He Lives In You

By Laura Schiller

Based on: Star Trek: Picard

Copyright: CBS

/

"Into the water
Into the truth
In your reflection
He lives in you"

Lebo M., "He Lives In You" (The Lion King II: Simba's Pride)

/

"Hello," she said, her voice trembling as she stepped into the light. "It's me, Soji. Are you there?"

She knew this was only a simulation, created by Data's consciousness inside Dr. Altan Soong's computer. She knew that her physical body was sitting beside that computer in the lab, her positronic brain connected to it through a cable plugged into the base of her skull. She also knew that, nonetheless, this was as real an experience as any she would ever have.

Picard and Jurati had been concerned when she had suggested this, but she had insisted. There were still so many pieces missing from the puzzle of her life; she wanted at least one of them filled out, no matter how much it might hurt her. In the short time they had left before deleting his consciousness as he had asked, she wanted to meet her father.

What Picard had described as his study in La Barre appeared to her as a greenhouse filled with orchids. She could smell their perfume, feel the warmth and humidity of the air on her face, and see every dewdrop on their petals. For a moment she was frightened, expecting a return of her nightmare where she saw herself as a doll in pieces and was angrily dismissed from the room. She kept a wary eye on the tall man in the black-and-navy Starfleet uniform whose silhouette she could just make out from behind the row of peach-colored blossoms.

He turned around, saw her … and by the look on his face, she knew she had nothing to fear.

It was not a smile or a tear; nothing so obvious as that. Like Picard, Data carried himself with the understated dignity of an earlier age. But his yellow eyes softened, the lines in his golden skin relaxed ever so slightly, and he inclined his glossy black head to her as if he were still aboard the Enterprise, and she its most honored guest.

"Soji." He came towards her and held out one hand. "I understand that among family, it is customary to embrace, but as we have never met, I believe a handshake will suffice."

That broke the ice, or at least cracked it a little. Soji laughed and shook his hand. His touch was cool and dry, like that of the other Coppelians, but it warmed something inside her nonetheless.

"Would you permit me," he asked, "To access your memories?" He had a light, precise voice like Soong's, but with none of Soong's arrogance. "I understand if you would rather not, given what my former Captain told me of your life … however, it would be a privilege for me to watch my daughter growing up."

He did not try to override her firewalls and hack into her memory files, although she sensed that he could easily have done so. He did not try to appeal to her emotions or influence her in any way. He did not remind her, by look or word or even thought, that this privilege would be accorded to a dying man in the last moments of his life.

He simply gave her a choice.

She wouldn't have believed him if he had claimed to love her, but his respect went straight to her heart – which was why, thinking of her memories with all their pain and shame, she couldn't bear to burden him with them.

"I … I wish I could," she faltered. "But if you had any idea what was in them … how much did Picard tell you?"

"Enough to know that you have suffered deeply, and yet given the choice, you chose hope rather than fear."

Hearing such a kind interpretation of her actions made Soji laugh and sob at the same time.

"I've made so many mistakes. I loved too much, hated too much … I was this close to destroying everything."

"Yet you did not."

If I'd been programmed without emotions like you were in the beginning, none of this would've happened."

She thought of Narek, pinned to the ground by several androids and begging her for help, and how the loathing she'd felt at the sight of him had been enough to make her activate the beacon. She had seen the ch'khalagu about to come through, writhing like monstrous steel insects, ready to devour anything that was made of flesh and blood, and she had been happy … if not for Picard's dying voice calling her back at the last second, she would have become a monster too.

"It is not our emotions, or lack thereof, that determine the outcome of a situation. It is our actions. This Agent Narek to whom Mr. Picard referred … did he claim to have feelings for you?"

A lump came into Soji's throat as she remembered Narek calling after her from inside his prison cell. Despite everything, there had been sincerity in his voice. That made her hate him most of all. "Yes."

"Any such feelings became irrelevant when he chose to destroy your homeworld." A stern note not unlike Picard's came into Data's elegant voice. For a moment, Soji wondered what would have happened if this father of hers had ever come face to face with Narek. She had a feeling the Romulan would have come off considerably worse in the encounter.

"Conversely," Data added, "You hate him, and yet you spared his life and the lives of his comrades. It was a compassionate choice, whether you felt compassion or not."

"That had nothing to do with him. It was because of Picard." Soji smiled despite her impending tears. "He called me up and gave me one of his speeches. You know what he's like."

"Indeed."

"I couldn't let him die because of me."

At this very moment, Soji knew, the old veteran was watching over her in the laboratory, staying awake and drinking caffeinated Earl Grey against the advice of Drs. Soong and Jurati. They were expecting her back. If she stayed too long, they would pull her out directly … and then, she realized with a fresh stab of grief, they would erase Data for good.

"I … I don't want to lose you either." The tears running down her cheeks might be simulated, but they were as hot and salty as any she had ever cried in the belief that she was human. "I've only just met you! It's not right!"

"Soji … "

Data hesitated, looking more awkward and confused than she had ever seen him. He blinked, tilted his head, and – with the slightest tweak on the lines of code holding their mindscape together – made a handkerchief materialize in the front pocket of his uniform. It was a cloth handkerchief, white linen, folded into a precise square, like something you might see in a Victorian holodrama. He handed it to her.

"I do not wish to lose you either," he said softly, "But please consider … I have spent decades confined to this program. I cannot endure it indefinitely. I … " For the first time, she caught a glimpse of suffering in the depths of those calm yellow eyes. "I need to be free."

"Can't we get you a new body?" she argued through her tears. "Like Soong and Jurati did for Picard. Couldn't they - "

"They cannot." Data lifted his hands in a resigned shrug, the most human gesture she had seen from him so far. "If you examine my code, you will see that it is too degraded to survive a transfer. Altan has tried this before, and failed. It is better this way."

Soji wiped her eyes and took a closer look at him. He was correct. What her brain, still thinking in human terms, had interpreted as signs of aging – the roundness of his face, the lines around his eyes, the gray streaks in his black hair and the gentle weariness of his manner – were really errors in his code. He was so much older than Soong's computer, it couldn't store him properly, even without taking into account that he had been dead during the initial upload. That was why the handkerchief had been the only thing he'd constructed in their shared environment so far; everything else – flowers, soil, glass, sunlight – was all hers.

It is always a shock for a child to recognize the weakness of a parent, and so it was for Soji. That one small handkerchief must have cost him more than he let on. Wasn't there anything she could give him in return?

There was, though. Her memories.

This was going to hurt, she realized. All the pain she had ever felt would strike them both all over again, in a matter of seconds. But whatever she did, it couldn't possibly hurt as much as twenty-four years trapped in a computer.

"Father?"

"Yes?"

"Before I go … "

She held the handkerchief in both hands, closed her eyes, and exerted all her processing power. She imbued every tear she had shed into it with parts of herself: memories, thoughts, emotions, sensations. Everything she wanted him to know soaked into the linen like a writer's ink. She dried it, folded it as tidily as he had, and handed it back to him.

His hand closed gently over hers, the cloth held between them.

Lifetimes went by within the blink an eye. It wasn't just her memories being transferred, but his.

A young, dark-haired Commander Riker removes Data's hand and holds it up for the inspection of a judge in a courtroom. Middle-aged Captain Picard springs to his feet in protest.

A redheaded woman teaches Data how to tap-dance in a brightly lit ballroom.

A face identical to Data's sneers at him before knocking him unconscious.

A dark-skinned man wearing a visual aid gestures excitedly at an intricate model ship.

A girl with black hair and blue eyes gasps out, "I love you, Father," as the machines plugged into her fail. Data does not understand – not her words, and certainly not her death.

The Enterprise crew plays poker, smiling and teasing each other across the green baize table. Data watches from underneath his dealer's visor and commits every second to memory.

Data sings "Blue Skies" at the Riker-Troi wedding.

Data calculates the odds that he will die to protect his crew … and does it anyway.

The hole where a normal person's past would be, which Maddox had tried to paper over with false memories of a human childhood that had never existed, was filled for the first time in Soji's life. Whenever someone asked her in the future where she came from, she would not only be able to answer, but to answer with love.

When their hands and minds came apart, she was trembling, and he looked older and more insubstantial than ever. She could see the virtual sunlight shining through him.

"I love you, Father," said Soji, just as that other girl had done.

She knew now why so many of the female Soong-type androids looked alike. She might have felt resentful, but she didn't; through Data's eyes, she could see that being similar made each of them no less unique.

Data answered her as he could not have answered then: "I love you too, Daughter."

This time they did hug, one puzzle piece fitting perfectly into the other. Then they let go.

The light inside the greenhouse became so bright she had to close her eyes.

/

Reality knocked her breathless, the way it does when you dream that you are falling, and waking up in bed feels like landing with a thump. The light of Coppelius felt harsher than that in the greenhouse, the air smelled of plastic and cleaning fluid instead of orchids, and Data was gone and never coming back.

"Soji!" Picard caught her by the shoulders. "Are you all right?"

Was she? Memories still swirled inside her head.

"That will be all, Mr. Data," the Captain snaps, cutting short Data's answer to his question, and he blinks in bewilderment at how little patience humans seem to have for decimal points.

"Sleep, Data." Locutus of Borg clasps him by the arm, Picard still fighting from inside the hive mind, grinding out a single command that will stop the Collective in its tracks, trusting that Data of all people will understand.

"What are you doing now, Data?" Picard locks eyes with him, challenging him to prove his self-awareness to Judge Louvois, fierce pride lighting up his face when Data answers exactly as his captain knew he would.

"Goodbye, Data." Picard's elderly face looks softer than he's ever seen it as they sit by the fading glow of an imaginary fireplace.

"Captain," Soji murmured. "I mean, Mr. Picard ... "

"Please," said the man who had been her friend for two lifetimes. "Isn't it about time you called me by name?"

"I'm going to miss him, Jean-Luc." The name felt surprisingly right, as does her sadness. "So much."

"I know," said Jean-Luc. "So will I."