig knew what he was thinking. She’s listening to every word we say.
Riker began walking, and Torvig padded after him. “Captain, if I may. I’ll be the first to admit that the fine details of interpersonal behavior are sometimes beyond my grasp, but I can’t deny I feel a… a kinship with the avatar.”
They reached the turbolift, and Riker halted. “I get that. What’s your point, Ensign?”
“She’s lonely. She needs a friend. Perhaps even more than that, a… a family.