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Chapter Ten
It was getting close to the time the captain had scheduled to meet with his senior staff. Before breaking up to get ready in their respective quarters, Geordi had urged Data not to contact Picard or the other senior officers with news of his recovery, saying he wanted to see their faces when Data walked in the room, alive and well. Data had seemed a little uncomfortable with the prospect of making that sort of grand surprise entrance, but Geordi had been so enthusiastic, the android had reluctantly agreed. Once Geordi left, Barclay excused himself as well, but not before giving Spot a lingering hug good-bye.
"I-I must admit, sir… I am going to miss the little furball," he said to Data, meeting the cat's wide-eyed stare with an affectionate gaze as he handed the sleek feline back to her rightful caretaker. "Will… Will you still be wanting me to…to, uh, cat-sit…now that you're…?"
"Of course," Data said. "You are one of the few people aboard for whom Spot has shown genuine affection." He rubbed his cat behind the ears. Spot closed her eyes and purred with satisfaction.
Barclay beamed his quick, shy smile, thanked him, and strode from the holodeck, leaving Data and Danny alone for the first time. Faced with his counterpart's calm, golden stare, Danny felt as awkward and uncomfortable as a pimple on a prom queen's nose.
"So," he said.
"So," Data parroted.
"I, uh… I suppose you will be wanting to change your uniform."
Data glanced down at his dress uniform and nodded.
"Indeed, you are quite correct."
Danny swung his arms, then clasped his hands behind his back.
"May I accompany you?" he asked.
Data regarded him, his head slightly tilted.
"To your quarters," Danny elaborated. "I… If you don't want me tagging along I understand, but I am curious to see where you live."
Data nodded once.
"Certainly," he said politely and gestured to the exit with the arm that wasn't cradling Spot. "After you."
Danny saved the diagnostic program and followed the android out, failing to notice, as he did, that the holodeck grid seemed to wriggle and waver behind him...
"Erm...Data?" Danny said awkwardly, his eyes roving over the android's possessions while Spot curled up on the edge of a pull-out couch and Data changed in the adjoining room. He knew it was irrational and extremely selfish, given where he was, but he really resented having to address this man with a name that had always been uniquely his. "May I make a personal inquiry?"
"Please do," the android said.
"What are you doing up here on Deck Two?" he asked. "Crew quarters on this deck are cramped – tiny! Most have shared personal facilities. And none have viewports. As Second Officer, are you not entitled to better accommodations?"
"'Better' is a subjective term," Data called back. "These quarters are sufficient for my needs."
"Sufficient?" Danny made a face. "Data, we're out here in deep space, exploring places most beings can only imagine. Don't you want to see the stars?"
Data stepped out in his regular duty uniform, looking so much like a moonlit mirror it gave Danny a visible chill. Data didn't seem to notice.
"I am an android," the android stated, as if his guest didn't know. "As such, I do not suffer from claustrophobia, cabin fever, or any similar complaints that occasionally afflict organic beings over the course of a long mission."
"That may be so," Danny said, "but being an android does not change the fact that your rank and position entitles you to more personal space and a private viewport. Why deny yourself these advantages, especially on a beautiful ship like this?"
Data cocked his head, his brow furrowed.
"Deny myself… Hmm. I had not considered it in those terms."
"In what terms had you considered it?"
"In terms of my previous assignment, aboard the Trieste," the android said. "I had assigned quarters aboard that ship, but as I only rarely went off duty, I only made use of them when had I to wash myself and change my clothing. I had no need to sleep, no friends to pay me a visit, no pets to house and care for, and no personal items to store. Assuming my experience aboard the Enterprise would be similar, I initially made the argument that assigning me any quarters at all would be superfluous, but regulations require each registered crewmember be assigned a berth. I then requested shared quarters, believing I would only rarely make use of the space, but my rank entitled me to private quarters, so I chose to accept the smallest private room available. At first, the decision seemed logical. In fact, for the first few months, I had no furnishings but a private computer console I spent my off-hours improving. Since that time, though, the relationships I have developed with my crewmates have encouraged me to 'branch out,' if you will – to begin accruing possessions that reflect my individual tastes and recall significant experiences I have had, and to make creative use of my accumulated personal, recreational, time. And, it is only since I discovered my dream program last year that I began taking time off to sleep."
Danny's eyes sharpened with interest.
"You sleep? As in, you actually become unconscious and pass through the stages of sleeping and dreaming, as a human would?"
"Not exactly," Data admitted. "But I can shut down my cognitive functions for brief periods, during which time what I have termed my 'unconscious' provides me with vision-like scenarios I call 'dreams.' I have even suffered nightmares, the content of which were directly related to threats I could not perceive with my conscious mind."
Danny nodded, his brain practically buzzing with postcard-perfect snapshots from his childhood: conversations with his father, overheard mutterings, snatches of scribbled code he'd glimpsed in his father's old-fashioned paper notebooks. Sketched outlines for a radical, revolutionary program his father had never completed, yet seemed to operate with startling success in the constructed brain of the man before him.
"Intriguing," he breathed.
"The dream program was apparently included as part of my base programming," Data told him. "I believe my father intended to activate it once I had reached a certain level of cognitive development. It is unfortunate that circumstances denied him the opportunity to observe my cognitive growth first-hand. There remains much that I do not know about my father's designs."
He regarded Danny with his calm, golden eyes.
"You saved my life," he said. "And, for that, I am enormously grateful. It is clear you have considerable expertise in cybernetics, as well as a great deal of specific knowledge regarding the design and programming of Soong-type androids."
"That is true, up to a point," Danny said. "My knowledge is mostly second-hand, based on memories drawn from early childhood. I abandoned cybernetics when I left home as a teenager."
Data raised his eyebrows.
"If that is the case, your memory retention must be truly impressive."
"For a human, you mean?" Danny said wryly. "I suppose it is. I have what I call a semi-photographic memory. I can recall almost everything I've ever experienced, but the information I want doesn't always show up when I need it, even if I can feel it's there. I suppose you have perfect recall."
"I do."
Danny nodded, struggling to swallow back a spike of jealously.
"So, let me guess," he said. "You're gearing up to ask me if I know whether your father hid any more surprises in your base programming. If you are, my answer will have to be: no. I have no idea. Not without further study, at least."
"That was to be my question," the android admitted, but his expression remained intensely curious. "You said you left home as a teenager," he said. "Can I assume your father also objected to your decision to join Starfleet?"
Danny chuffed a slight, bitter laugh.
"'Object'?" he said. "'Object' is an understatement. When my father found out I'd joined the Fleet, he dropped all contact with me for almost a decade. It was as if, to him, I did not exist."
"Then you did not have a positive relationship with your father?"
"I didn't have any relationship with my father," Danny said. "At least, not until I got engaged. I think it was only then that my father began to understand that I really was my own person, with my own life and my own ambitions. I was never going to turn tail, revoke my dreams of exploration and discovery, and return home to become the cyberneticist he wanted me to be. I was not going to dedicate my life to vindicating his name or even to carrying on his work in artificial consciousness. And, if he did not accept me for who and what I was, he was going to lose out on any opportunity to know his grandchildren. In the end, it was he who swallowed his pride, accepted my advances toward reconciliation, and allowed our family to finally knit together as a close and caring unit. We could not repair our damaged past, but we found we could move on from it. From the time my daughter was born to the time of his death, I can honestly say my father and I had become friends."
"You have a daughter?" Data said, his expression oddly tight.
Danny nodded, turning his smooth ring around and around on his finger.
"Yes. And I miss her and my wife terribly. I can only hope the apparent time difference between our realities works to their advantage and, from their perspective, our time apart is short. It distresses me to think of them worrying about me...not knowing where I am...afraid I may never come home..."
Data seemed hesitant, his mouth hanging open for a moment before he said, "May I inquire…"
"Tasha," Danny told him. "My wife's name is Tasha. We call our daughter Lal – short for Lalena." He smiled - a warm, fleeting grin. "My sweet little Lally-Pop. She's nearly two years old now. Commander Riker often says she's the most precocious child you'd ever care to meet, and as smart as a whole shipment of whips. I am not entirely sure what that means, but I do know he intends it as a compliment."
Data averted his eyes and seemed to swallow, hard. Danny regarded him curiously.
"I am sorry if this disturbs you. I was told that, in this universe, Tasha Yar was kil—"
"You were told correctly," Data cut him off, then fixed him with his golden stare. "In the holodeck, Geordi said that, so far, no significant progress has been made in determining how or why you arrived here."
"True enough."
"Then, perhaps, we could assist each other."
"What do you have in mind?" Danny asked.
"Approximately three years ago, I learned my father had created a very special program for me," Data said. "A program that would allow me to experience emotions. The data chip it was on was, unfortunately, stolen before my father had a chance to install it and was later damaged during its recovery. As a result, the emotional program no longer functions. I was hoping that, perhaps, with your expertise, you might be able to repair the chip and recover the data it contains. My own efforts have, so far, proved unsuccessful."
Danny looked startled, and deeply confused.
"I don't understand."
"What do you mean?" Data asked curiously.
"I mean, what you just said doesn't make any sense," Danny told him. "In fact, it defies everything I know about the design and construction of a stable positronic matrix. Show me that chip."
Data regarded him for a moment longer, then strode to a shelf and lifted a small, square box from among the neatly arranged objects there. He handed the box to Danny, who opened it and peered down at the badly singed, sequin-sized disk with a frown.
"Perhaps you might explain…?" Data prompted.
"Yeah, I'll explain," Danny said, still frowning at the chip. "The ability to experience and express emotions cannot be stored as an external program you can just install or uninstall whenever you want. The self-adaptive, evolutionary positronic pathways you possess simply couldn't handle that kind of strain. In order to avoid fatal instability, the adaptive, heuristic algorithms required for emotional awareness must be fully integrated into the positronic matrix from the very start of construction! If they are not, the sudden installation of a program designed to recognize and process such complex, chaotic, and contradictory stimuli would instigate the unchecked development of new neural pathway links – pathways that would be inherently unstable. This instability would lead to system anomalies, even cascade failure! Therefore, whatever this thing is, it cannot contain the type of emotional program you described. It must be something else."
Data frowned.
"But the chip does function in that capacity," he said. "That is how my father described it to me, and how my late brother, who had stolen the chip, used it as a tool to manipulate me."
Danny blinked.
"Your late brother? Then, the Lore of this universe is...dead?"
"He is no longer functional," Data confirmed, his eyes not quite meeting Danny's.
Danny knit his brow.
"Curious," he said. "I feel oddly disappointed. Even...sad." He chuffed a slightly incredulous sigh through his nose. "I had not expected to feel this way."
"What did you expect to feel?" Data asked curiously.
"Nothing," Danny said. "Relief, perhaps. In my universe, Lore betrayed my parents, and me. He broke our trust and, ultimately, tried to kill us all."
"Lore also tried to kill me," Data said without expression, although his voice was heavy. "More than once. That is how he was...disabled. He attempted to distract me, then drew a phaser. I fired first."
Danny nodded slowly. "I am sorry," he said sincerely.
Data didn't respond, but his perfect posture seemed slightly wilted.
Danny glanced back at the scarred chip in his hand, unable to avoid imagining the scenario that must have led to its recovery. The android Data, forced to shoot his brother... Retrieving the chip from Lore's damaged body...
He shuddered at the gruesome image and snapped the box closed.
"Still," he said, returning to their previous topic. "Whatever you were told about this chip, Data, something else must have been going on. I'm telling you, this thing cannot—"
"Riker to all senior staff," the first officer's voice cut in. "Please report to the Observation Lounge."
"I guess that means us," Danny said, and heaved a frustrated sigh. "Look, Data, can I keep this for a while?"
"Please do," Data said, and led the way out of his quarters and into the corridor. "That chip is, essentially, the only thing my father ever gave me. Even if I never install it, it is very important to me to know the true purpose and function of the program it contains."
"I understand," Danny said, and slipped the box into his pocket, his mind whirring with questions.
There was something seriously off about this chip. Its existence – its very necessity – seemed to contradict everything Danny knew of his father's true ambitions, as well as his own recent interactions with Data. The android he had been conversing with for the past hour was not a passionless automaton. He formed attachments, professed likes and dislikes, and had clearly exhibited both curiosity and discomfort in direct relation to topical stimuli. And yet, the android seemed convinced that he required this odd, external chip in order to experience emotions.
It was puzzling.
And, what of Lore? Had the two androids been fighting over the chip? Had Lore stolen it because he too believed that he lacked emotions?
In Danny's universe, Dr. Soong's life's goal had been to duplicate human consciousness in a mechanical construct. Even acknowledging the variables inherent to a parallel reality, Danny could not accept that Data's creator would have designed and programmed these intelligent, rational beings without the capacity for emotional experience. It just wouldn't make sense.
Unless...
More research was required: an in-depth analysis Danny felt it would be best to perform on his own. Because, if his suspicion was right...
If his suspicion was right, this half-melted chip might hold the key, not only to resolving the puzzling contradiction Data had presented, but – more significantly – to restoring Data's daughter to life.
To Be Continued...
References include TNG: Genesis, Birthright I, Phantasms, Descent, Brothers, Datalore, Skin of Evil, Tin Man, The Quality of Life, and The Offspring.