by Dayton Ward
“Are you all right, Lieutenant?”
Even Worf’s deep voice was muted by the omnipresent hum of the alien ship’s massive power plant. Turning from the console, Chen looked up to see the Enterprise’s first officer regarding her with concern—the Klingon equivalent of concern, anyway.
“I’m just tired, sir,” she replied. She leaned back in the curved seat which, despite its odd construction, was rather comfortable. “I’ve been staring at these screens too long.”
“Perhaps,” Worf said, “but that is not all. You are still angry with yourself.”
Chen nodded. “Oh, yeah. I’ll probably be angry with myself for a while yet.”
“You blame yourself for the attack on the Enterprise.”
“Damned right I do.” Chen paused, blowing out her breath. “I’m sorry, sir. It’s just that I’m the one who decided to start poking around with the computer, instead of following Commander La Forge’s lead and restoring systems in the order he was using. I figured we could help Doctor Crusher to revive the crew, and learn something about how this ship was put together. I know I didn’t press the buttons that fired those weapons, but I obviously did something wrong, and the computer reacted to my tinkering around just the way it was supposed to. It acted to protect the ship from intrusion. It protected itself from us.”
Crossing his arms, Worf stood like a statue, studying her with his typical implaccable expression. “Is there anything you did that should have alerted you to the potential for trouble?”
“Based on the readings we were getting?” Chen rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I honestly don’t see how, but that doesn’t mean I couldn’t. It just means that I didn’t.”
The price for her not seeing the potential trouble could have been much higher than what already had been paid. Her imagination had been taunting her with what might have happened had the brief yet intense skirmish managed to inflict greater harm to the Enterprise. What if someone had died? How would she have been able to face Captain Picard and her shipmates, or even look at herself in a mirror?
Thankfully, the damage was minor, if widespread. Upon returning to the Enterprise after judging that the mysterious ship’s computer system posed no new danger, Commander La Forge had gone straight to engineering to find that repairs were well under way and proceeding at a steady pace ahead of even his assistant chief engineer’s estimates. The starship’s damaged deflector shield generators remained the most daunting task, but even those were expected to be restored to full operational capabilities before the start of the next duty shift. Despite her own intention to pitch in for the remainder of the work, Chen had been overruled—albeit in gentle fashion—by Worf, with the first officer directing her to her quarters for a mandatory rest period before returning to the alien vessel. Despite the Klingon’s directive, she had lain awake in her bed, staring up at the overhead and contemplating her role in the events of the past hours.
Incompetent and useless. Not bad for day’s work.
“I was here with Commander La Forge when you interfaced with the computer,” Worf said, “and I saw nothing you did that was wilfully negligent. Neither did Commander La Forge, or Lieutenant Elfiki or anyone else.”
The words did little to assuage Chen’s feelings. “I know I shouldn’t be beating myself up about this, sir, at least not this much.” She shook her head. “It took me a long time to realize that I’m happy on the Enterprise, and I really don’t want to be anywhere else, or doing anything else. And then, there I am, standing there while my ship and all the people I care about are being shot at by weapons I helped activate.” Sensing Worf preparing to respond, she held up her hand. “I know, sir. I didn’t actually do that, but come on. It’s a matter of semantics, right?” She sighed. “I just feel like I let Captain Picard down. Hell, I feel like I let everyone down.”
Worf said nothing, though his gaze did not shift from her, and after a moment she was beginning to feel uneasy. Then, finally, he broke the silence.
“Do you remember when you were first assigned to the Enterprise?”
“Like it was yesterday.” There were times when Chen marveled at just how much time had passed since her arrival aboard the Federation flagship, itself a premiere, coveted posting by junior officers throughout Starfleet. The starship carried with it a history and pedigree that was required reading at the Academy. Even before that, its name had been the source of stories and even legends dating back centuries, to well before humans had launched themselves to the stars but instead traversed the oceans of the world they called home.
“Do you remember what I told you with respect to learning?” Worf asked.
Chen smiled. “Yes, sir. You said to never be afraid of making a mistake. Instead, we should learn from it, and never make the same mistake twice.”
“Actually, I believe it may have been Commander La Forge who said that last part.”
“Could be.”
Pushing herself to her feet, Chen nodded and attempted a smile. “Thank you, Commander. It helps to be able to talk it out, you know? Talking’s always helped me relieve stress.”
“I feel the same way after fighting,” replied the Klingon.
The deadpan response caught Chen off guard, and she could not help the unrestrained laugh that forced its way up from her belly and echoed off the surrounding bulkheads. “Oh, wow, did I need that.” She was wiping a single tear from the corner of her eye when her communicator chirped.
“Crusher to Lieutenant Chen.”
“Chen here,” replied the Vulcan. “What can I do for you, Doctor?”
“We’ve made some progress with our scans of the aliens, and we think we have an idea on how best to revive them, but we could use some more help understanding their equipment.”
“On my way. Chen out.” Closing her eyes, she drew a deep breath, releasing it slowly and enjoying the calming sensation that washed over her. After a moment, she nodded, more to herself than Worf or anyone else.
“All right. Back to work.” When the Klingon nodded, Chen smiled again. “And I’ll be sure not to make the same mistake twice.”
10
Staring at the hibernating aliens, Chen decided that she was envious of anyone who could sleep for more than five hours, let alone a century.
“I think I need to give this cryogenic suspension thing a try,” she said, stepping around one of the transparent cylinders encasing the derelict vessel’s two surviving Raqilan crew members. “Imagine being able to sleep all the way out here from Earth, and all the work details I could’ve skipped.”
“Don’t think I haven’t thought about it,” replied Doctor Beverly Crusher from where she stood along with Lieutenant Dina Elfiki at the row of workstations which had been identified as overseeing the hibernating crew. “If you believe I enjoyed catching up on all the overdue crew physicals, then I have a beach resort on Ferenginar I wouldn’t mind selling you.”
Raising her eyebrow to a degree that would make any proper Vulcan proud, Chen offered the doctor a mock frown. “I’ve been to Ferenginar. I think I’ll pass.”
Crusher turned from her review of the monitors and leaned against the console. “Right now, just about any sort of leave sounds good. I don’t remember the last real, substantial time off I had. And no, an uneventful, weeks-long cruise at high warp with no pit stops doesn’t count.”
“Beats getting shot at,” said Elfiki, dividing her attention between the status screens and her tricorder.
Nodding, Crusher replied, “Okay, I’ll give you that.”
Her tricorder still in hand, Chen gestured with the device toward the closest of the hibernation cylinders. “I’m familiar with the stasis technology we employ, and I’ve read about its use during the early days of interplanetary and interstellar travel, but this is like nothing I’ve ever seen. According to my readings, there’s almost no evidence of muscle atrophy or other deteriorati
on that you’d expect to find after long-term cryogenic suspension.”
“It’s quite something, isn’t it?” Pushing herself from the console, Crusher moved to stand so that the cylinder was between her and Chen, then ran her hand across its smooth surface. “Of course, if this ship is from the future, it would make sense for its technology to be more advanced, at least in some areas.”
“Even if it came from the past,” Elfiki countered, “that would still track. Different civilizations achieve different technological milestones at varying rates, of course, and not always in an order of progression that makes sense.”
With a knowing grin, Chen said, “This is starting to sound like one of those sociological lectures at the Academy. We tend to assume that a society will make advances in a linear fashion similar to how it was achieved on Earth or Vulcan: flight, space travel, interstellar flight, and so on, with other technology being discovered or developed along the way as a means of furthering the primary goal of being able to push ever outward from our home planet.”
Elfiki giggled. “I see you attended at least one of Professor Palmieri’s guest seminars.”
“I actually went to all of them.” Chen had of course enjoyed those sessions, a series of talks which had peppered the course syllabus during her xenosociology and cultural studies training. The seminars and the ideas put forth by the prominent experts in these fields had only fueled her interest in these subjects and pushed her further down the path she eventually had taken toward becoming a contact specialist.
“Maybe something caused their development of faster-than-light travel to stall out,” Crusher said, enjoying the discussion, “so they put a greater focus on improving their cryogenics technology.” She patted the cylinder with its slumbering alien occupant. “Still, I expect there’ll be some initial disorientation and vertigo, but in theory they should be able to just walk out of here.” Sighing, she added, “Assuming we can figure out how to get them out of these things, of course.”
The examination of the Raqilan vessel’s cryogenics systems had consumed a considerable portion of the past two days. Doctors Crusher and Harstad, along with two other members of the medical staff, had worked alongside Elfiki as the science officer struggled to coax information from the ship’s computers. The Enterprise computer’s universal translation processors had successfully constructed a linguistic database for communicating with the other ship and—in theory, at least—its crew, but Elfiki along with La Forge had run into obstacle after obstacle within the unfamiliar system framework.
Tapping the console which had all but consumed her attention over the past several hours, Elfiki said, “I’ve isolated the protected sectors that contain all of the software for the cryogenics systems, but the level of encryption is at least as high if not more so than other processes we’ve already managed to crack.” She sighed. “Whoever designed this thing knew what they were doing when it came to computer security, and they went to great lengths to make sure anybody who wasn’t supposed to be mucking around in there stayed out.”
“If you’re having trouble, that’s saying something,” Chen said. It was common knowledge that Dina Elfiki was more talented with computer systems than was implied even by her A6 computer expert classification, and she was rivalled by no one among the Enterprise crew. Even Commander Taurik, whose own computer skills were formidable, had acknowledged her superior ability.
Elfiki shook her head, “It’s not about ability. I can see what this thing is doing, but without a key, or a way to figure out how to forge our own key, there’s no way to decode the protection schemes. We can do it, but it just takes time.” Shrugging, she added, “More time than I expected, is all.”
“What can we do?” Crusher asked. “I’m no computer wizard, but I’ve managed to fumble my way through a problem or two.”
“Same here,” Chen said. Though she was confident in her own expertise, she knew Elfiki outclassed her, as well. “Maybe some new eyes will help.”
The science officer replied, “At this point, I’ll try anything, but first I want some coffee.” After pausing to stretch her back muscles, she said, “Doctor, I’m making a run to the shuttle. Can I bring you anything?”
Chen held up her hand. “You take a break. I’ll get it.” After taking what turned out to be lunch orders and making a mental note to ask Commander La Forge about getting a portable replicator so as to avoid making trips of this sort, she started the long trek back to the landing bay where the Jefferies waited.
Thankfully, the walk separating her from the shuttlecraft was anything but boring, due to the ship itself and everything its designers had seen fit to cram into it. Despite its obvious practical aesthetic—and what in her opinion had to be a conscious decision on the part of its builders to forgo anything resembling comfort or visual style—the vessel’s interior still harbored a certain beauty Chen could appreciate. Everything, from the bulkheads and deck plating to the workstations and every other component and contraption the away team had encountered since first coming aboard, begged for her attention. Form and function had come together with a grace that was intriguing, and as she progressed through the long central corridor Chen imagined herself as a member of this vessel’s crew. What would it have been like, shepherding a craft of such immense power, and for what purpose? If the ship truly was intended as a sort of ultimate weapon, what did that say about the people charged with piloting it to its target and perhaps causing the destruction of entire worlds?
“Hey, slow down.”
The voice came from behind her, startling Chen and causing her to turn to look over her shoulder. Walking behind her, just over an arm’s length away and moving with what had to have been utter stealth, was Rennan Konya. How had she not heard him?
Seeing her look of surprise, Konya held up a hand. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I called after you twice, but I guess you didn’t hear me.”
“What?” Chen shook her head. “Wow. I was . . . hell, I don’t know. Daydreaming, I guess.”
Moving so that he could walk beside her, Konya smiled. “Probably not the best idea, you know.”
“You said the ship’s safe, right?” Chen asked, with a hint of teasing in her words. “Didn’t you and the security detail conduct a full sweep?”
Unperturbed by her gentle taunt, the security officer shrugged. “Sure, but you never know. Anyway, you probably shouldn’t go anywhere alone, just to be safe.”
“Is that why you followed me?” Chen asked, continuing her playful tone. “Just to keep me safe?”
“That’s my job.”
Chen giggled. “Overachiever.” They walked for almost three dozen paces before she said, “Okay, Rennan. What’s really going on?”
“What?” Konya asked. “Can’t a guy go to get a sandwich with the girl he brushed off without there being anything more to it?”
The brazen remark caught Chen off guard. “You said it. I didn’t,” she snapped, unable to stop the retort from escaping her lips. The instant the words were spoken, she felt herself blushing in embarrassment. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”
Konya shook his head. “No, Trys, it wasn’t. I deserved that, and a lot more, if we’re being honest with each other.”
Stopping in the middle of the corridor, the last of her footsteps echoing along the metal deck plates, Chen turned to face the Betazoid. “Come on, Rennan. You’re never this coy. What’s this about?”
“You know when we were in the shuttle the other day, on our way over here for the first time?” Konya sighed. “It occurred to me while we were talking that I never apologized to you.”
“Sure you did,” Chen countered, almost talking over him.
“No, I didn’t.” Crossing his arms, Konya cast his gaze toward the deck, taking a moment to examine his boots. She watched him until he apparently forced himself to look up at her once again. “I mean, we started talking again
. You know, after I did what I did, and you were very supportive of me during that time I was . . . working things out, but I never actually said the words. So, I’m saying them now: I’m sorry. I’m sorry for how I treated you, Trys, and how I made you feel.”
Reaching out, Chen placed a hand on his forearm. “It’s okay. I can’t say I understood what you were dealing with, but I get that you had to work it out on your own, and that it takes as long as it needs to take.” She squeezed his arm. “I’m just glad we’re still friends.”
Konya smiled. “Part of me working out my issues is recognizing that people around me want to help, or are trying to help, or are just doing their best to give me the space I need to do things myself. I know it’s hard to be that kind of friend, let alone anything more, and I didn’t make it any easier for you. For that, I’m sorry.”
There was no mistaking the pain and remorse in Konya’s eyes. Chen had seen this haunted look before, on numerous occasions since her relationship with him had deteriorated in the period after the Borg Invasion. There was no denying that even now, five years after the horrific events of that last assault on the Federation by the relentless cybernetic race, Rennan Konya still carried within him the guilt he felt at the choices he had faced and orders he had been forced to issue, several of which had led to the deaths of shipmates and friends. It was obvious that he had made tremendous progress, and bit by bit was coming to terms with his feelings. Chen knew he would never truly rid himself of his inner turmoil, but he at least seemed to have found a way to live with it and keep it at bay, and the change in his demeanor, especially in recent months, had been palpable. Much of his old humor and warmth had returned, and he smiled more. She had always liked his smile.
“Apology accepted,” Chen said. Then, before she comprehended what she was doing, she stepped closer to Konya, her other hand reaching up around his neck and pulling his face toward hers. Their lips touched and her eyes closed, and she felt him pressing against her. She pulled back after a moment, seeing the surprise in his eyes, but there was no disapproval or displeasure. Even as she extracted herself from their embrace, she saw him offer a small, sly grin.