“Are we taking anything?”
“Nothing material.”
“Good. Because this is likely to be a bit rough. Get in position. I’ll be ready in thirty seconds.”
La Forge joined Data in the center of the room. He found he was compelled to say something to Albert. “Thank you” was the best he could do.
“You’re welcome,” Albert grunted. “Sort of. I guess. Aren’t you guys going to tie me up or something?”
“That will not be necessary,” Data said.
The old man harrumphed. “Just one other thing,” he said.
“Yes?”
“If you want to talk to a hologram about what another hologram might be thinking, there’s someone a helluva lot closer than in the Delta Quadrant you might want to visit. From what I hear, he’d probably be happy to talk to you.”
La Forge looked over at Data to see if he understood what Albert meant. Clearly, he did, which was good, because La Forge was certain he himself did not.
“That is an excellent suggestion, Albert. Thank you.” He reached out to pat their old shipmate on the shoulder, then he adjusted his grip and pinched the nerve cluster at the base of his neck. Albert went rigid, then limp. Data gently lowered Albert to the floor, careful that his head did not crack against the console.
“I didn’t know you had gotten so good at that,” La Forge said.
“This body has very fine motor control” was Data’s only comment. Tapping his bracelet, he said, “Shakti. We would like to beam up now.”
“So impatient. Stand by.”
Pointing down at Albert’s inert form, La Forge asked, “Do you think they’ll believe him?”
Just as the transporter beam began to swirl around them, Data asked, “Why would anyone doubt him?”
The room disappeared in a golden haze and was replaced moments later by the interior of the Archeus. “That wasn’t so bad,” La Forge said.
“Thanks,” Shakti said. “I finally got their system figured out. It’s eating out of my hand now.”
“Have you removed all images or recordings of us from the security system?”
“Wasn’t quite so simple, I’m afraid,” Shakti said. “A lot of redundancy and some of their back-up servers were isolated from the network.”
“Then what did you do?” La Forge asked.
“I beamed a brick into each of the backups.”
“Excuse me?” La Forge asked.
“It seemed like the most efficient means of dealing with the problem.”
La Forge sat down in the passenger seat and felt overwhelming exhaustion descend. “I have to say, Data, I’m a little worried about what you can do with this ship of yours.”
“But you have to admit,” he replied, “she can be very useful.”
“Useful. Yes, I suppose. But scary.”
“You should get some sleep now, Geordi. You must be very tired.”
“I am,” La Forge allowed as the chair leveled out into a cot beneath him. “But we’re going to talk about this when I wake up.”
“I look forward to it,” Data said. “But it might have to wait until after we reach our next destination.”
“Which is?”
“Deep Space 9,” he said, and La Forge felt the ship smoothly accelerate beneath him, then jump to warp.
“Why DS9? What’s there?”
“Not what,” Data said. “Who. The person Albert suggested we speak with.”
“I still don’t know . . .”
“Vic Fontaine,” Data said. “You have not heard of him?”
“No.”
Data lifted an eyebrow. “Surprising, given your fondness for popular song. Shakti, play some Vic Fontaine for Geordi. I believe he will find it very soothing.” As the cabin lights dimmed, Data sat down at the computer console and began to work. Soft music began to play from hidden speakers, and a man began to sing in a strong, dusky tenor about flying to the moon and swinging upon a star. La Forge did not recognize the tune, but enjoyed the counterpoint of the upbeat tune and sardonic lyrics. Despite his interest, La Forge did not so much slip into slumber as tumble down into it headlong. Following him down into the well of sleep came Data’s voice singing along with Vic Fontaine in effortless harmony. They sound pretty good together, was La Forge’s last thought, and then he had no thoughts at all.
A placeless place
“And then what happened?” Professor Moriarty asked. He had conjured up a decanter of holographic spirits and had poured a drink during the first stanza of Alice’s recitation viz. Harry Mudd. Moriarty hadn’t even bothered to pretend the bottle was in a cupboard or a cabinet, which struck Lal oddly, but he merely pointed at a small table and the bottle and snifter had appeared out of thin air. He isn’t pretending any of this is real anymore, she thought. Interesting.
Lal had then asked for a beverage of her own. “It seems like we should all have a beverage, doesn’t it?” she had asked brightly. After a brief flicker of annoyance, the Professor made a show of contrition: “How could I not have thought of my guests? How very rude of me!”
So now Alice and Lal had snifters of their own, both one-third full of an amber liquid, and the Professor was smiling. Lal liked her liquid. She had sampled most of the beverage options available on Orion, including the most exotic ones served at her father’s casino, and while the alcohol had no deleterious or euphoric effect on her positronic network, she found the complex flavor compounds in dark spirits very intriguing. Lal was steeped in precisely enough Terran literature and popular culture to feel ever so slightly sophisticated when sipping from a snifter.
“We pulled up stakes and got the hell out of Dodge,” Alice said, taking a healthy sip from her glass. Alice, Lal noted, always looked happier when she had a beverage. “Harry and me.”
Moriarty’s look of pleasure momentarily dissolved into confusion. “You got the hell out of where?”
“They left,” Lal explained. “It’s a reference to late-nineteenth-century Earth. Or mid-twentieth-century, depending on how you look at it.”
“Ah,” Moriarty said, nodding to Lal. “Thank you.” He turned back to Alice. “And had you ever been away from your homeworld before?”
“No. Never.”
“And so how did you feel?”
“Are we having a therapy session?” Alice asked. “Would you like me to stretch out on the couch, Professor?”
Moriarty smiled indulgently. “I am merely prompting you, my dear. Talk about whatever you like. We are merely passing the time.”
“Until what happens?”
“Until our Mister Data either fails or succeeds.”
“Funny,” Alice said, taking another heroic gulp from her glass. Lal wasn’t sure what impact alcohol would have on her, but Alice certainly seemed to be enjoying her drink. “It felt like we were doing something else.”
The Professor waved his hand. “As I said: the floor is yours. Discuss whatever you like. Or not. Or perhaps Miss Lal has a story she would like to relate . . . ?”
“No,” Alice interrupted. “My turn to apologize. I get sensitive when I talk about my past. Leaving home . . .” She paused.
“Was difficult?” Moriarty prompted.
“Goodness, no,” Alice said. “It was the best thing that ever happened to me. Though even the best things can get old after a while.”
One hundred years ago—A barroom
“What’s going on around here?” Harry asked, slipping onto the barstool beside Alice, while simultaneously trying to wave down the bartender and keep his face covered with his hand. “I haven’t seen this many Redcoats in one place since we pulled that job on Starbase 14.”
Alice twitched her index finger at the bartender, Todd, then pointed at her glass in the universal sign that means, “It’s empty,” and indicated Harry would have the same. Todd nodded and began assembling their drinks.
“We didn’t ‘pull a job’ on Starbase 14, Harry,” Alice said. “We met with your banker. One of your bankers. Our
presence there was completely and utterly legal. And, I might add, rather dull.”
“But it felt like a job,” Harry protested, looking back over his shoulder at the large group of Starfleet officers clustered around a set of high-tops in the center of the lounge. Alice had watched the coterie emerge from one of the large conference rooms across the lobby, the entire swarm of them packed in around a single individual, like comets swirling around a sun. Alice couldn’t make out who or what was at the center of the pack because he or she or it was too short. The only thing she could say for sure was he or she or it had a deep, mellifluous laugh that rang pleasantly inside Alice’s head. “I always feel like I’m pulling a job whenever there are that many Feds in one place.”
“You don’t need to pull jobs anymore, Harry,” Alice said. “You’re rich, remember? By any standard you care to name: Terran, Klingon, Romulan, or Orion. Rich. Very, very, very rich.” Todd delivered the drinks. Alice could see he had written his contact information on the napkin. Again. She pulled out the napkin while he watched, looked at the number, then dabbed her mouth with it and threw it back on the bar. Todd both crumpled and melted. He’s going to be difficult, Alice thought.
“Yes, my dear, I know. I’m aware of that. And I know I’m in your debt. It’s tacky to remind me.”
“I’m not reminding you. I was merely stating a fact.”
“It felt like you were rubbing it in my face.”
Alice sighed deeply, then drank even more deeply. While alcohol had no effect on her, she had recently discovered that the botanicals muddled into this particular concoction soothed her raging thoughts if consumed in large enough doses.
Harry sipped the drink. “Ew. Bitter.”
“Then leave it. I’ll drink it. Order something else.”
“I believe I will. Barkeep!” Todd ignored him in favor of a pair of Starfleet ensigns who were requesting a long list of drinks for the group. Both of the Redcoats—one male and one female—had bright, flushed faces, like today was a combination of Christmas and their birthdays and the night they lost their virginities all rolled up into one. What the hell was going on?
“Just tell me what you want, Harry. I’ll get it for you.”
“Brandy. Something ancient that has been transported over a great distance.”
“Brandy gives you gas.”
“Not if it’s good brandy.”
“They won’t have good . . .” Alice slurped her drink. “Never mind. Fine. Brandy.” She waved a finger at Todd and mouthed the word “Brandy.” Todd promptly forgot whatever it was that the ensigns had just ordered.
When the drink was delivered, Harry twirled the tips of his mustache in a manner that indicated he was feeling most pleased with himself. He looks, Alice thought, like a large, fastidious rodent. She noted, not for the first time, that his hair color was not entirely convincing, and the smoothed-out lines around his eyes were beginning to reemerge. Harry was wearing another one of his shirts with the large collars, which meant he was feeling self-conscious about his neck. Medical and rejuvenate technology of the twenty-third century could do a lot, but it still hadn’t figured out how to disguise a turkey neck. Harry was more than twenty years older today than he had been the day Alice had met him, and he hadn’t been a young man then, despite his protestations to the contrary. “Excellent. Most excellent. Young man . . .” Harry tried to flag down Todd. “Barkeep.” Todd was assembling the order for the patiently waiting Redcoats.
“Todd?” Alice called.
“Yes?” Todd said, ceasing his labors. “Yes? How can I help you?”
Harry cupped his hand around his mouth in a manner that was meant to muffle his voice. Unfortunately, he was getting a bit deaf and didn’t know how loud he spoke when attempting to be covert. “Young man, could you explain what all the . . .” He waved his hand toward the mob of officers. “What’s the hubbub about?”
“You don’t know?”
“I would not ask if I knew,” Harry said in his most condescending tone.
Todd was condescension-proof. He smiled brightly, though most of the wattage was aimed at Alice. He did have nice teeth, Alice decided. Very regular dentition. “Xenolinguistics conference. And I have to say, of all the Starfleet types who come through here, the xenolinguists are, without a doubt, the most . . . how shall I say? . . . talented with their tongues.” He smiled brightly. Alice wanted to punch him in the face and make his dentition irregular.
“Really?” Harry asked, smiling brightly. “Do tell. But why so many of them all in one place?”
“They just had the keynote address. And apparently it was a winner. Just lucky, from what I heard. Good timing. They booked her months ago and then she was part of that whole thing with the probe and the whales. So, you know, she had a good story to tell. Everyone was thrilled.”
“Probe?” Harry asked.
“Whales?” Alice asked.
“Sure,” Todd said. “You know. Kirk went somewhere and found some whales. Saved the Earth.” He pointed at Alice’s glass. “You ready for another?”
Alice pushed the glass across the bar. “Sure,” she said. “Kirk?”
“Kirk?” Harry repeated and pushed his now-empty brandy snifter away from him, more in a gesture of panic than a request for more. “James Kirk? He’s here ?”
“What?” Todd asked. “No, of course not. Why would Captain Kirk be speaking at a conference for xenolinguists? It’s her,” he said, pointing across the room. Harry and Alice both looked over their shoulders. “Over there. The Enterprise’s communications officer—Uhura.”
The crowd swirled and parted as the two ensigns delivered the first round of drinks and Alice beheld the pearl in the oyster: a small Terran woman with silver-tinted hair and a wide mouth. She was smiling and talking in an animated fashion to a large Andorian male who appeared uncharacteristically rapt and engaged. His blue skin, Alice thought, contrasted nicely with the woman’s mocha color.
Their confidence games had been wildly successful due, Alice knew, more to her abilities than to Harry’s, though Harry was the driving force, the will. If Harry had been content to work a desk job, Alice would have been content to sit at the next desk and keep an eye on her charge. These were her orders, given by the aforementioned Kirk: Make Harry less of an irritant. In her implacably logical manner, Alice had mostly succeeded in this task: Harry wasn’t as irritating as he once was because there were few things Harry wanted or needed. She had to concede that his essential character had not been altered, but wealth was, if nothing else, a form of lubricant, and more lubrication meant less friction; less friction meant less irritation.
“We should leave,” Alice said, laying her hand on her clutch purse.
“Leave?” Harry asked, twirling his mustache tips. “Why would we leave? The evening has finally become interesting.”
“Aren’t you worried she’ll remember you?”
“Worried? I’d be insulted if she didn’t.”
“But won’t she wonder how you escaped the planet? Norman? All the Stellas?”
Harry swept away Alice’s caution with the back of his hand. “She will quite sensibly assume you released me after I showed the necessary level of contrition and spiritual growth, which is essentially what happened.”
“That isn’t what happened, Harry.”
“I’ve grown!”
You’ve grown stouter, Alice thought. You’ve grown older. You’ve grown saggier. She did not say these things aloud, first because none of these sentiments would support her mission, but also because she knew they wouldn’t make a dent in Harry’s nigh impenetrable narcissism. Instead, she simply asked, “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking I should stop and say hello. And even thank her. Wouldn’t that be appropriate? She and her merry band saved Earth, didn’t they? That’s what Tom . . .”
“Todd.”
“. . . Todd said, isn’t it? I remember hearing about that. Quite a thrilling story, wasn’t it? Ancient space probe re
turns looking for old pals. Disappointed to find out its chums had been hunted into extinction. Decides to wipe out the dominant species in a fit of spite until, ta-da! Kirk and company return in trails of glory to save the day.”
“Per usual.”
“Of course, of course.”
Alice asked, “And you want to talk to her because . . .”
“We’re old friends!”
“She left you on a planet full of androids.”
“She was following orders, my dear, not issuing them.”
“You have some kind of con in mind, Harry, but give it up. It won’t work on her.”
Harry’s first response was to look hurt, but he knew Alice knew him well enough to know his appearing injured would have no effect. So, instead, he segued straight into distress: “Why not?”
“Because a con will only work on someone who wants something. Look at her, Harry.” Alice studied the woman’s face and the way she completely focused her attention on whomever she spoke to, the openness of her body language. “There’s nothing in the world that woman wants that she doesn’t already have or knows how to get.” She’s the opposite of you, Harry.
Harry’s mouth turned into a thin line of spite. “I don’t think so,” Harry said tersely. “I seem to recall there was something she wanted once.”
“Really? And is it something you could give her?” And then Alice realized she had made a terrible mistake: She had dared Harry Mudd, challenged his manhood.
He shifted his eyes to look over at her, but, otherwise, his countenance did not change. “We’ll see, won’t we?” He beckoned to Todd.
“Sir?” Todd asked, though Alice felt his gaze shifting away from Harry and over to her.
“What was the commander drinking, the woman sitting in the center of the group?”
“I know who the commander is, sir. I can read insignia. She’s drinking Altair water, with lime.”
Harry made a disappointed face—water—but he rallied quickly. “Fine. Get me two of those. And another brandy.”
“You’re sending mixed signals, Harry.”
“Shush, you. The brandy is for here.” Todd returned in a moment with the glasses and Harry dispatched the liquor in a single gulp. He took a tentative sip of the water and winced. “How can anyone drink this stuff?”