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Subject: Repost: Mirror, Mirror (part 2)
Message-ID: <1990Apr27.213814.15415@jarvis.csri.toronto.edu>
From: ckchee@dgp.toronto.edu (Chuan Chee)
Date: 28 Apr 90 01:38:14 GMT
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Organization: CSRI, University of Toronto
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[Chuan Chee: There were only two parts posted as far as I know.]


          MIRROR, MIRROR:  THE NEXT GENERATION

        "Errand of Malice"   by Michael Montoure

                       part two

     (Copyright notice -- It's useless to say, "Please don't 
      reproduce this!" because I know you will anyway.  :-)  All
      I ask is, if you reproduce it, please copy it INTACT, and
      don't edit anything -- and please, so I can keep track of
      where this is going, say where you got it.  Thanks.  --MJM)
 
     
      Picard stared across the table at Wesley, drumming his fingers
   slowly.  "I imagine you're wondering why I called you here, Ensign,"
   Picard said.

      "Yes, sir, I am."

      The boy isn't afraid to look me in the eye, Picard thought.  Good,
   good.  "It's about Lieutenant Commander Data."

      "What about it?"

      "How much do you know about its design structure and source code?"

      Wesley smiled as he leaned back in his chair.  "Practically everything."

      Picard nodded.  "Do you think you could access its memory core?"

      The boy's eyes widened.  "That would be a treasonous act, sir.  To 
    tamper with a piece of Imperial Intelligence equipment would be -- "

      "Extremely advantageous to us."  Picard leaned forward.  "Data has inside
    its memory banks records that I can't access from the ship's computer . . .
    fleet strength, security forces, passwords.  Useful information for a 
    starship captain, wouldn't you say?"

      Wesley's eyes narrowed.  "It also contains a record of everything that 
    it observes on this ship."

      "A record which you could . . . edit."

      "I'm sure I could."  He looked at Picard suspiciously.  "What's in it
    for me?"

      "Protection.  Someone with your . . . abilities . . . is dangerous to
    many people on board this ship."

      "Including you?"

      "No.  Not including me."  Picard scowled.  "Remember, Ensign . . . I 
    had your mother killed when she . . . displeased me.  The same can easily
    happen to you.  Easily."

      Wesley swallowed.  "Yes, sir.  I'll remember."

      "I can offer you protection, from others on this ship who would find  
    it -- convenient to have you disposed of."

      Wesley nodded.  "I'll need help in catching Data off guard."

      "You'll get it."

                           *   *   *   *   *   *   *

      O'Brien looked up from his work to see Commander Riker standing over
    him.  "Morning, Commander," he said uneasily.  "What brings you down to
    Engineering?"

      "The collimiter coils, Engineer.  We had a little trouble with them 
    during the last phaser drills."

      "Trouble?  I wasn't aware of any trouble."

      "Could you come take a look at them?"  Riker smiled.  "If you're not 
    busy here, of course."

      O'Brien hurriedly dropped the sonic driver into his toolkit and stood
    up.  "No, sir, I'm not busy . . . what seems to be the problem?"

      He opened the collimiter coil access cover and looked inside.

      Riker casually reached out and raised the power level to full capacity.
    Within seconds he heard the most satisfying scream.

      O'Brien staggered back, his hands clutching at face.  "My eyes!  I can't
    see!"

      Riker tapped the planet-and-dagger shaped communicator pinned to his
    chest.  "Riker to Sick Bay," he said calmly.

      "Sick Bay, Pulaski here."

      "Please send a medical team to Engineering, Doctor.  There's just been a 
    most unfortunate accident."

                           *   *   *   *   *   *   *

      Deanna looked across the room at the Klingon.  Data stood near the
   door, his arms casually folded across his chest.  He seemed to be paying
   no attention to the exchange between the two prisoners, but Deanna had
   learned in the short time that she had been aboard that there wasn't a
   single word, a single sound, a single heartbeat that Data didn't hear
   and record with its damnable perfect memory.

      "Why do you wish to join us?" Deanna asked calmly, trying to clear
   her mind of her own fear so that she could more clearly read the Klingon's
   emotions.  "Your people have no love for combat."

      "That is true," Worf said, his dark, deep-set eyes meeting hers 
   without fear.  "But we do what is necessary."

      "But you would be willing to serve the Empire?"

      "Naturally.  Just as you do."

      Deanna caught his meaning.  Worf understood her, she realized;
   understood that she was only a useful tool, a pawn, who would live and
   thrive as long as she was useful and wanted.  She served Riker, and
   his master, Picard, out of fear.

      And so, even though it was nearly impossible for him to admit, 
   would Worf.

      She nodded, the unspoken communication passed between them.

      Data glanced at both of them, its eyes narrowed suspiciously.

      Deanna stood up.  "I have no further questions, Mr. Data."

      She walked out into the hall, with Data following close behind.

      "Well, Ms. Troi?"  Data asked.  "Your evaluation?"

      "I believe he is sincere in his offer," Deanna said.  "He will
   serve the Empire faithfully."

      "So it is your recommendation to accept him."

      "Yes, it is."

      Data nodded tersely.  "I shall report your recommendation to
   Captain Picard."  He paused.  "Let me remind you that if you are
   lying, or if you and the Klingon are conspiring together, you will
   both suffer."

      The complete lack of emotion in his promise sent a shiver through
   Deanna's body.