The Eyes of the Beholders - A. C. Crispin [78]
The chief engineer looked up as the android approached. “Hi, Data. We’re almost ready to make those final changes to your programming so we can recalibrate your circuitry.”
“Good,” Data said. “I am ready, except for one request.”
“What is it?”
“Since your final changes require that I be switched off, I would appreciate it if you would keep something safe for me.” The android glanced around the busy sickbay and self-consciously lowered his voice. “That way, if anything were to happen to me … that is, if you find that you cannot return me to my normal …”—he hesitated—”personality, for want of a more precise term, then this will be safe.”
Slowly, hesitantly, the android held out the box. La Forge took it, then glanced inside, noting the stack of computer flimsies filled with neat, closely spaced handwriting. “It’s your novel.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll take good care of it until you come back,” the chief engineer promised. “And, Data, you will be okay. I swear to you, I won’t rest until you’re fully restored.”
“I have every confidence in you, Geordi,” the android said. “I know I am doing the right thing.” He watched as La Forge absentmindedly riffled through the pages. “I know that you will be very busy, but if you have any extra time and wish to read it, please do so.”
La Forge cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Uh … I am going to be pretty busy,” he murmured.
“You will find that it has changed a great deal from when I first read you that scene,” Data said, hoping that the engineer would find time to read his words. Stories were meant to be shared with readers. What other reason was there for writing them? “I changed the setting to a more romantic one, and the dialogue is, I believe, far wittier.”
“Uh … yeah.” La Forge glanced up, his expression suddenly troubled. “Data,” he began, “are you scared? You can still change your mind, you know.”
“I am not capable of experiencing fear,” the android said evenly. “But even if I were, I feel sure that, in this case, curiosity would outweigh any apprehension I felt. I am capable of curiosity, and the artifact is a mystery that is intriguing in the extreme.”
“You can say that again,” Geordi said, placing the box of manuscript into a container and sealing it.
Obediently Data began. “I am not capable of experiencing fear—” He halted at La Forge’s hasty headshake.
“No, I didn’t mean it like that! I just meant that you had spoken the truth—’you can say that again’ is another human colloquialism.”
“A new one,” Data exclaimed, pleased. “My memory now contains a great number of slang and colloquial terms.”
“I know,” La Forge agreed. He stood up with a sudden air of decision. “Selar ought to be finishing with those replacement microcircuits any time. Are you ready for us to make the final changes?”
“I am,” Data said firmly.
“Okay, then, let’s head for the transporter room. I’ll have Selar meet us there, and we’ll do the final changes onsite. Then we’ll beam you directly over as soon as we’re through.”
The two officers walked through the corridors of the huge starship, not talking. Geordi is worried that he will never see me again, Data realized. He is concerned that the changes they will make will mean my “death.”
The android tried to think of words that might ease La Forge’s mind, but none would come. The situation was too serious, too uncertain. At such times, Data reflected silently, humans often cloaked or dissipated their tension with jokes. But he’d learned long ago that human humor was a complex and chancy exercise. Every time he’d intentionally tried to be funny, the effort had been wasted. And yet the humans were often amused by him, sometimes for reasons that Data himself could