Ghost Ship Part 15

"Out. And I mean a straight line out of this area and back to the saucer where you belong."

The infrared glow increased on Wesley's cheeks, and without a word he pivoted and strode out.

"Kids," Geordi said, looking back at the glowing bundle of parts. "Can you unhook it without a backflush?"

"I believe so," Data told him, carefully picking at the octopus of wires attached to one end of a long rod. "It actually is a remarkable idea. It may not have been tried before."

"Yeah, Wesley thinks ideas are cheap. He doesn't understand that implementation isn't. Everything's shortcuts when you're a kid."

"Is it?"

Geordi paused. "Oh ... sorry."

"No cause to apologize, my friend. I may be forced to accept what I am."

"Now, what is that supposed to mean?"

The android's slim form glowed within its filmy sheath, and perhaps the glow increased very, very slightly. "I am on a ... quest."

"Oh, no-what quest?"

"I must discover my true nature."

"That's what I was afraid of. Why do you worry about it so much? Maybe you're just special. Maybe you don't have a true nature that you can compare to anything else because there's never been anything like you. Ever think of that?"

"No, I hadn't," Data admitted. He paused, then plucked an inset from part of Wesley's monster, and the whole thing suddenly shut down with a clean buzz-sigh. The beam of light snapped out an instant later.

Geordi repressed a s.h.i.+ver. "That's a relief. I get the w.i.l.l.i.e.s thinking he's had this hooked up to the reserves all this time."

"There wouldn't necessarily have been a rupture," Data said, "but that's problematical now."

"I wouldn't want to test it, thanks. Let me check the stabilization ... looks clear now. Concur?"

"I do."

Geordi tapped his insignia and said, "LaForge to Riker."

"Riker. What was it?"

"Just a malfunction in the seals."

"I don't like the sound of that. Are we clear to restock the main tank?"

"I think so, sir. You might want to have it checked by a containment engineer."

"We don't have the time. Counselor Troi insists that ent.i.ty's still in the vicinity and even though it doesn't show up on any of our monitors, I've got to a.s.sume she's right. How's Data?"

Geordi glanced at the android as Data looked up. "He's ... fine, sir."

"All right ... we're going to flush the antimatter reserves into the mains right away so we can power up for warp speed if we have to. You stay there and monitor it. Yell if there's so much as a ripple."

"Yes, sir. LaForge out." He shrugged. "I don't think he hates you as much as you think."

Data gathered the remains of Wesley's experiment and stuffed it into a reconditioning chute, piece by piece. "Mr. Riker may be right about me. I have had to accept it."

"You're starting again."

"Perhaps so," the android said, straightening and facing him. "But it is important for me to discover where I fit into the range of humanness. The question of whether or not the ent.i.ty is a lifeform or what it is to be human-body, spirit, pulse, compa.s.sion-all these are things which will show where there is a place for me." He paced toward Geordi, and finally past him to the big main schematics that showed a faintly lit diagram of the s.h.i.+p's entire warp engine system, and in a gesture almost gentle, he placed his hand on the lines and lights. "I may be part of the scheme of evolution for the future. Man lives ... man develops machines, learns to use them, to improve them, to create machines that are smarter and faster than himself, more efficient ... and he uses those to better himself, even to make them part of himself." He paused, turned, looked at Geordi's visor, and knew that even in the faintly lit darkness Geordi could see him with astonis.h.i.+ng clarity. "Like you, my friend. You are part of the scheme too. Eventually, perhaps man achieves symbiosis with machines, perhaps even creates life?" He gazed at the board again. "Is that my place? Machines that live?

"And now Captain Picard must decide what to do. Because I know ... I know that thing means to destroy this s.h.i.+p when it finds us again. It believes that is its purpose. Yet I have received impressions inconsistent with that goal."

"Like what?"

"Like fear. Am I right? That isn't consistent."

Geordi shrugged lamely. "I dunno. It could be. You mean it's afraid of us?"

"No. It is afraid for us."

"Sorry, but you'll have to explain that one. I just see well, remember? I'm no psychologist."

"The aliens who created it actually knew what life is made of. They knew the moment when consciousness and sense of self begin in a ma.s.s of cells. Somehow they encoded the ent.i.ty with the belief that it must absorb us in order to protect us from this very s.h.i.+p."

"That's great," Geordi grumbled, "just great. Doesn't it have the brains to know the s.h.i.+p is what's protecting us from the environment of s.p.a.ce?"

"It is a tool, Geordi. A mechanism that decides for itself according to its best judgment." Data spoke softly, as though entreating him to understand what it could be like to rely only on memory and not on intuition, on programming rather than insight. He paused, and flattened his hand even more intimately on the display board. "It is my greatest fear," he said, "that I may find I am nothing more than a tool."

Aching with empathy, Geordi felt the sting of his own helplessness. He could mutter some useless rea.s.surances, but he had no answers. None that would satisfy or comfort Data as there might be comfort for a human being. Data's relentlessly a.n.a.lytical mind wouldn't allow him to accept simple answers, and he had stumbled onto a question that defied answers, and would defy them until time ground to a tired halt. Then everything would start up again and the question would resurface, slippery as ever.

"Data ... " he said finally, "if it's any consolation, I don't think I could be friends with a machine."

The android's eyes lost their focus for a moment. The kind words ran through his body, and actually warmed him. Geordi could see the change.

Then Data looked at him askance, and his mouth lengthened into that crooked little grin. "Thank you, Geordi. I will never forget that. No matter what happens."

Still soft, still sentimental. No slang, no trappings. That was the real Data. Except for the hint of foreknowledge in his tone, which Geordi didn't digest for several seconds.

Perhaps it was that Data didn't look away, but that he kept gazing with that curious look, a look that said he had something else cooking in his idea kitchen, and after a moment Geordi took a suspicious step toward him.

"What do you mean, no matter what happens? Hey!"

The deck dropped out from under him. His arms and legs flared out with the initial shock of being lifted, and he realized that he too had committed the crime of forgetting where human ability stopped and android ability took over.

"Data, put me down! What are you-" The room spun, and he was deposited neatly on his feet at the top of a stack of heavy-stress storage units. As he got his balance he noticed the flash of metallic skin as Data plucked the insignia-com from Geordi's own chest and stepped down from the crates.

Geordi waved his arms and complained, "What're you doing?"

It took him several seconds to climb down, but that was enough for Data to step back and press the closure circuit for the transparent contamination wall. Two clear wall panels slid out from sockets in the opposite walls and closed in the middle just as Geordi reached them. He was forced to watch helplessly as Data shorted out the lock and fused it. A flare of sparks, and Geordi was trapped.

"Data! What's this for? Why are you doing this?"

"I'm sorry, Geordi," the android said, and truly he sounded sorry. "This may be the only time when I am not expected to be on the bridge."

Geordi's voice was m.u.f.fled now behind the clear wall. "I don't get it. Let me out."

"I will be taking a shuttlecraft. Please inform the captain and Mr. Riker that I will attempt to get closer to the creature in hopes of communicating more clearly with it."

Geordi pressed his hands on the transparency. "Data, come on, don't. Don't! That's insane. Come on, open up. Don't do this. Don't risk your life."

"Some would say I have no life to risk."

"Oh, don't be a wart! Open the door. How'm I supposed to inform the captain of anything if I'm stuck in here."

"That is an excellent point. But I must take advantage of the opportunity." He started to turn away, only to stop, pause, turn back. He gazed at the floor for a moment, then looked up once again at the only person who'd ever treated him completely like a human being.

"Thank you for the past, my friend," he said, his face astonis.h.i.+ngly animate. Now he grinned sentimentally and added, "You've been a pal."

Chapter Nine.

THE CAPTAIN STRODE back into his ready room after being gone for nearly forty-five minutes. Deanna Troi still sat where he'd last seen her, her hands still folded in her lap, and she blinked as though coming out of a trance.

Picard came around his desk into her line of sight, though she already knew he was here, and waited until she looked at him.

"They're waiting outside. They've been fully briefed. Are you sure you're up to this?"

Troi sighed and nodded. "Believe me, sir," she said, "I'm just as worried about my own sanity as I am about those beings out there. I'd like an end to this. And I need help finding it."

"Dr. Crusher has been reviewing up-to-date medical policy and debate on the rights of the terminally ill and all current hospice psychology and the thoughts of terminal patients in every sentient species-"

"That's my profession, Captain," Troi said, a twinge of defensiveness creeping into her voice.

"I didn't think it wise for you to be doing research right now. However, I'll need your expertise to collate the information the doctor is bringing in with her. Fair enough?"

She managed a thin smile, but one that conveyed genuine grat.i.tude, and she said, "You're very gracious, sir. I didn't think of that myself. I might indeed be inaccurate at the moment."

Picard slid into his chair and said, "I'm not worried that you will be. You seem perfectly in charge of yourself, at least for the moment. I haven't noticed any aberrations in your personality, Counselor."

"But it may come, sir," she admitted softly. "I'm fighting even now to maintain my individuality. I don't know how long I can deal with the pressure from them. It's beginning to affect me physically. I feel weak and nervous, as you might feel after exerting too much energy."

At her solemn tone, even Picard had to stifle a wave of concern. His doubt began to stir. This made him uncomfortable, this inconcrete business, and he steeled himself to accept what she had said and what she would be saying over the next few minutes. He'd had to do that before-depend on those whose talents were other than his own. He would tug the cord of instinct and insight if he had to, but as he looked at her and saw her effort to remain in control, he knew guesswork would be only a last resort. Starfleet had surrounded him with people of various abilities, and it was his duty to make use of them.

"Yes," he murmured. "I'm depending upon you to hold your ground against them. It'll be up to you to tell me, as nearly as you can estimate, what those ent.i.ties want."

"I have told you."

"And we're going to examine that." He pressed the intercom and said, "Come in, plea-"

The door opened.

Picard leaned back in his chair. "Well, that was subtle, you two," he said as Beverly Crusher and Will Riker strode in. "Sit down. I've explained the situation to both of you. According to Counselor Troi, the life essences inside that phenomenon have asked unconditionally that we destroy them. They want their existence to end. Death is their choice rather than formless life, apparently. When I leave this room, I want as clear a picture as the four of us can provide of what exact action this s.h.i.+p is going to take. I tell you now that I would much rather face an enemy with eyes I can look into and whose intents I can read. If I'd wanted to be faced with these pale ethical problems, I'd have become a priest. I don't like this. You know what these ent.i.ties have asked of us, according to Counselor Troi's translation of their wishes. It's up to you to help me decide if this is euthanasia," he said, "or butchery."

An unwanted silence blanketed the ready room, broken only by Will Riker, who had finally had enough of it. He slid one thigh up onto the captain's desk and settled there, the toe of the other boot still planted on the floor, and folded his arms. "We'll do our best, sir."

"I know. Dr. Crusher, you've reviewed all the material on current medical ethics."

"Well, all is an inappropriate term for a half hour's study, sir," the doctor said, "but I've done my best. As a matter of fact, I had to refamiliarize myself with the subject upon accepting the post as chief surgeon."

"Luckily," the captain commented. "On with it."

"Just remember you asked for this," she warned, and adjusted her narrow hips against the back of her chair. She looked like she was settling in for a long time, which made both Riker and Picard wonder what they were getting into. "The word euthanasia doesn't mean what most people think it means. It's an intransitive concept, for one thing. It's something you get, not something someone does to you. Its true meaning is simply a gentle, quiet, good death, usually just a matter of luck. Society has come to take it as ending life painlessly so as to end suffering. What we're really dealing with, however, is the point at which the only chance left for a person to have euthanasia is for someone else to kill him. That's the closest to what we're facing."

Troi gripped her hands tightly together and said, "This is not a case of our deciding to terminate their lives. They've decided it for themselves. I don't think that can be minimized."

"I'm getting to that," Crusher patiently said, and she started ticking things off on her long fingers. "There are complications, believe me. We get into the questions of suffering or not suffering, rationality or not, direct or indirect killing, killing by providing pain relief, the difference between personhood and potential personhood, capability of expressing a rational desire to die, death of biological organisms as opposed to persons, the distinction between ordinary versus extraordinary means of keeping a person alive, that ever-elusive phrase quality of life, failure to supply help versus active harm with kind intent, sanct.i.ty of life, obligation to live, freedom of choice versus deific property, being and not being the cause of a death other than one's own, avoidance of giving euthanasia for selfish reasons-keeping one's conscience clear, for instance-"

Picard rubbed a hand over his eyes and wearily groaned, "Cut my losses, will you, doctor? If you've already run the process of elimination, might you just give me the upshot of it?"

She dropped her busy hands and said, "It's not a simple subject, Jean-Luc."

He leaned forward. "No one's asking for simplicity, doctor. Just brevity."

"Well, there's the medical definition of death. Will that help?"

Before the captain could say anything, though he started to, Riker said, quietly, "It'd help me."

"Okay," Crusher said with a toss of her hair. "Unless you're into horror stories, we all basically know what death is. We start with dying-as a recognizable physiological process, one that medical science can pretty easily recognize. We know the difference between a living body and one that's being kept alive. Any intern worth his salt can spend ten minutes with the readouts and tell which is which. But the clincher has always been brain activity-the flat electroencephalogram. As far as current medical consensus goes, the only absolute criterion for death is its irreversibility. That's not the only criterion, mind you, I didn't say that. Death is a cl.u.s.ter concept and requires several criteria in a lump, but irreversibility is the only absolute one."

"Dying is irreversible in my estimation," Picard said. "At least I thought so until now."

"They're not dead," Troi said. Her steadiness was wearing thin. She felt it pull and strain against the crus.h.i.+ng pressure of a million ident.i.ties. She heard it in the sudden flatness in her voice, and knew it showed in the immobility of her body. She tried to force her legs into a more social position, but they remained tightly knee to knee, and soon she gave up trying. This discussion was time wasted, chewing at her, frustrating her. She knew what the decision had to be. Over and over in her mind echoed her own words: They're not dead. They're not dead.

"I accept that," the captain said. "They have yet to experience their deaths. I may be old-fas.h.i.+oned, but to me death is final. Death doesn't have degrees. Suffering does, but not death. This isn't a matter of betting one way or the other. It's a matter of deciding to intervene."

"Or deciding not to," Riker plowed in.

They all looked at him, and discomfort entered the room.

"Yes ... " Dr. Crusher murmured, eyeing him. It took her a moment to return her full attention to the captain. "Well, there's also an additional problem; over about the past century and a half, medical doctrine has had to include some very strange lifeforms and all their habits, customs, physiologies, and abilities."

"I can't decide for the whole galaxy, doctor," the captain said. "Let's stay with humans, shall we?"

"I thought you'd say that, so I did. And I agree with you on that point."