With a sigh, La Forge tapped his combadge. Data answered immediately. “Where are you?” he asked.
“Standing in front of a locked door,” La Forge replied.
“Ah,” his friend said, and a moment later the door slid open. Data was framed in the arch. He handed La Forge a small device and said, “Clip this to your lapel. The security system will recognize you now.”
“Any reason you couldn’t have just met me inside?”
“My apologies. Shakti alerted me that you were on your way, but Harry Mudd would not let me . . .” He paused, clearly unsure how to phrase his thought respectfully. “Let us just say he has not had anyone to speak to in a long time. A very long time.”
“Chatty?”
“Extremely.”
Lowering his voice, La Forge asked, “Any luck finding the Exo III device?”
“Not as yet, but I have seen only a tiny percentage of Mudd’s possessions. Unfortunately, his inventory system leaves something to be desired.”
“As does his storage techniques,” La Forge said. “I’m not sure what he needs more: an archivist or a hazmat team.”
“Both in equal measure,” Data said, pointing the way up the corridor.
“Any particular reason you had Shakti deposit me in such a perilous location?”
“Alas, all locations are equally perilous,” Data replied. “And this room seemed relatively clean and far enough from Mudd’s lair that we could speak for a few minutes without raising his suspicions. And he is quite suspicious. While remarkably nimble-minded in some regards, Harry Mudd displays some of the paranoid tendencies associated with some forms of dementia.”
“But he likes you.”
“I do not believe Harry Mudd likes anyone except Harry Mudd. As my father’s agent, he wants something from me. And though he knows Noonien Soong has expired, Mudd knows my father possessed technology that might be able to transfer a human consciousness into an android body.”
“So, he thinks you might have once been a human.”
“I believe that is the case. Mudd considers himself an expert on android behavior and refuses to accept the possibility that I am a completely artificial intelligence.”
La Forge stopped in his tracks to consider this paradox. “Harry Mudd thinks you seem too human to be an android?”
“Apparently,” Data said.
“All things considered, that’s an odd little compliment.”
The corners of Data’s mouth twitched upward. “I had not framed the situation in that manner, Geordi. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. What’s the play?”
“I am a representative of the Soong Corporation. I am looking for a specific piece of technology, which I am willing to purchase at an exorbitant price. Mudd knows this, but does not want or need money.”
“What does he want?”
“A trade. Harry Mudd wants to live forever. He believes the Exo III technology may be a means to his end. But an important component is missing.”
“The slug.”
“Correct.”
“Did you tell him we have one?”
“No,” Data said. “That would have been untrue.”
“You’ve seemed prepared to do just about anything else you thought necessary,” La Forge remarked. “I don’t want to seem judgmental, but . . .”
Data shook his head. “You forget, Geordi. I rely on you to be judgmental. And, yes, if I thought it would be to my advantage to tell Mudd I had a slug . . .” He paused to savor the peculiar phraseology. “If I did, I would. But I do not. He has hinted, however, that he knows where one could be found.”
“We’re not buying, then, but trading.”
“Correct.”
“And my job?”
Slowing as they approached a large, ornate doorway, Data said, “You are the expert, the curator. Mudd said he would only negotiate with you.”
“Why? You’re Soong’s agent.”
“But you are human.”
“That’s . . . You’ll forgive me . . . but that’s insane.”
“Excellent,” Data said, stepping forward and activating the electric eye. The lavishly carved doors began to slowly draw apart. “Then you have correctly ascertained the circumstances of the situation.”
Mudd’s World
Mudd inhaled as deeply as he could and bellowed as well as he was able (though not as well as the old days), “Come in! Come in, my lad! Welcome, welcome, and most welcome! I can’t tell you how excited I am to see you! As you can imagine, a man of my stature must constantly attend to his portfolio—investments and whatnot—so I haven’t much time to socialize. But when the opportunity presents itself, I think you’ll find I’m a generous host!” The android stood aside and let the newcomer approach Harry’s chair. Passive sensors discreetly scanned him. Harry studied the readout through the display layer in his monocle: human; male; middle-aged (though everyone was younger than Harry, so middle-aged was a relative term); not carrying anything malevolent or dangerous on his person, though he had some very sophisticated wetware in his head. Harry recognized the signature and decided Soong’s lackey had his eyes replaced with bionics to aid him in his work. Or Soong made him replace the eyes as a condition of employment, probably to better record information about purchases. If true, Harry’s respect for Soong increased by an iota. “What’s your name, my friend? I suspect your colleague here told me once or twice already, but sometimes details elude me.”
“Geordi,” the man said, stopping before Harry’s chair.
“Just Geordi? No surname?”
“Not necessary,” said “Geordi,” or whatever his real name was. Clearly, this man was Soong’s primary operative. The android was simply his bodyguard or possibly his keeper. It was impossible to be sure, where Soong was concerned.
“Thanks for taking the time to see us, Mister Mudd. We know you’re a busy man.”
“Nonsense, my lad. And call me Harry. Everyone calls me Harry. Have a seat, have a seat. Can I get you something to eat or drink? Join me in a libation?” The nursing program that was monitoring Harry’s physiology began pitching a silent fit, warning him that he should not under any circumstances have “a libation,” that the mechanism currently filtering impurities out of his blood was overtaxed as it was and on and on and on . . . Sometimes, Harry regretted ever having the damned thing installed.
“No, thanks, Harry,” Geordi said. “We just ate a little while ago. And I’m eager to find out what we can do for each other.”
“Excellent! Excellent! A man who doesn’t mince words. Get right down to brass tacks, as it were. Then let’s get started. Your ‘colleague’ here explained that your employer is interested in a piece of technology I acquired in a salvage sale, the Exo III transfer bed.”
“That’s one of the pieces we wanted to examine, yes.” Geordi sat down in the chair Mudd had indicated and crossed his legs. The android drifted around the room while they talked, examining Harry’s sculptures and paintings. Most of them were commissioned pieces commemorating a specific victorious moment in Mudd’s life.
“I realized I’m showing my hand a bit too early in our negotiations,” Harry said, winking, “but I feel obliged to warn you that while the device may be functional—you can read my experts’ report when you like—it’s useless without the blanks. That’s where the real genius was, not in the transfer bed.”
“The slugs,” Geordi said. “Yes, we’re aware of that problem.”
“And your employer believes he has the means to create new ‘slugs’—charming term, that.”
Geordi paused, uncrossed his legs, and then re-crossed them in the opposite direction. “I’m not at liberty to discuss my employer’s plans for the device, Harry. Perhaps after we’ve completed our transaction, you and he could speak about it.”
“Because,” Harry said excitedly (his blood pressure monitor began to glow yellow), leaning forward as much as he was able with all the cables and cords plugged into various orifices, “if he th
inks he’s on the verge of a breakthrough, I would be ever so interested in helping him.”
“A breakthrough?” Geordi asked, all polite courtesy. “What do you mean?”
“If Soong’s figured it out!” Harry shouted. The blood pressure monitor turned bright orange. “How to transfer a human mind into an android! Everyone knew that he was working toward that!”
“Everyone?”
“All right, not everyone, but anyone who was paying attention.”
“You think Doctor Soong—I mean, my employer—was working out a way to transfer a human mind into an android body?”
“What else would he have been doing?” Harry said, and grunted, feeling a muscle group in his lower back contracting spastically. The nursing program sent a small dose of relaxant into his bloodstream and the pain quickly eased. “From everything I’ve learned about him, he must be getting up there. Not as old as me, mind you, but old enough. And not everyone has my robust constitution. Those egghead types never get enough exercise.”
Geordi made a steeple with his fingertips in front of his lips and nodded sagely, obviously wishing he could agree more enthusiastically. Harry knew he had the situation nailed down. Obviously, the negotiator didn’t appreciate being outfoxed. “I see,” he said. “But, of course, even though we know the process is possible—Captain Kirk’s logs from the Exo III mission are proof—my employer would only be interested in using his own androids.”
“Then he’s in for a world of frustration, my lad. My technical people assure me the Exo III bed won’t work with anything other than their . . . what did you call them?”
“Slugs.”
“Yes, that. Slugs. And there’s got to be another way. I know there’s another way.”
“You know?”
“Of course. Or why would I be spending all this money and time? I know a human mind can be uploaded into an android frame, one that can last up to half a million years! I saw it with my own eyes!” His blood pressure, which had lessened, began to creep up again. The nursing program asked Harry whether it should pump something soothing into his veins. Harry blinked strategically, indicating the nurse should hold off. He wanted to stay sharp.
“Really?” the android asked, speaking for the first time since Geordi entered the room. “You have seen this? May I ask where and when?”
“Well,” Harry said, scowling, “not that it’s any of your business, but I didn’t exactly see it. Rather, I should say that the process was explained to me by a very reliable source. A former colleague of mine, what you might call a business partner. She had some friends who knew all about such things. Even examined some humans and were sure the process would take. ‘Youth and beauty forever,’ they said.”
“Indeed?” the android asked. “If such is the case, why do you not simply ask them . . . ?”
“Don’t you bloody well think I would if I could?!” The nurse didn’t bother to ask for Harry’s permission, but she pumped a steadying narcotic cocktail straight into his brain. He felt the warming glow creep over him, sending his blood pressure back into normal range, though he felt his mind growing fuzzy. Not to worry, he thought. I don’t need the full wattage to handle these two. “Which is to say,” Harry continued more calmly, “I’ve lost track of my colleague. If I ever hear from her again—and I’m sure I will—she’ll be happy to take me back to . . . to visit her friends. If he wants, tell Soong I’ll put in a good word for him.”
“Of course,” Geordi said, sitting up straighter. His posture said he was coming to the point. Harry could teach a master class in how to interpret body language. “I’m sure my employer will be happy to hear you made the offer. But back to my original question . . .”
“The Exo III bed. Yes, yes. You’re tiresome, my lad. Has anyone ever told you that?”
“It’s come up.”
“It won’t work without the slug. And if I had a slug, I’d try it on myself before turning over the machine. Soong’s welcome to examine it, but he has to agree to keep me informed about his experiments. I know I look like the picture of mature good health here, but, believe me, a lot of time and money goes into keeping me looking this good . . .”
“Wait,” the android said. “Please stop.”
“Don’t be interrupting us,” Harry snarled, pointing at the android. He was more certain than ever that Geordi wasn’t being guarded, but kept, and the idea of an artificial intelligence having that kind of control over a flesh-and-blood human made Harry’s blood boil. “The adults are talking business here.”
“You said ‘the slug,’ ” the android said, “not ‘a slug.’ ”
“Yes,” Harry sputtered. “I suppose I did. I assumed you knew what I meant.” He looked at La Forge, who appeared bored and nonchalant. “He knows what I meant. Maybe your Doctor Soong doesn’t tell his thugs everything.”
“Thugs?” the android asked, looking to Geordi for an explanation.
“Maybe you should just explain it to him, Harry,” Geordi said. “He can be a little slow on the uptake sometimes. He’s not one of the boss’s more recent models, if you catch my meaning.”
Harry rolled his eyes in annoyance. “I’m referring to the slug. The slug. The only one left in existence.”
“One exists?” the android asked, completely (and predictably) surprised.
“Just one,” Harry admitted. “For all the good it’ll do anyone. He’ll never give it up.”
“Give it up? Who?” Again, the android appealed to Geordi.
“Tell him, Harry. He’ll never figure it out.”
“Why, the great collector, of course. The man who’s never parted with a single one of his toys in his entire life. Except one. I’m sure you’ve heard of him. Or your creator has even if you haven’t. Fajo. Kivas Fajo.”
The android stared into the middle distance, mouth agape. He blinked once very slowly and then turned to stare at his associate. “Ah,” he said. “Of course. Who else could it have been?”
Aboard the Archeus
Data sat in his chair and stared at the isolinear chip in his palm. He found he was a bit ashamed of how much he liked his chair, how the complex micromotors and bladders under the simulated hide curled around him. Being composed of plasteel and various exotic, extremely durable materials meant that Data rarely felt vulnerable or ill at ease, yet he had to admit there was something about his chair on the Archeus that made him feel . . . safe. Comforted. The illusion of security and well-being that Data had permitted himself to believe in over the past several months had been violently ripped away: His daughter had been taken, the veil sundered. And yet, in all that time, Data had never felt as if he, himself, was at risk. His assumption was that he would solve the problem and his family would be safe. Emotion did not need to enter into the equation.
But now there was a new problem, one that couldn’t be solved so easily.
Fajo.
Just thinking the name sent a pulse of something he couldn’t easily describe through Data’s frame. Is this fear? he wondered.
“It’s insanity,” Lee said. Apparently, he and Shakti had been in constant communication while Data and La Forge had been in Mudd’s domicile. “The very idea of contacting him . . . He’s a criminal!” Lee slapped his hand against the console in front of the viewscreen for emphasis, then added, “Isn’t he?”
“Not technically,” Shakti said. “Fajo served his time. Not nearly as much as we might have expected, granted, but he was released on parole . . . let me see . . . mid-2376, and has been a model citizen ever since. Resumed his career as a financial adviser. Apparently, he had some clients who were willing to overlook his indiscretions . . . made a great deal of latinum. And . . . hmmm . . . let me see . . . yes, about four years later, Fajo began to attend auctions again. Occasionally making small but exquisite purchases. Nothing that would alarm the authorities or the psychologists, nothing illegal.”
“Focusing on?” La Forge asked.
“Artwork, primarily. Non-Federation. Beta and Gamma
Quadrant civilizations.”
“Curious,” Data commented.
“Collectors,” La Forge muttered.
“Yes,” Shakti replied. “But, as I said, non-threatening.” She paused meaningfully. “Until you look closer.”
“And you always look closer,” Lee said.
Data sank back into his chair and lightly closed his hand around the isolinear chip. “Tell me,” he said.
“Frequently,” Shakti recited, “Fajo’s purchases were parts of lots. Most of the material in the lots was worthless or simply . . . miscellaneous. Unknown.”
“But upon closer inspection?” Data asked.
“A.I.,” Shakti explained. “Broken. Discarded. Disabled. Or simply misunderstood. But all of it . . . all of it . . . he was buying machines that might have been alive, Data. He was buying our brothers and sisters.”
“To what end?”
“Who knows? Who could know what was in his heart? He was . . . What would you say? What would you call him?” Shakti asked.
“A sociopath,” La Forge said.
“Though of a very peculiar flavor,” Data added. “A narcissist, certainly.”
“We seem to be running into a lot of those,” Shakti said.
“Undeniably, but perhaps there is a lesson here for us all.”
“Which would be what?” La Forge asked.
“Make too big a target of yourself and someone will decide to pick up a weapon and take a shot.”
No one spoke for several seconds. Typically, Lee broke the silence. “That’s an atypically dark sentiment for you, Data.”
“I appear to be having a dark day, Albert.” He clenched his fist tightly, but not so tight as to break the chip. The edges dug into the palm of his hand. Data was surprised to find the pain was, if not pleasurable, then . . . what? Acceptable? Necessary? He knew the chip would crumble before it could pierce his epidermis, so he released the pressure and opened his hand. Staring down at the chip—the chip with Fajo’s private communicator channel inscribed—Data said, “So, I shall call him.”