concerned about such things. It would seem rather arbitrary if they just picked some aspect of someone’s nature and designated that that, and that alone, made them unfit to serve.”
“Believe me, sometimes it is just that arbitrary, and just that foolish.” She shook her head. “I doubt you’d understand.”
“Why?” he said primly. “Because you think I’m not truly alive?”
“That’s not what I ‘think,’ Doctor,” said Soleta. “It’s just a matter of demonstrable fact, no matter how many books you may write about the subject.”
“As far as I’m concerned—”
Soleta put up her hands, looking tired. “Do me a favor, if you wouldn’t mind? How about you spare us this discussion? A discussion that I assure you is going to go absolutely nowhere.”
“Very well.”
“Thank you.”
“Except to say—”
“Oh God,” she moaned.
He continued on the thought, ignoring her weary reaction. “—that if I feel alive, who are you to say that I’m not?”
“Someone who actually is alive.”
“Except anyone who didn’t know of my origins would be unable to discern any difference between the two of us.”
“It’s not about what other people say…”
“I agree. So why should your opinions as to whether or not I’m alive be anything that I should pay attention to?”
Soleta smiled tiredly. “Well, you’ve got me there. You shouldn’t pay attention. Glad we had this discussion. So how soon do you think we’ll be ready to translocate the virus into a containment field in order to—”
“I assume it’s because you believe you have a soul.”
She had been leaning against a wall, her body sagging with exhaustion. She had been up for as long as Seven, but she had been able to prevent herself from succumbing to slumber. That didn’t mean she was any less tired, though, and now she started thudding the back of her head against the wall. “You are like a damned dog with a bone between its teeth. You’re just not going to let this go, are you?”
“I am simply trying to understand…”
“No. You’re not,” and she moved away from the wall and toward the Doctor. “You’re trying to convince me we shouldn’t do anything to shut down Morgan.”
“There is only one crime punishable by death according to Starfleet, and she has not committed that crime.”
“We’re not killing her! She’s already dead! We are simply exorcising a ghost!”
“It’s going to feel the same to her.”
“She can’t feel! At most, she only thinks she can!”
“What’s the difference?” he asked.
“Because she doesn’t have a soul! All right?” she said in exasperation. “I know it’s an insanely unscientific yardstick to use for a measure of being alive, but sometimes the ephemeral is all we’ve got. There is no molecular difference between a dead body and a living one, so there has to be something that is beyond scientific quantification, and considering how little sleep I’ve had, that’s the best I’ve got right now. She’s not alive because she doesn’t have a soul, and oh, by the way, I hate to be the one to tell you, but neither do you.”
Anger flickered on the Doctor’s face and then he pointed out, “You’re the one who referred to her as a ghost. What else is a ghost but a discorporated soul?”
“She’s not an actual ghost. That’s just the closest convenient word to describe her.”
“And isn’t it possible that the closest word to describe me is ‘alive’?”
Soleta rubbed her eyes in a desperate fight to keep them open. “You could just go on talking about this all day, all night, couldn’t you?”
“Absolutely,” he said immediately.
“Someone who is really alive couldn’t do that. Only something’s that not alive never needs rest.”
“I consider it to be merely a perk of my particular status,” he said, but there was a touch of uncertainty in his voice.
They stared at each other for a time, and then Soleta said, “How much of this is about her? And please,” she added quickly before he could reply, “do not insult my intelligence by asking ‘What her?’ because we both know perfectly well which ‘her’ I’m referring to.”
“I…” Then with renewed determination he said, “These are strongly held beliefs that I’ve formed over a lengthy period of contemplation and self-exploration—”
“How much? Of this? Is about her? Or more accurately, her and you?”
He was about to continue to protest, but then he stopped. Soleta watched him warily, curious as to what he would say.
“There is no her and me,” he said flatly.
“And yet you hold out hope.”
“I do not. Whatever ‘moment’ we may or may not have had is long past. We are