Star Trek: Voyager: A Pocket Full of Lies

by Kirsten Beyer

  “That’s not always true. There are voiceprint recognitions required as well,” Kim noted. “If I try to use Admiral Janeway’s command codes, which change every few days and which are encrypted within our databases, the computer won’t allow it unless I can also access her voice. A recorded sample won’t work. It has to be her.”

  “But if an alien takes control of Admiral Janeway’s body and can access her memories, he’s got her voice and her most recent codes, and we’re in trouble.”

  Kim’s face softened. He quickly put on his tank top and rejoined her, wrapping his arms around her. She relented, leaning in to rest her head on his chest.

  “I understand your concern,” he said. “What happened to you was unacceptable. And I’ll never forgive myself for not finding a way to prevent it.”

  “But now that we know that it can happen, we have to make sure it doesn’t happen again,” Conlon insisted. “And that’s not even our greatest vulnerability.”

  “What is?” Kim asked, brushing his lips over her hair.

  “Admiral Batiste was our commanding officer briefly, and managed to not only override all security parameters but also to plant forged logs into the database to deflect suspicion. It was too late when we realized what he had done and suddenly we’re opening a rift to fluidic space.”

  “Yes, but you’re not going to restrict the access profile of the admiral of this fleet,” Kim said.

  “That’s not my intention,” Conlon said. She gently pulled herself upright and stared into Kim’s eyes. “We have bioneural circuitry now. We’ve moved light-years beyond binary programming options. The computer has the capability to reason, within limits, but we’ve never maximized the potential of that function. The gel packs were designed to allow for all previous data to be included in any analysis the computer performs. It considers the past before it makes a recommendation or performs a requested function. But its results can be countermanded by anyone with appropriate command codes. We could expand that potential. We could allow the computer to question commands that present risks to the entire system or ship. An added level of accountability might have prevented Batiste and Xolani’s actions.”

  “It might also have killed us fifty other times,” Kim replied. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to find myself arguing with the main computer when I give it an order in an emergency situation. ‘Computer, raise shields.’ ‘Why, Lieutenant?’ And just that fast, boom. We’re all dead.”

  “I’m not talking about standard functions,” Conlon argued. “But when Admiral Batiste ordered the computer to open that rift, I wouldn’t have minded if that request were at least verified with the next officer in line or the chief engineer.”

  “What if those officers had just been killed and there wasn’t time for discussion?” Kim asked. “What if entering fluidic space was the only, admittedly terrible option on the table? An armada of angry Voth are a few seconds behind us and there’s nowhere else to run.”

  “Now you’re just being a jerk,” Conlon said.

  “I’m playing devil’s advocate,” Kim countered. “Starfleet has experimented in the past with sentient computers and none have ever been developed that were safe enough to consider using. I’m all for new ideas and new solutions to old problems, but something like this takes years of work and a team of dedicated professionals. This isn’t something you and I can come up with in our spare time, let alone consider implementing in the middle of a deep-space mission.”

  Conlon’s face tensed, stricken by his rebuke. “Then you won’t even look at the new protocols I’m developing?”

  “I didn’t say that,” Kim replied. “But there’s no way B’Elanna is going to sign off on something like this. And even if she did, it would be over my official protests.”

  Conlon came quickly to her feet. “Open the door, Harry,” she demanded.

  He rose and tried to take her hands, but she pulled back.

  “Computer,” she called, “override security lock-out of the main holodeck, authorization Conlon beta beta six delta.”

  “Override not permitted. Security clearance required.”

  “Come on, Nancy,” Kim pleaded.

  “How many times has an alien presence wreaked havoc on this ship?” she demanded. “How many times does it have to happen before you realize that security is all too often a comforting illusion around here? If you wanted to hurt me right now, boom, I’m dead already.”

  “Computer, override security lock-out of the main holodeck,” Kim ordered.

  The computer complied instantly with a series of short trills. “Override terminated,” it reported.

  “I would never hurt you,” Kim said gently. “You have to know that.”

  Conlon shook her head. “You just don’t get it.” She left the holodeck too quickly for him to respond.

  VESTA

  “Icheb, hi,” Lieutenant Bryce greeted the ensign when he approached the diagnostic interface panel located at the main engineering station adjacent to the Vesta’s combined warp/slipstream drive assembly.

  “Lieutenant Bryce,” Icheb began, “I was hoping we could review your efficiency evaluation. I know I’m a little early, so if you need more time . . .”

  Bryce checked the chronometer on the display as he replied, “You’re not early. Okay, you’re exactly twenty-six seconds early but around here we call that ‘on time’ so, sure.”

  Icheb glanced nervously at the three other crewmen who were busy running other operations at workstations. “Is there somewhere else you would prefer to . . . ?”

  Bryce’s face fell into confusion. He almost looked as if he was having trouble following Icheb’s words. “You mean somewhere other than main engineering?” Bryce asked. “Because I sort of have to be here right now and, oh,” the lieutenant suddenly corrected himself, “you mean somewhere else like my office. No. Well, we could but it’s sort of, well . . .” Bryce trailed off as he bit his lower lip in consternation. Shifting gears briskly, he continued, “You know what? That’s fine. Come on. It’s just . . .”

  But his next words were lost as he hurried past several other engineers and swiftly climbed the ladder that led to a catwalk above the drive. Icheb followed dutifully and by the time he reached the chief’s small private office Bryce was already grabbing stacks of padds and random spare parts from the only chair in the room and throwing them into a corner that was already piled high with Icheb-could-not-even-tell-what. The area immediately surrounding the office’s three display panels and interfaces was similarly cluttered and with a wave of his arm, Bryce ruthlessly cleared it, leaving just enough space to perch on the edge of the surface as he motioned for Icheb to take the chair.

  Icheb had seen worse while visiting the homes of some of his fellow Academy cadets during short semester breaks. Had any of their quarters looked this way they would have been reprimanded or summarily dismissed. He found it difficult to understand how anyone, let alone a chief engineer, could work in a room like this and was pleased he had not seen it as part of his initial evaluation.

  “I know it’s awful,” Bryce admitted sheepishly, “but there’s just never enough time, you know?”

  Icheb did not. But he nodded as if he did. “I guess.”

  “Anyway, go ahead. Give it to me straight.”

  “Well,” Icheb said, trying to remember how he had intended to begin this conversation, “In many respects, your department is excelling.”

  Bryce seemed surprised. “Really? Because by my count we’re behind in scheduling standard maintenance to forty-three systems, all of which are running fine but without checking the standard diagnostics we’re probably missing some minor wear and tear and necessary replacements. I counted ninety-one protocol deficiencies the day you were here because frankly, I don’t care if my people call me Phinn or Bryce or hey, you when they need to get my attention, and that sort of thing trickles down. By the way, you should definitely call me Phinn. I was planning to use your report to prioritize our upgrade s
chedule, unless you’ve found some glaring issues I’ve missed, which I’m sure you have. I mean, I’m new at this and right now I call it a good day when everything keeps running and Captain Farkas is happy. I know I have to do better, but, take this afternoon for example. I’ve got Kurtz and Simensky checking our benamite crystals for microfractures, Yolanda is running down a glitch in our industrial replicator because it gave me a type-six conduit junction when I specifically requested a type-nine, which could be a programming error but might be something more serious, and everyone else is running standard system checks or raiding our inventory for a few things Lieutenant Conlon just requested. Meanwhile, I’ve got a much bigger problem to solve right now and if you’ve got a minute I could really use your help.”

  Icheb actually managed to follow all of this. That Bryce had already come up with many of the same numbers he had was extraordinary. But what was most intriguing to Icheb was the amount of information currently running at warp speed through Bryce’s mind without driving the young man to either madness or despair. Setting the padd he had brought with him down on the nearest pile, Icheb said, “How can I be of assistance?”

  Bryce smiled infectiously. “Captain Farkas gave me a new assignment this morning. Somewhere out there is evidence of actions Voyager may have taken in this sector that were later erased by an alteration to the timeline. So the question before us is, ‘How does one begin searching for something that should no longer exist?’ ”

  “Upon what do you base the assumption that the evidence in question ever existed?” Icheb asked.

  “Personal testimony from two reliable sources,” Bryce replied, “one of whom apparently heard pieces of it firsthand.”

  “Heard? So we’re talking about what? Logs?”

  “Probably.”

  “Logs that were transmitted and somehow captured before the timeline was altered?”

  “Maybe,” Bryce allowed. “But not likely. I keep wondering,” Bryce said, scratching his head vigorously, “if I were a starship captain and I found myself at war with someone I knew was capable of altering the timeline, what would I do to make sure that current data wasn’t lost by a temporal reset? Better yet,” Bryce continued, “you actually served on Voyager. What would Admiral Janeway have done in those circumstances?”

  Icheb did not have an answer. But he was determined to find one as soon as possible.

  VOYAGER

  As Doctor Sharak completed his review of the records Doctor Sal had forwarded to him, he marveled at the innovation of his Starfleet counterparts. Vega Nine was, as Sal had suggested, an extremely complex organism, and the damage it did to those it infected was horrific. The treatment regimen Sal devised had included the creation of a nanovirus specifically designed to interrupt Vega Nine’s replication sequence. Purging the virus had involved numerous transfusions and, in several instances, organ replacement. The final stage of the treatment had consisted of gene replacement therapy to correct for the damage done by the virus.

  That anyone had survived Vega Nine was testament to Sal’s perseverance and brilliance. That she would prefer to forget the experience was also perfectly understandable. Many who chose to enter the medical profession brought healthy egos along with them. Only those blessed with exceptional self-regard could meddle with such casual arrogance with the complex inner workings of living beings. Physicians were often accused of “playing God.” Sharak doubted that anyone could have done better than Doctor El’nor Sal in ending Vega Nine’s ruthless devastation. But he shared Sal’s discomfort with the work. It had been necessary. But each step in the process had undoubtedly been terrifying to attempt. Her personal logs attested to the weary days fraught with frustration and countless dead ends, all of which she had eventually overcome. The experience had not left her eager to scale even higher mountains. The logs simply ended with the hope that Vega Nine had been the worst the universe would ever show her of such merciless organisms.

  Sharak was inclined to agree with her assessment. After comparing the blood work of those who had succumbed to Vega Nine with that of the members of the da Vinci’s crew who had been infected six years earlier by a similar alien virus, appia veraba, that had severely compromised their immune systems prior to attacking their DNA, he had concluded that the two strains had less in common than he had initially feared.

  A thorough review of Lieutenant Conlon’s medical records had suggested to Sharak that her current panels might indicate a resurgence of appia veraba organisms that could have lain dormant within her body until Xolani’s attack. He would have to conduct new tests in order to verify his suspicion that this was unlikely, but should that prove to be true, he was no closer to understanding the current irregularities present in the chief engineer’s immune system. He hoped fervently that as the Doctor suspected, her levels would return to normal soon.

  Time would tell.

  • • •

  Ensign Icheb found Commander Torres standing outside Counselor Cambridge’s quarters. She appeared to be at something of a loss. As gamma shift was well under way, she must have assumed the counselor would be sleeping, but would surely answer her summons.

  “Commander,” he said as he approached.

  Torres turned toward him. “Icheb? Why aren’t you sleeping?”

  “I wished to speak with you prior to Voyager’s departure,” Icheb replied. “The computer advised me of your current location.”

  “What is it?”

  “Request permission to remain with the Vesta until Voyager returns from the Beta Quadrant.”

  “Why?”

  “I started my review of Vesta’s engineering department but we got a little sidetracked working together on a new critical issue Captain Farkas assigned to Phinn.”

  “Phinn?” Torres asked.

  “Lieutenant Bryce,” Icheb corrected himself. “We’re making excellent progress and I would really like to continue assisting him, unless you feel my presence here is required. I have created an automated program to flag any unusual crew assignments Lieutenant Conlon might make in the interim. You will receive daily reports at your personal station while we are separated.”

  Torres considered the request along with the fact that this was the most excited she had seen Icheb since his reviews had begun. Progress was being made, even if it wasn’t happening precisely how she had envisioned it. And the ensign was certainly honoring her needs as well as those of the fleet. Nodding, she said, “I think we can manage for a few days without you. Be prepared when we get back for a thorough briefing on your work with Lieutenant Bryce.”

  Icheb nodded. “Thank you, Commander.”

  “Computer,” Torres called, “locate Counselor Cambridge.”

  “Counselor Cambridge is not aboard,” the computer replied.

  “He was ordered by Admiral Janeway to accompany Demeter,” Icheb advised Torres.

  “Damn it. She’s already left, hasn’t she?”

  “Two hours ago,” Icheb confirmed.

  “I guess it will have to wait.”

  “What will, Commander?”

  “You’d better get back to the Vesta before Phinn leaves without you.”

  Icheb did not understand the heat that rose to his cheeks at this typical, good-natured ribbing from Commander Torres.

  8

  STARSHIP TITAN

  This is an unexpected pleasure,” Captain William Riker said, offering Chakotay his hand as Voyager’s commanding officer was ushered into Titan’s ready room.

  “The pleasure is mine, Captain,” Chakotay replied.

  “How is the Delta Quadrant these days?” Riker asked as he moved to sit behind his desk and motioned for Chakotay to take the nearest chair opposite it.

  “Never a dull moment.”

  Riker grinned gamely. “I know what you mean.”

  “We spent the last few months initiating diplomatic relations with a confederacy of planets that rivals the Federation in size and strength.”

  “I hope you parted on good term
s.”

  “We did,” Chakotay assured him, “in spite of some vast cultural differences.”

  “It’s those differences that make our missions worthwhile, don’t you think?”

  “If you’d like I can leave you with our most recent logs; might make for some interesting late-night reading.”

  “I’d appreciate that. And I’d be more than happy to return the favor.” After a moment Riker asked, “How is Admiral Janeway adjusting?”

  “To what?”

  “I understand Ken Montgomery has retired. I believe that puts the vice admiral directly under Admiral Akaar’s supervision.”

  Chakotay shrugged. “Honestly, I think she’s relieved.”

  “Your fleet has suffered significant losses since you left the Alpha Quadrant a year ago. You were what, nine ships?”

  “Three of those are still with us. One was reassigned and replaced with the Vesta.”

  Riker chuckled. “The last time I saw the Vesta she was in pieces at Utopia Planitia.”

  “Admiral Janeway convinced Admiral Akaar to rectify that situation.”

  “I’ve known Kathryn Janeway since we were both cadets and I’ve yet to meet anyone who could stand against her when she had her mind set on something.”

  “I hope the request I’ve come to make won’t prove the exception to that rule,” Chakotay said, offering Riker the padd containing the transfer request Janeway had written.

  As Riker started to read, a chime sounded. “Come in,” he said.

  Commander Deanna Troi, Riker’s first-contact specialist, wife, and one of the few former Enterprise officers that Chakotay had met, hurried into the room, her face radiant. She still carried herself with a powerful grace and serenity. He remembered being struck with her poise when she first boarded Voyager to assist the crew with their reintegration to life in the Federation after their unexpected return home four years earlier. Chakotay had formed a distinctly positive impression and found himself wishing for a counselor more like Troi in the early days of Cambridge’s service aboard Voyager.