Star Trek: The Next Generation - 116 - The Light Fantastic

  “It’s supposed to be good for you.”

  “Ugh. So are Brussels sprouts.” He put on his brightest grin and began the long walk from the bar to the center of the party. Alice had to give Harry some credit on one point: He had always possessed a peculiar grace in negotiating crowds. He had small feet and the vast quantities of hot air he generated seemed to buoy him up like a zeppelin, stately and assured. The mob around Commander Uhura parted without knowing precisely why they did. Harry approached the queen of the hive and bowed low, presenting her with a replacement beverage.

  From her vantage point, Alice was able to take in the entire scene like she was watching a play unfold. The woman stared up at Harry, surprised, but neither shaken nor particularly impressed. Then, she turned her head to scan the crowd as if half-expecting to see someone else she knew, an old friend or even an old enemy. A prankster, perhaps. To her great surprise, Alice felt Uhura’s gaze lock on her. The commander grinned hugely and lifted her glass in salute.

  Alice swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. She reached back onto the bar and found her own nearly empty glass and took a sloppy slurp from it. And waved. Uhura waved back.

  Then the commander turned her full attention to Harry Mudd. She rose up out of her chair like a queen saluting a returning explorer, smiled, and embraced him. Alice couldn’t hear what she was saying, but she didn’t need to in order to understand what was about to transpire. Commander Uhura was about to be so very nice and pleasant to Harry Mudd and within an hour she was going to know everything that had happened to him in the past two decades.

  Todd tapped Alice on the shoulder. She turned numbly to look at him. “Yes?”

  “Would you like another drink?”

  “Yes,” Alice said, but quickly corrected herself. “Wait. No. Sorry. I have to go.”

  “But I was hoping we could spend a little time together. My shift is almost over and I thought . . .”

  “No,” Alice said. “Sorry. I have to go. It’s time. Time to go.”

  “Go where?” Todd asked. “Maybe I could give you a ride.”

  “I don’t think so,” Alice said, feeling the past breathing down her neck. “I think I’m going a lot farther than you.”

  “How far?” Todd asked, still not grasping her meaning. “I live pretty far outside the city. Maybe . . .”

  “Much farther than that,” Alice explained. “Much.”

  12

  Aboard the Archeus

  La Forge awoke to find a steaming mug of coffee set beside his head, an inverted saucer covering the top to keep in the heat. Sitting up, he gently rubbed the orbits around his artificial eyes. He wondered how he looked, certain that his face was puffy from mingled exhaustion and restless sleep. There were vague recollections of a dream involving Leah and a flooded house. La Forge knew his own psychology well enough to know he dreamed of flooded houses only when he was struggling with recent decisions. He frowned ruefully: no deep psychoanalysis here. Uncertainty was more or less his base state the past few days. “Except this coffee,” he murmured after lifting the saucer lid and sipping from the mug. Looking up at the ceiling, he said clearly, “My compliments to the chef, Shakti. Excellent coffee.”

  “Thank you, Geordi,” Shakti answered. “The secret is to bring the water to the correct temperature before pouring it onto the beans. And always use the proper amount of beans. And use good beans. Okay . . . that’s three secrets.”

  “I’m sure Data makes sure he has the best beans.”

  “Of course.”

  “Where is he?” La Forge asked. He was alone in the cabin.

  “Data is in the pilot’s cabin. Starfleet regulations require a pilot be at the controls in case automated systems should fail during docking procedure.”

  “Docking? We’ve arrived? How long was I asleep?”

  “Seven hours and a little,” Shakti said, her voice tinged with amusement. “You were so tired.”

  “And we reached Bajoran space? How fast were we going?”

  “Well, you know, I don’t like to brag, Geordi, but fast. Very, very fast. If the Enterprise is an orca, then Archeus is a barracuda.”

  La Forge chuckled and sipped more coffee. “We should put that to the test someday. I think the old girl has a little more in her than you might imagine.”

  “Care to put a little side wager on that, Commander La Forge?” Shakti teased.

  Slightly embarrassed about getting into a bragging contest with a disembodied voice, La Forge rose and padded to the front of the cabin. He could barely make out a seam in the black bulkhead where the door met the frame, but sensors registered his presence. The door hissed into the bulkhead.

  “Oh,” La Forge said, awed by the sight in the main viewscreen. “That’s right. It’s new, isn’t it?”

  “Good morning, Geordi,” Data said from the pilot’s couch. La Forge was pleased to see that Archeus’s seats were modeled on the old Enterprise-D ergonomic chairs, the kind that reclined so the helmsman and navigator could sit for long periods of time without getting back cramps. He had always wondered why Starfleet had seen fit to remove them from the design except, of course, that they just weren’t sufficiently . . . dignified. “Yes, new,” he said. “What do you think?”

  The newly commissioned Deep Space 9 hove into view, a marvel of Federation engineering techniques. “Big,” La Forge said. “And shiny. Not like the old one.”

  “I liked the old one,” Data said. “It had character.”

  “I think this one does, too. Frankly, I’m surprised they allowed them to make it so much like the last.” The Archeus was nearing the center ring where the docking bays were reserved for smaller ships.

  “I believe we can attribute that to Chief O’Brien’s influence,” Data said. “He is credited as one of the lead designers.”

  “I’d heard that. That’s thrilling. Good for Miles. Can you imagine . . . being responsible for something this . . . momentous? How would you manage a project like that?”

  “ ‘One self-sealing stem bolt at a time,’ ” Data and La Forge said in unison, quoting one of their former shipmate’s favorite aphorisms.

  “Do you think we’ll have a chance to see him?” La Forge asked. “And Ro. She’s a captain now, if you can believe that.”

  “So I have been reading,” Data said, pointing at a monitor. La Forge found it odd that Data should still choose to read when he could probably have any information he desired directly implanted into his neural network. “Who could have imagined that we would all arrive at this point in our lives, overlapping, intersecting, in this manner?”

  Slipping onto the starboard couch, careful not to let his coffee slop onto the control surfaces, La Forge said, “I believe you’re getting sentimental in your old age.”

  Data gripped La Forge’s forearm. Without taking his eyes off the instruments, Data said, “If I have not said it, my friend, I am glad that you are here with me. I cannot think of anyone else whom I would trust on such a journey.”

  “Who else would come along? Someone has to keep you out of trouble.” La Forge switched his coffee mug to his right hand, not wanting to pull away from Data’s grip, and took another sip. “Also, the coffee is outstanding.”

  Data grinned. “I am glad,” he said.

  “Archeus, this is Deep Space 9. Please lower your security shields for scanning.”

  “What should I do, Data?” Shakti asked.

  “Drop shields. Run program Security Delta.”

  “What’s Security Delta?” La Forge asked.

  “Something soothing,” Shakti answered.

  “So, misinformation.”

  “Soothing misinformation.”

  The navigational display blinked and then glowed the characteristic blue that indicated an outside agency had taken control. A moment later, docking control called, “You’re clear for landing, Archeus. Welcome to Deep Space 9.”

  “Thank you,” Shakti said as the ship glided into a narrow landing bay.

 
“Anything I should know about this soothing misinformation?” La Forge asked, not feeling at all soothed in his own mind.

  “Nothing significant,” Data replied. “If we run into anyone we know—and I am going to do my best to avoid that—simply tell them you are assisting me with a private matter.”

  “The best lies are the ones that hew closest to the truth,” La Forge said.

  “And this is barely a lie at all.”

  “Data, we broke into a Federation research institute and opened up a secured storage facility. Don’t you think someone is going to be looking for us?”

  “There is no record of our having been to the Daystrom,” Data said, sliding out of the pilot’s chair. “And we did not come into personal contact with anyone except Albert, who will not betray us.”

  “What about the security guards? I spoke to one of them.”

  “I am loath to be the one to tell you this, Geordi, but, in general, security guards do not look at anyone, or remember the small interactions of their day. The only record that matters is the digital one, and that trail has been erased.”

  “Which I find deeply disturbing,” La Forge said, lurching out of the chair and suddenly remembering why they removed the couches from the Enterprise’s bridge.

  “I understand, but I do not apologize. We have to remain anonymous until Lal has been found. Moriarty has his agents.”

  “Listen to yourself, Data. You’re starting to sound like Holmes at his most paranoid!”

  “I do not recall ever thinking Sherlock Holmes had succumbed to paranoia.” The doors to the main cabin had parted and Data was looking back over his shoulder at La Forge. “Perhaps I missed that nuance.”

  “He was a morphine user. I have to think that might have affected his thinking.”

  “You may be reading more into the text than was meant to be interpreted by the contemporary audience,” Data said.

  “Gentlemen?” Shakti interjected. “Pardon me for interrupting the salon, but the longer you explore the boundaries of literary interpretation, the less time we have to meet our contact. I am having trouble locating him, which, yes, is bothering me as much as you might expect. I’m not accustomed to having trouble locating, well, anything.”

  “Thank you, Shakti. Am I correct that you cannot beam us directly to his location?”

  “That would be correct. Private craft are not permitted to use teleporters while in dock. You’ll just have to walk, gentlemen. I believe the view from the main thoroughfare—the Plaza as it’s called—is supposed to be spectacular, but don’t dawdle.”

  “Yes, Shakti,” Data said as he swiped his hand over the panel to unlock the main hatch. “Thank you.”

  Stepping out into the landing bay, La Forge asked sotto voce, “Data, I have to ask: Does she work for you or do you work for her?”

  “I believe we are still working out the exact nature of our relationship. If you have any recommendations, please feel free to voice them.”

  Aboard Deep Space 9

  La Forge had visited the former Deep Space 9 enough times to recognize how the engineers had paid tribute to the former version in the new. The new design echoed the old without being imitative—a primary spherical hull encircled by rings, all linked by crossover bridges—but where the Cardassian station originally called Terok Nor had never been meant to be anything but an ore-processing facility, this new station was a refinement, a true community in space. Stepping through the wide arch onto the first level of the Plaza, La Forge stopped and looked up, eyes wide, mouth agape. After a breathless moment, he exhaled and said, “Wow.”

  A Bajoran station worker, clearly identifiable by the elaborate earring clipped to his right lobe, had been walking close behind Data and La Forge, but he adroitly stepped around them when the pair had abruptly ceased moving. Smiling, he nodded at La Forge and said, “We get that a lot. Enjoy your visit.”

  La Forge judged he had seen some astonishing vistas in his time: sunrises and sunsets on many worlds, crackling bands of energy crawling through the ether, and giant cityscapes that covered the arc of the world from horizon to horizon. He had witnessed the first encounter between Terrans and beings from another world. He had watched suns ignite, flare, and die. And yet, somewhere in his engineer’s heart, despite all these nigh-miraculous sights, he knew he was still the most impressed by the skillful use of plasteel, carbon fibers, and transparent aluminum.

  La Forge stared at the Plaza; the entire outer bulkhead was encased in transparent aluminum. It was either the most daring or foolhardy design he had ever seen. The “sky” in the Plaza was changing, creating the illusion that the sun was setting. On the horizon, the engineer saw the first evening star twinkle. Miles O’Brien had built many impressive things in his career, but La Forge didn’t know his former shipmate had it in him to create a sunset.

  Shakti had been correct: It was spectacular.

  “Chief O’Brien has done well,” Data stated, his voice filled with warmth.

  “That might be the understatement of the year,” La Forge replied.

  “Shakti is chiding me,” was his reply. He pointed at a tiny bead receiver in his left ear. “Our appointment . . .”

  “Tell Shakti I’m busy being dazzled.”

  Data did not reply, but he strode into the stream of mostly bipedal traffic coursing down the Plaza. According to Shakti, it was late evening on the station, which meant the crowd was a mixture of revelers headed out in search of fun and laborers headed toward home, with perhaps a stop for a convivial beverage along the way. La Forge’s internal clock was completely disrupted; having only just finished a mug of strong coffee, he felt alert, even overstimulated, and out of sync with the relaxed mood. He was also, he realized, hungry. His last true meal was a distant memory and the smells wafting out from the restaurants and food stalls were causing his midsection to twist into tight knots. “Whatever else we do while we’re here,” he said, “I need to get something to eat soon.”

  “Understood. Shakti says she will order ahead for you.”

  About half the shops—many of them Bajoran-owned, judging from the signage and wares—were shut for the day, the remainder leaning heavily toward wares valued by weary spacers or other transients: food, beverages, toiletry items, and the sort of thing Will Riker had once described as “articles of companionship”: pharmaceuticals, contraceptives, and small, shiny bits of business that could be used to attract the eye of the easily entertained. The main attractions, naturally, were the bistros and restaurants, with a steady flow of clientele moving past large, heavyset sentients, the sorts of folk who appeared slow of thought, slow to anger, and impossible to slow down once set into motion.

  La Forge was so distracted by the blur of faces moving past (combined with the increasingly hollowed-out sensation in his gut) that he almost didn’t notice when Data abruptly left the flow and turned into the densest part of a mob clustered before a wide entrance. The crowd parted like a beaded curtain as his friend moved forward, not because of anything unusual Data did, but because the impossibly broad-shouldered individual was moving toward them.

  The last vestige of the crowd dispersed and La Forge saw Data bend low so he could speak to the bouncer directly, without fear that other ears could hear. The bouncer, who was nearly as wide as he was tall, was either a member of a species La Forge had not encountered (which seemed unlikely, but not impossible) or he was a highly artificially augmented individual. The manner in which he nodded his head with a single, stiff jerk, then pivoted out of Data’s way with a graceful sweep of an arm, led La Forge to believe the latter option was the most likely. Before proceeding through the wide entrance in the half-wall that appeared to separate the barroom from the other entertainment, Data looked back at his friend and with a quick jerk of his head indicated he should follow. In that single motion, La Forge realized that Data had shed his usual manner and had assumed a new identity, someone who was better equipped to navigate through the casino/bar/means-of-parting-a-fool-and-his-
money.

  Calling after them as they passed, speaking in a surprisingly high-pitched tone, the bouncer squeaked, “Welcome to Quark’s.”

  * * *

  Data studied the interior of the new Quark’s with a casino proprietor’s eye. If he were my competitor, he asked, would I be worried?

  The answer: Yes and No.

  Data had absorbed every bit of information his father had learned about managing a gambling empire and had gone on to develop and curate concepts based on his studies of both mathematical and psychological modeling across multiple species. The central tenet of his concept was simple: gamblers want to be seduced. They are willing to try their luck on the longest odds games that could be imagined as long as they feel like they are being invited or contracted. In other words, the customer wants to feel like the establishment was created especially for him. Data—and Soong before him—had learned everything there was to learn about interior design, manipulation, and theatrics, and the result was an empire built on the illusion of consensual seduction.

  Quark’s establishment was polished, and he had plainly spared no expense. However, there was something just a little off about the place, small things that Data would have changed. Starting with the servers. The Ferengi staff was obsequious, too eager to please.

  “Doesn’t appear to be particularly busy,” La Forge observed.

  “No, it does not.”

  “Well, this is sad,” La Forge observed. “I thought it was early evening.”

  “It is,” Data said. “Perhaps it will pick up soon.”

  A young Ferengi man dressed in traditional hosting garb approached them carrying a small tray with drinks and a covered dish. “Mister Soong,” he said, extending the tray. “Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Broik. Mister Quark is . . . unavoidably detained and asked me to accommodate you in any way I can. Please enjoy these complimentary beverages. I understand you’re hungry. We weren’t sure what you might like, so I had the kitchen prepare a small sampler.” He moved the tray into reach and lifted the lid off the platter. “Grub worms, fried cheese, and Cardassian bola-nettles with the dipping sauce.”