Immortal Coil Read online

  “And I was,” Barclay interrupted. “For a while. Then I came here about . . .” He searched his memory.

  “Three months ago,” Haftel said. “A very eventful three months. Reg has been our envoy with Dr. Lewis Zimmerman on Jupiter Station, who has been helping Commander Maddox with the theoretical work. But when it came time to do the real work of assembling the . . . apparatus . . . Maddox decided it would make more sense for Reg to be here.”

  “Exactly,” Barclay said, then fixed his sights on Data. “I'm sorry, Commander, about not contacting you sooner. I kept telling Bruce that we owed you that, out of courtesy, if nothing else, but he . . .” Barclay trailed off, then shrugged helplessly.

  Data tilted his head to one side. “What courtesy is that, Lieutenant?”

  “We can discuss that later,” Haftel interrupted. “I believe we should allow Dr. Crusher to examine Commander Maddox.”

  “Yes, thank you, Admiral,” she said. “I've already performed a preliminary examination. The infirmary staff has done an excellent job treating the gross physical injuries, which are almost completely healed. The neural scan is a much different story, though. It's confused and contradictory,” she said. “I'm almost tempted to say deliberately confused and contradictory, but I'd rather not speculate until I've run some tests and consulted with the attending physician.”

  “Then we'll leave you to your work, Doctor,” Haftel said. The admiral gestured toward the door. “In the meantime, I'd like to ask you and the rest of your crew a few questions, Captain.”

  “Of course, Admiral,” Picard said as the rest adjourned to the corridor. “But I must confess our prior brief association with Commander Maddox notwithstanding, I'm unclear about why the Enterprise was summoned here. If I may ask, what exactly was Commander Maddox working on?”

  Before Haftel could respond, Data said, “Commander Maddox finally found the breakthrough he was searching for. He was building a sentient android.”

  Chapter Six

  “I KNOW FROM COMMANDER MADDOX that you and he haven't had much to say to each other recently,” Admiral Haftel said to Data sometime later. “Explain precisely how you came to this startling . . .”

  “. . . but accurate . . .” Barclay added.

  “. . . but accurate conclusion,” Haftel finished, barely glancing at Reg. As a working scientist, a cyberneticist of some renown himself, Haftel was, Riker observed, considerably more relaxed about protocol than most of the Admiralty. It was, he decided, probably as much common sense as anything. There was no point in expecting characters like Barclay and Lewis Zimmerman (reputedly even more eccentric than Reg) to toe the line, a lesson that Riker himself had had to learn the hard way.

  The Enterprise party, Haftel and Barclay had relocated to a conference room in the Institute's main administrative building. The walls were decorated with two-dees and holos of noteworthy researchers who had studied at the Institute, all of them subtly arranged so that the eye was led to the portrait of the great man himself, Richard Daystrom. The portrait was one Riker had never seen before, but, as in every image Riker had ever seen of the man, he thought that the inventor looked slightly worried, like he was wondering if he had left something running back in the lab.

  Of course, Riker reflected, there's no reason why genius should guarantee a happy—or even stable —outlook on life. He himself had shook hands, spoken with, and seen the reality behind the legend of, Zefram Cochrane, a man whom history painted as a paragon of human virtue. And from what little Riker knew about Daystrom—beyond what he had picked up in his Starfleet history courses—his had not been a particularly joyous life. So, what did it all mean? Deanna must have sensed that his mind was wandering because she half-turned in her chair, arched an eyebrow at him, then flicked her eyes toward Data. Pay attention, she was saying.

  Data was saying, “. . . But we ceased to communicate on a regular basis when I refused to turn over the bodies of Lal and Lore to him. I believe he felt that I was being unreasonable. I meant no disrespect to him, Admiral, and I attempted to resume our correspondence on several occasions, but Commander Maddox was . . . is . . . quite capable of ‘carrying a grudge.’ ”

  Haftel grunted in agreement. Apparently, Data's assessment tallied with his own impressions. “Tell me what happened after you recovered Soong's three prototypes? Did you speak with him during that period?”

  “Speak?” Data asked, frowning. “Not as such, no. I first learned of the prototypes when I met Dr. Soong's former wife, Dr. Juliana Tainer, and subsequently took steps to find and retrieve their remains from Omicron Theta. When Commander Maddox learned of this, he requested the opportunity to study them in detail. I refused. After that, he sent me several messages.”

  “And how would you describe the nature of these messages?”

  Data considered the question, then replied flatly, “I would have to say he was quite angry. My impression is that Commander Maddox was experiencing extreme frustration. I believe he had exhausted what he considered to be the viable avenues in his research into re-creating Dr. Soong's positronic brain, and would not accept my reasons for blocking his access to my predecessors' remains. He believed that I was putting my personal feelings before the good of the Federation. In retrospect, I find this quite interesting since these events took place before, technically speaking, I had feelings. Now that I do have them—and understand something about frustration—I have concluded that it might have been better to let the commander study my father's earlier work.”

  “So, what stopped you from contacting him?”

  “The commander refused to accept my messages. The last communication I received from him said, ‘Your right to choose your own fate was duly recognized, Data. And, believe it or not, despite everything, I wouldn't change that. But history can still pass judgment on your choices.’ ”

  Haftel sat in silence for a minute or two, absorbing this new information. Finally, he looked up, and, with a small smile, said, “You know, Data, when you were quoting Maddox, not only did you mimic him slightly, you also used a contraction. I've never heard you do that before.”

  “Really?” Data asked. His eyes flicked back and forth, as he reviewed the past several seconds' worth of conversation. “Thank you, Admiral, for pointing that out. It would seem that my neural net is experiencing a new period of growth. It would explain . . . some other incidents that have occurred recently.”

  Reg Barclay, who had been fussing with a viewscreen console, cleared his throat and hesitantly announced, “Uh, Commander Maddox had been preparing a presentation that might help clarify things a bit.”

  “Good idea, Reg,” Haftel said and directed their attention to the center of the table. The lights dimmed and a blurry image rippled into view, then resolved into the Daystrom Institute logo. The image disappeared, and was replaced by a holo of a blurry illustration. Riker recognized it as the da Vinci drawing usually referred to as Vitruvian Man: a nude human male with his arms and legs shown in two different positions, perhaps the most recognized anatomical drawing known to humanity. As the image sharpened, Riker saw that the skin was peeled away from half of the figure's body, but the structure beneath was not flesh and bone, but steel and circuitry. The figure's features, Riker realized, were Data's.

  “Oh,” Reg muttered, glancing at Data. “I had forgotten about that. I think he was going to change it.”

  “On the contrary,” Data said. “I believe I am flattered. Please continue.”

  Reg smiled, relieved. “All right,” he said. “Here we go. Bruce, Commander Maddox, that is, had come to the point where he was beginning to suspect Soong's work—Data and Lore, that is—might owe as much to some fluke of circumstance as to scientific rigor. I can't say there was much agreement on this point. Might have had to do with Bruce wanting to preserve his dignity as much as anything.” Reg smoothed his hair back and looked around, aware that he wasn't getting to the facts. “In any case, Commander Maddox had hit a wall trying to duplicate a stable positronic
brain. That's when he began to believe he might be looking in the wrong place, especially when he started to learn that other extraordinary developments in artificial intelligence were already taking place for no apparent reason—occurrences of what he referred to as ‘spontaneous sentience.’ That was Commander Maddox's term for those instances when an AI developed cognitive self-awareness inexplicably and, so far at least, unexplainably. Three such occurrences in particular stood out to him.” A series of holograms took shape: a small octagonal box on a pair of hover skids, a handsome, distinguished gentleman dressed in nineteenth-century evening wear and a trio of crystalline specks. “You know about all of these: Farallon's exocomps, the Moriarty hologram, and, uh, Wesley Crusher's nanites.”

  Riker heard a long exhale to his left and looked at Picard. The captain was frowning, perhaps wondering if this were the real reason Haftel had summoned them. The incidents Barclay was describing had all involved the crew of the Enterprise. And, having struggled firsthand with the ethical and scientific questions raised by those events, Riker knew that Picard could well understand Maddox's interest in them.

  “Bruce became especially fascinated by the Moriarty hologram,” Barclay went on. “For some time, there's been a growing consensus among AI specialists at the DIT that Starfleet holotechnology may offer a vital clue to creating more advanced forms of artificial intelligence. The theory is based largely on observations of Dr. Zimmerman's emergency medical holograms and related data we've obtained from the U.S.S. Voyager in the Delta Quadrant . . . and, of course, on Moriarty.”

  Riker recalled that Barclay himself had been very involved in the Moriarty affair. That, as well as his recent work with Dr. Zimmerman, probably played a big part in Reg's involvement with Maddox's project.

  Barclay continued, “The biggest problem with Soong's positronic brain has aways been its vulnerability to cascade failure. With only a few exceptions,”

  Barclay said, glancing at Data, “the system generally can't cope with the rapid formation of new neural net pathways as the brain processes new experiences.” Reg hesitated, perhaps realizing he had coldly reminded everyone in the room about the tragedy of Lal.

  Data glanced at Admiral Haftel who, to his credit, had been working with him to save Lal when her cascade anomalies began increasing exponentially. Haftel said nothing, apparently more interested in studying the faces of the Enterprise officers as the presentation unfolded. Riker caught Deanna's eye to see what she thought of all this. She saw him looking and subtly shook her head no. Data is fine, she was saying.

  Suddenly, Data said, “Commander Maddox must have known that I myself have come close to cascade failure.”

  Barclay nodded. “Yes, he knew. Th-that's where Moriarty and the EMHs come in—they use a completely different approach to an AI matrix—” As if realizing he wasn't explaining himself clearly, Barclay stopped himself. “Wait. It's easier just to show you . . .” He touched the holoprojector's control padd and brought up another image—a schematic diagram several levels of magnitude too complicated for Riker to fully comprehend. La Forge and Data studied it in silence for several moments and then Geordi whistled appreciatively.

  “Commander Maddox created a positronic brain with a holographic matrix,” Data said. “Intriguing.”

  “Well, to be fair,” Barclay said, “and I'm sure Bruce would say this, too, he couldn't have done it without Dr. Zimmerman's contribution.”

  “Or yours, Reg,” Haftel added.

  Barclay blushed. “Well, thank you, but I'm sure he would have sorted out my part by himself eventually. They had a problem with the matrix collapsing when they had to refresh the cycle . . .” He glanced around and saw everyone was staring at him. “Well, never mind. Here, let's go on.”

  The image faded and was replaced by a shot of Maddox, Barclay and a gray-haired gentleman of medium height and indeterminate age standing around a laboratory table. On the table lay what appeared to Riker to be a featureless, silver humanoid. “We determined that the holographic matrix would not only be less susceptible to cascade anomalies, thereby giving an android a greater chance for survival during the early stages of its development,” Reg continued, “it actually makes it possible for the brain to accommodate more complex neural net pathways.”

  “Meaning that these androids could, theoretically, evolve very quickly,” Haftel said. “Possibly even more quickly than Mr. Data here.”

  “Fascinating,” Picard said, leaning forward. “Who is the third man in the image?”

  “The third . . . ? Haftel asked. “Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you knew. That's Emil Vaslovik.”

  “Emil Vaslovik?!” La Forge asked unbelievingly. “How did you ever convince him to join you on the project? Everything I've ever heard about him made me believe that he would never work for Starfleet.”

  “It wasn't easy,” Reg said. “Or so Bruce said. I wasn't involved in those negotiations, though I do know that Dr. Zimmerman signed on because Vaslovik did.”

  “I'm sorry to say I'm not familiar with the name,” Riker confessed.

  “A neurocyberneticist,” La Forge explained. “Some might say the neurocyberneticist. Prior to Vaslovik's studies, most of the research in AI had been attempts to mimic human thought processes in machine systems. Vaslovik theorized that rather than program computers to act like humans, we should create machine systems that imitate human neural structures, then let them develop however they would. In fact, the recent development of bio-neural gel pack technology owes a lot to his early work.”

  “It also has been suggested,” Data interjected, “that my father used Vaslovik's research as the basis for creating my positronic brain. And that Vaslovik laid the groundwork for many of Ira Graves's accomplishments in molecular cybernetics.”

  Riker's eyes widened slightly, recalling Graves as the dying genius who tried to cheat death by forcibly transferring his mind into Data's body.

  “He's also notoriously anti-Starfleet,” La Forge added. “He did the majority of his work decades ago. Frankly, I'm surprised to hear he's still alive.”

  “I'm afraid that I have bad news on that score,” Haftel said. “Dr. Vaslovik died in the explosion that brought half the lab down on Maddox and destroyed the prototype android.”

  There was silence around the table as the group absorbed this new information. Finally, McAdams asked, “What did your security people find?”

  “Nothing to suggest foul play,” Haftel answered, getting the lieutenant's drift. “I've arranged to have the incident report and related files uploaded to the Enterprise immediately following this meeting. But to sum it up, it looks like the primary culprit was a malfunction in the weather control grid. We had a very large storm that night and the grid went down while Maddox and Vaslovik were working in the lab. A bolt of lightning hit an unshielded transtator cluster in the power grid and the lab's primary EPS conduit overloaded. Vaslovik must have been standing right next to the wall where the explosion occurred, because there was hardly anything left of him. Maddox was luckier.”

  “You weren't there, Mr. Barclay?” Picard asked.

  “No, Captain,” Barclay said. “I w-was due to be there in another three hours. We were going to activate the android that night. I truly wish I had been there earlier. Maybe then Bruce and Emil—”

  “—might have ended up the same way, with you just one more victim,” Haftel snapped. “We've been through this, Reg. You're not responsible. Stop blaming yourself.”

  “Aye, sir,” Barclay said quietly.

  “What else did the investigation reveal?” McAdams asked.

  “Not much. The damage was so severe, it's been difficult to get in without triggering a complete building collapse. We managed to get Maddox out, but we didn't dare risk doing more until we could figure out how to stabilize the structure, and that took time. When we were finally able to get back inside, it was clear the prototype had been crushed under fallen debris. We still haven't succeeded in extracting it—the debris pinning it is hold
ing up a major portion of the upper floor, so we can't even beam it out yet.”

  “Admiral,” Picard said, “it sounds as if you're satisfied that this tragedy was an accident. If that's the case, I hope you'll forgive me if I repeat my earlier question: Why was the Enterprise summoned here?”

  Haftel nodded. “That's quite all right, Captain. It's a valid question, and I quite understand your impatience. But you needed to know everything else first. There was one anomalous detail we found in the lab that was difficult to reconcile with all the other evidence. Because of the sensitive nature of it, I ordered a halt to any further attempts to study the scene until you and your officers had a chance to see it for yourselves. Computer: display security image M0341-A. Authorization: Haftel Gamma Five Zero Five.”

  The computer chimed in acknowledgment and brought up a new holo, presumably taken by one of the DIT's security people inside Maddox's lab. It was a close-up of the dust-littered lab floor. The edge of a dark red puddle that could only be blood was visible, but most of the holo was dominated by the four ragged red letters someone had scrawled onto the floor, spelling a word:

  DATA

  And then everyone in the meeting room turned and looked at the android, who was still staring intently at the holo when he finally spoke.

  “Intriguing,” he said.

  Chapter Seven

  THE LATE AFTERNOON SUN cast long shadows as Haftel and the Enterprise officers wended their way across the campus's main quad, toward Maddox's lab. Few of the tall, straight trees that lined the main walkway had more than a leaf or two clinging to their branches, and the damp, chill wind rustled the bare limbs. Riker was surprised to find himself thinking back to his boyhood home in Alaska.

  When that wind came whistling down out of the mountains, he remembered, it was time to put away your fishing gear and get out the snowshoes. A gust cut through the insulation of his uniform jacket and he shivered. My blood has gotten thin and it's been too long since I've been home. Back in the days before the Enterprise-D had been destroyed, he and Worf had discussed taking some shore leave together in the Alaskan backlands. Riker had wanted to show Worf that some Terrans had lived in conditions as harsh as anything a Klingon had ever faced.