Path: news.inforamp.net!news2.toronto.istar.net!news3.ottawa.istar.net!istar.net!imci2!news.internetMCI.com!newsfeed.internetmci.com!howland.reston.ans.net!news-e2a.gnn.com!newstf01.news.aol.com!newsbf02.news.aol.com!not-for-mail From: lskywa@aol.com (LSkYwa) Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative Subject: REPOST: Affinities (TNG, Data/f, R) 10/10 Date: 3 May 1996 10:49:59 -0400 Organization: America Online, Inc. (1-800-827-6364) Lines: 155 Sender: root@newsbf02.news.aol.com Message-ID: <4md6en$8be@newsbf02.news.aol.com> Reply-To: lskywa@aol.com (LSkYwa) NNTP-Posting-Host: newsbf02.mail.aol.com Status: N Affinities (A Data Story) (10/10) USUAL DISCLAIMER: All rights on the characters introduced in Star Trek, The Next Generation, belong to PARAMOUNT, except the characters specially invented for this story. This story is written for adults beyond the age of 18. (10) Personal Log Ensign Lavinia Morris, Stardate 48034,3. This is the first day in my new body. The feeling is still disconcerting. Data has told me the story of Ira Graves. He has no memory of the time when he had to share his body with this brilliant scientist, but ship's records filled the gap. I'm still wondering if it was only a behaviour pattern or the whole Ira Graves that possessed Data for a while. What we have in the computer's memory banks now is only his memory and his experience, but not his personality. I try to figure out if I'm still myself or if something is missing. I'm still amazed by the incredible amount of knowledge I have now. It's similar to asking the ship's computer for something, with the one difference that I don't have to speak. I form a question in my mind, and in the same moment I have the answer. Another intriguing thing is that I can play any musical instrument I wish now. The only problem I have is mastering my singing voice. I have no problems in reproducing any singing style I want, ranging from Maria Callas to L'yunna Iwasake Talun, but that isn't really satisfactory. I feel like a musicbox then, not like an artist. But Data told my that after an initial period of getting acquaintaned I will regain my own timbre. Another problem is my legal status and military rank. I am awaiting the Captain's decision on these issues. There are only two choices. On the one hand, we can make the truth known which would mean that I would lose all rights and properties I had in my human form and I would have to start from zero. I'm confident that I would pass all the tests in the academy battery sucecssfully. In any case I would lose time and I would have to leave the Enterprise. The other possibility is not to tell anybody about the transference and to act as if nothing had happened. But that would also mean that I would have to hide my abilities and to feign human behaviour. As far as I'm concerned, I would prefer the second possibility. Commander Maddox has been instructed to handle my death as a secret until the final decision has been made. I have refused to see anybody so far, except Data and the Captain. I got over the initial problems in controlling my body, using some of the Holodeck rehabilitation programs, though I'm not perfect yet. In general I'm surprised at the human-like characteristics of the artificial body. Now I can understand why Juliana Soong didn't detect that she's not human. I can sweat, I can breathe, I have a heartbeat. I even shed tears, and my hair has the ability to grow. I haven't tried yet to open a flap and to take a look inside, however. There's only one thing that scares me: the offswitch. I know that every android has one, in case of emergency, but I still don't like this idea. It makes me really feel like a machine. While I'm writing this, I realise that it's kind of a contradiction to refer to myself as a feeling machine, though I tried my best once to convince Data that his feelings are of the same quality as human feelings. This picture of my lifeless human body in the cylinder is haunting me. I feel as if I was watching my dead sister. This really could reflect the truth. What if only the memories and behaviour patterns were reproduced? I will never know if I am really the original Lavinia Morris. I will have no opportunity to prove it. But as long as I don't know, I prefer the idea that it's really me. As far as I can tell from the records, at least Ira Graves had been himself. * * * The church was approximately 800 years old. Sunlight streamed through the coloured mosaic windows, and the organ was playing a piece written by Camille Saint-Saens. Lavinia had retired to this holodeck simulation of a church in her hometown to find answers for the questions haunting her. The artificial body did not require sleep, so she had plenty of time now. The most urgent question for her was if the quality of her life had changed. She had never been very religious, though her parents had been. But now she felt a deep need to see this place. The simulation was perfect. She knew that this wasn't real, but she could feel the cold brickwork of the columns under her fingers, and the sunbeams were reflected by millions of small dust particles that were always floating in unfiltered air. Even the sensory system of this sophisticated android body was fooled by the virtual scenery. In her present state of mind she would also have believed if somebody would have told her that the whole experiment hadn't been real, but only a dream or a holodeck simulation. If even the computer generated touch of a hand or the violating shot of a virtual weapon could feel real and even hurt or kill, what was then the quality of reality? One could spend one's whole life on the holodeck without having a clue. This was a question for the counsellor. There had to be a difference, but she had no idea for the moment what it could be. Sometimes life seemed to follow certain rules, like a program. Sometimes the lifelines of people met several times through the years, by chance, as it seemed. Really by chance? Or was the whole universe nothing else but a ship a bottle? Who could tell? She shook her head and took a seat in one of the wooden pews, folding her hands and trying to find peace in a prayer. * * * "What are you doing here?" Unnoticed, Data had entered the holodeck and sat down beside her. Her internal clock told her that she had been there already for two hours and still had no clue, though she felt a bit better now, thanks to the peaceful, spiritual atmosphere in the old building. "I'm praying", she explained. "It's a religious ritual. I'm talking to God and trying to find answers to my questions." "But you have a great deal of knowledge in your neural net, and you could also ask the ship's computer if there's anything left to know!" The astonished look in his face showed her that he had no idea what she was talking about. She smiled and felt a warm wave of affection when she looked at him. The sharp profile with the outstanding nose made a beautiful silhouette against the bright background of one of the stained glass windows. "It's not for the sheer knowledge. I am trying to find peace here. The church has always been my refuge when I didn't know what to do." He nodded, listening to the organ. "You have a liking for ancient music. I assume it's appropriate for this kind of environment." "You could say so." She smiled. "Let's get out of here. I'm prepared to meet people. What about going to Ten Forward?" "I have no objections." * * * TO BE CONTINUED SOON(G) (c) 1996 lskywa@aol.com *** SkY iS tHE LiMIt ***