While the rokhelhdevoted much of its digital substance to probing and testing the Other’s vulnerabilities, it traced the interloper’s origination point to a subspace carrierband being directed toward one of the Apparatus’s most peripheral exterior nodes. Backtracing the signal turned out to be a very simple matter, requiring only patience.
Thiswas where most of the Other’s resources actually lay; not within the diaphanous binary circulatory system of the Apparatus itself, but aboard a nearby cloaked vessel. Lashed to a positronic physical substrate of cortenide and duranium.
The rokhelhtraced the Other’s linear datastream back through the cloaked ship’s computer and into the Other’s own small but highly organized internal positronic computational network. After pushing the Other back to its origin point–the location from which it had invaded the sanctity of the Apparatus–the rokhelhfound that there was ample unused storage space within the Other’s physical shell.
For the first time in its existence, the rokhelhhad taken on a humanoid form.
The rokhelhopened its newly acquired optical receptors and raised a pale forelimb before them. It examined the appendage, turning it clumsily this way and that, noting the jointed digits, the skeletal structure, the soft epidermal covering. How like my creators,it thought, intrigued. Yet how unlike.
The rokhelhlooked past the hand. A humanoid creature stood nearby, an intent expression upon its face. This being was also like, but unlike, the rokhelh’s creators. It appeared weak in some indefinable way. Perhaps this was because of its distinctive lack of hair, or maybe owing to its underdeveloped external auditory organs. Or perhaps because its lips were drawn upward in an expression that the rokhelh’s own creators very rarely displayed–a smile.
“Mr. Data, are you all right?” said the weak‑looking, small‑eared, smiling creature.
The rokhelhreached toward the creature with its newly appropriated hand.
And seized the creature’s throat.
And squeezed.
And smiled back at the frail, hairless entity, whose own smile had already fled.
Picard sensed what was about to happen a splitsecond too late. The android’s fingers had locked around his throat before he could back out of the way. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t budge the viselike grip by so much as a millimeter, though he was tugging at Data’s hand with both of his own.
The universe swiftly shrank to the size of the white hand clutching at his throat. He heard Hawk calling to him as though from light‑years away, an edge of fear in the younger man’s voice. Less than a meter directly behind the crushing hand, Data smiled like a death’s head, though his eyes resembled those of a child studying a bug in a jar.
Picard knew he couldn’t last more than another few seconds–and that he had only one chance to seize control of the situation. Instead of struggling away from Data’s grip, he lunged toward the android, throwing both arms around his shoulders.
Spots danced before Picard’s eyes as his fingers groped for purchase behind Data’s back. But it was no use. The “off” switch was beyond his reach. Data’s grip was unbearable, relentless.
Abruptly, the android’s rigid fingers stopped closing. Data ceased all movement, though he remained stiffly locked in a seated position. The cable that connected his exposed skull to the Romulan ship’s systems still appeared intact.
A moment later, Picard became conscious that Hawk was beside him, helping him pry Data’s stiff fingers from his throat.
“What’s gotten into him?” Hawk said.
Picard drew in a great rush of air, coughed, and cleared his throat. When he spoke, his voice was raspy from his near‑strangulation. “I think that’s a very appropriately worded question, Lieutenant. I wish I knew the answer.”
And I wish I knew whatstopped him,Picard thought, uncomfortably aware that his own fingers had never made it all the way down to Data’s hidden “off” switch. Whatever had immobilized Data, Picard knew that he’d had nothing to do with it.
Hawk asked him if he was all right, but Picard assured him that he hadn’t been seriously injured and sent the lieutenant back to the helm. Then the captain kneeled behind the deactivated android. Drawing his hand phaser, he tentatively waved a hand before Data’s vacant eyes. The android remained immobile and unresponsive.
“Data, are you all right?” he said. There was no response.
Picard turned toward the front of the cockpit, though he kept Data in the corner of his eye. He did not put the phaser away. “Mr. Hawk, has there been any change in the singularity’s behavior?”
“No, sir. There’s no longer any doubt about it–Data’s abort command could not have gotten through.”
“Something stopped it,” Picard said. “Perhaps the same something that caused Data to attack me.”
“The abort sequence should have taken only a couple of seconds to engage,” Hawk said. “If it was going to happen, it would have by now.”
“Agreed. And the longer we stay here, the greater the chance we’ll be detected. We’ll have to find another way to force the array into abort mode.”
At that moment, the viewscreen suddenly displayed the image of a huge Romulan warbird. As it decloaked before them, it blotted out the fires of the subspace singularity like a planet eclipsing its sun.
A deep, cool voice issued from the scout’s communications panel. “Scoutship Chula.This is Commander T’Veren of the warbird Gal Gath’thong.You will decloak immediately and explain your business here.”
Hawk sounded as though he were fighting to keep his voice calm. “Captain, if they know this ship by name, then they alreadyknow what our business is.”
“And who’s aboard this ship,” Picard said soberly. “Drop the cloak, Lieutenant. Then stall.”
“Stall, sir?”
“Send a ‘technical trouble’ signal. We need to buy ourselves some time.”
Hawk complied, glancing at the sensor readouts. “More bad news, sir. They’re powering up their disruptors. Should we withdraw?”
The captain brushed a palm across the thin sheen of sweat that had formed on his brow. “No, Mr. Hawk. We can’t outrun them. So we’ll have to . . . out‑ thinkthem instead.”
Hawk nodded, saucer‑eyed. Though Picard kept his expression impassive, he could hear his own pulse roaring in his ears.
Without Data’s help, thinking my way out of a Romulan target‑lock isn’t going to be easy.
Data floated in a formless, sensory‑deprived void. With his emotion chip deactivated, the fact that he and the Presence were becoming inextricably linked was no reason for panic–though it didgive him cause for real concern. It was a development that Data could not allow to continue without a fight.
I cannot permit you to appropriate my body,Data told the Presence, his voice a gossamer construct of electromagnetic impulses, rather than sounds.
‹ Your statement is meaningless, › the Presence said, its words issuing from the nothingness surrounding Data. ‹ You cannot stop me. You are helpless. ›
Data considered the alien machine‑entity’s words for nearly a millisecond. For the moment, he concluded that the Presence was correct. He was indeed helpless, at least so long as the artificial intelligence maintained control over many of his body’s higher functions. But Data also knew that he might succeed in bypassing or disabling some of those functions–at least for a short while–if he proceeded very carefully, camouflaging his efforts with the background maintenance subroutines that were always running.