I believe that, if we are honest with ourselves, that the most fascinating problem in the world is; who am I? What do you mean, what do you feel, when you say the word I, I myself? I don't think there can be any more fascinating preoccupation than that. Because it's so mysterious. It's so elusive. Because what you are in your inmost being escapes your examination.
Alan Watts
Preface
"It sits there looking at me, and I don't know what it is."Captain Phillipa Louvois quirked her mouth and sighed.
"This case has dealt with metaphysics, with questions best left to Saints, and philosophers. I'm neither competent nor qualified to answer those. I've got to make a ruling, to try to speak to the future..."
She cast her eyes downwards, pondering.
"Is Data a machine? Yes. Is he the property of Starfleet?"
She sighed again. In this makeshift courtroom, with featureless grey walls, on a Starbase in the Beta quadrant a stone's throw away from the Neutral Zone, a decision had to be made. And she was the only one here who could make it. Not for the first time in her career, Louvois wondered how history would view her actions.
She looked up at Commander Bruce Maddox, then at Commander Riker, and finally at Lieutenant Commander Data. She stared into his emotionless face, and her expression hardened.
"We have all been dancing around the basic issue. Does Data have a soul? I don't know that he has."
She laughed mirthlessly.
"I don't know that I have. But I have to consider the compelling evidence presented by Commander Riker, and take into account the best interests of Starfleet, the Federation, hell, the whole human race!"
She glanced at Captain Jean-Luc Picard, then down again.
"It is the ruling of this court that Lieutenant Commander Data is the property of Starfleet..."
"What?!" Picard leapt to his feet, as did Riker. "You can't be serious! Phillipa, please..."
"Captain, my decision is made. Data, I approve your transfer to Starbase 173, under the care of Commander Bruce Maddox. Court is adjourned."
She stood and, with an apologetic glance at Picard, strode to the doorway. As the automatic doors whispered open, she turned to look back at Picard, who stood with his head bowed.
"I suppose dinner's off?" She smiled with one side of her mouth, one eyebrow raised.
"Get out of my sight." Picard spat the words, venomous. Louvois shrugged one shoulder and walked away.
Picard slammed his fist into the desk, his jaw clenched. Maddox stood, and addressed Data.
"You'll be reporting to me at 0900 hours as planned, Data. See you in the morning."
He looked over at Riker who stood, his hands balled into fists at his sides, eyes wide in shock. Maddox smiled.
"Thank you, Commander, for representing not just my interests, but the best interests of Starfleet."
"You're welcome." Riker ground out the words through gritted teeth, and slumped back into his chair with his head in his hands as Maddox swept out of the room.
Data stood. With thoughtless grace, he walked to Commander Riker and offered his hand. Riker looked up at him, disbelieving.
"Data... I'm so sorry." Riker coughed around the lump in his throat. Never for a moment had he thought that this could happen. Data lowered his hand.
"My congratulations, Commander."
Riker gazed at him, uncomprehending.
"Congratulations? Data, I may have just signed your death warrant! How the hell can you congratulate me?"
Data quirked his head to one side.
"You have succeeded in your task, and successfully represented Commander Maddox. You won, sir. Is it not common to offer congratulations 'on a job well done'?"
Riker ran his hands over his bearded face. "Not this job." He dropped his hands to the desk and took a shaky breath. "I won't let this happen, Data. I can't. Whatever Maddox has planned for you, I'm not going to let Starfleet just hand you over." He looked across at Picard. "I've got to talk to her, try and make her see sense."
Picard snorted. "Who, Phillipa? Good luck!"
Riker scowled, pushed himself to his feet. Data stepped forward and Riker put up a hand, forestalling further comment.
"No. Don't you say a thing. I'll get you out of this, Data, I promise." With long legged stride, Riker swept out of the room.
Data turned to Picard, his pale brow furrowed.
"I do not understand. Have I offended the commander?"
"No, Data." Picard sighed, and ran his hands over his face. "It's just... this is not the outcome we wanted. Even though Commander Riker was representing Maddox, he didn't really want to succeed."
"I see." Data pondered for a moment. "Then, he is... unhappy with the outcome of the trial?"
"We all are. Everyone except that damned Maddox." Picard growled.
"Although I do not have the capacity to be unhappy, I find the thought of leaving my friends... unsettling. It will take my systems some time to adapt to their absence."
Picard smiled, although it did not reach his eyes. "Likewise. Although, I think we would just say, 'we will miss you'."
Data smiled guilelessly. "And I will miss you, too, sir."
Chapter One
"O'Brian to Captain Picard." The transporter Chief's voice sounded tinny over the comm. Picard put down his cup.
"Yes, Chief?"
"They're here." He didn't sound pleased. Well, Picard wasn't pleased either. Still, orders were orders. He'd found his way around a few in his time, but still... He sighed.
"Bring them up."
"Yes sir. Bringing them up now, transporter room three. O'Brian out."
The USS Enterprise hung in space, gliding in synchronous orbit around Starbase 173. She was sleek and streamlined, her glimmering hull reflecting the steady gleam of the stars and the flickering lights of the base. Her nacelles shimmered blue with latent power, jutting out from the hull on deceptively fragile looking spars. It was a ship designed for speed and manoeuvrability, more used to barrelling through the depths of space under the power of her incredible warp core. But here she hung, for now, waiting.
Picard picked up his cup and sipped his tea thoughtfully, gazing out from his ready room at the glow of a hundred windows shining from the Starbase. Bruce Maddox certainly had been busy since the last time they met. And here were the fruits of his labour, beaming on board. He supposed he ought to go and greet his new... equipment. Abandoning his tea, Picard left his ready room and strode out onto the bridge of the Enterprise, headed for the turbo lift.
"Number One, you have the bridge."
"Aye sir." A formality, but routine was becoming all the more necessary, and comforting, in these times of upheaval. Riker sprawled in the command chair, chewing his knuckles. The last time he was at this Starbase, he had helped condemn his colleague, his friend, to a dangerous and potentially lethal experiment. And for what? So that damned Maddox could open Data up, root around in his brain... Riker shuddered. How could it have been a year since that dreadful trial already? A year since he had raced down that corridor in a desperate attempt to change a stubborn judge's brutal ruling. And only two years since he and Data had first met. As the turbolift doors hissed closed, his mind wandered back...
Tropical ferns, dripping with condensation. The air hot and heavy in his lungs. Palm trees branched overhead as he pushed his way through the underbrush. He didn't believe that these simulations could be this real.
"Hello!" He called, but there was no answer. He stepped lightly over the stones traversing the river, and as his feet hit the opposite bank, he heard it.
It sounded like... Whistling?
He pushed his way through the greenery until he found the source of the sound. A pale man, perched high up on a branch and leaning against the trunk of the tree, his note faltering...
"Pop! Goes the weasel." Riker whistled the end of the refrain. A shimmering face turned, a long nose and impeccably slicked back hair. Golden eyes met his.
"Marvellous. How easily humans do that. I still need much practice."
The... thing... leapt down with inhuman agility. Riker explained their mission as they fought their way out of the jungle that had overtaken the hollodeck.
"Your rank of Lieutenant Commander is honorary?"
"No, sir. Starfleet class of '78, honours in probability and mechanics and exobiology."
"But your file says that you're a..."
"Machine. Correct, sir. Does that trouble you?"
"To be honest, yes, a little."
How he wished he could take back those words now. All the doubts, all the reasoned arguments. Having come to know Data, as a life form, as a person...
And now here they were, back in orbit around Starbase 173...
He felt a hand on his arm. Councillor Troi leaned across to look into his eyes.
"This is going to be hard for you, Will." It wasn't a question, merely a statement of fact. Riker grimaced.
"One of them is going to be on the bridge. Operations Officer."
"The same post that Data held." Troi's face softened into sympathy.
"Yeah. If it has half the capabilities that he had, then it should work out fine. Hell, it might even make it to Second Officer." Riker smiled wryly, but it slipped into a grimace. Troi frowned.
"Will, you have to stop feeling guilty about this. It's not your fault..."
"Deanna, how can you say that? Of course it's my fault!"
"Captain on the bridge!" Worf barked from his station at Tactical. It wasn't standard procedure, but Riker appreciated the warning. He stood to relinquish the chair and froze, struck dumb. Worf growled low in the back of his throat, and Deanna felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise.
Trailing the Captain was an android. It was wearing the yellow standard issue uniform of an Operations Lieutenant Commander, pips and all. Slicked back dark brown hair, shimmering pale gold skin, vivid golden eyes, long straight nose... It was slim but well built, and moved with a languid agility, its long face a blank mask.
"Data?" Riker whispered. He dared to hope that his sins had been forgiven, that here was his salvation.
The android cocked its head to one side. It even moves like him! Riker couldn't stop staring.
"I can understand why you have made this mistake." They even gave it his voice! The bastards!
"Commander Riker." Picard held out his hand, placating, calming. "This is our new Operations Officer, Lieutenant Commander Gamma." Picard glanced at the android. "That is correct?"
"Yes sir." It murmured. "My technical designation is Maddox-type Gamma 048. The other androids who will be working in the engineering department are Delta class Maddox-type androids 256, 359 and 360 respectively."
Riker swallowed, found his voice. "Well, I don't envy Geordi, having to learn those names."
"Pardon me, sir," The android's eyes met his. "We are perfectly happy to be assigned other names, if you so choose."
"No, that's... It's fine." Riker's mind flitted back to Data, correcting people on the pronunciation of his name...
"It is pronounced Day-tuh. Not Dah-tah. One is my name. The other is not."
Damn, it was going to be a day of flashbacks. Riker wrenched his mind back to the present.
"Well, Gamma," Picard said briskly, "Please go ahead and take up your station."
"Aye, sir." The android swiftly replaced the Ensign at the Ops panel, its long nimble fingers deftly dancing over the panel, recording, analysing. Riker felt his head start to swim.
"Permission to leave the bridge, sir." He croaked. Picard frowned at him, before a sudden flash of understanding, and empathy.
"Granted." As Riker turned to leave, "Will."
"Sir?"
"It will take us all time to adjust to our... change of staff. You know where I am."
"Thank you sir." Riker turned and, almost steadily, walked to the turbolift. Troi glanced at Picard and, receiving his nod, darted into the lift as the doors were closing.
Alone in the turbolift, Troi wrapped her arms around Riker. He was shaking.
"I'm so sorry, Will. I know how difficult this must be..."
"Damn it, they gave them his voice! They even look like him! If they looked like Maddox..." He sighed deeply, and Troi felt the tension in him. She looked up into his face.
"I know it's going to take some getting used to, but we will adjust. You have to remember, they are not him." She smiled up at him, and received a smile in return, although she could sense that his mind was still troubled. Well, no wonder. Bold, she leaned up and planted a kiss on his bearded cheek. She'd never get used to him with a beard! Still, it was what he needed.
Riker answered her kiss with one of his own, pulling her close to his chest and pressing his lips to hers. She knew it was a diversionary tactic, a way of forcing his thoughts to more... pleasurable subjects, but...
She broke the kiss, pressing her palms flat to his chest. "Will..."
"I know, I know." He was breathing heavily, and she knew it was only partly passion. "I'm sorry, I just..."
"It's all right. You know I understand."
The turbolift doors swished open. "Deck eight." reported the computer.
"Do you want to... come and have a drink?" Riker quirked an eyebrow, a flash of his old, charming self. Troi smiled, but shook her head.
"I know where that leads... But if you want to talk, you know where I am."
"Sure. I'll... see you later." Riker, head down, strode into his quarters.
Pensive, Deanna Troi strolled to hers, her mind filled with the emotional hum of the crew accustoming themselves to their new companions, so like their friend, but... so different.
She shook herself as she entered her quarters, blocking from her thoughts the emotions of the thousand or so minds assailing her. She rolled her shoulders, easing off the stresses of the day. The next few weeks were not going to be easy. Her thoughts turned to the one person who, perhaps, knew Data best, counted him as a best friend... How was Geordi coping with all this? With a sigh she opened her mind and honed in on his emotions, using the colour of his feelings to guide her. To her, Geordi felt in a different way than the other minds on the ship. Uncoloured by raw visual input, Geordi's emotions were unadulterated with allusion or metaphor. She picked up the thread and let it unravel into her mind while she ordered a chocolate sundae from the replicator.
Geordi frowned as he surveyed his new... Well, he decided they were 'staff'. Although the Starfleet protocols had designated them as 'equipment', he knew he would never see them that way, not after everything he and Data had been through. Damn the protocols, he knew what an android was capable of, even if the top brass saw them as nothing more than walking diagnostic subroutines.
"So... what do I call you?" He asked of the three identical androids facing him, their blank, innocent faces so like his friend. They were wearing a new uniform designed especially to mark the androids out as separate from the crew, a plain black jumpsuit with a single narrow yellow stripe running from shoulder to shoulder. Two of them looked at the third, and, with a sideways glance at its companions, it spoke.
"I am Maddox-type Delta 256. These are Delta 359 and 360, although we are happy for you to assign us other designations should that make your acclimatising to our presence more optimal, sir."
Geordi sighed and pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. The headache from his visor was worse than usual.
"Y'know, it's not gonna help giving you guys names if I can't even tell you apart! How about we do something about your appearance? Change you guys up a bit, what d'ya say?"
The android who had spoken frowned slightly. "Sir, I do not understand. You wish us to alter our features? We are standard issue compliant."
"I don't wish you to do anything, and standard issue be damned! What do you guys want? Don't you want to look different from each other, a bit of... personality, individuality?"
The androids looked at each other, uncomprehending.
"Sir, I do not understand. We do not have wants, we are not individuals, and we have no personalities. We are here to improve your working conditions and optimise the operating efficiency of the engineering department. If changing our appearance will help you to..."
"Okay, okay, I get it!" Geordi threw up his hands, despairing. "I tell you what, why don't we... change your hair?"
"What would you like us to do with our hair sir?"
"I... Oh, I don't know..." Geordi ran a hand through his hair, considering. "Okay, you're the spokesperson, right?" He pointed at the android who, with a glance again at its companions, nodded. "Okay, well, you can stay as you are, and I'm gonna call you... Huey."
"Huey. Yes sir." The newly christened android nodded again. Geordi turned to the other two.
"You two, go to the barbers and get a dye job. You go blond, you're Dewey. And you, let's go with black hair, and I'm gonna call you Louie."
Dewey and Louie bobbed their heads in acknowledgement and, in perfect step, marched away. Geordi watched them go, a small smile playing about his lips. Maybe this was going to be okay after all...
"Sir?" Geordi turned to Huey, who was regarding him with a puzzled look on its long face.
"Yeah, Huey?"
"You are... Geordi... Geordi La Forge." Its brow creased as its eyebrows came together. Geordi's heart thumped painfully in his chest.
"Yeah. Yeah I am."
"I... have... memories." Huey's eyes flicked from side to side as it accessed its memory banks. "You and... it were... friends?"
"It!? It had a name, it was Data!" Geordi felt his cheeks flush. He pressed his fingers to his temples, trying to calm himself. The android looked aside at one of the control panels.
"It... Data... worked here with you?"
"Sometimes, yeah." Geordi regarded the android wearily. "Huey, do you have all of Data's memories? Do you remember... sailing on Divala lake? How to play the violin? Sherlock Holmes? "
Huey's eyes flicked back and forth again. Then its head snapped up, face blank once more.
"No, sir. Those memories are not necessary for the optimisation of the engineering department; therefore I have not been installed with those engrams. However, should you decide that those memories would be beneficial to the optimal running..."
"No!" Geordi held out his hands as if to ward off the thought. "No, It's okay, we'll... just, keep the memories you have, 'kay? Who knows?" He smiled sadly. "Maybe you can make some of your own."
Confusion. Anger. Loss. Sadness. Frustration. Anguish.
With a gasp, Troi cut herself loose from Geordi's emotional onslaught. It was too much. The poor man, what was he going through? Not just the loss of his friend, but having to deal with these... replicas. Reminders of their past failings. Could they, should they, have done more to prevent this?
Her mind whirling, Troi automatically spooned the ice cream into her mouth, allowing her physical senses to override her empathic abilities. Her thoughts turned to Will, suffering just as much, maybe more. Perhaps she should go to him...
No. That was a chapter finished, a closed book. What she needed was rest, a cessation of the bombardment of emotional upheaval. Putting the sundae to one side, she stripped off her clothes and, ordering the lights off, slipped into bed, hopefully into oblivion.