Data collected him the next morning and took him to a holodeck, where he spent much of the morning maneuvering through soundscapes. He requested city streets, uneven ground, empty warehouses, plush restaurants and anything else he could think of. Using only a cane and his ears, he taught himself the basics of echo location. He noted the effect that carpets and wall hangings had on the acoustics of a room. He learned to judge distance by the sound of his footsteps reflecting off surfaces, and paced himself to walk accurately and surely around obstacles.
More than anything, the holodeck convinced him of the reality of his situation. There was no way anyone could fake everything he asked for instantly. Crazy as it might sound, he had in truth somehow been transported into a universe where Star Trek was real. The ship was real, the people were real, and therefore, the hope of seeing again was real as well.
It was a very strange feeling. Hope.
"I am curious," Data said. "Why do you feel you need this practice? By tomorrow we will pass by Star Base 3 and you will get your visor. Surely this is unnecessary?"
Well, hope was one thing. Glowing optimism was another thing altogether. "Two reasons," Sands said. "First of all, I'll only believe that visor thing works when it does. And secondly, when the batteries run out, I want to be prepared."
"The visor operates on a power pack that will last longer than your expected lifetime," Data informed him.
That's useful. "I meant, if for some reason I don't have the visor with me," Sands tried to clarify.
"Why would you leave it behind?"
Sands felt like kicking the android. "If someone should take it from me, metal brain."
"Metal brain is not entirely accurate," Data told him helpfully. "My main processing unit consists of a sponge-like material in which artificial neurons are embedded."
This time Sands did kick him. And hurt his toe.
"I am built to withstand impacts of up to one metric ton in pressure," Data informed him. "I would advise you to be careful as you might injure yourself."
It's useless. Completely useless to try and get the android to understand him. "I'm visualizing the duct tape over your mouth," Sands told him, more to soothe his own extreme frustration than anything. He should have known what the response would be.
"Placing an adhesive strip over my mouth would not interfere with my speech capabilities," Data said.
"I didn't think so," Sands sighed. "Thank you, Mr. Data, for your help. I don't want to keep you from your duties."
Data left, probably very confused over this encounter with a member of humanity. Sands couldn't help that. The android had been very helpful, but it was a sore trial to have a conversation with him.
Sands returned to the holodeck and requested a scenario where unlimited numbers of attackers tried to sneak up on him. He spent the rest of the day shooting everything that moved.
"What will you do when you can see again, Mr. Sands?"
The question startled Sands, who'd been sitting wrapped in his usual solitude in Ten Forward.
"Ah, Captain," he greeted. "I don't really know." He shook his head. "I'm becoming convinced that you're the real thing, but that opens up a whole universe of confusion for me."
"Why is that?" Picard asked.
"Where I come from, this doesn't exist," Sands started. "You, the ship, the crew... all of it is fictional. And yet, here I am. So I have two choices. I can believe the impossible, and see again, or I can disbelieve it in which case I must have lost my mind somewhere along the line."
Picard considered that for a moment. "I can only comment on my own reality. It seems impossible to me that there could be a place where we are fictional. My choices are very much the same as yours."
Oh sure. You don't have to face life without eyes. "It's not that simple, Captain. Even if I stick to your reality, it still leaves me stranded in some future time in a universe I know nothing about. If you drop me off on Earth, I will have no purpose there. And if I stay on the ship..."
"In what capacity would you stay?"
"Exactly. And to be honest, you don't want me on your ship any longer than is absolutely necessary." Might as well warn the guy.
"Would you care to explain that, Mr. Sands? I am aware that you have not made any friends amongst the crew."
"I am what you might call a destabilizing force in the universe," Sands said. "I worked for the CIA; do you know what that is?"
"Yes."
"Okay. I push buttons, I pull strings, and I throw up shapes. I set them up and watch them fall." He actually liked saying his litany out loud for a change. "Manipulating people is my specialty, and I seem to do that even when it isn't appropriate. I'm a dangerous man to have aboard, Captain."
"I see." Picard cleared his throat. "Mr. Sands, you are surprisingly forthright about this. Wouldn't it be to your advantage to hide this facet of your personality?"
"I've been told that I am too honest," Sands said. That's painfully true. "Probably accounts for my sorry state now." So honest about himself that he couldn't even comprehend other people not being the same. Stupid, stupid error. Caught for a sucker in his own game.
"I think you're a fake, Mr. Sands." Picard stood up. "And I'm sure we'll find something for you to do."
"You have no idea what you're saying," Sands said. How many innocent people had he killed? Just to prove a point? On anyone's scale of decency, he'd be so far off the bottom that they'd have to excavate to find him. On the way down they'd find a lot of skeletons, too. "Ask your empath what my mind is like."
"I did," Picard said. "She said you are filled with remorse and sadness so terrifying that you're doing everything in your power to convince yourself it is not there."
What in hell? No way, not ever. He didn't care about what he'd done. Not in the least. And what he would do in future filled him with a secret sense of glee. Or did it? Suddenly face to face with himself in a way he'd never expected to be, Sands could only sit there, speechless, as Picard wished him a good evening and walked away.