The Case of the Missing Data
I awoke with a start to find myself in the comfortable red armchair I usually occupied during my visits to 221b Baker Street. "Visit" may not be the correct term, however, because I spent so many of my waking hours there that it was almost home. The house was owned by my close friend, Sherlock Holms, the best detective in London, and, in my opinion, England, if not the world. Holms had keen observation, a great deductive mind, and hunches that were seldom wrong, all of which made him perfect for the job. Another strength that he practiced often was his skill at the violin. In fact, it was when he was playing an enchanting melody on the instrument that I dozed off. What had awoken me was the fact that he had ceased playing suddenly.
"Watson," he began in a puzzled tone, "does something seem...different to you?"
I must admit that I was a bit taken aback by my friend's uncertainty; he always seemed to have everything under control. However, once he had spoken of it I did notice that something didn't feel right, although I had no idea what it was that was out of the ordinary.
Before I could comment, however, there was a sharp rap on the door. I jumped up from the chair, awaiting Holms to ask me to invite the visitor--presumably Inspector Lastrade--into the house. Instead, he held up his hand to indicate I should wait and tenderly set his violin in its case. Cautiously, he made his way towards the door. There was another, rather impatient, knocking but before it stopped Holms had swung the door open. Then he did something I had never seen him do before; leap back in surprise.
His spot was quickly filled by two men in rather strange apparel. The had tight, two colored suits with an unfamiliar logo on the chest. One was completely bald, although he did not look nearly as old as me and I have not even begum to loose any hair. The other had a strange device covering his eyes, although he appeared to be able to see in spite of it.
"Sherlock Holms, I presume." The bald man stuck out his hand and the detective, remembering his manners, tentatively shook it. "My name is Jean-Luc Pickard, captain of the star ship U.S.S. Enterprise." He pointed to the other man. "This is Geordi La Forge, chief engineer."
Holms, not knowing what else to do, gestured toward some chairs. "Would you like to sit down?"
"Perhaps we should," replied Captain Pickard. "There's a lot of explaining to do and I suppose you would feel more comfortable in familiar surroundings. You will need to pay close attention."
As they made their way towards the chairs, the man whose eyes were covered, Mr. La Forge, smiled at me. "Good evening, Dr. Watson."
I was very taken aback by this statement, not because it offended me in any way, but because there was no way he could have known my name, least of all my position. I was not mentioned in any advertisements for Detective Sherlock Holms, though I doubted this man read the paper anyway. His dress showed that he clearly wasn't from London and probably not even England, judging by his name.
My questions were answered in a manner of minutes as the captain began his tale, with La Forge putting in a word or two along the way. These men were from the future, or more specifically; we were part of their past. We were able to meet them because of their advanced technology. They were so advanced that they could travel through space--in fact, at the time we were in a star ship speeding towards a distant planet. This was possible through one of the newest inventions at the time; a teleporter that could reach across even the vast expanse of time.
"This is all very interesting, sir," I interrupted at one point, "but what does it have to do with us?"
"We've only teleported one person besides you two here," he continued. "He lived in the twenty first century as a magician for a small town in Germany. We brought him here for the entertainment, and for the first week he was entertaining. Then he pulled a stunt that wasn't so...amusing."
"He made Data disappear," explained La Forge.
"He stole your information?" inquired Holms in his usual detective tone. "Are you sure you didn't simply misplace it? No, I suppose you'd keep all your data on that computer you speak off."
"That's correct," replied Pickard as La Forge chuckled softly, "however, we're talking about a different type of data. You see, Data is the name of our android, a sort of machine that thinks like a man."
"We named him Data after a television show that aired in the late nineteen hundreds. Actually, after I needed this VISOR," at this point La Forge pointed to the device covering his eyes, "right before we took off on this space voyage, similar to another character in the show, we thought it was too much of a coincidence to let it slip. We changed the ship's name and in the same spirit most of us legally changed our own names to match those from Star Trek." His smile slowly faded as he looked at the steady stare of incomprehension on both Holms and my face. "Oh, you don't know what a TV was, do you? It's like...never mind, just forget it. They're long gone here so you don't need to know anyway."
The captain smiled at La Forge then turned back to Holms. "As one of his magic tricks, the Professor, as he likes to call himself, made his assistant, Data, disappear. We all thought it was brilliantly clever until the android didn't return. He says he has no way of making the android appear again, although he suggested sending him back to Earth so he could look through a few of his spell books. Before we released him, however, we thought we'd get the input of a trusted inspector such as you."
Pickard stood up to show us where the magician was kept. As we walked out La Forge continued talking. "Normally Data would be asked to do such a task. I think he had suspicions about the actual magical content in the Professor's tricks. One night he went to confront the Professor, the next morning they put on a show together."
"Interesting," said Holms as he put his pipe in his mouth. Consequently, that was the same word he muttered under his breath when we were introduced to the magician.
The man was rather thin and short. I followed Holms' gaze from the polished black shoes, to the neatly ironed pants, a white button-up shirt, a rather bushy beard, thick glasses, and finally, a black hat and cape to complete the outfit. This costume was not dissimilar to what a magician would wear in the streets of London that were so familiar to me.
Holms approached him and asked him a few usual questions, but the man did little to respond. "I see," said the detective after a few minutes, "that I will get no further with this method. Captain Pickard, I would presume you have seized all of this man's possessions. If you would be so kind, I would like to have a thorough search of them." He left the room with only a quick nod in the direction of the prisoner.
* * * *
Mere hours later Holms had called together the captain and chief engineer to discuss what he had learned. When he stood in front of them he began with the statement, "The Professor is not magic." Holms held up a slightly damp note. "One of the magician's favorite tricks was lighting money on fire..." he struck a match and held it up to the piece of paper, which immediately burst into flames so high I jumped back in surprise. "without letting it burn." Holms finished as the fire went out. "Don't be alarmed Watson," he assured me when he saw the look on my face. "There's nothing magic in this bill, nor the match. The secret is in the solution I soaked the bill in, 60% alcohol, 40% water, proportioned so the alcohol would catch fire, but the water would soak the linen in the money, preventing it from even being singed. There's no magic in this trick at all, simply science."
"That may be for this trick, Holms," replied La Forge, "but the Professor's trick had green fire. Surely that was magic."
"I'm glad you mentioned it." At this point Holms pulled out a small bottle of liquid. "This is Ba(NO3)2, a drop of which will turn a flame green for nearly five seconds. It also causes an effect in K2SO4, K2CrO4, and K2CO3 that looks similar to a heavy snowstorm. Both are simply chemical reactions taught in Mr. Brugge's 8th grade science class."
All eyes gazed upon the detective with a look of awe. "I think you have gotten confused, Holms," interrupted Pickard in a gentle tone. "The man came from the town of Brugge in Germany, the man simply goes by the name Professor, nothing else."
"This is where I believe your teleporter got confused," shot back Holms. "The two main words it was searching for were "Professor" and "Brugge." Would it not make since that instead it found a teacher with that name? Especially considering the fact that the man you were looking for had died the previous day." At this point Holms held up a newspaper from a date over a hundred years after the time period I lived in London. Both crew members of the star ship jumped up to read an article about the death of a magician.
"Where did you find this?" asked La Forge.
"Right under this," replied Holms as he held up a binder in his other hand. "It is the curriculum for Mr. Brugge's 8th grade students. I dare say they have an interesting class ahead of them."
The captain sat back and smiled. "You have convinced me Holms."
"Not me!" put in La Forge. "You still haven't answered the question; how did Data disappear? Where is he now?"
"The first question is simple enough; there isn't even any science involved. Didn't you think it strange that the show took place in the hologram deck that day? However, I'll admit that I don't know exactly where Data is, but do I know how we can find out." Holms smiled as he held up a small box with the words "Star Trek: Next Generation" printed on the front.
* * * *
The halls were evacuated just as they had been in the video. Sure enough, just as Holms had said, Mr. Brugge crept out to make his escape. We followed him quietly as he made his way to a small room. We entered also to find the man hovering over a bound and gagged android.
"Mr. Brugge, before you do anything I'd like you to know that we won't press any charges as long as you don't harm Data in any way." There was a hint of alarm in the captain's voice.
He received no resistance, however. Mr. Brugge simply raised both hands above his head. As an after thought he removed the false beard he was wearing, explaining, "It itched." Helplessly he gazed around the room, looking for something less harsh than a stare. "I was never going to hurt Data," he said quietly as his eyes dropped to the floor."
"Of course you wouldn't." Holms smiled kindly. Then he held up the Star Trek video. "I can tell you're a fan of him. I presume that's why you wanted to take him back to Earth with you?"
Mr. Brugge smiled too. "So that's how you knew I would escape tonight, with the distraction about to happen and everything."
"Yes, I found many clues in your belongings, as if having a noticeably fake beard and no German accent whatsoever weren't already clues that you were lying."
The science teacher was soon all set to return to his home in America. Before he stepped into the teleporter, however, I asked him a question that had been bugging me for quite some time. "Mr. Brugge, how would you know something would actually happen on the ship tonight when the TV series was completely fiction."
"That's what I thought at first," answered the science teacher, "but then I figured it was possible since two characters created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle were able to join us for an investigation." With that he stepped into the transporter and none of us have ever seen him again.