Myriad Universes_ Echoes And Refractions Part 34

Lavelle's cheeks flushed red, and he averted his eyes, mumbling apologies.

Quaice wasn't alone in wishing that the ability to cheat death had been granted to the public a little earlier. The Enterprise was filled with people who had lost family, friends, and loved ones in the weeks and months before synaptic mapping was first made available, granting anyone the ability to extend their lives indefinitely, transferring their consciousnesses from their frail organic bodies into nearly indestructible and all but immortal android bodies. Only a few generations ago, in the days that Doctor Roger Corby had met his tragic end, the idea had been anathema. But after a few early adopters underwent the new procedure, and emerged on the other side no less human and in fact all but identical to their earlier selves-only younger, stronger, and healthier-public opinion had gradually shifted. By the time Dalen Quaice had left behind his old, dying body and embraced his new positronic form, opinion was beginning to sway, and within another couple of years most of those early prejudices and preconceptions had fallen away, so that now people regarded a human life extended in an artificial body as no stranger than people once viewed an artificial limb or a wheelchair or even a pair of eyegla.s.ses. They were all simply examples of science improving or extending human existence.

Now, just ten years after the first synaptic mapping, when Ira Graves and Noonien Soong succeeded in conquering death, young people across the Federation had already become so accustomed to the idea that they were almost cavalier about the thought of life continuing in near-indestructible artificial bodies, made virtually immortal through technology.

"Of course," A. Isaac said, speaking for the first time since the recording had finished playback, "Doctor Graves's discovery was significant not only to the humans who benefited directly from the process, but also to the thousands of androids who benefited from the shift in opinion the process engendered."

Picard nodded in Isaac's direction, thoughtfully. If not for the "A" initial Isaac employed, just like most of the androids now serving in Starfleet-A for Android-one would be hard-pressed at first glance to know that the chief science officer was an artificial life-form himself. Though his facial features were virtually identical to those of Data and other early Soong-types, Isaac's coloration and textures were almost indistinguishable from those of an organic human. And Isaac's communications subroutines and behavioral programming allowed him to display a personality more sophisticated, more "human," than many organic officers with whom Picard had served over the years.

"Quite right, Commander," Picard said. "It was the recognition that a human mind in a positronic matrix is still sentient, still capable of free will, that finally forced the Federation Council to extend the definition of sentience to include positronic androids, as well. And our own Mister Data"he paused, glancing over his shoulder at the familiar image frozen on the screen"had been arguing for android rights for years before that, and was at the forefront of the final debate."

Before the landmark decision by the Federation Council, androids had been legally cla.s.sified as property; though they wore Starfleet uniforms, the thousands of androids who served on board Federation starships were not officers in the strictest sense, but functionaries. On the day the Federation recognized the sentience of androids and granted them full citizenship, hundreds of androids resigned their commissions in Starfleet and disappeared, chief among them Data himself.

"But why?" Lavelle asked. "Why did they leave after getting everything they wanted?"

Picard cleared his throat, trying to phrase a politic answer, but Isaac responded first.

"Perhaps, Lieutenant, it has something to do with the fact that they did not get everything they wanted."

Picard nodded thoughtfully. "To pa.s.s the resolution, certain...concessions had to be made to the more reactionary elements of the council, those who felt that the unrestricted proliferation of artificial life posed a danger."

"As if a few new androids would push humanity to extinction!" La Forge said heatedly.

"To be fair, Commander, it would hardly be simply a 'few new androids,'" Isaac corrected, playing devil's advocate. "The material components of an artificial body such as mine could be obtained without particular difficulty, and a.s.sembly time would take no longer than..."

"Enough," Picard interrupted, raising a hand to silence the android. "Whatever the merits of those fears, the simple fact remains that androids were not granted full rights, but were invested as what might uncharitably be called 'second-cla.s.s citizens.' Most significantly, the creation of new artificial life was deemed not to rise to the standard of 'reproduction,' which is a right guaranteed by charter to all Federation citizens, and the ability to create...to manufacture...new artificial life was restricted to Federation-approved facilities like the Daystrom Inst.i.tute."

"I always thought that was the reason for their disappearance," Crusher said. "I know my mother does, too."

It had been some years since Beverly Crusher had left the Enterprise for a posting in Starfleet Medical, but at times like this Picard missed her counsel. Beverly always seemed to think with her heart as much as with her head, and as someone who had a propensity for being altogether too cerebral, it was a quality Picard admired.

"Be that as it may," Picard said, "the fact remains that, from that moment, a little more than ten years ago, no one has heard from Data or any of the other missing androids. Until today."

"So are you going to do it?" La Forge asked, his eyebrow arched in a quizzical expression. Once that look might have been hidden by his clunky VISOR, but since La Forge had gotten his new ocular implants, the first officer had seemed far more expressive. If not for the fact that La Forge's eyes appeared to be pools of mercury, silvery and reflective, his implants might not even be noticeable. "And what does he mean about 'averting a war'?"

Picard forced himself to watch the transmission a second time in sickbay before allowing himself to believe it: a message from the void, a voice and a face from the past. Data, into whose hands Picard had placed the lives of everyone on board the Enterprise on several occasions, had disappeared without warning, without apology, without a trace, and was now inviting Picard to break the already tenuous treaty with the Romulans. It was not so much an invitation; Data was pleading, urging Picard to venture deep into the Neutral Zone to the coordinates he provided, for reasons Data could not, or would not, reveal. If Picard did not come, war would be the inevitable consequence. But war between whom? And why?

"Starfleet Command won't be happy about a treaty violation," Ro said, her expression grim.

"Starfleet Command isn't happy about it," Picard answered with a slight smile, "but they want us to proceed, regardless."

The captain was tempted to pause, to savor the spectrum of confused expressions directed his way, but there simply wasn't time.

"I've already been in subs.p.a.ce contact with Earth and received Starfleet Command's authorization to proceed." The others exchanged looks, some knowing, others less so. "I delayed giving the order until I was confident that I knew what we were getting into. I don't have to tell you the state of our relations with the Klingon-Romulan Alliance. I can't help but think that the Neutral Zone is the proverbial powder keg, and I have no intention of providing the spark. But if this"he jerked a thumb over his shoulder, indicating the screen"is our erstwhile shipmate Data, I for one would very much like to meet with him. I have a few questions I'd like answered, and I'm sure many of you do, too."

Picard pushed back from the table and stood. Then, tugging down the front of his jacket in his characteristic mannerism, he straightened. "Mister Lavelle, plot a course to the coordinates provided in the transmission."

"Aye, sir," Lavelle answered, rising to his feet.

"Lieutenant Sito," Picard continued, "send a coded response to the transmission, as instructed, informing Data-or whomever it is-that we are on our way. The rest of you are dismissed."

2.

As soon as Wesley Crusher stepped off the turbolift on deck 36, he knew that something was wrong, and by the time he reached the heart of main engineering, he was sure he knew what it was.

"Ensign," he called to one of the members of the duty shift. "Get a team to check on the reactant injectors. Sounds like the matter-antimatter mix is a little off."

The young ensign glanced at the nearest control panel. "Sir? The mix reads as being within tolerances."

Crusher smiled patiently and nodded. The ensign was relatively new to the crew, and hadn't yet gotten used to her chief 's eccentricities. "Trust me, Ensign. It's off."

He didn't bother explaining that he was certain because he had heard it. The other members of the duty shift would probably explain it to her, or she'd figure out Crusher's style sooner or later. Attempting to explain it now would simply delay matters, and Crusher knew the captain would be eager to leave for their mysterious destination as soon as possible. Besides, to him it was intuitively obvious that the hum of the warp-core reactor was pitched too high into the treble range by at least a few dozen hertz.

Sure enough, the repair crew found that the matter reactant injector was acting up, and it was the work of just a few minutes to get it fixed, such that when Picard called down from the bridge for warp five, engineering was ready and able to supply it. Crusher was only grateful that it hadn't been the antimatter injector that was the culprit, as he had no desire to recalibrate the magnetic fields that isolated the antideuterium from the normal matter surrounding it.

Once they were under way, Crusher slid out a seat and called up his most current project on the console. He had been tinkering with some warp field equations for the last few weeks, trying to increase the engine's efficiency. He'd already managed to improve on the Starfleet specs for a Galaxy-cla.s.s starship by a considerable margin, but he was sure there was still room left for improvement. He was halfway through tweaking the equations and testing the results in simulation when he heard the characteristic footfalls of the ship's science officer. One of the benefits of having lived on board the same ship for so long, first as a civilian, then as a member of the crew, was that Crusher nearly always knew who was coming up behind him just by the sound of their steps.

"You just going to stand there all morning?" he finally said, freezing his simulation and swiveling the chair.

"My apologies, Wesley, I did not want to intrude." A. Isaac stood a few feet behind him, arms held loosely at his sides, expression neutral.

"No problem, Isaac," Crusher answered with a smile. "This isn't anything that can't wait." He tapped the console, saving the simulation and returning the display to defaults. "What's up?"

The android glanced up at the bulkheads, and smiled. "If I were to say 'the ceiling,' would that engender laughter?"

Crusher chuckled, shaking his head. "Only of the charitable sort, Isaac." He stood. "Not really very funny."

Isaac frowned slightly. "Ah." He brightened fractionally. "But it was humorous, if only slightly?"

"Very slightly."

The android nodded, thoughtfully, his gaze dropping to the deck.

Most of the other members of the crew might have taken Isaac's expression as unremarkable, but then most members of the crew didn't have Crusher's experience with android physiognomy and programming. As the ship's chief engineer, Crusher was responsible for doing any maintenance or repairs to Isaac's android body, as well as a.s.sisting Isaac in performing software diagnostics. It was, perhaps, one of the reasons that Isaac seemed to have developed such a strong bond of friendship with Crusher, much like the bond Crusher remembered the former chief engineer and the ship's erstwhile ops manager sharing. Thinking of La Forge and Data, Crusher wondered how he would feel if Isaac, whom he saw not only as a colleague but also as a friend, were to disappear one day, suddenly and without any warning, only to turn up ten years later out of the blue.

"What's bothering you, Isaac?"

Isaac tilted his head with an eyebrow raised, lips pursed. It was a characteristic gesture, the result of overlapping programming imperatives, which Crusher recognized as signifying surprise commingled with a touch of admiration.

"Wesley, your ability to intuit android emotions is intriguing. Still, I cannot help but think that I am wrong to be continually surprised by it. After all, you grasp scientific concepts that elude most of the other crewmen, even those organics in the science department under my command. I often find that, if I wish to engage in pleasant conversation about topics that interest me, rather than simply employing small talk as I most often do, you are my only viable alternative. Short of conjuring simulations of historical figures on the holodeck, I suppose."

"Isaac?" Crusher interrupted, with an indulgent smile. "You're rambling again." It was a habit of the android's that Crusher had noticed many times: a propensity to go on at length about trivia rather than tackle the matter at hand.

"Ah." Isaac tilted his head in the other direction, his eyes shifting down and to the right, as though he were reading unseen text. "So I am. My apologies, Wesley."

"You were about to tell me what's bothering you, perhaps?"

Isaac nodded. "That was my intention. I find that I am...uncertain...about our current mission."

Crusher crossed his arms, giving Isaac a thoughtful look. "Uncertain?"

The android paused for a moment. "As you know, I was not yet activated when Data and the other androids disappeared, though the early stages of my physical construction had already begun. When I woke to full awareness at the Daystrom Inst.i.tute the following year, I was immediately recognized as a sentient being, with all of the rights and privileges of a Federation citizen." He opened his mouth to continue, then paused thoughtfully. "Nearly all the rights and privileges, I suppose I should say. Even so, I never had firsthand experience with the kind of society in which Data and the others lived all those years. When I opted to enter Starfleet Academy, it was my decision, freely made, not a role a.s.signed to me as a piece of property, as it had been when Data and those like him had been sent there."

"Well," Crusher said, chuckling ruefully, "the other difference is that those early positronic androids like Data had to suffer through four years at the academy, just like us organics."

Isaac gave him a quizzical look. "Why should I have been expected to attend four years at the academy, when the base instruction of a Starfleet cadet had been incorporated into my original programming?"

Crusher shook his head. "Fast-tracked through the academy in only a year. I don't think I'll ever really forgive you for getting to skip Quantum Chemistry." He thought back to those late-night cram sessions, and cringed. "I'm sorry, you were talking about Data?"

"Yes." Isaac opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again before continuing. "I have always been intrigued by the mystery of the missing androids. I have spoken with older-generation Soong-types over the years, about Data and the others, but have never gotten a satisfactory answer. It is almost as if those who were in active service when Data and the others disappeared, but who remained behind at their posts, are actively hiding something."

"Even from their younger siblings like you?"

Isaac nodded. "I have always suspected that the older Soong-types know more about the disappearance than they are telling."

"Mmm." Crusher rubbed his chin. "Maybe it's not that they won't tell you anything. Perhaps it's that they can't." Then, in response to Isaac's quizzical look, he explained. "Imagine that there was a bit of memory stored in your positronic matrix that you didn't want ever to reveal. Couldn't you simply write a new heuristic algorithm prohibiting yourself from calling up that memory and communicating it? A new bit of restrictive programming?"

Isaac was thoughtful. "It is possible," he allowed. "But what would be the purpose of such a restriction?"

Crusher smiled. "Come on, Isaac, haven't you ever heard of keeping secrets? Maybe the other androids knew about the disappearances, but didn't want to run the risk of ever revealing anything. But if that's the case...what could be the big secret?"

"It is precisely that about which I am uncertain."

Crusher's smile faded, as he gave the android an appraising look. "Is it? Or is it just that you're nervous about the possibility of meeting Data?"

Isaac's expression suggested the android equivalent of confusion. "Why should that possibility make me nervous?"

"Come on, Isaac. It would be like me getting to meet Einstein or Cochrane. For all your life, you've heard about Data, the first of your kind. It would be impossible for you not to feel at least a little intimidated about meeting him."

Isaac's eyes flicked down and to the right, a reflective gesture. "I suppose it is possible."

"You shouldn't worry, though," Crusher said, stepping forward and putting a hand on his shoulder. "You're a fine officer, and a terrific scientist...even if you do tend to cheat at poker." Isaac opened his mouth to object, but Crusher plowed ahead with a smile. "Data may be something like a grandfather to you, or a much older sibling at least, but that just means he'll be all the more proud of you. Trust me. After all, I knew him. He's going to love you."

"Who's going to love whom?"

Crusher and Isaac turned to see Doctor Quaice entering main engineering, an easy smile on his face.

"Isaac's worried about making a good impression on Data," Crusher answered.

"I am not worried about..." Isaac began, then broke off. He nodded, reluctantly. "I am, perhaps, somewhat concerned. Data is, as Wesley has pointed out, something like a grandfather to me."

"Well, there you are, then." Quaice came over to stand beside them. "What grandparent doesn't love their grandchildren? Of course, one of my grandsons-daughter's oldest boy, she named him Patrick after my late wife-can't seem to get used to the fact that his own grandfather looks the same age as him, these days, so I suppose that unconditional love isn't always a two-way street." He mused, somewhat pensive for a moment, then turned his attention to Crusher. "Well, have you time for my regular checkup, or should I come back later?"

Crusher couldn't help but notice the somewhat sour expression on Quaice's face when asking the question. He understood completely. Having spent a lifetime in the practice of healing others, the doctor now found himself lacking the expertise to mend his own artificial body. Standing with Isaac and Quaice, the two people to whom he felt closest among the crew, Crusher was reminded as always how looks could be deceiving. At first glance, the three of them looked near enough in age, based on physical appearance alone, that they could have all graduated from the academy together. And yet Quaice had been born when Jim Kirk was still in command of the earlier Enterprise, Crusher himself had been born while the Federation-Carda.s.sian border conflicts still raged, and Isaac had been born little more than nine years before.

"Certainly, Doctor," Crusher said, motioning toward the diagnostic bay at the rear of main engineering.

"Please, Wesley, if I've told you once I've told you a thousand times, call me Dalen."

Crusher shook his head, sheepishly. If Data was a grandfather to Isaac, Crusher wasn't sure what that made Quaice to him, but his earliest memories were of his mother taking him to visit her mentor and friend. Quaice had already been an old man then, positively ancient in the eyes of the young Wesley Crusher, with his bristling white mustache and snow-white hair, eyes bright in a face lined with wrinkles. Crusher hadn't seen him for years after that, not until he joined the crew of the Enterprise, after Crusher's mother went off to Starfleet Medical; by then, Quaice had traded in his old body for a new one, a body that lacked not only the snow-white hair and mustache and wrinkles, but also the ills and infirmities to which human bodies were p.r.o.ne. Despite the youthfulness of this new body, his eyes were just as bright, his smiles easy and frequent, and Crusher could still see echoes of the old man his mother had loved like a father.

"No, Doctor Quaice," Crusher answered, trying not to sound like a child again, "I don't think I could ever do that."

Sito Jaxa sat in Ten Forward, drinking a cup of iced raktajino and watching the stars blur by through the viewports. She was technically off-duty, but as ops manager she had the discretion to pull rank on the ensign who relieved her, and take back her post when they reached their destination. And since she wasn't about to lounge around in her quarters when the Enterprise dropped out of warp deep in the Neutral Zone, Ensign Kelly was about to get an unexpected break. But having already been on duty for a full rotation, if Sito wanted to keep alert, she was going to need a boost-hence the raktajino.

Still, it was boring just sitting and watching the stars red-shift by. If there had been anyone around she might have opted for a game of Terrace, or maybe chess, but it seemed that warping into the Neutral Zone wasn't everyone's idea of a good time, so Ten Forward was all but deserted. She was half tempted to page Sam Lavelle, who was always up for a bit of fun; but there was always the chance that Lavelle might misinterpret her intentions, reading too much into an invitation to join her for a cup of raktajino. They'd dated for a short while, and it had ended amiably enough, but there was always some tension between them, a kind of expectation that something might at any moment go wrong.

Alyssa Ogawa was always up for a cup and a chat, but she was working her shift in sickbay, and it wouldn't do for a head nurse to abandon her post just to relax in the rec facility with an old friend.

There was always Wesley Crusher, of course-one of her oldest friends in Starfleet-but these days he seldom strayed far from main engineering, and he'd never really developed a taste for raktajino anyway.

These were the pressures of leadership, Sito thought with a smile, the price of success. She and all her old friends, all of them who had started out together on the Enterprise, had risen together through the ranks, and unlike a few, like Taurik, who had taken transfers to other vessels, most of them still served under Captain Picard. The only difference was that instead of being junior officers with time on their hands, they were senior staff and department heads with hardly any free time at all.

Sito sipped her iced raktajino, remembering more carefree days.

"Is this seat taken?"

Sito was so startled she nearly spit out a mouthful of liquid all over the ship's tactical officer, which would not have been a good idea.

"N-no," she sputtered, coughing after inhaling more raktajino than was probably advisable. She regained her composure somewhat and tried again. "No, Commander Ro, have a seat."

Ro set her own cup down on the table, pulled the chair out and turned it around, straddling it with her arms resting on the chair-back. The movement was a familiar one, but it took Sito a moment to remember where she'd first seen it. It was exactly the way Will Riker used to sit on a chair. She hid a smile, remembering the friction between the former first officer and a somewhat younger Ro Laren. The two had never gotten along, it had seemed, and yet Riker had taken an interest in Ro's career, and had served as something of a mentor to her, for all that Ro seemed to actively dislike him. Still, Sito and the others'd had a pool running for months, wagering over whether Ro and the first officer would ever break the ice between them and find themselves in an unexpected romantic encounter.

So far as Sito knew, no one had ever won the bet. But seeing Ro sitting across from her now, she wondered just what the tactical officer thought about the officer who had ridden her so hard for so many years, always pushing her to do her best, and then to do better still. Clearly, something had worked to make Ro an exemplary officer.

"You're drinking raktajino," Ro observed, glancing at Sito's nearly empty cup.

Sito looked down, then back up, and shrugged. "Yes, I suppose I am."

"Hmph." Ro made an indistinct noise. "I didn't know there were many others...o...b..ard who enjoyed it."

Sito took a sip. "I first had it on a stopover at Deep s.p.a.ce 9, during a visit to Bajor. The station's liaison officer introduced me to it. I'd never had Klingon coffee before then, but after a few days of it, I was hooked."

Ro nodded. "I picked it up in Advanced Tactical Training myself. One of my cla.s.smates had served aboard a Klingon vessel in an officer exchange program, and came back with a taste for all things Klingon. The raktajino I could get behind. The gagh? Not so much."

Sito pulled a face. "Ooo, I just saw a plate of it once and that was enough for me."

The tactical officer gave her an appraising look.

"Commander," Sito said, somewhat confused, "is there something you wanted to ask me?" The two of them, the only Bajorans on the Enterprise-and, in fact, among the relatively few in Starfleet altogether-had never been close. They hadn't been what one might call friends, and Sito figured that she had probably spent less time talking to Ro than any other member of the senior staff, the captain included.

"Well, Lieutenant..." Ro began.