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Geordi heard the muted sound of fingertips pressing controls. And then he bowed his head and groaned as the chest-crushing pain seized him once more, with such mind-blotting intensity that he was aware of nothing else… except the soft, steady ticking of a timepiece.

NINE

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Other than the holodeck, one of Picard’s favorite places aboard the Enterprise was stellar cartography. With the holographic map activated, standing on the stellar cartography deck was like lying in a country field staring up at the night sky—or better, like hanging suspended in space; one need only lean forward to touch the nearest star ….

At the moment, the holographic map wasn’t activated; Picard stood, surrounded by computers, sensors, track-ing devices designed to monitor the ship’s precise position in space. Beside him, Data sat at a console, awaiting a readout. Picard gazed at the nearby bank of viewscreens, which displayed diagrams of an angry streak of ultraviolet lightning—the energy ribbon—at various times and locations.

He had used the mystery of Soran and the ribbon to focus, to extricate himself from grief. His initial fury and frustration had ebbed. There was nothing he could do to help Robert and Ren6; but there was much he could do to help Geordi La Forge… and to stop whatever harm Soran planned.

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Data leaned forward as the readout appeared on his screen; Picard caught the movement in his peripheral vision and turned, expectant. He was still unaccustomed to seeing the android under the sway of emotion; Data’s depression showed in the slump of his shoulders, the barely perceptible downward curve of his lips.

“According to our information,” Data said listlessly, “the ribbon is a conflux of temporal energy which travels through our galaxy every thirty-nine point one years.” He paused and frowned, apparently having lost his place. “It will pass through this sector in approxi-mately… forty-two hours.”

Picard moved away and began to pace, hoping the movement might keep his weary mind and body alert; he had slept little since Marie’s message. “Then Guinan was right …. She said Soran was trying to get back to the ribbon. If that’s true, then there must be some connection with the Amargosa star.” He turned on his heel and faced Data. “Give me a list of anything which has been affected by the star’s destruction, no matter how insignificant.”

The android did not respond, but merely stared unblinking at the glowing screen with a disconsolate expression.

“Data,” Picard snapped.

Data straightened at once; Picard fancied he caught a fleeting look of embarrassment on the android’s face. “Sorry, sir.” He pressed several controls on the console, then looked back at the captain. “It will take the computer a few moments to compile the information.”

Picard folded his arms to wait. As he watched, Data released a deep, sorrowful sigh, then leaned forward and

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put his head in his hands. Perplexed, the captain stepped forward and put a hand on the android’s shoulder. “Data… are you all right?”

“No, sir.” Data raised his head, revealing a tortured expression. “I am finding it difficult to concentrate. I believe I am overwhelmed with feelings of… remorse and regret concerning my actions on the observatory.”

“What do you mean?” Picard asked gently. Neither Riker nor Worf had reported that Data had committed any unusual action.

Data sighed again. “I wanted to save Geordi… I tried. But I experienced something I did not expect.” He gazed up at the captain with unmasked shame. “Fear. I was afraid, sir.”

Picard opened his mouth to speak, and closed it again when the computer signaled. Data turned once more to his console and began to read glumly.

“According to our current information, the destruction of the Amargosa star has had the following effects in this sector: Gamma emissions have increased by point-zero-five percent; the Starship Bozeman was forced to make a course correction; a research project on Gorik Four was halted due to increased neutrino particles; ambient magnetic fields have decreased by—”

“Wait,” Picard interrupted. “The Bozeman. Why did it change course?”

“The destruction of the Amargosa star has altered the gravitational forces throughout the sector,” Data said. “Any ships passing through this region will have to make a minor course correction.”

“A minor course correction…” Picard frowned as he contemplated the fact. Instinct said there was something

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here, some key that remained as yet elusive. He turned and headed toward the large holomap control console behind them. “Where is the ribbon now?”

Data rose and followed him to the console, then pressed a few controls. Within seconds, the room around them dissolved, replaced by a huge, twinkling map of the galaxy. Data pointed toward a red, glowing dot. “This is its current position.”

Picard leaned forward, transfixed. “Can you project its course?”

Data began to respond, then hesitated; his expression suddenly crumpled with despair. “Sir… I—I cannot continue with this investigation.”

Picard stared at him in bewilderment.

Data lowered his head in shame. “I wish to be deactivated until Dr. Crusher can remove the emotion chip.”

“Are you having some kind of malfunction?”

The android shook his head. “No, sir. I simply do not have the ability to control these emotions.”

“Data…” Picard drew a breath. Watching the android’s turmoil was like gazing inward. “I have nothing but sympathy for what you’re going through. But I need your full attention on the task at—”

Data wheeled on him angrily. “You do not understand, sir. I no longer want these feelings. Deactivating me is the only viable solution.”

“Data,” Picard said sternly, feeling oddly that he was speaking as much to himself, “part of having emotions is learning how to integrate them into your life. How to deal with them, no matter what the circumstance.”

“But, sir—” Picard straightened to his full height and summoned

his most authoritarian tone. “And I will not allow you to be deactivated. You are an officer aboard this ship and right now you have a duty to perform.” He paused, and when no further protest was forthcoming, added: “That’s an order, Commander.”

As he spoke, Data’s expression slowly metamorphosed from one of despair to one of stoic resolve. “Yes, sir,” he said softly. “I will try.”

Picard put a reassuring hand on the android’s shoulder and did not quite smile. “Courage can be an emotion, too, Data.” His tone grew brisk. “Now… can you project the course of the ribbon?”

Data squared his shoulders in such an overt display of determination that Picard struggled not to smile as the android worked the console. As Picard watched, a glowing red line appeared in the starry display, forming an arc between suns. He stepped closer, his pulse quick-ening. Yes, the answer was here …. He turned back toward Data. “Where was the Amargosa star?”

In reply, Data pressed a control; a twinkling star appeared close to the red line.

“Now…” Picard mused. “You said when the Amargosa star was destroyed, it altered the gravitational forces in this sector. Did the computer take that into account when it projected the ribbon’s course?”

Surprise spread over Data’s features as he considered this. “No, sir. I will make the appropriate adjustments.”

He did so, and the single twinkling star before Picard’s eyes darkened, blinked, then altogether disappeared. As it did, the glowing red line shifted to the right— changing course.

Picard glanced up, his weariness replaced by the exhilaration of discovery. “That’s what Soran’s doing—