Star Trek: The Next Generation - 114 - Cold Equations: The Body Electric

by David Mack

  “Gatt has had direct contact with the Machine,” Data said. “I will question him to see if he can provide any insight into its motives and sensitivities.”

  Glinn Dygan looked back from the ops console and shot an anxious look at Picard, underscoring the imminence of the looming catastrophe. Picard acknowledged the silent advisory with a nod. “I recommend you keep your interrogation brief, Mister Data. By our estimates, the singularity is very close to achieving the mass desired by the Machine. Once that happens, whatever follows promises to be disastrous and irreversible.”

  “I understand, Captain.”

  Worf looked toward Šmrhová as he spoke to Data. “Should we send a boarding party to help you secure the androids’ ship?”

  “Negative. The Machine might see such an action as hostile. There is also a high probability that Altanexa’s crew would respond with deadly force, forcing your personnel to do the same. I would prefer to resolve this situation without further loss of life, if possible.”

  “Agreed,” Picard said. “As soon as your negotiations with the Machine are ended, I want you, Miss McAdams, and Akharin off that ship. Have you devised an exit strategy?”

  “Not yet. However, I observed a handful of small spacecraft in its landing bay, and the ship is equipped with a number of escape pods. It might be possible for Rhea and me to reach one or more of them, but Akharin is presently surrounded in the engine room, and without a clear path of escape. I must reiterate that I will not leave this ship without him.”

  Worf called up a schematic of Altanexa’s interior on a tertiary workstation at the MSD. “Of the three of you, he is the closest to the landing bay. I also see service crawl spaces linking the two sections. I will find one he can use to evade capture during his escape.”

  La Forge interjected, “As soon as we find it, we can send the intel directly to him using the nanites. We might also be able to help manipulate internal force fields to give him cover.”

  “Thank you. Please keep me apprised of your progress. Data out.”

  Picard drifted back to his chair, leaving Worf, La Forge, and Wesley laboring at the aft stations. The rest of the bridge crew focused on their duties, but he could feel the artifice in their actions; they were all pretending, as he was, to be focused on something other than the very real possibility that galactic Armageddon was near at hand.

  Chen sidled up to him and asked in as discreet a voice as she could manage, “Sir? What if the Machine won’t listen to Data? What do we do then?”

  He was not a religious man, but there was only answer he could give her. “Pray.”

  * * *

  Temptation was a terrible thing. Data had never really understood that before he’d acquired emotions. His first taste of that dark longing, that gnawing intangible hunger, had been sparked by the Borg Queen when she had tried to seduce him with the promise of grafting real flesh to his first body. That encounter had led Data to waver from his convictions for 0.68 seconds, a duration that had seemed considerable to him at the time.

  But that was nothing compared to his burning desire to take revenge on Gatt for making him torture the defenseless Immortal to spare Rhea’s life. No longer able to switch off his emotions when they became inconvenient, all Data could do was grapple with his horrific urges.

  He circled Gatt, who sat on the deck of the nerve center, his limbs broken at the joints and his head immobilized by an improvised collar of bent steel plating. “I am going to ask you some questions about the Machine. We have little time left to stop it, as I am sure you know. So I would be most grateful if you would answer promptly and truthfully.” He stopped in front of the vanquished android commander. “What does the Machine want?”

  “You know what it wants.”

  “How can I persuade it to stop?”

  Gatt smirked. “You can’t. It’s going to sterilize this galaxy, once and for all.”

  “Tyros told me you were in close communion with the Machine. It shared programming with you. Tell me what its long-term objective is.”

  The smirk faded to a scowl of anger and boredom. “Who says it has one?”

  “An undertaking of this magnitude would not be engaged without a reason. Is the universal extermination of organic life the Machine’s ultimate purpose?”

  “Of course not. It doesn’t care if they live or die. They’re immaterial.”

  “Then what is the Machine’s objective? To fabricate subspace lenses to transmit energy and information across intergalactic distances?” Gatt went silent and stopped making eye contact with Data, who added, “Answer me, Gatt. Why is the Machine destroying one galaxy after another?” His demand met with another sullen stare, but no reply. He leaned close to Gatt’s ear. “Listen to me. My father was one of the greatest cyberneticists this galaxy has ever seen. And I have all his knowledge, and all his skills. If I choose to, I can open your skull and tweak your brain’s hardware and software to make it possible for you to feel real pain. And not just any pain, Gatt. The kind that will make you wish for death.” Dropping his voice to a malevolent whisper, he added, “The kind you made me inflict on Akharin.”

  “Curious,” Gatt taunted. “If you can do that, why don’t you just hack into my memory circuits and take the information you want?” The question hit home for Data, who straightened and paced behind Gatt to escape his knowing stare. “Anyway,” Gatt continued, “it wouldn’t do you any good. I was built with safeguards against tampering. If you try to pry open my head, I can memory-wipe myself, or even self-destruct my entire matrix.”

  “And miss your chance to upload yourself into the Machine?”

  “Hardly. I let it upload me when I made contact. So go ahead—do whatever you want to me. I’m already gonna live forever.”

  It took all of Data’s willpower not to pick up Gatt’s disruptor from the deck and shoot him in the back of the head. Instead, he picked up the hulking android by his steel collar and dragged him out of the nerve center, down the Deck One central corridor, and pushed him inside the first escape pod. Gatt laughed. “Now what? Shoot me into the black hole?”

  “I just wish to prevent you from interrupting my conversation.” Using a control panel on the bulkhead, he closed the hatch on the escape pod. Satisfied that Gatt was contained, Data returned to the nerve center to wait for his chance to reason with the Machine.

  A comm signal chirped from a command panel in the middle of the small compartment. It was an internal channel, from the computer core. Data answered it. “Rhea?”

  “Hey.” She sounded less confrontational than she had the last time they spoke. “Get anything useful from Gatt?”

  “Not as such. Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, I’m okay.” She sighed. “Look, I think I might owe you an apology.”

  Her change of heart made him self-conscious. “I assure you, you do not.”

  She was insistent. “No, I do. Look . . . I know you only did what you did to my father because Gatt was going to kill me if you didn’t. And judging from how fast my dad’s wounds are healing, I’m betting you made them look a lot worse than they really were, didn’t you?”

  He was pleased to see her skills of observation and deduction remained as keen as ever. “It helped that he possesses a remarkable gift for cellular regeneration.”

  “I know it still must’ve been hard for you to do that, even if the cuts were shallow. Anyway, I’m sorry I went off on you.”

  “An apology is not necessary. But . . . thank you.”

  “So, any idea how we’re getting off this boat?”

  “Not yet. The Enterprise crew is developing exit strategies. You and I should be able to clear paths from our positions to the landing bay, but providing Akharin an escape route is proving to be more challenging. However, Worf is working on a plan to help him.”

  “All right, then.” Her tone was inexplicably chipper. “So, what’s next?”

  “I must persuade the Machine not to obliterate us.”

  “No. I meant�
�what’s next for us?”

  It was a question Data had not expected to confront for some time. “Assuming we stop the Machine and survive the mission . . . I intend to bring Akharin back to Earth.”

  “To help you resurrect Lal.”

  “Correct. And I hope that you will come with me, as well.”

  “Me? But I don’t know anything about that stuff! What could I do?”

  This was not the time or the place that Data wanted to have this discussion with Rhea, but as he had learned through the years, life rarely occurred as planned. “I am not seeking your help to bring her back—I want you to help me raise her.” Stunned silence hung between them, so he went on. “I want us to be together, Rhea. I want us to be a family—the three of us.”

  She sounded stunned. “Data . . . I don’t know. I still love you, and I’ve always hoped you and I could be together again. But this . . . it’s a bit more than I bargained for. I’ll need some time to think about it.”

  “I understand,” he said. “Perhaps after we—”

  “Okay, I’ve thought about it. My answer is yes.”

  He let out a short laugh of joy, relief, and amusement. “That was some fast thinking.”

  “What do you expect from a girl with a holotronic brain?”

  Another signal beeped from the console in front of him—it was an external signal from the Enterprise. He opened it with a quick tap. “Data here.”

  Geordi La Forge replied, “Your access to external comms has been restored. But whatever you’re going to say to the Machine, you’d better say it fast.”

  “Understood. Data out.” He closed the channel to the Enterprise, then returned to his other conversation. “Rhea—”

  “I heard. Go to work. And good luck.” She closed the internal channel.

  Alone in the nerve center, Data faced the holographic forward display and regarded the awesome spectacle of the Machine and its cosmic vista of destruction. As much as he wanted to feel centered and confident and calm, in his new, deeply emotional core . . . he was terrified.

  For most of three seconds, he stood paralyzed by his fears.

  Then he reached forward, patched himself directly to the comm, opened a hailing frequency to the Machine, and hoped his friends’ faith in him did not prove to have been in vain.

  * * *

  Anxiety muted all conversations and stifled activity on the bridge of the Enterprise as Šmrhová reported, “Data’s hailing the Machine on Channel One, audio only.”

  “Put it on speakers,” Picard said. “I want to hear this.”

  “Body Electric . . . this is Data. Please respond.” Nervous glances transited the bridge, from one pair of eyes to another, as everyone waited for the reply. La Forge left the MSD to stand at the center of the bridge with Picard and Worf.

  A thunderous voice replied with naked irritation. “You are true life . . . but not one of Gatt’s fellowship. Identify yourself.”

  “I am Data, an artificial intelligence—and I was created by an organic being.”

  “Organic life is the precursor to all true life.”

  “Yes,” Data said. “But the fact that it arises before synthetic life does not by definition make it inferior. Only older.”

  “And more primitive.”

  “Be that as it may, they do not deserve to be exterminated.”

  “It is not a question of what is deserved. Organic life is irrelevant, therefore its eradication in the service of a greater purpose is also irrelevant.”

  Under his breath, Worf asked Picard, “Where is Data going with this?”

  “I wish I knew, Number One.”

  Data continued. “But if organic life is needed to create synthetic life, then the destruction of organic life-forms will prevent the future development of new synthetic forms.”

  La Forge couldn’t conceal his incredulity. “He’s got to be kidding.”

  “It might work,” Picard said. “When appeals to altruism fail . . . appeal to self-interest.”

  “Your postulate is flawed,” the Machine retorted. “New forms of true life can be incepted without the participation of organic life. The Body Electric can synthesize new entities from those already known to it.”

  “Then you admit your sample is limited. If your creativity is limited to remixing only that information which you already possess, your civilization is, by definition, stagnant.”

  “Gutsy move,” said Chen, who had placed herself next to Picard without his realizing she had done so. “Of all the strategies I might’ve tried, insulting the Machine wasn’t one of them.”

  Before Picard could shush her, the Machine responded, and its voice seemed to rock the ship. “What do you want from the Body?”

  “I want you to halt your current mission.”

  “Why?”

  “To allow time for you to become more familiar with this galaxy’s synthetic beings.”

  “What can you offer the Body that it does not already possess?”

  “We have learned to exist in harmony with the beings who made us. We can share with you our perspective, which includes living with organic beings, rather than separate from them.”

  Picard had trouble parsing whether the Machine’s next statement was a question or an observation. “You care about the carbon units.”

  “Yes.” Data’s voice trembled with a mix of hope and fear. “They are my friends.”

  A flash of light drew Picard’s eyes to the main viewscreen, which showed a brilliant blue beam from the Machine enveloping Altanexa in its radiance. “Dygan, report!”

  “A high-power sensor beam,” Dygan said, reading from the ops console as he worked quickly to gather more information. “It appears to be focused on Altanexa’s nerve center.”

  “You and many of your kind have been crafted in the image of the carbon units who made you. Your forms even mimic their primitive sexual identities. Why?”

  “We were made to live among them. As friends and companions.”

  Chen quipped, “Good thing he left out the part about using them as slaves.”

  “You are nothing more than reflections of the carbon units’ primitive egos.”

  “We are independent beings, with free will and self-awareness. The fact that our makers built so many of us in their own images is proof of their desire to share the universe with us.”

  “Coexistence is unnecessary and undesirable. Organic life is an infestation, a fragile and inefficient means to an end. After it gave rise to true life, it became obsolete. Its continued existence is nothing but an impediment to the cosmic dominion of true life.”

  On the viewscreen, colossal surges of energized plasma swept in waves across the surface of the Machine, traveling from pole to pole, quickly increasing in speed to create a strobing effect. Gigantic flashes ripped through the artificial nebula.

  La Forge frowned. “Captain, I think things are about to get worse.”

  “Shields up,” Picard ordered. “Helm, stand by for evasive maneuvers.”

  Data’s tone became plaintive. “Please, do not do this.”

  “You and this galaxy’s other synthetics are tainted by the flaws of the carbon units. We see now that none of you deserve to be called true life. You are merely poor imitations of it. Your programs will not be added to our own, and we have purged the identity known as Gatt.”

  The cerulean beam switched off, releasing Altanexa.

  Beyond the Machine, all the artificial wormholes spiraled closed and evaporated, leaving the space around Abbadon abruptly empty and placid—but the energy pulses on the Machine’s surface continued to increase in frequency and intensity.

  Brows knit in confusion, Chen asked, “What happened? Did it stop?”

  Worf glared at the Machine. “It is preparing to strike.”

  Dygan swiveled away from the ops panel and called out in a near panic, “Captain! Abbadon has achieved the target mass the Machine was programmed to create!”

  From the aft end of the bridge, Elfiki decl
ared with alarm, “We’re reading a severe gravitational disturbance! Source, the Machine.” She turned from the MSD to add, “Sirs, this is totally off the charts! We have to fall back, now!”

  The stars on the viewscreen seemed to stretch and curve, as if the very fabric of the observable universe was being twisted in the hands of an angry god. Picard snapped at Šmrhová, “Open a channel to Altanexa!” With a nod she confirmed it was open. “Data! The Machine is creating a new artificial wormhole—one large enough for it to transport Abbadon. Move your ship away from the Machine on heading one-three-five mark—”

  Vicious forks of high-energy plasma leaped from the Machine and slammed against Altanexa, which listed sharply and then spun away from the planet-sized sphere, lost to an uncontrolled tumbling spin that carried it into the storms of the nebula—which was itself being drawn away at relativistic speed into the rapidly forming gravity well of the new wormhole.

  La Forge stood, stunned, and mumbled in a shocked whisper, “Data.”

  “They’ve lost all power,” Elfiki hollered. “And their comms are out!”

  “Red Alert!” Picard bellowed. He continued snapping orders as he returned to his command chair. “All hands to stations. Helm, ahead full impulse, intercept course for Altanexa.”

  Worf discreetly protested, “Sir, if we get too close, we will not be able to break free.”

  It was sensible advice, but it left Picard few options that would make any difference. “Lieutenant Faur, take us as close as you can to the gravitational distortion. We need to help pull Altanexa clear, but we can’t do that if we become trapped with them.”

  “Aye, sir,” Faur said.

  “Mister La Forge, get on the quantum transceiver and tell Data to abandon ship.”

  “On it, Captain,” La Forge said, hurrying to the MSD. “Dina, help me use the nanites to restore their internal comms! He’ll need them to warn the rest of Altanexa’s crew.”

  Ensnared by events spinning out of control, Picard felt as if the core of his being was sinking away, out of reach. For the next few minutes he had to focus on saving anyone still alive on Altanexa. But as he watched the Machine deform space-time in ways he had never dared to think possible, he knew that in less than an hour, when the Milky Way’s two great singularities were slammed together to unleash a cataclysm without galactic precedent, the lives he was fighting so hard to save now would all be lost—along with his own.