Unification - Jeri Taylor [24]
“Very well, Mr. Data. Thank you.” Picard headed toward the shelf, eyeing it warily. It was about four feet off the deck—an awkward position for entering —and only about two feet in height. Getting into the damned thing would require an act of contortion. Picard felt ungainly and clumsy as he climbed in, cracking his head and both his shins during the process.
Once he was settled, he found himself lying on a bare board surface, staring up at the underside of the shelf barely more than a foot away. He rolled his head to the side and saw Data staring at him imperturbably. “Are you comfortable, sir?” he asked.
“I suppose so,” replied Picard evenly.
“Then good night, Captain. Sleep well.”
“Thank you.”
Picard closed his eyes, determined to relax and get the sleep he knew he needed. He’d slept in uncomfortable places before, after all; it was merely a matter of concentrating, of blocking outside annoyances and allowing the mind to drift aimlessly… perhaps enhanced by a bit of fantasy… a restful lagoon, a tropical breeze, exotic trees bending in the warm winds… waves lapping on a shore…
His eyes snapped open and he turned toward Data. “What are you doing?”
Data looked puzzled and concerned. —~lrf was l making noise?” “Not exactly.”
“I was processing information we have accumulated on Romulan society. I am preparing for the task of impersonating a Romulan.” “I see.” “Would you like me to discontinue?”
“No, no. Please go ahead.” Picard was annoyed with himself. Of course he couldn’t hear Data processing information; it was a silent function, just like thought. It was just that he knew Data was doing it. He could almost see the circuitry in Data’s head, blinking and twinkling as millions of bits of information sped along his neutral nets. Of course, maybe it did make a sound, no matter how slight, and that could explain why Picard found it difficult to relax, knowing that all those remarkable functions were occurring in the positronic brain of someone not four feet from him—
His eyes opened again and he almost gasped as he saw Data staring at him. “What are you looking at?”
Again, Data was puzzled. “I am not looking at anything, sir. I am continuing to organize my files.”
“But you’re looking at me.”
“I am sorry if I am disturbing you, sir. I will not look in your direction.” And he swiveled so that the back of his head was toward Picard. The captain eyed him for a moment, feeling sheepish and annoyed at the same time. He realized it had been many years since he had had what might qualify as a roommate, and even then, at Starfleet Academy, it was not an arrangement he particularly savored.
“Mr. Data…”
“Yes, sir?”
“Could you possibly—sleep?”
“I do not think so, sir.”
“I see.” Picard closed his eyes once more. He was not going to be defeated. He was a man used to taking charge of his circumstances; quieting the mind required only certain techniques of relaxation and focus… relaxation … focus…
Relaxation … focus…
Relaxation…
Picard crawled out from the confining space. Data looked at him with quizzical eyes. “Sir? Do you not wish to sleep?”
“I don’t think so. Shall we continue to go over the files?”
“I would be happy to.” Without further ado, Data began rattling off facts. “I have been studying Krocton segment, as you asked, and have selected several appropriate sites for our transport. I will describe each of them to you.”
Picard stifled a yawn and sat once more in the chair of pain.
By 0900 hours the next morning, the Enterprise was within hailing range of Qualor Two, and Riker instructed Worf to make contact. He was too impatient to wait until they achieved orbit. It seemed to take forever for Worf to establish the connection, but finally the Klingon announced from his tactical station that he had been successful.
“On screen,” Riker ordered, rising and stepping forward, eager to speak to the Zakdorn