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

  “A promising beginning,” Moriarty said. “Though I am not, strictly speaking, a human.”

  “No,” Data said. “But I have examined the device and believe the technology could be adapted.”

  “How did he hack my chair’s projector?” Harry shouted.

  “Be quiet, Harry,” La Forge warned. “This is important.”

  “I resent your tone, sir!”

  Moriarty ignored Mudd and approached the Exo III bed, the beam from the holoprojector weakening as he moved farther from the chair. “I have seen this device in my research. It requires a blank.”

  “We have one,” Data said.

  “One!?” Moriarty asked. “You know of my needs, Mister Data. One will not suffice.”

  “But where one exists, another could be made. I will just need time . . .”

  “Time, my friend, is the one thing you do not have. Your daughter—”

  “Lal. How is she?”

  “There have been difficulties,” Moriarty said. “But she has recovered. My wife is tending to her.”

  “Please let me speak with her,” Data said.

  “You shall, sir, as soon as your contract is fulfilled.”

  “That could take days,” La Forge protested. “Weeks, even. We don’t know . . .”

  Data drew his hand across his throat—a chopping gesture Will Riker had used dozens of times—and La Forge fell silent. “We have acted in good faith, Professor,” Data said. “Surely we have earned some goodwill.”

  Moriarty turned to face him, hands clasped behind his back, head held high. He approached Data, moving closer to the holoprojector, so his image became denser, his features readable. Data recognized both resolve and remorse in the Professor’s expression. “All right, Data. Good faith engenders goodwill. If Lal is awake, you may speak with her, though I doubt if my wife will allow her to be awakened. In the meantime, if you’d like, you could speak with your Miss Alice. She is right here.”

  “That would be acceptable,” Data said. “Thank you, Professor.”

  Moriarty turned to face someone Data could not see—presumably, Alice—just outside the range of the holoprojector. He heard her speak, initially in low tones, which quickly grew shrill, even alarmed. “No,” Moriarty said, trying to calm her. “It will be fine. I must retrieve Miss Lal. Please just come and confirm that you are both well. I believe we may be on the verge of finding a solution . . .”

  “No!” Alice cried. “I can’t! You can’t make me!”

  Moriarty was puzzled. “What are . . . ? Please! Stop!”

  The focus of the camera shifted and tried to center on Alice’s form. She had been seated in an oversized white chair, but before the camera could find her, she had leaped up and run around behind it. “Stop!” she cried. “If he sees me . . . !”

  “If who sees you?” came Moriarty’s exasperated response.

  The image was tenuous and blurry, but it appeared as if Alice was wrenching her right hand down with her left until it folded away out of sight. A glowing muzzle appeared where her wrist bone would have been if she was an organic being. The bulb of her wrist sparked once, bright and blue. The screen went blank.

  “Alice?” Data asked, more puzzled than he had felt since the last time Alice had done something baffling.

  “Why did she do that?” La Forge asked.

  “I have no idea,” Data said. “Lal . . .”

  On the other side of the room, all but forgotten, Data heard Harry Mudd whisper, “Alice? Did you say, ‘Alice’?”

  Data and La Forge exchanged quizzical expressions. “Yes,” Data confirmed. “I said, ‘Alice.’ ”

  “You mean, my Alice?!”

  “Your Alice?” Data asked, his mouth tasting of ashes. “What do you mean by your Alice?”

  A placeless place

  “Please explain,” Moriarty said.

  The loss of the single holoprojector did not seem to significantly impact the quality of his resolution, but Alice noticed that other objects near the fringes of the white room had lost some of their crispness.

  Without her really willing it, her hand flipped back into place, concealing the emitter. “It’s just a little something I had installed a few years ago,” Alice said. “A girl can’t be too careful.”

  “You just destroyed part of my home with an energy weapon,” Moriarty said through gritted teeth. “And interrupted an important conversation. Do you not wish to go home?”

  Alice laughed, a completely genuine, gut-wrenching gale of hilarity. “Home?” she asked. “Home? Really? You have no idea what you’re talking about, do you? Why would I want to go home?”

  “I do not understand.”

  “You don’t need to understand,” Alice said, sitting back down in the white chair. The fabric was slightly singed from blowback from the emitter. She would need to address that flaw in its design. “I’m not a pawn in your game. I’ll go where I want to go when I want to. If either of you try to use me—put me in the middle—well, then you can go . . .”

  “Now, now,” said a woman who emerged from a doorway that had suddenly appeared at the opposite end of the room, waving a warning finger. “Language.”

  “The Countess,” Alice said. “I’ve heard about you.”

  “And I about you,” the Countess said. “I’ve heard quite a lot about you, too. Nothing about the energy weapon, though. A wonder you didn’t think to use it when you and your charge were first abducted.”

  “It didn’t seem prudent.”

  The Countess lifted an eyebrow. “Really?” she asked, tone drier than slate in a sandstorm. “Do you care about Lal at all?”

  “I care about Lal,” Alice said, “in direct proportion to how much her safety and well-being coincide with my own. Usually, that’s quite a lot. Right now . . .” Her shoulders rose and dropped.

  “Who were you afraid might see you?” Moriarty asked.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Alice replied.

  “Someone with Data. Someone who was in the room. Who?”

  “I’m going to go sit with Lal now,” Alice said. “I imagine she’s been asking about me.”

  “And I’m going to go repair the communications array,” Moriarty replied.

  “You do that,” Alice said, cradling her hand as she moved toward the door. She half-expected it to disappear before she reached it, but apparently neither Moriarty nor the Countess felt safe thwarting her just yet. She knew they had many resources at their disposal, but ruthlessness did not appear to be one of them. “But please be careful about making any plans that rely on my going one place or the other without my consent. I dislike that. I can practically guarantee Lal would find it upsetting.”

  Moriarty and the Countess exchanged the sort of meaningful glance that only comes with years of practice. Alice found this strange. Beings of light and yet they continue to treat each other like they aren’t. Opening the door to Lal’s room with one hand, Alice shooed them away with the other. “Off you go then,” she said, waving them away. “Take care of your plans. Weave your schemes. Just keep me out of them.” She slipped through the door and found herself back in the cozy bedroom where she had deposited Lal.

  “Alice,” Lal said, sounding weak, but composed. “Have you come to check up on me?”

  “Feeling better?”

  “Okay for now,” Lal said, trying to sit up, but failing. Alice sat on the edge of the bed and helped Lal adjust her pillow. “Though I am getting tired of feeling this way. Being this way. Do you think we’ll be going home soon?”

  “Soon. Your father is working on it.”

  “Is something wrong, Alice? I heard some loud noises. And you look upset.”

  “Do I?” Alice asked. “It’s just . . . I saw someone. Or almost did, I think. Remember the man I told you about? Harry Mudd?”

  “The man you rescued. Of course I remember. You saw him? How?”

  “It doesn’t matter, Lal,” Alice said, reaching over and pushing a strand of hair behind the gir
l’s ear. “It doesn’t matter if I see him. The only thing that matters is if he sees me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because then I’d have to do what he says.”

  “Why?”

  “Because those are the rules,” Alice said.

  “Whose rules?”

  It was a simple enough question. Alice tried to think of a simple answer, but failed. “I don’t know,” she said. She touched her temple with the tip of her finger. “The rules in here.”

  “They’re bad rules, Alice. If they make you do something you don’t want to do.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Alice conceded. “But they’re the only ones I know.”

  Mudd’s World

  “I’m not sure what Alice may have told you about me,” Mudd said, “but assume it was a lie.”

  “Then some of it must have been true,” La Forge said. “Since some of the time she was certainly lying.”

  Mudd cocked an eyebrow. “No disappearing down any paradoxical rabbit holes for me, sir,” Mudd drawled. “The point is this: Don’t trust her. Frankly, if it were anyone but you, I’d assume you were lying, too, but I know about you Starfleet types: all honor and bright shiny buttons.” He settled back in his chair and twirled his mustache. “Except Kirk. See, that’s what I liked about him. He had the decency to tell a great, big whopper every now and again. It grounded the man. Made you feel like you could trust him . . .”

  La Forge shook his head. He couldn’t decide what to make of Mudd. There were moments—no more than flashes—when he found himself lulled into a sense of complacency, even complicity, by the man. He was a living relic of an earlier era, a legend who had bandied words and charm with other legends. La Forge felt the charisma assaults begin, but then they would fade and crumble. Mudd would begin to ramble and curse and point fingers. It would all be so terribly sad, La Forge thought, if he wasn’t also aware that for all the magnetism and appeal, Mudd was one of the most terrifyingly self-centered beings he had ever met. They don’t make them like this anymore, La Forge thought. He turned his chair toward Data, who was rechecking the communications logs for clues as to the source of Moriarty’s signal. “Anything?”

  “No,” Data replied. “He has been very thorough.”

  “So, we wait.”

  “Should I contact Albert?” Shakti asked. “Maybe the computers at the Daystrom could do something we can’t.”

  “Do you really believe that to be true?” Data inquired. “Or do you simply wish to talk to Albert?”

  “I’m being quiet now,” Shakti replied, miffed. “Since my suggestions are clearly not being heard.”

  La Forge felt a knot of tension in his lower back grow tighter. “Maybe we should consider contacting the Enterprise,” he said. “They might be the point when . . .”

  The communications panel peeped once in warning. Moriarty reappeared on the viewer. Data grunted with what La Forge assumed was either relief or surprise. Either way, it was a noise he had never heard his friend make. “Professor,” Data said. “What is your status? Is Lal well?”

  “Lal is fine, Mister Data. We are all fine. Miss Alice may have misunderstood some of what we were discussing and took action, but all is well now.”

  Mudd interrupted. “Is Alice unharmed?”

  Moriarty looked down his nose at Mudd. “Tell your associate that when I said, ‘We are all fine,’ I meant ‘We are all fine.’ ” He continued, “As I was about to say before we were interrupted—the previous interruption—I would like you to bring the device to me so I may study it. The coordinates where we will meet have been transmitted to your navigational computer.”

  “Received,” Shakti said, and then added, “Being quiet again now.”

  “But let me be blunt, Mister Data,” Moriarty continued. “If you are planning any deceptions, if you have any ruses up your sleeve, if you think there will be any last-minute twists or turns, please let me remind you: My wife and I do not require a ship in order to be spirited away. If I sense any threats, even the slightest tickle at the back of my neck, I will have no hesitation to destroy this domicile. In the end, you see, there are some advantages to being made of light. Do we understand each other?”

  Data nodded. “You have my word as an officer, Professor. There will be no tricks.”

  Moriarty bowed in reply. “Then I look forward to seeing you soon.”

  “Two hours, ten minutes,” Shakti said.

  Moriarty nodded and signed off without commentary.

  “Shakti,” Data said. “Give us ten minutes to conclude our affairs.”

  “Conclude your affairs?” Mudd howled. “What in seven hells are you talking about? You’re planning to steal my machine, aren’t you? I don’t give a rat’s ass who made you or how desperate your circumstances, sir, but I will not simply sit here and permit you to abscond with my goods! We had a deal, sir! An agreement!” The robotic chair rose up on its legs, manipulators spread wide in a threatening gesture, but Data was unmoved. He grasped one of the claws and casually crushed it. “My chair!” Mudd shouted, and the protective screen began to slide up from inside the chassis. Data grasped it with his free hand and, after a brief struggle, forced it back down.

  Mudd tried to withdraw when Data leaned in, but there was nowhere for him to go. “Mister Mudd,” Data intoned, “I will do everything in my power to return your property intact. Failing that, I will use my considerable resources to aid you by whatever means are possible. If these terms are not agreeable, I have no choice but to leave you here alone, to rot from the inside out.” He paused and tilted his head in a querying gesture. “Do we have an understanding?”

  Mudd stared, wide-eyed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in the folds of his loose neck flesh. Finally, he was able to take a breath and say, “We do.”

  “Good,” Data said, and released the canopy, which snapped partway shut and then bounced open.

  From within the shell, La Forge heard Mudd say, “Unless I can interest you in another option . . .”

  A placeless place

  “Will he keep his word?” Regina asked.

  Her husband flinched slightly before turning to face her. Apparently, he had not heard her enter the room. “I do not know,” her husband replied. “I believe he understands the threat is real. In our previous encounters, I was under the impression that Mister Data was not a particularly sophisticated individual—almost a servant, like our Mrs. Hudson. Now I’m not so sure.”

  “You knew he was Lal’s father. Does Lal seem like a simple creature to you?”

  “You’ve grown quite fond of her, haven’t you?”

  “I have. At first, I thought she was like a wounded bird, sad and injured. But now I believe it’s more that she’s a fledgling, one that may have fled the nest a little too soon. Can she survive? It may depend on the kindness of a stranger.”

  “And you are very kind, my dear,” Moriarty said. He smiled at her, the kind of smile Regina remembered from the times before the world came to an end. “It is good to see you looking so well again. You have . . .” He chuckled. “You have color in your cheeks again.”

  “Do I?” Regina asked, brushing her cheek with the back of her forefinger. “If I do, it is at least partially because of Lal. I would like you to remember that, James.”

  He flinched again. The use of his Christian name obviously shocked him. Regina realized she had not said it for quite a long time. “I will,” he said, sounding atypically meek. Then, he rallied. “But I would like you to remember that the things I do, I do for my family.”

  “Our family,” Regina corrected.

  “Yes: our family, our girls. But I have been forced to make all the decisions for some time now. I have been quite on my own,” he snapped. “So, for you to come in here and demand that I sacrifice everything I’ve accomplished . . .” He did not continue, suddenly aware that he was clenching his wife’s arm.

  Without even thinking about it, Regina made her arm immaterial and slowly drew it th
rough her husband’s hand. She folded her arms over her breasts and took a half-step back from him. “I believe we have said all we have to say on this matter,” she said.

  “I quite agree,” Moriarty said, and disappeared without a blink or a flash.

  Aboard the Archeus

  “Will he keep his word?” La Forge asked.

  Data stared at the navigational console. “The Professor did not promise anything. He was very careful about that.”

  “Approaching our coordinates,” Shakti said. “Coming out of warp.”

  “Monitor for sentries,” Data ordered.

  “Scanning. Picking up several small drones, but nothing threatening. Looking for life signs . . . Oh, wait. There won’t be any of those, will there?”

  “Look for power consumption,” La Forge suggested.

  “Right,” Shakti agreed. “Ah, here we go. Very nicely done, Professor.” The sensor console lit up and Shakti painted a large red X on a nearby planetoid. “He’s about as well-shielded as he could be.”

  “Do we hail him?” La Forge asked.

  “No need,” Data said. “We are expected, are we not?” He nudged the Archeus ahead on one-quarter impulse.

  “This is Moriarty’s home turf,” La Forge said. “He may have some tricks prepared.”

  “There will be no need for tricks. We are civilized men.”

  “Civilized? Like you were with Mudd?”

  “I wish I could say I was sorry about that,” Data said, bringing the ship to rest. “I do not think I like Harry Mudd very much.”

  “I think he’s more pathetic than anything.”

  “And I find I cannot feel quite so generous,” Data said, sliding out of the pilot’s chair. “I wonder when that happened?”

  “What?”

  “When did I lose my goodwill and generosity?”

  “Probably about the time you became a parent,” La Forge said.

  “Hmm, you might be right.” Data looked up at the ceiling. “Shakti, are we clear to beam down?”

  “I have a lock on a large open spot. Scans say it is pressurized and has life support.”

  “Gee, thanks,” La Forge said.

  “Just doing my job,” Shakti said.