by David Smith
Groenendall and Nyambo arrived a little later and Mann gave them a short briefing before they headed out into the recess in the hull where the starboard phaser bearing sat. Hart tuned up shortly after (a few minutes late), and inevitably Liz Holden didn’t arrive and wouldn’t answer calls. Phaedra used some quite esoteric phrases to describe Holden before grumpily manning the main console on her own while the engineers began to manually rotate the bearing along a pre-determined path.
At each of a given number of points, the engineers would hold the bearing, Mann would read off the data from transducers and Hart would take the equivalent reading from the sensor grid. These were compared to the design values from the time of the ships construction and data from previous calibration exercises and appropriate corrections were made.
It was a long, slow, repetitive and boring process, but totally crucial for the ships safety. Because of the vast ranges over which phasers could fire, even the tiniest misalignment of the phaser bearings would make the ships primary weapons hopelessly inaccurate. They needed to be aligned within thousandths of a degree.
Mann understood this perhaps as well as anyone, even Chief Amiss, who he would grudgingly admit was an expert on Federation phaser systems. For that reason he carried out his task as diligently as he expected a real Terran crewman would, and presumed that the same diligence was being exercised in the calibration of the other two phaser bearings.
However, his hyper-sensitive hearing had already detected raised voices from the other phaser bearings, and even without his enhanced senses he would have been able to hear Mercedes Bent arguing with Hannah ‘Always’ Wright, while Makarov seemed to be having difficulty keeping a lid on Karen Walsh’s snide remarks to the two engineers assisting them.
It seemed that perhaps things weren’t going as well in the other two compartments. Hart and himself were very nearly done when the raised voices finally became shouts, then screams, and Mann felt obliged to investigate.
As the door opened he saw Makarov and Michel Gabilliard, one of the engineers assigned to assist them, fall through the door of the port phaser compartment and wrestle on the floor while shouting increasingly improbable insults at each other. The other engineer stormed out gesticulating wildly, swearing in Russian and left the scene.
While they were still thrashing around on the floor, Chief Amiss led Karen Walsh to the turbo-lift.
‘Bud I wuh only thaying . . . ‘ complained Walsh.
Amiss pressed the call-button for the turbo-lift before holding a sodden cloth back underneath Walsh’s nose to stem a considerable flow of blood. ‘Please don’t say anything else, Karen: I don’t think there will be enough room in the Brig.’
Mercedes Bent had come to the door of the third compartment, just in time to hear Amiss say ‘Mercedes, I’ll have to leave you in charge while I get Walsh to Sick-bay . . . ‘
As the door of the turbo-lift opened, Chief Belle and two security men sprang out, pushed Amiss and Walsh aside and set about restraining Makarov and Gabilliard.
‘ . . . and while I try to get Makarov out of the Brig’ sighed Amiss.
‘But there’s no-one to finish the calibration of the Port bearing!’ moaned Bent as the door to the turbo-lift closed and carried Amiss away.
‘Oh for fucks sake!’ grumbled Bent and stomped back into the centre phaser control room.
Mann assumed that there was little else to observe and went back to the task in hand.
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Two hours later, Mann and Hart completed the calibration of the starboard bearing. It had taken longer than expected, although when he reflected upon it he reconsidered. The bearing itself hadn’t been changed since the ship’s last major refit over twenty years ago. It would have worn significantly in that time and each recalibration would become more and more difficult.
Hart disappeared as soon as they’d finished, and so did the engineers. Mann shut the compartment down in accordance with the team’s standard operating procedures and wondered why no-one else bothered with the routine.
Strangely, it occurred to him to wonder who was right. Was the person who’d written the routine correct in assuming the system would run more efficiently for being shut down correctly then restarted later? Or were the rest of the phaser operations team correct in assuming that the phasers would look after themselves if you left everything running?
In his position as an Operative of the H’Vaar Empire, it would never have occurred to him not to follow the instructions: they were instructions. That was what they were there for, to be followed without question.
He was still pondering that when the door to the port phaser compartment opened and Mercedes Bent strolled out, holding a peculiarly shaped device that looked a bit like a small pink thermos flask. Seeing Mann she asked ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got a spare set of batteries in there have you?’
Mann shook his head and Bent turned back to the compartment looking slightly downcast. Almost as an afterthought she turned again. ‘Don’t suppose you’d be willing to give me a hand to complete the port calibration would you? I’ve finished with the centre bearing, but Hannah Wright has buggered off, and everyone else is in Sick-bay or the Brig so I’m on my own and it’s taking forever.’
Not one to miss an opportunity to engage in further observations, Mann nodded and followed her into the compartment. He took the position by the main console and checked the readings from the sensor grid. Everything seemed to be proceeding correctly.
Bent opened a comm-link to the engineers out in the bearing recess and said ‘Ok guys, we’re good to go. Ready when you are.’
A voice crackled back, and Mann recognised it as belonging to engineer Wolf Gutzeit. ‘That American weakling York has given up. I think that proves conclusively who the superior race is.’
Bent gritted her teeth and cursed imaginatively beneath her breath before responding. ‘Um, yeah. Thanks, Wolf. So, better crack on then mate, eh?’
There was a slight pause. ‘Um. I’m on my own now.’
Mann noticed that Mercede’s head bowed as she replied. ‘What about it?’
Gutzeit sounded a bit embarrassed. ‘I’ll have to shift the bearing and lock it down myself. With just me doing it, it’ll take longer to do. Maybe three or four minutes for each point?’
Bent slumped forward, deliberately smacking her forehead down on the console with and audible thump as she muttered ‘Oh, for fucks sake!!’
She gathered herself and with as much good grace as she could muster said ‘Ok Wolf, understand that. Let’s just crack on and get through this as quick as we can, yeah?’
The comm-link went dead and on their displays they could see the bearing begin to slowly and tortuously swing.
Mann waited patiently, but Bent seemed to be having difficulty sitting still and was soon squirming in her seat while casting sad glances at the odd battery-powered appliance she’d discussed with him earlier.
Point after calibration point went by, the wait between each getting gradually longer as Gutzeit struggled away on his own, determined not to concede defeat for fear of having to admit that Germans were no more able than Americans.
There were another nine calibration points to be go, and Mann estimated that completing them would take approximately forty-three minutes.
He sat calmly, but noticed that Petty Officer Bent was beginning to look at him in a most peculiar way each time they had to wait for Gutzeit to swing the bearing to its next calibration point, and he noticed that her heart rate was beginning to climb.
As she looked at him he could see that her pupils had noticeably dilated and he could smell pheromones she was subconsciously emitting. There were other smells too. The smell of various secretions that indicated his colleague was becoming aroused. Sexually aroused.
As they finished calibrating yet another point and Gutzeit began to laboriously swing the bearing to the next point he began to wonder what the point of Bent’s arousal was: there didn’t seem to be any outl
et for it.
She unexpectedly answered his question, when she rose from her seat and began casually removing her clothes. As always Mercedes kept her preamble short. Foreplay amounted to six words: ‘You’ll have to do. Brace yourself.’
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By the time they completed the final calibration point, Petty Officer Bent had given up on getting dressed after each bout of gratuitous copulation. She called Gutzeit whilst still naked to confirm that the task was complete, and thanked him for his efforts before closing the comm-link and turning her attention back to Mann.
He was still double-checking the last set of readings, but Bent span his chair around until he was facing her and straddled him, draping her arms over his shoulders and leaning forward to kiss him hard and passionately. He could hear her heart pounding in her chest and the smell of her filled his senses.
She pressed her naked body hard against his and whispered in his ear ‘Ready to go again?’
Mann had not spent much time researching the fine detail of the human mating process, but his temporary body seemed to be perfectly capable of working things out for itself, and he felt a now familiar throbbing sensation in his groin.
Bent apparently felt the sensation too as she squirmed on his lap. She leaned back and smiled as she began to unfasten his tunic yet again. ‘Blimey, you’re a lad aren’t you? Seven times in forty minutes and still ready for more. If I’d known you had this in you, I’d have been banging your brains out years ago!’
He lifted her off his lap and laid her down on the phaser console. She grabbed his hands and guided them on to her silicon enhanced breasts, and with some surprise he found that the touch was intensely gratifying.
He threw off the rest of his clothes, making a mental note to take his trousers, now heavily soiled with body fluids from both of them, to the cleaners. He then set about gratifying the hell out of Mercedes.
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Study Log: Operative Chavak Da’Lann
Imperial Date, HM20979.35 - H’Vaar Dynasty
I have made significant strides forward in my understanding of the nature of the enigma that describes itself as a human being.
However, I must confess that this has come at some cost to myself.
It appears that in this dimension understanding the nature of a being is interdependent on becoming that being. I must report that I seem to have become infected, not with any biological or viral agent, but with alien attitudes and motivations.
I find that in becoming a part of this environment I am actually becoming human myself, a frightening and debilitating condition. I am convinced that this environment is lethal to our kind and must strongly recommend that the K’Vorr Empire avoids this dimension at all cost.
I must sacrifice myself as I believe it would be dangerous to return to the prime dimension: I might bring with me an infection for which there is no cure.
I will remain here and report when further developments occur, but if you never hear from me again, I remain the loyal subject of our beloved Emperor.
Operative Chavak Da’Lann signing off
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‘You alright, Dave?’
‘I was just . . . thinking.’
He looked back over his shoulder at the bed, where she was still sprawled naked and breathing hard. He admired her ample curves, the soft warmth of her flesh, and the astonishing sexual energy she seemed to radiate.
She smiled at him. ‘Thinking is overrated. Get your sexy little ass back over here and do me again.’
‘How would like me to copulate with you this time?’
‘Please yourself, mate: any hole’s a goal, know what I mean?’
He joined her on the bed. Being human had some very distinct benefits.
Chapter 4: ‘Conflict Messages’
Personal Log: Petty Officer Park Si Yung
Star Date 9351.6
The upgrades to the PILOCC are taking longer than I thought they would. The hardware upgrades of improved primary processors, more stable power supplies, holographic interface and the like are done and dusted long ago, but the key part of this upgrade package is the integration of additional personality engrams.
The boffins back at Fleet HQ have concluded that Susan’s personality disorder might simply be a reflection of the complex and over-sized egos of the donor subjects.
It’s a given that removing those engrams will seriously degrade the computer’s ability to think creatively, so the latest idea is to moderate the conflict between these super-egos by introducing personality profiles from instinctive peace-makers and leaders.
We’ve got an engram from ex-President Jana Cho, and Arbitrator Than of the Orioni Colonies. They’ve even gone as far as creating artificial personalities based on the life and works of luminaries such as Mahatma Ghandi, Abraham Lincoln, Henry Kissinger and a slew of philosophers too.
In total we’ve been given over two dozen new engrams to integrate into Susan’s personality matrix, but even with the copy of the original personality matrix ‘found’ by Chief Money it’s harder work than I thought it would be.
We had to take the computer’s main processing centres off line, but the organic components have to be kept live to . . . well . . . stay alive.
Strangely, they’re exhibiting huge amounts of activity every time we upload another personality engram, although neither Lieutenant Sato, Chief Deng or myself can work out why.
We always assumed that there would be a period where the new engrams would need to mesh and bed themselves in, but this process seems to have started earlier than expected and seems to be interfering with the introduction of further engrams.
We may have to think outside the box in order to get the PILOCC back on line in time for Tiger to set sail.
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It still wasn’t going well. After a couple of weeks of loading one personality engram after another, the process had become slower and slower. They were now almost at a standstill and none of the engineers or the computer specialists in the science team could work out why.
In the meantime, the computer’s organic-component based secondary processing centres had gone hyper-active, demonstrating more activity than any of the team had ever seen before. They were in completely unknown territory, and frankly, lost.
Commander Romanov was not happy. ‘Look, we’ve spent over five months sorting out every other problem on this heap of junk and now you’re telling me that we still can’t get underway because the computer’s having a nervous breakdown?’
Lieutenant Sato looked and Park and then put herself in the firing line. ‘I’m sorry Commander, we’ve loaded the upgrades exactly like Command said we should, but we’re not getting anything like the response they told us to expect.’
Romanov wasn’t interested in the detail. ‘Can’t you just reboot it?’
Sato shook her head. ‘It’s not that simple. To make the computer capable of intuitive thought rather than just logical processing, the architecture includes organic memory storage and processing elements. They’re living tissue, and cutting the power off long enough to “wipe” the memory will kill the tissue too. We’d destroy the computer completely.’
Romanov sighed. ‘And you’ve tried all standard diagnostics?’
‘As much as we can, Commander. We had to take the primary processors off-line for the various hardware and software upgrades, but had to leave power supplies on to the organic components to prevent them degrading. We isolated the organic and optronic elements and now those organic secondary processing centres won’t interface with the primary optronic components. We’re having to route all commands through the secondary bus using the BIOS as a medium. That’s really limiting how much we can interrogate the system.’
‘So if the optronic half of the system is dead what’s all the activity in the organic components?’
Sato blushed as she admitted ‘We don’t really know, but as the computer has been dormant for several months w
e reckon it’s possible the computer might just be . . . um . . . dreaming?’
‘You’re shitting me!’ growled Romanov.
Park looked hideously embarrassed too, but backed Sato up. ‘It’s not that unlikely. When a biological brains “sleeps”, it’s still active at a subconscious level. The neurones fire, synapses make connections, and the brain does stuff it doesn’t have time to do during the time that it’s awake and conscious. The PILOCC has billions of organic neurones based on those found in the human brain that are probably firing on some instinctive impulse.’
Romanov looked furious. ‘So you’re telling me we can’t crank up the engines because the computer’s having a lie-in??’
Sato was bright red. ‘I wouldn’t put it exactly like that’
Park looked mortified. ‘It’s only an analogy! We don’t really know what’s going on.’
‘And that’s supposed to make me feel better is it?!’ Romanov roared.
Romanov turned away and started pacing up and down the deck, cursing in Ukrainian, Russian and several other languages as she sought to control her temper. Swearing didn’t solve anything, but it always helped her to calm herself down and order her thoughts. She eventually concluded that if Sato and Park couldn’t figure out what was going on, no-one else aboard Tiger would either. ‘Ok, we need to think outside the box. Is there any other way we can find out what’s happening inside the computer?’
Sato looked nervously at Park, clearly uncertain.
Romanov caught the furtive glance. ‘Well? What is it? What have you thought of?’
Sato looked sideways at Park again, who shrugged. Still sounding hesitant she said, ‘Park and I were talking about other ways to interface with the computer and he remembered that PO Carver has a neural interface that we might be able to adapt.’
Romanov nodded and thought about it. Petty Officer Danny Carver was born without optic nerves but had never allowed this disability to hinder his extraordinary talent for languages. He served on the communications team and interfaced with the linguistics database in the ships computer memory by way of a neural interface that connected his cerebral cortex directly to the computer’s data bus.