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

  “I am well,” Lal said. “I am sorry: That’s not entirely true. I think I might be unwell, but it is difficult to say for certain.”

  “You don’t use contractions, either,” the man said. “Like your father.”

  “That is not entirely true,” Lal said. “I do sometimes, but not very often. I suppose it is a habit.”

  “Ah. Interesting. Nurture, not nature.”

  “That would be one way of describing it, yes.” Lal tipped her head and studied the man. His face was very wrinkled and liver-spotted, though his eyes were bright.

  “You recognize me, don’t you?” the man asked, grinning. His teeth were yellow with age, though they appeared to all be his own.

  “You would appear to be my grandfather, Noonien Soong, though if that is who you are supposed to be, the manner in which you present yourself is unexpected.”

  “Why?”

  “Because when I think of you, I think of the person who inhabited my father’s body before he did, not this ancient, bent being.”

  The man who claimed to be Soong winced, then cackled. “Right to the point, aren’t you? Your father’s daughter.”

  Lal shrugged. “Since I am probably talking to myself, it does not matter how I address you, does it?”

  “Why do you think you’re talking to yourself?”

  “I believe I am experiencing some kind of mental breakdown. Perhaps another cascade failure, though I have to say, this one is much slower and more colorful than the last one.”

  Lal’s grandfather shook his head. “You’re not having a cascade failure, Lal,” he said. “Don’t worry about that. You are having a meltdown, though.”

  “That does not sound good.”

  “Not that kind of meltdown,” Soong explained. “I meant more like the kind kids have. Caused by stress, primarily, and exhaustion.”

  “I do not feel either stressed or exhausted.”

  Soong took her hand. “You’re lying, though naturally you wouldn’t say otherwise, would you? Didn’t the nice lady say something about this?”

  “The Countess?”

  “Yes. Didn’t she mention you might be tired?”

  “She may have. I don’t recall . . .” The idea brought Lal up short. “Wait,” she said. “I don’t recall. How is that even possible?”

  “That’s why I’m here,” Soong said. “I’m a subroutine, an application, if you will. When you start forgetting things, when your memory starts to slip, I come to remind you. You inherited me from your father, though I doubt he would even remember me. Like I said, you’re your father’s daughter. He was just the same when he was a boy. Data’s a good father, but he makes the same mistakes a lot of new parents make.”

  “Such as?”

  “He doesn’t remember what it’s like to be a kid.”

  Lal had begun to notice that the barrage of images was beginning to slow down. The low whine of voices whirring past was getting deeper, but softer. “And you do, Grandfather?”

  Soong laughed, which made the wrinkles in his face deeper. “Never thought I’d hear anyone call me that. I kind of like it. But to answer your question, no, not exactly. But I do know what it’s like to be an old man, which, now that I think of it, is probably why you see me this way.”

  “I do not understand,” Lal admitted. While she hadn’t been able to spot a source of illumination, she noted that the level of ambient light was growing dimmer.

  “Why do you think parents always take their own kids to see their grandparents?”

  “So they can get a break from being parents for a while?”

  Soong chuckled. “Well, yes. That. But there’s another reason: Little kids actually have more in common with their grandparents than they do with their parents in some ways. Old people take their time more. Their focus is both narrower and broader. They eat simpler things. And they take naps.”

  “I still do not understand, Grandfather.”

  Soong reached up and gently pressed the tips of two fingers over Lal’s eyes. “You need to take a nap, dear girl.”

  * * *

  “What do I need to do?” Moriarty asked. “In the log descriptions, Kirk mentioned lying on a rotating disk. That does not seem practical given my situation.”

  “The disk does not need to rotate,” Data explained, “though I do need to lay here so the transfer field can reach me. You do not need to lay on the other side of the partition, either, especially since you are not really physically present.”

  “Then, I repeat: What do I need to do?”

  La Forge held up a bundle of cables. “Wherever ‘you’ are, you’ll need to plug these in. We’ll extract your consciousness through these and transfer you into Data’s body.” La Forge did not appear to be very happy about the situation, but Moriarty believed he would do what the android requested.

  “That seems strangely . . . material,” Moriarty observed. “Transporting a persona through a bunch of wires.”

  “I have no idea why this thing works the way it does,” La Forge said, clearly annoyed by the admission. “I didn’t build it. If you want to wait while we do some more research, I’d be happy to put this off for another month or two.”

  “No,” Moriarty said. “No more delays. I want . . .”

  “Yes, I know,” La Forge said. “You want a cup of tea.”

  Moriarty did not enjoy being teased. “I need a great deal more than a cup of tea, Commander La Forge. I have a family to save.”

  “ ‘Chacun à ses raisons,’ ” La Forge quoted. “Yeah, I heard.”

  “Geordi,” Data warned. “There is no reason to aggravate our situation.”

  Moriarty took the bundle of cables from La Forge’s hand, using, perhaps, slightly more force than absolutely necessary. La Forge quickly withdrew his hand, stung by the unmodulated force field. “By grasping these cables, I am connecting them to the wellspring where my persona resides,” he explained.

  “We will have only one chance at this,” Data said. “If we fail, and my consciousness vacates this body, we will not be able to try again. My participation is . . .”

  “You have explained this enough times, Commander. Please do not feel you must do so again. I will cooperate.” Moriarty nodded toward La Forge. “Your companion does not believe I am a man of honor, but I know you think otherwise. We have a bond of trust. You swore your oath.”

  “I did,” Data said, stretching out on the disk, a single silver cable plugged into the side of his cranium. “And I will honor it, too.” Though Moriarty understood the android now possessed emotional responses, he seemed oddly calm, even at ease. Perhaps, as his friend said, Data had some kind of guilt complex, perhaps even a death wish of sorts. “I am ready, Geordi. Thank you for your help, and, please, again, accept my apologies. Look after Lal for me.”

  “I will, Data. I promise.” La Forge turned to the control panel and depressed one of the innocuous-appearing buttons. “All right. Everyone hang on. Here we go, dammit.”

  20

  The white room faded. Moriarty experienced no sensation of movement, no surging through a tunnel toward a bright light. No rebirth or reconnection. No, none of that.

  He checked to see if his eyes were open, and, yes, they were, if, in fact, he had eyes, which he realized might not be true anymore. Certainly, Data appeared to have eyes, but what if they were just artifice? What if he sensed his environment through some other means that Moriarty did not understand or know how to control?

  He reached out to either side and tried to touch something, but he encountered no obstacles. He took a tentative step, first touching the ground lightly with the tip of his toe and only sliding forward when he felt solid ground. One, two, three nerve-racking steps, arms held out at chest level, partially to guard, partially in preparation to grapple with anything he encountered.

  As he had so many times before, Moriarty sent out mental commands, reaching out to his computers, hoping for a response, but receiving none. Light! he ordered. Light! He said it al
oud—“Light!”—but there was no light. There was nothing at all.

  Panic bubbled up, but Moriarty pushed back against it. He was a scientist, a man of reason. There had to be an explanation. Perhaps this was a period of adjustment. After all, he had no idea how much faster or slower his mind worked than the android’s neural network. Perhaps the device did not function as they had hoped and his mind was in a transitional state. “Or,” he said aloud, “perhaps this is Hell.”

  “Nothing quite so dramatic, Professor,” Data said. Without sound or preamble, pop or flash of light, the android was there. Moriarty suddenly felt he owed his wife an apology for the times he had appeared in a similar fashion. Data was visible, but, oddly, he cast no light, so Moriarty could neither see himself nor any part of his environment.

  Moriarty remained calm. “Not Hell, then?”

  “No. Hopefully, more like Purgatory. My apologies for leaving you alone for so long, but it was more difficult to find my way here than I had anticipated.”

  “So, Purgatory. Then I have not sinned. Or is that Limbo? I always get the two confused.”

  “Sinned?” Data asked and appeared to consider the question carefully. “Perhaps you have, but that is not for me to decide. I am not a judge, but only a jailer.”

  “I am being held, then? By you?”

  “Yes.” Data nodded. “In a prison of my own design. You have been cut off from the source of your power, from your network. You are contained.”

  “But you swore an oath,” Moriarty said. “On your honor as an officer.”

  “I apologize, Professor.” The android bowed his head and shadows covered his face, though there was no light source. “But I lied. I am a parent now. I know of no higher honor. I thought you, of all people, would appreciate the distinction.”

  “You say you are no judge,” Moriarty sneered. “But you have sentenced me to the direst prison I can imagine! How dare you consider yourself a civilized being . . . ?”

  “You abducted my daughter.”

  “I did not harm her!”

  “You abducted my daughter.”

  Moriarty wanted to lean forward and jab his finger into the android’s face. “You tricked me and my wife into believing we were solid beings and then never checked on our welfare!”

  Data leaned forward as if he could sense Moriarty’s movement. “You abducted my daughter,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “I . . . I did,” Moriarty admitted. “And I would do it again if I thought it would help mine.”

  Data withdrew and stood up straight. His face was calm and composed again. “I understand,” he said. “And I would do the same, I believe. I hope I never have to face that kind of decision.”

  “What do we do now?” Moriarty asked.

  “You stay here while I search for Lal. While we talk, I am examining your holographic control system. My compliments, Professor. You have done things I never would have considered possible.”

  “Do not flatter me, sir. I shall not be mollified.”

  “I am not flattering . . . Ah! There she is. Please be patient, Professor. I will be back soon, perhaps with a solution to your problem. Do not despair.”

  “Because I should trust you?”

  “No,” Data said. “You should not. But you have not, as I see it, any other option.” With that, Data was gone.

  Moriarty almost called out to him to come back, but he successfully fought back the urge. He considered sitting down or even lying down, but he decided that activity would be better. He needed to think, to consider options, to plan. He needed . . .

  “A beverage?”

  Moriarty turned his head in the direction of the voice. He found himself looking at a small, dark-haired, olive-skinned young woman garbed in the flowing robes favored in the Indian subcontinent. She was holding a small wooden tray upon which sat what appeared to be a cup of tea. Moriarty was shocked to realize he could smell the distinctive aroma of Darjeeling. He was stunned by how desperately he wanted to take the proffered cup, but his natural English reserve prevented him from doing so. “I beg your pardon?” he asked.

  “You can have it,” the small woman said. Her smile was infectious as was her obvious pleasure in the banter. “My pardon and the tea. I understand it’s been a while since you’ve had any.”

  “Well,” the Professor said, “I don’t think that would be appropriate without some kind of introduction.” He bowed. “I am Professor James Moriarty. And you?”

  The woman dipped her head. She might have even curtsied, though it was difficult to say for sure with the volume of cloth covering her legs. “I am Shakti,” she said. “Your jailer, though I prefer ‘caretaker’ if it’s all the same to you.”

  “I see,” Moriarty said, comprehension quickly slithering into place. “You work for Mister Data.”

  Shakti chortled. “There continues to be some confusion about who works for whom. Let’s just say we have an arrangement. An understanding. Something like that.”

  “Ah,” Moriarty replied. The aroma of the tea was beginning to drive him mad. “And am I to understand that you and I are to have an understanding?” He couldn’t stop himself. He slid his hand under the saucer and lifted the cup to his nose, inhaling deeply. “Ahhhh,” he murmured. “Heaven.”

  “Not quite,” Shakti said. “But we’ll see what we can arrange.”

  Moriarty felt the hook being set. He knew it was there, but he could do nothing to prevent it. “And in exchange?” he asked.

  “I need a little information.”

  “About?”

  “Tell me about Alice.”

  * * *

  “Data?” La Forge asked. “Is that you? Or . . . ?” He let the question hang in the air, half-expecting to hear Moriarty’s dulcet tones come out of his friend’s mouth, though he knew that it wouldn’t necessarily work that way. He’d had enough experience with body swapping to understand there was no sure way to know if or when such an event had occurred. Moriarty had disappeared a moment before, as La Forge had expected, but, otherwise, nothing consequential had altered.

  Data blinked. “It is I.”

  “What just happened?” La Forge asked.

  “More or less what we had planned.”

  “Is there any way I can know for sure whether it did or if you’re Moriarty playing me?”

  Data’s eyes moved from side to side as if he was scanning a long set of possible responses, which, in all likelihood, was exactly what he was doing. “I do not think so,” he concluded. “If the procedure had gone as Moriarty desired, he would likely have access to all the information stored in my neural net, so he would be able to deceive you by telling you about events only you and I would know about.”

  “So?”

  “So, I believe you will have to trust me.” Data sat up, levering himself up right at the waist, an action that La Forge had always found faintly unsettling. He disconnected the cables from the side of his cranium and let them drop to the floor. “Professor Moriarty is trapped in the memory cube we assembled and should be secure until we can decide what to do with him.”

  “What about his wife? Won’t she try to free him?”

  “I have taken control of the holographic projectors in this room and barred her from entering, though I do not believe she will attempt to threaten us. Currently, she is with Lal.”

  “Where?”

  “Here,” Data said as the walls shimmered and disappeared.

  No more than five meters away, La Forge saw Lal lying on a small bed. A brunette woman in a blue dress sat by her side, holding Lal’s hand in both of her own. A second, younger woman wearing rumpled but fashionable clothing suddenly stood up very straight and appeared to be scanning the room that had just appeared beside her. After a moment, she relaxed and waved to Data. “Hey, boss. About time.”

  Data nodded, but he did not slow as he approached Lal’s bed. “Hello, Alice. How is Lal?”

  “She appears to be asleep,” the woman who sat next to the bed said, ap
parently unperturbed by the transition. “She was unwell earlier and I had grave concerns about the stability of her neural net. She appeared to be slipping into cascade failure, but then, just a bit ago, she murmured, ‘nap time’ in her sleep and then everything normalized.”

  “She let me have my hand back,” Alice said cryptically.

  “ ‘Nap time’?” La Forge asked.

  Data removed a tricorder from his pocket and took readings. He obviously confirmed the woman’s readings because he put the device back in his pocket and knelt down beside the bed and took his daughter’s hand when it was offered. “Thank you, Countess,” he said softly.

  “You’re welcome.” She smiled. “I’m happy to see you remember me.” She looked over her shoulder at La Forge, greeting him brightly. “Hello, Commander. It has been a long time.”

  La Forge couldn’t help but smile in response. “It has. You’re looking well.”

  “I’ve had good days and bad days, Commander. Just like everyone. Is my husband still at large?”

  “No, ma’am.” La Forge didn’t know why he was addressing the woman as “ma’am,” but he couldn’t stop himself. “We have him in a containment device—a memory solid.”

  “I should probably go join him,” she replied. “He does tend to get bored easily.”

  “Shakti tells me he is well,” Data said. “You can join him just as soon as I confirm Lal is stable enough to beam aboard my ship.”

  “You brought the Archeus?” Alice asked.

  “Yes,” Data said. “It is in stationary orbit above us.”

  “That’s all I needed to hear,” Alice said, lifting her arm. Moving faster than La Forge could follow, she leaped across the room and snagged Lal’s head in the crook of her left arm, then lifted her right and pointed in rapid succession to various spots around the room. The ruby tip of the barrel extending from Alice’s wrist whined shrilly as, all around the room, holoprojectors popped and exploded. The furnishings, including Lal’s bed, disappeared and she fell to the ground. Alice pulled Lal close, using her body as a shield. The Countess disappeared, too, but not before La Forge saw her expression of stunned surprise. Alice pointed the still-sputtering stump of her arm at Lal’s head, then jerked her own head at Data, indicating he should move as far away as possible. “Over there, boss,” she said. “That corner.”