“Ask them to hide you,” Bralt said.
“They can do that?” Fife asked.
“It is a standard defensive protocol among the CIF,” Bralt replied.
“Atlee,” O’Donnell began.
“Summoning a proctor, sir,” Fife said, nodding.
A few minutes later, Fife was hard at work dusting off his conversational skills. Given Doctor Sharak’s unique facility with the visual “language” of the wave forms, he and Lieutenant Kim had taken point in most of the communication that had transpired between the Federation ships and the protectors during their work on the Ark Planet. Fife had observed them closely and was familiar with most of their standard protocols.
Four ancient proctors answered Fife’s initial call. O’Donnell did not start to worry until Fife’s second transmission resulted in the appearance of a sentry, one of the wave forms initially programmed to defend the space around the Ark Planet with deadly accuracy.
Fife continued to work diligently, however, and a few minutes later, a familiar hum tickled O’Donnell’s spine.
“Our modified sentry is in place,” Fife reported.
“And we’re still alive,” O’Donnell noted. “Well done.”
“Two of the alien ships will be within range in nine minutes, sir,” Url reported.
“In the meantime, perhaps you would join me in your mess hall, Commander?” Bralt suggested. “I am anxious to sample the berries and cream you told me about.”
O’Donnell looked to Fife, who shrugged. “The proctors say we’re cloaked, sir,” he reported.
If they weren’t, it would be Atlee’s job to deal with Demeter’s tactical response. Aboard Demeter, O’Donnell and Fife shared command, each taking charge as dictated by their respective strengths.
“I can think of worse last meals,” O’Donnell said, and gestured for Bralt to precede him to the bridge’s exit. “Atlee, the bridge is yours.”
“Thank you, sir,” Fife replied, stepping down to the center seat.
Nine minutes later, the first vessels passed close enough to Demeter to read her hull markings without altering course or pausing to investigate. Four more followed in the next fifteen minutes.
Despite their newfound sense of security, long-range sensors continued to pick up additional ship movements through the system and Fife was forced to report to O’Donnell that it would be several hours at least before Demeter could safely return to the Confederacy.
STARSHIP GALEN
Lieutenant Reginald Barclay had made locating Meegan his only priority for months. Now that she had been found, he wanted to shift his focus to separating the Seriareen consciousness that had taken his hologram from the original program. He knew that “Meegan” was lost forever. But that didn’t mean that the technology he had created should be left to the alien who had stolen it.
He was now forced to set this aside until his friend the Doctor was functioning optimally again. He’d been analyzing the Doctor’s program for more than a day and optimal remained elusive.
Barclay had been chastised in years past for his affinity for holograms. Once, he had preferred their company to flesh and blood people. Counselor Troi, in particular, had worked tirelessly with Reg to assist him in forming deeper relationships with his fellow officers, and he counted many of the Enterprise’s and Voyager’s crew as friends.
But his affection for the Doctor was not evidence of relapse. The Doctor was a unique hologram. Although his original program design had been widely disseminated for multiple applications throughout Starfleet, the Doctor’s experiences in the Delta Quadrant during Voyager’s maiden trek had allowed him to surpass his programming. Some of the alterations had been simple upgrades, but most were the result of constant interactions with the crew that gave him a deeper understanding of humanity than most holograms enjoyed. The Doctor was now much more than a collection of subroutines and processors. He was now a sentient being who just happened to exist as photonic energy rather than organic matter.
Barclay had been relieved to learn of Admiral Kathryn Janeway’s rescue several hours earlier, but was surprised by her unheralded arrival at the Galen’s holographic lab.
“Admiral,” he said, rising immediately to his feet.
“Hello, Reg,” she said, smiling.
“Admiral, I . . .” he began, but faltered. Finally, he found a sticking place for his courage, embracing her with unreserved happiness. “Forgive me.” She returned the gesture patiently.
“It’s good to see you too, Reg. I’m due aboard the Vesta for a briefing but I wanted to check in. How is he?”
Barclay shook his head. “Hard to tell.”
“Did Doctor Zimmerman’s modification to the Doctor’s memory centers cause his cascade failure?” Janeway asked.
“I don’t think so,” Barclay replied. “I’d run several diagnostics on the Doctor’s program prior to the disruption Captain Chakotay witnessed and quite wisely interrupted. We might have lost the Doctor entirely if the captain hadn’t shut his program down when he did.
“Now that I’ve read Doctor Z’s file, the variances I found in those diagnostics make sense. They indicate that the new program was working as intended for the most part.”
“For the most part?” Janeway asked.
“The purpose of the modification was to mitigate the Doctor’s emotional distress given Seven’s new personal circumstances by ‘muting’ the otherwise incredibly vivid memories of their shared experiences that were in his long-term memory files. Memories that produced intense emotional responses when accessed were segregated in a separate buffer. Any significant factual data was retained, but the memory could no longer be recalled in perfect detail. The Doctor wouldn’t be able to replay or relive a segregated experience. At the same time, a program similar to an endorphin response was activated to ease any confusion the Doctor might experience by the ‘loss’ of a specific memory.”
“The information contained in the memories remained intact, but they lost their impact,” Janeway clarified.
“Yes. But the segregated memory buffer did not function as intended. Any time the Doctor accessed a previously muted memory, he should have been able to grasp the facts, without the emotional relevance. But the volume of memories transferred to the buffer was greater than Doctor Zimmerman anticipated. It overloaded and the muted files degraded rapidly. Many have been lost entirely. Understand, the Doctor has countless memories of Seven, a lot of them mundane. There’s no danger that he’s going to forget who she is, and her medical files were not subject to the modification, so he hasn’t lost any significant data in that respect.
“In addition, none of the Doctor’s other subroutines were impaired by the modifications. He was functioning normally. To anyone who knew him well, he might have seemed a little off, more abrupt than usual, but I think that’s because he was unaware of the modification. He must have sensed the change, but had no control over it. It would have frightened him, were it not for the dopamine effect easing the transition. And from time to time, when he tried to access specific memories that had already been lost, other similar memories were randomly accessed, creating a sense of confusion.
“As best I can tell, he was managing whatever internal dissonance the modification created. His work on the catomic plague is evidence that he was capable of continuing to function. There was some minor corruption in his ethical subroutines, but that was created by several attempts to reach conclusions regarding moral judgments in the sudden absence of all relevant data.”
“So what happened?”
“I don’t know,” Barclay admitted. “Just prior to the onset of the cascade failure, there was an unusual energy surge from the holographic mainframe into his matrix. That could have resulted in the majority of the damage I’m seeing. If it did, we need to find the cause and repair it. Then we need to decide how to proceed from here.”
“What are our options?”
“I’ve already repaired his program and begun to restore his unmodif
ied long-term memories. He won’t be himself again until that process is complete. I can’t eliminate the modification. I’d have to rebuild his program completely and if I do that, we’d lose much more than his memories of Seven. But I should be able to expand and stabilize the segregated buffer so that all of the data transferred there remains intact and any new memories that are segregated won’t be lost.”
“Is the Doctor able to choose which memories are transferred to that buffer?” Janeway asked.
“Not right now. It’s automated. Any memory of Seven that creates substantial emotional impact is muted and transferred.”
“Could you change that?”
“How?”
“While I remain troubled by Zimmerman’s methods, I do understand what he was trying to achieve. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if the Doctor’s memory worked more like ours does. Over time, the emotional impact of traumatic experiences fades. This makes it easier for us to put them in a larger context, to gain the perspective required to accept the past and to release it.”
“I could add an autonomous subroutine,” Barclay realized. “Each time a memory was flagged to be transferred, I could allow the Doctor to decide whether or not to segregate it.”
“Could you also give him the option to delete his segregated memories?”
“Do you really think that’s wise? Even we can’t do that.”
“If the Doctor is going to continue to grow as a sentient being, it’s essential that he have as much autonomy over his program as we can give him. That should include the ability to let go of the past when he’s ready. Deletion is not a perfect solution, but it’s the closest we can come given the technology we’re working with.”
“Okay,” Barclay agreed.
“As soon as you reactivate him, I want you to bring Counselor Cambridge in to consult.”
“Why?”
“His creator, his father in a way, essentially just assaulted him. By removing the Doctor’s wishes from the equation, Zimmerman treated him more like a malfunctioning replicator than a sentient being. In addition, the Doctor has lost many significant memories and a great deal of emotional context surrounding one of the most significant personal relationships he’s ever had. We can’t fix that. And a few days ago, a power surge almost fried his matrix. He’s been through a lot, and up until now, he’s dealt with it alone. The nature of his existence has already been altered without his permission. We’re going to give him more control over his program to soften the blow, but we need to make sure he’s going to use that control responsibly. He’s going to need help coming to grips with all of this.”
“I agree,” Barclay said, “but do you really think Counselor Cambridge is the right person to help the Doctor resolve these issues?”
“He’s the best counselor in the fleet.”
“He’s also the source of the Doctor’s distress. And to be honest, I don’t think the counselor thinks as highly of the Doctor as he should.”
Janeway shook her head. “Whatever the counselor’s personal feelings, he will set them aside. He knows his duty. I will brief him and as soon as you believe the Doctor is ready, Counselor Cambridge will join you on the Galen to begin his treatment.”
“Won’t you require the counselor to continue assisting you with the Confederacy?”
“For now, this is a higher priority,” Janeway replied. “Oh, and Lieutenant,” she added, “I’ve only spoken briefly with the essence now inhabiting Meegan, but according to her, three of the original seven canisters she took are on that asteroid you found.”
Barclay nodded. “Thank you for telling me, Admiral.”
“You’ve done excellent work, Reg. Keep it up.”
“I will, Admiral.”
VESTA
Captain Chakotay awaited Admiral Janeway’s arrival with Captain Farkas, Commander Glenn, and Counselor Cambridge. As the admiral dismissed her aide, Decan, at the door and entered the Vesta’s large briefing room, tension writ plainly on her face, he should have felt relief. Instead, for reasons he refused to examine too deeply, Chakotay found that he was steeling himself mentally for a new battle.
Captain Farkas was the first to step forward to greet the admiral. Janeway quickly took her hand and smiled reassuringly. After nodding to Glenn and Counselor Cambridge, she turned to face Chakotay. Their eyes met and with a single glance she read his trepidation and determination, acknowledged it with a subtle nod, and allowed the mask of command to once again fall firmly into place.
“We have a great deal to discuss,” Janeway began. “Let’s take our seats.”
The group settled themselves around one of the room’s three smaller tables that comfortably accommodated six. In a fairly radical departure from protocol, Captain Farkas had placed plates of fruit, cheese, and small sandwiches before them, along with tall glasses of water.
“I don’t know about the rest of you, but I haven’t eaten since yesterday,” the Vesta’s captain noted. “Did the Kinara offer you a last meal before they escorted you into that farce of a tribunal?” she asked of the admiral.
“No,” Janeway replied, reaching for a sandwich as the others filled small plates for themselves. “Delicious and much appreciated,” she added after a few bites. Chakotay expected her to rise and replicate a cup of coffee before continuing, but to his surprise, she washed her quick meal down with water before nodding that she was ready to get down to business.
“Lieutenant Decan summarized the fleet’s status as soon as I came aboard,” Janeway began, “but I’d appreciate a quick report from each of you.”
Farkas responded, “Vesta is at ninety-eight percent of nominal. To all intents and purposes, she is fully operational.”
“So is Galen,” Glenn noted.
Janeway nodded toward Glenn before her eyes settled on Chakotay. “Voyager is at least three days from completing repairs,” he reported. “B’Elanna is coordinating with Lieutenant Bryce to replicate some of the larger components we need to replace the deflector dish, and the presider has also offered to supply us with any resources we might require.”
“Free of charge?” Cambridge asked.
“For now,” Chakotay replied.
“That’s interesting,” Farkas observed.
“And Demeter?” Janeway asked.
“Should have returned to the First World yesterday,” Chakotay said, shaking his head. “Our last intelligence came from the CIF indicating that Commander O’Donnell had taken Overseer Bralt on board and activated his slipstream drive to make a quick run to the Ark Planet.”
“Why?”
Chakotay shrugged. “You’ll have to ask him that, Admiral.”
Janeway exhaled, slowly tempering her frustration. “Decan mentioned a discovery the Doctor made regarding the catomic plague prior to being deactivated,” she said.
Chakotay nodded. “During our mission to Lecahn, the Doctor studied all the evidence we have on the catomic plague. He is convinced, and his evidence was compelling, that Starfleet Medical may be using the plague as some sort of cover for their true intention: to weaponize catoms.”
“That’s quite an accusation,” Janeway said, stunned.
“He re-created the plague,” Chakotay continued. “He also discovered that the only potential cure lies in completely reprogramming catomic matter, something he assures me we are years from being able to do. Containment is the only viable option at this point.”
“Then why did they need Seven?”
“To access her catoms,” Chakotay replied.
“But not for her assistance in curing the plague,” Cambridge added pointedly.
“Not according to the Doctor,” Chakotay continued. “He was understandably upset when he first reported this to me. He asked that I find a way to forward his research to Seven, and I’d still like to do that.”
“As would I,” Cambridge echoed.
“Oh, we will,” Janeway assured him.
Satisfied on this count, Chakotay asked, “Have you spoken
with Presider Cin?”
“Yes,” Janeway replied. “She’s agreed to a joint meeting with myself and Lsia to discuss her request.”
“What request?” Farkas asked.
Janeway sighed. “Apparently the Seriareen homeworld lies somewhere in Confederacy space. Lsia said that they came here hoping to convince the Confederacy to allow them to visit it.”
“Huh,” Farkas mused.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think that someone had been reading our personal logs and determined the best possible way to earn our sympathy,” Cambridge said. “Oh . . . wait . . . that’s exactly what happened, isn’t it?”
“That is entirely possible,” Janeway agreed.
“Did she happen to tell you where her other four friends are making their home?” Cambridge asked.
“She said three containers are buried near New Talax. The fourth was lost.”
“You don’t trust her, do you?” Chakotay asked.
“Not as far as I could throw her,” Janeway replied. “She prevented whoever has taken Kashyk from killing me, but she stood by as he murdered Rigger Meeml in cold blood. She also insinuated that she still controls several ships that could enter this area at any time and resume hostilities.”
“The Lightcarrier escaped during the battle,” Chakotay said. “The original Kinara members will know soon enough that their alliance with Meegan, or Lsia, was a mistake. But most of the Turei, Devore, and Vaadwaur ships were destroyed. There’s no one left to tell them they were duped into attacking the Confederacy other than the Manticle, but I’d be surprised if the Confederacy doesn’t end up destroying the ship and executing her crew.”
“I plan to take that up with the presider,” Janeway noted. “Didn’t the Voth ship escape as well?”
“Yes, and they might advise their new friends of developments here, but they might not,” Chakotay observed. “When last seen they were trying to destroy their former allies.”
“We have to be sure,” Farkas said.
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