Update! Hope you like this next part! :)
Chapter Ten
"My name is Howard."
"Yes, I am aware of that," Data said impatiently, pointedly staring through the rippling forcefield and not at the domestic service robot that shared the approximately nine-by-five-by-eight-foot gouge in the wall that currently served as his cell. Data had never been affected by claustrophobia before, but he had an anxious, off-putting sense that if he was forced to remain in these tight quarters much longer, he would either explode, short out, or start to scream incoherently. "You have told me your name seventeen times in the six minutes, forty-three seconds since I regained consciousness."
The energy field seemed to be powered through a very old-fashioned system of bundled optic fibers. The long, slender strands ran through plastic piping up the rough stone wall just outside the cell and across the stone ceiling into what appeared to be a system of tunnels…possibly an ancient sewer system.
Data sighed in frustration, angrier at himself than his situation. Under normal circumstances he could have counted on his body's substructure to interrupt this primitive forcefield's power flow long enough to slip through, but he couldn't risk a move like that without his skin. With so much of his circuitry exposed, the unshielded power surge would fry his positronic brain like bacon, as Geordi might say…not to mention melt most of his torso. If only he still had that piece of non-conductive rebar…
He knew he'd had it in his hand when the Nausicaan raider shot him with that transporter dart. Unfortunately, the dart's accompanying electric shock had been strong enough to overload his neural circuits and plunge him into dreamless unconsciousness.
According to his internal chronometer, Data had awakened approximately three hours, fifty-seven minutes later in this dim, dank, claustrophobic little hole in the ground, with a useless communicator, no sign of his captors, and no way of knowing where he was or how far he'd been taken from his weapon, his friends, his horse, or his skin. In fact, apart from the irritating buzz of the forcefield and the incessant drip, drip of water off a few spindly stalactites, the only sound he'd heard since regaining consciousness was—
"My name is Howard. I am here to serve. Would you like a beverage?"
Data closed his eyes, a surge of impatience swelling below his throat.
"Howard, you must know you cannot provide me, or anyone, with a beverage," he said flatly. "There is nothing here to drink."
"I am here to serve," Howard said again, the photoelectric cells that served him as eyes glowing blue in his vaguely humanoid, metallic green face. "How may I serve you?"
Data regarded him, several possibilities running through his mind. Disregarding the rather disconcerting emotional impulse to order the annoying robot to deactivate his vocal synthesizer or place himself in hibernation-mode, the android tilted his head and smiled, slowly.
"Howard, can you answer questions?"
"I am Howard: an HDD-421 Series Robot. Your Efficient Home Domestic Droid," Howard informed him. "I am here to serve."
"Yes," Data said. "You may serve me by answering some questions. Were you brought here by a Nausicaan?"
"I am a trade-in," Howard stated. "Not the best, but still a Great Buy."
Data suppressed a grimace. The robot sounded like those chipper ads he'd sometimes heard blaring in civilian-run starbase food courts.
"Where did you serve, Howard?" Data asked, trying a different tack.
"I have an excellent service record," Howard informed him. "Fifteen years of low maintenance efficiency. Only one previous owner: a high-powered businessman. My function was to maintain his private dwelling on Orion Prime."
Data blinked at that, a host of new possibilities and hypotheses slotting into place. If Orions had been behind the attack on the archaeologists, the Nausicaan he'd encountered could have been their hired muscle. Orion smugglers would certainly have greater interest in stealing ancient artifacts than Nausicaan raiders…not to mention kidnapping a serviceable 'robot'…
They would also pose a much more dire threat to his friends. Nausicaans were brutish, but very direct. Orions were crafty, devious, and highly opportunistic. And, although the Orion slave trade had long been wiped out, at least officially, Data was aware of numerous rumors…
Trepidation spiked through him, and the android worriedly pursed his lips.
"Thank you, Howard," he said. "This information makes my escape from this cell all the more urgent. Tell me, is your substructure made of conductive or nonconductive materials?"
"I am designed to be easily transportable, for your convenience," Howard said in his even, announcer-voice. "As such, I am constructed of lightweight materials: silicon, aluminum alloys and durable plastics, with a flexible, stain-proof silicone sheath tinted a fashionable metallic green."
"Intriguing, I'm sure…" Data said dryly. "May I ask a favor of you, Howard?"
"I am here to serve," Howard replied automatically.
"May I…examine your arm?"
"All of my limbs are detachable for ease of maintenance and replacement," Howard informed him, efficiently detaching his left arm with his right hand and offering the silvery-green appendage to Data. "For your convenience."
"Yes… Thank you," Data said…and frowned. He wasn't sure why, but watching Howard remove his arm, holding that arm in his hand, feeling its limp weight…
Something was happening, deep down inside him…an odd, acidic surging in his gut. His equilibrium seemed off, and he swayed slightly. If he hadn't known his body had already completely processed the rations and coffee he had consumed that day, he'd be worried they were about to make a reappearance on the floor.
The peculiar physical feelings didn't last long, but they were intense enough to leave him rattled. Could it be he'd been nauseated by the prospect of holding a robot's severed arm? He made a mental note to discuss the incident with Geordi when next they met. In the meantime, the most he could do was swallow hard a few times and take in several deep, steadying breaths.
"Well," he commented to the completely oblivious Howard. "That was new. Now, let's see if this mass-produced plastic construct of yours will do the trick…"
Howard observed blankly as Data cautiously raised the severed arm to interrupt the power flow from the forcefield generator…
Choking black smoke filled the tiny space, and Howard's severed arm grew red hot. Data's hand opened reflexively, and the melted mass of plastic fell to the ground.
The forcefield hadn't so much as flickered.
"Damn," Data swore, and glanced down at the ruined arm with a wince. "My sincere apologies, Howard."
"I am here to serve," Howard told him.
"Yes, I know," Data said, and sadly shook his head. "You are a veritable repository of preprogramed responses without a hint of ingenuity or independent thought. But, at least you are company enough to keep me focused on the task at hand, rather than the smallness of this cell."
He grit his teeth and sighed.
"Well. If we cannot disrupt the forcefield with what we have at hand - no pun intended - we will have to find a different means of escape. But for any of my four most promising back-up plans to work, I will need to catch the attention of our captors."
A curious idea struck him, and his golden eyes took on a wicked cast.
"Howard…how are you at singing?"
"Stop that screaming, you little brat!" the Orion guard roared, banging a heavy piece of rebar against the stone wall next to the children's cell.
"But that song is driving me insane!" the new addition shouted – the angry little Klingon. "Make it stop, or I swear by Kahless, I'll do something even worse than before!"
The Orion frowned, recalling the way the Klingon girl had lunged at his shift partner upon awakening. She'd bloodied his eye and nearly bitten the burly man's nose clean off before he and that idiot Nausicaan had managed to pull her away and shove her in the cell with the other Skins.
"Yeah, like I'm going to leave you unguarded. Besides, what can you do, stuck in that cell?" he taunted.
The young Klingon glared daggers, then opened her mouth wide and joined in with the faint, distant singing that had been driving her and her sensitive ears to distraction for at least the past eight minutes.
"This is the song that doesn't end," she shrieked, "It just goes on and on my friend! Some people started singing it, not knowing what it was! And they'll continue singing it forever just because this is the song that doesn't end— Come on you simpering P'Tok," she snapped at the human boy beside her, shoving him and several of the other huddled prisoners as she paced around the cell. "Join in!"
"No, no, don't!" the Orion snarled. "All right, you win! I'll go find out what's causing that blasted noise. But you'd better sit tight, right where you are, while I'm gone. If any of those Skins are injured while I'm away—"
"Why should I want to injure these cringing sheep?" the Klingon retorted. "It's you I'd like to tear apart."
The Orion snorted, and headed down the dank tunnel.
"Don't think I can do it?" the girl shouted after him. "Release this forcefield! Or are you too afraid to face me without its protection, you green-skinned Orion coward!"
The Orion muttered dark mutterings to himself as he tromped through the maze of ancient passages, following the singing to its source. To his surprise, the reverberating sounds led him to what he and his fellow smugglers had termed the 'Junk Yard,' where they stored stolen, salvaged, and traded machines for auction.
"…some people started singing it not knowing what it was, and they'll continue singing it forever just because this is the song that doesn't end. It just goes on and on my friend…"
"All right, who's down here?" the Orion demanded. "Don't think I didn't hear you."
"I meant for you to hear me," a man's voice retorted. A second, much less nuanced voice continued singing loudly, until the first one quieted him with, "Thank you, Howard. You can stop now."
"I am here to serve," the second voice replied.
The Orion frowned and headed for the section where they kept the more valuable machines, including industrial, agricultural and domestic robots. Exiting the tunnel, he was met by a very angry, golden-eyed glare staring out from a silvery skull that, despite its metallic sheen and blinking lights, had an uncannily lifelike quality.
For a brief, unsettled, moment, the tall, muscular Orion's thoughts flew back to his childhood, to stories his older brother had told him late at night: tales of restless souls possessing inanimate dolls and puppets to wreak their revenge on the living.
But no, this thing was a machine, a robot. Whatever he thought he'd seen…it had to be a trick of the light, a distortion of the forcefield…
"I hoped that song would arouse your curiosity," the yellow-eyed robot said, its undeniably wry tone, expression, and cross-armed stance unsettling the Orion all over again. "Or, at least, provoke enough irritation to compel you to investigate."
"What are you?" the Orion demanded, his own voice coming out rather paler than he'd intended.
"First of all, it is not 'what am I' but 'who.' I am a person," the robot…thing…corrected. "Beyond that, I am a citizen of the Federation, kidnapped from a Federation world and held against my will in a blatant violation of the Constitution of the United Federation of Planets."
"Constitution," the Orion snorted. "You're a robot. Robots are property. They're not citizens of anything."
"As I informed your Nausicaan friend before he enacted my unlawful capture, I am not a robot," the…thing…proclaimed, the simmering anger in its voice becoming more pronounced. "Nor am I anyone's property. I am a free being with defined rights. My Federation citizenship is documented and fully acknowledged. My detainment here is unacceptable."
"Well, ain't that just too bad," the Orion said. "Look, buddy, in this place if you're not a robot, you're a Skin, and since you don't have any skin that I can see, you must be a robot. Simple as that."
"What do you mean: a 'Skin'?" the robot thing asked, its head tilting slightly.
"You really don't know anything, do you," the Orion scoffed. "We take in two kinds of livestock: Slaves and Skins. Slaves are the ones with marketable talents or other…attributes. Skins are what's left after the slave auction's over. They get sold for…different purposes…if you catch my meaning."
"I'm afraid I do not," the robot thing said. "Although I fear it is something most ominous. Tell me, where do you keep these…Skins?"
"None of your business," the Orion snapped. "Now you keep quiet. I've got to get back to my post."
"Wait!" the robot thing called. "If I am to be held prisoner here, I demand my basic rights."
The Orion paused.
"What rights?"
"Adequate space and sleeping accommodations. Clean, nourishing food and drink in suitable portions. Edifying entertainment. Appropriate clothing. Hygenic—"
"Ridiculous!" the Orion exclaimed. "Robots don't sleep or eat or—"
"I do," the robot thing said. "And, as I said before, I am not a robot."
"What's your name, then?" the Orion demanded. "Robots have nicknames based on their serial numbers. Only real people have names."
"Tell me your name," the robot thing shot back.
"Nizik," the Orion told him. "Your turn."
The robot thing smiled.
"My name is Soong," it said, seeming to enjoy the confused expression on the Orion guard's face. "Now, Nizik, will you accede to my very reasonable demands, or shall I use my friend Howard here to deflect the forcefield's energy toward the space you will be compelled to run to in just five…four…three…"
The robot thing reached for the domestic droid, clearly aiming to lift it into the air…
Nizik's midnight-blue eyes opened wide and he quickly deactivated the forcefield. As the energy wall dissipated, the robot thing breathed a sigh of relief so palpably genuine the Orion actually shivered in his boots.
"Thank you," it said. "The anxiety associated with such close confinement…well, it will suffice to say I will never look upon a closet the same way again." The Soong thing chuckled very slightly, its manner more unsettling than ever now it had more freedom of movement.
"Come with me," the guard said gruffly, remembering just in time to pull his phaser rifle from the holster on his back and aim it at his captive.
"What about Howard?" the Soong thing inquired.
"The droid stays," the Orion said, and pointedly reactivated the force field. Only when it was up and buzzing did it click in his mind that the lump of blackened plastic on the floor was what remained of Howard's left arm.
"Did you-?" the guard started.
The Soong thing smiled darkly and, suddenly, the phaser rifle was in its metallic hands, pointed straight at Nizik's heart.
"You were going to lead me to these…Skins…you mentioned?" the metal creature prompted, its golden eyes deep and frightening. "And please, do not attempt to deceive me. I would hate to have to use this weapon against you, at the setting you intended to use against me."
Nizik swallowed hard.
"This way…" he managed to grunt, and scampered through the tunnels the way he'd come, the Soong thing following close at his heels.
To Be Continued...
References include: TNG: Disaster, The Perfect Mate, The Measure of a Man, The Most Toys, Peak Performance, The Ensigns of Command; "The Song That Never Ends," by Norman Martin (1988); and ENT: Borderland, Cold Station 12, and The Augments.
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