Have Tech, Will Travel

by Keith R. A. DeCandido

  “Acknowledged.”

  He thought a moment, then added, “Also, let Lieutenant Commander La Forge know that he’s welcome to sit in on that meeting.”

  “Acknowledged,” the computer repeated.

  Within three seconds, David Gold had set his head on his pillow and was fast asleep again. A few seconds after that, he was dreaming of drinking a nice slivovitz white with his wife’s soup.

  Or maybe it was Scotch. . . .

  110 stared at the ceiling of the quarters that, until recently, he had shared with the love of his life.

  For hours, he had been trying to imagine how he could possibly go on without 111. It was proving to be impossible.

  So was getting any rest. Bynars only required a couple of hours of downtime per day, but every attempt 110 had made to try to off-line had resulted in nightmares, where he relived those awful moments when 111 had died. Through their link, 110 had felt his bondmate’s death.

  He was not sure if he would ever be able to rest soundly again.

  The da Vinci computer then conveyed a message directly to him through his belt unit—110 had never understood how the others could communicate with a computer by so clumsy a method as voice. According to the message, the da Vinci had changed course to a planet called Eerlik, delaying their arrival at Starbase 505, and there was a meeting of the S.C.E. staff at 0800.

  110 doubted he would be welcome at that meeting.

  He could not stand to remain alone in his quarters any longer. For lack of anywhere better to go, he went to the mess hall. The da Vinci was a Saber class ship—there were few places to relax outside one’s quarters. The mess hall was really 110’s only other option.

  His steps, as he moved down the corridor, were awkward. After spending all his life walking in tandem with another, walking alone was proving more difficult than he would have thought.

  Only one person was present in the mess hall: Bart Faulwell. He was dictating quietly into a padd. 110 had been hoping to have the room to himself, but he found that he was grateful for the presence of the S.C.E.’s linguist and cryptography expert. Bart— the only alien 110 or 111 had ever met who came close to truly understanding the Bynar language— was a good person, and one that both Bynars had always felt comfortable talking to. Perhaps because he had made the study of how people talk to each other his life’s work, he had an easier time communicating than others. Most aliens, at best, saw the Bynars as an odd curiosity; at worst, they were completely uncomfortable around them.

  As 110 entered, he heard Bart say, “Love you. ’ Bye!” Then he looked up and said, “Oh, hi, 110.” Setting down the padd on top of a pile of papers, he asked, “Couldn’t sleep?”

  “I have not been able to off-line—” he hesitated, then finished, “—since 111 died.” He had expected 111 to finish the sentence for him. That was perhaps the hardest thing of all to get used to.

  “I guess that isn’t surprising, all things considered.” Bart pointed to the chair opposite him as he himself got up and angled himself toward the replicator. “Have a seat. You want anything? I was gonna get some coffee.”

  “No, thank you. I have not eaten since 111 died, either.”

  Bart shook his head. “I’m really sorry, 110. I wish there was something I could say.” He turned to the replicator. “Coffee, French roast, half-and-half, no sugar.”

  After Bart had retrieved his coffee, he sat back down. 110 had taken the seat opposite the linguist’s.

  “Why are you up—at this hour?” 110 wanted to cry—each time he paused, he expected 111 to continue the sentence.

  “I’m usually up this early, actually. I’m a napper—I get snatches of sleep here and there. Starfleet doesn’t always allow for that kind of luxury, but that’s the nice thing about this ship,” he said with a smile. “I’m allowed my eccentricities.”

  “That must be—beneficial.”

  “So,” Bart asked after a pause, “what’re you going to do once we reach Starbase?”

  110 hesitated. “Bynar custom is such—that we must immediately rebond with another—if one of us dies and the other does not. We are—designed to function in pairs.”

  “Designed?”

  Frowning, 110 said, “A poor choice of words. We are not genetically engineered.” 110 knew that humans had had bad experiences with such things. “Our evolution has taken us to the point where we function better in twos.” 110 was proud of himself: he had gotten through that entire sentence—ironic, given the subject matter—without hesitating.

  Bart blinked. “‘Better’? That’s interesting. I always thought it was necessary for you to work in pairs. I was actually kind of worried when I heard we were taking this little diversion—can you survive without her?”

  “In the literal sense, I can. Our effectiveness and ability to contribute to society is greatly lessened without a bondmate, however,” 110 said easily enough. But then, this had been indoctrinated into all Bynars from the moment they emerged from their birthing chambers. “That is why we traditionally rebond.”

  “But don’t you bond from birth? I mean, how can you—” Bart cut himself off. “I’m sorry, I’m being nosy.”

  “There does not appear to be anything amiss with your nose.”

  Chuckling, Bart said, “One of these days, they’ll design a universal translator that handles idioms. No, I mean I’m asking a lot of probing questions.”

  “I do not object. In fact, I appreciate having someone to talk to. Perhaps you could advise me.”

  “About what?”

  “You are in a stable, loving relationship, yes?”

  Bart smiled a bright smile. “Very much so, yeah.”

  “What would you do if your bondmate died?”

  Recoiling as if he had been slapped, Bart straightened in his chair. 110 realized he had committed a blunder—he tended to forget how little some aliens appreciated straightforward speech.

  Reaching a hand forward, 110 said, “I am sorry if I have—given offense. I—”

  Bart shook his head. “No, no, it’s okay, really. I’m sorry, I just wasn’t expecting that question— though I guess I should’ve.” He took a sip of his coffee. “The honest truth is—I haven’t the first clue what I’d do. It’s funny; if you add it up mathematically, I’ve spent more of my time without a mate than with one. And we don’t even get to spend that much time together, what with Starfleet and all. But I tell you, I can’t imagine being alone.”

  110 leaned forward. “Really? So you do understand! We—I had assumed that others did not comprehend or share our total devotion to each other.”

  “Well, I can’t speak for other races, but—well, humans may not have bonded pairs on the same level as you guys, but we can get pretty silly about each other,” Bart said with a chuckle.

  “Our experiences led us to think otherwise. Commander Gomez and Lieutenant Commander Duffy, for example.”

  Bart rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, I don’t know what the story is with those two.”

  “But if something did happen to your mate, would you rebond? Find another to love?”

  Blowing out a breath, Bart said, “I don’t know. I wasn’t looking for a relationship when we met, it just sort of . . . happened. So, I suppose it could happen again. But I doubt I’d be in any kind of rush to get involved with someone else—and I seriously doubt I could find anyone as wonderful.”

  “The problem is—” 110 hesitated. What he was about to say would shock his fellow Bynars to their very cores. “I am not sure that I wish to rebond.”

  Shrugging as he took another sip of coffee, Bart said, “So, don’t.”

  “You do not understand—we must rebond.”

  “Hold off, you just said it wasn’t necessary.”

  “Biologically, it is not. Culturally is a different matter altogether. If I do not rebond, I will be considered an outcast from Bynar society. I will lose my name and be deleted from the master file. But the alternative is even more difficult for me to contemplate. Li
ke you, I cannot imagine my life without 111. I would rather die than bond with another.”

  Tensing somewhat, Bart said, “You’re not thinking about—”

  Remembering that this was another subject about which humans were touchy, 110 quickly said, “No, I am not contemplating suicide.” This was not entirely truthful—110 had wanted very much to die with 111 at the end, rather than have to endure without her, but he hadn’t been given a choice. And now, truly, the idea of killing himself was not one he was comfortable with. But at the time . . .

  He continued. “From the perspective of my people, if I do not rebond, I will be dead. I do not know if I am ready for that—but I also know I cannot bond with another, at least not now. I will not sully 111’s memory that way. That is why I wish your advice.”

  Bart started to take another sip of coffee, then noticed that the mug was empty. “Y’know, there are few sensations more annoying than trying to take a sip of coffee when there’s no coffee in the mug.” He got up and ordered another from the replicator, then sat back down.

  “You are stalling,” 110 said impatiently. If there was one aspect of dealing with aliens that always irritated 110, it was their inability to move at anything like a reasonable speed. Bad enough that they naturally moved too slow, but to then compound it with intentional delay . . .

  “Sorry, it’s just—I don’t know how to advise you. But if it means anything, 110, no matter what you do, you’ve got my support.”

  110 found himself smiling for the first time since 111’s death. “Thank you, Bart. That means a great deal to me.”

  “Well, I’m glad that this new mission isn’t going to be a problem. Heck, maybe the extra time’ll help you sort things out.”

  “I hope so. I wonder what the mission is.”

  Bart shrugged and sipped his coffee. “They’ll tell us at the meeting.”

  “I do not believe I should attend it. I do not believe that Commander Gomez will want me on the team in my diminished state.”

  “Don’t be silly. Of course you should be at the meeting. You’re still one of us. Let Gomez make the decision about the team—that’s her job. Nothing COs hate more than their subordinates anticipating them.”

  110 had not thought of that. “I will accept your advice. Thank you.”

  Grinning broadly once again, Bart said, “My pleasure.”

  Unfortunately, 110 did not feel any more settled with this decision made. He was quite sure that Commander Gomez would not want him. After all, of what possible use was a single Bynar?

  CHAPTER

  3

  Sonya Gomez entered the briefing room at 0750, figuring Kieran Duffy wouldn’t have arrived yet. In this, she was correct—in fact, the room was empty when she entered—and so she went to the replicator with a clear conscience. “Computer, hot Earl Grey tea, please.” “That’s not a hot chocolate, is it?” came Kieran’s voice from behind her.

  Sonya tried very hard not to yell. She also resisted the urge to dump the contents of the now-materializing mug all over the second officer.

  Kieran had a huge smile on his face as he approached her from the still-open entrance. “ ’ Cause you know what happens when you order hot chocolate.”

  “Ten years, Kieran. It’s been ten years since I spilled hot chocolate on Captain Picard.”

  “And yet the joke remains funny.”

  “To you, maybe,” she said, dolefully sipping her tea.

  “All right, I’m sorry,” Kieran said, hitting her with those puppy-dog eyes that she’d never been able to resist. “Forgive me?”

  Rolling her eyes, Sonya went to sit at the table. “What’m I gonna do with you?”

  “Well, I have some creative suggestions. . . .” Kieran said as he sat down next to her. Sonya noticed that he had a padd in his hand.

  The doors parted to allow Geordi and P8 Blue in, which came to Sonya as something of a relief. The conversation with Kieran was starting to get a little too comfortable for her.

  Geordi was in the midst of a laugh, which didn’t surprise Sonya. Pattie had a nasty sense of humor, and Geordi was probably the only person on the da Vinci who hadn’t heard all of her jokes yet.

  Sonya had hoped that the S.C.E.’s next task wouldn’t come until after they had stopped off at Starbase for a number of reasons, one of which was that Geordi La Forge wouldn’t be onboard anymore. She liked and admired Geordi, and he was certainly of great use on their last mission, but she felt so damned awkward around him. After all, he had been her first CO out of the Academy, and now she outranked him. It didn’t seem right, somehow. Geordi himself wasn’t making a big deal of it, but Sonya always felt like she was walking on eggshells around him.

  Pattie had walked in on her hind legs, as Nasats generally did when they walked alongside other humanoids, since even at full height they were shorter than most. However, once she came into the room, she skittered on all six to her specially designed seat at one end of the table.

  “Duffy, Gomez,” Geordi said as he went to sit down, nodding to each of them. “Hey, that’s not hot chocolate, is it?”

  Sonya banged her head against the table. Geordi, of course, had been present for the infamous hot chocolate incident. “No,” she said through clenched teeth, “it isn’t.”

  “Good. ’ Cause you know what happens—”

  “—when I order hot chocolate. Yes, I know.”

  “See?” Kieran said. “I told you it was still funny.”

  Geordi peered at the mug. “That’s Earl Grey, isn’t it?”

  Sonya nodded as she took a sip.

  “That was Sonya’s way of making penance,” Kieran explained, even though Sonya really didn’t need him to. “She avoided hot chocolate like the plague, and started drinking the captain’s favorite drink.”

  “Now I’m addicted to it,” Sonya said ruefully.

  Pattie made the tinkling sound that passed for a chuckle among Nasats. “The price we pay for the follies of our youth.”

  Glaring at Kieran, Sonya said, “Some of us pay more than others.”

  Within minutes, the rest of the S.C.E. crew arrived, as did Captain Gold. They all took their seats around the table.

  Sonya couldn’t help but notice the empty chair next to 110. That was the other reason why she had wanted to stop off at Starbase 505 before they got their next assignment. 110 was supposed to go home to Bynaus and—if Sonya had her Bynar customs right—rebond with another. Indeed, Sonya hadn’t been entirely sure that 110 was going to even attend the meeting, though she was glad he did. He was still part of the team, after all.

  The captain said, “All right, boys and girls—and Nasat and Bynar—here’s the story. We’re heading to a planet called Eerlik. The planet is entirely run by a computer called Ganitriul. It’s broken, and we get to fix it.”

  “They named the computer?” said Fabian Stevens, sounding surprised.

  “It’s got a personality. Might even be sentient.”

  Carol Abramowitz shook her head. “And they can’t fix it . . . why, exactly?”

  Turning to Kieran, the captain said, “Duffy?”

  Kieran nodded, touched his padd, and an image appeared on the screen. Sonya looked up to see an image she recognized from the mission profile she’d studied before the meeting: an Eerlikka. As a rule, these teal-skinned people were short, hairless, with almost stubby arms and legs, and very wide eyes.

  “Eerlik is a thriving, vibrant planet,” Kieran said, “that is technologically quite advanced—at least in some ways. They only recently started venturing into space; the Eerlikka’s focus has been more in the direction of technology-for-comfort. They’ve got very little by way of an urge to explore. They developed space travel several thousand years ago, but never bothered with it much beyond going to the moon and back. About fifty years ago, a sect went out and colonized the ninth planet in their system—”

  “How come?” Carol asked.

  Trust the cultural specialist to zero in on that , Sonya thought wit
h a smile.

  Kieran’s eyes went wide. “Uh—not sure, I— Hang on . . .”

  And trust the engineer not to have a clue , Sonya thought with a wider smile. Luckily, she had read the entire thing, unlike her second officer. “A group of Eerlikka that call themselves the Pevvni broke off from the mainstream religion; they wanted to start over in a new place.”

  Carol nodded.

  “Uh, right,” Kieran said. Sonya noticed several people trying and failing to hide smiles. “Anyhow, the Federation made contact shortly after the colony was established. They weren’t interested in joining, but Eerlik has a rich supply of uridium, so a bunch of trade agreements were made.”

  Kieran touched his padd again, and an image of Eerlik’s moon appeared. “For the last three thousand years or so, Eerlik has been completely run, maintained, and administrated by Ganitriul, which is a giant computer located on its moon.” As he spoke, the display slowly changed to a schematic that showed how the moon had been excavated, and Ganitriul installed. “ Everything on Eerlik is run by Ganitriul, and it hasn’t failed them once. It has some of the best diagnostic software and autorepair components that anyone’s ever seen.” He looked at 110. “Might even put the master computer on Bynaus to shame.”

  “That is unlikely,” 110 said simply.

  Kieran grinned for a moment, then got serious again as he went on. “Like I said, Ganitriul hasn’t failed them—until now. Nothing is working right on the planet anymore—climate controls, entertainment, communications, food distribution, planetary defense, everything. It’s complete and total chaos.”

  Bart Faulwell shook his head. “That doesn’t really answer the question. What do they need us for? Surely, they can fix their own computer.”

  Fabian smiled. “Not if they can’t get to it. Commander, you said that Gani . . . Gani . . .”

  “Ganitriul,” Kieran completed.