Keru gaped at him. “No! God, no! What I’m saying, it’s entirely different! What happened on Oghen—I didn’t just casually throw T’Lirin’s life away like some cog in a machine. I agonized over that decision.”
“But you made it anyway.”
“Yes,” he said, wincing.
“After swearing to yourself that you’d never, ever contemplate such an act, because that’s the way the Borg do things. Well, that tells us what your word is worth, doesn’t it?”
“I—” Keru realized he had no ready answer. He sat silently for a time under Haaj’s querulous stare, contemplating what had been said. “So…you think I’m taking my own guilt out on Torvig? Treating him like a Borg because I’m afraid I’m turning into one myself?”
“Don’t ask me. We’ve been talking about what you think.”
Again Keru was slow to answer. “Maybe…I don’t know. I guess that’s something I need to think about.”
“Finally. Something penetrates that thick skull. I was starting to wonder if you could hear me from way up there.”
“But it doesn’t change my job. Torvig is a discipline problem. He violated numerous regs, and I offered a recommendation on how to penalize him. But it was just a recommendation. The final decision was up to Riker and Vale, and they went with a lighter discipline. So whatever biases I may have…they’re just my problem, because they don’t determine the kid’s fate.”
“I see. So because you don’t make the decisions, it’s all right for you to project your self-loathing onto him. Well, I’m sure he’ll be glad to hear that.”
“I didn’t say that! I said it isn’t about how I do my job.”
“So? Why should I care how you do your job? Do I look like the first officer? You came here to deal with what’s going on in your mind.”
“But you were the one who brought Torvig up!”
“And you were the one who gave me reason to.”
Keru glared at Haaj, forced to admit that, as usual, he had a point. He had let his state of mind influence his discipline recommendation, and that was what had brought it into Haaj’s purview. “All right. So I have a problem, and I need to deal with it. Where do I start?”
“Well, that’s not my problem. Not till next week, anyway. Your hour’s up. Go on, shoo! I’ve got other patients waiting, and with you in here there’s barely room enough for me.”
Once the door shut behind Keru, he had the realization that it hadn’t been a full hour. And he was fairly sure he was Haaj’s last patient of the day. But after a moment, he realized there was method to Haaj’s meanness. Now that he’d made a discovery about himself, Haaj was giving him time to process it. The wiry Tellarite had taken the action that helped his patient the most, just as he always did.
Keru smirked, realizing how much he liked the guy.
Aili Lavena swam beneath a star-jelly, feeling more alive than she had in months. Kestra II’s hydrothermal lakes were warm and comforting, rich in oxygen, and just alkaline enough to lend an interesting tartness to their water.
And at last Aili was able to do her job without needing that horrid hydration suit. She didn’t have the pleasure of being nude, though; she was on duty, and thus wore a minimal uniform, a halter-style swimsuit held on by shoulder straps so as to leave her dorsal crests free. But it was still a delight, at last being able to join an away mission that made use of her species’ particular gifts.
And the realm in which she swam was amazing, too. This sessile young jelly was less than half-grown, and maybe about a century old. The eight nodes that made up its body at this age formed an island half a kilometer across, atop which had grown a lush ecosystem. The rest of Commander Troi’s away team was surveying it now, with its consent; though still young, the jelly had reached full sentience and learned much of the universe from its starfaring elders. But Aili alone was getting to see its underside. Eviku, who descended from aquatic ancestors, was also doing his part to survey the lake, but he couldn’t dive as deep or last as long without oxygen as she could.
Well, perhaps “underside” was an exaggeration, for the true underside floated only slightly above the lakebed, and the space underneath was choked with thousands of tendrils in addition to the eight immense geothermal taproots that bored deep into the magma flows below. Aili was exploring more off to the side, though still within the bounds of what the creature’s ultimate size would be. Indeed, she could legitimately say she was within the jelly itself. Extending from the island, forming the framework of its ultimate saucer shape, were eight radial vanes of staggering size. The vanes consisted of a dense lattice of tendrils of all sizes, catching matter from the winds as well as providing a framework for vines, small animals and avians to climb on. Between them grew a tangle of fibers and struts, growing out across the water’s surface and down below it, further anchoring the growing creature and extending the reach of its self-sustained ecosystem. Beneath the water, the network of its growing body had become the basis of a complex ecology like that of a coral reef or a deep-sea thermal vent on Pacifica or Earth. Schools of fish darted among its tendrils, and Lavena playfully chased after some of them, leaving her wrist-mounted tricorder to work on its own. They proved elusive, though, and darted through a narrow gap which she couldn’t swerve in time to avoid. Her shoulders wedged into it, and she struggled to break free.
To her surprise, though, after a moment one of the tendrils shimmered with magenta ripples and dematerialized, setting her free. “Thank you,” she said, sobered by the reminder that this was a self-aware ecosystem, conscious of the needs of everything that inhabited it and acting to provide for them. It was how the jellies drew so many species to live among them, an irresistible lure. Nearby, she could see more purplish shimmers, almost looking like reflections of light in the water, as the jelly provided plants for a group of whirling starfish-like creatures to dine on. Such a thing could be the perfect trap, Lavena realized—it could draw in animals with their heart’s desire, then beam their constituent molecules into itself as raw material for its growth. But the jellies grew so slowly, or so Jaza had explained, that they could easily wait for the animals to die and decay naturally.
More than that, though, they seemed to genuinely care about their nests, feeling a responsibility—even in youth—to give back to the ecology that nursed them. Thinking about it left Aili feeling abashed, and she decided to swim to the surface and get her mind off of it.
But when she breached the surface and got her bearings, she found Deanna Troi nearby, sitting on one of the jelly’s tendrils with her boots beside her, dangling her bare feet in the water. “Hello, Aili,” she said. “The water is marvelously warm, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Aili replied. She tried to hide her unease from the commander, but knew it would be futile. “Commander…I need to tell you something. About…what you saw…with Dr. Ra-Havreii…”
Troi studied her. “Ensign, I don’t pry needlessly into the private lives of my crewmates.”
“Of course not,” Aili was quick to say. “But…I just didn’t want you to think that I was…flaunting my sexual activities before you. I have no intention of doing that, of doing anything to make you or…or the captain uneasy with me.”
Deanna smiled. “Aili, I have no reason to be uneasy about it. You and Will had a harmless fling two decades ago. If that sort of thing bothered me, I never would’ve married him.” She lowered herself languidly onto one side, propping up her head with one fist, to bring herself closer to Aili’s eye level. “I think we both know that I’m not the one who’s bothered. I think we both know what Captain Riker doesn’t—about the difference between amphibious and fully aquatic Selkies.”
Aili stared at her, motionless except for her gill-crests, which reflexively undulated to maintain waterflow across them. “Then…you know?”
“I know that in your amphibious phase, you’re supposed to devote yourselves to procreation and parenting. That purely recreational sex is something you’re supposed to save for yo
ur aquatic phase, once you’ve discharged those obligations. I also know it doesn’t always work that way in practice.”
“Yes,” Aili said in a small voice. “Especially where offworlders are involved. They find us more alluring in amphibious phase…because they can mate with us more easily in the air, and because our breasts are enlarged then.” She gestured toward her own four small breasts, which no longer needed to produce milk and had thus flattened out to enhance her streamlining. “Often they don’t understand the difference between our phases…and we’re often content not to tell them.”
“Understandable,” Troi said. “To be expected to be so responsible all the time…then to look at your aquatic elders and see them free to romp and play, to be totally free in their sexuality…it’s a natural temptation. Not just the desire to be free from responsibility, but the desire to ‘act grown-up,’as it were.”
“But giving into that temptation is…somewhat scandalous.”
“But does that actually stop anyone from doing it anyway?”
“Rarely,” Aili admitted. “After all, they’re offworlders. They’ll go away and no one will be the wiser. And you never have to see them again.”
“Unless you decide to join Starfleet…and end up on a ship commanded by one of them.”
“Well, there’s that.” Aili looked away. “It’s just that…it was inappropriate. Not for him—I was an adult, fully mature by human standards—but for a Selkie it was improper and irresponsible, to spend my energies on a human lover rather than my children. And if it were known that Will…that the captain had participated in my impropriety, it would reflect badly on him. And I don’t want that, ma’am.”
Troi smiled. “I understand. Will’s former partners tend to remember him very fondly.”
“Well…truth be told, I don’t remember him that clearly at all.”
“Really!” Troi seemed mildly offended on her husband’s behalf, though there was humor in it.
“It’s just…there were so many. I was…very irresponsible back then. More than most. I was a poor mother, a poor caregiver. I wanted to put that behind me, to make up for it. That’s why I joined Starfleet. Even though I knew I might encounter…various old partners again. I’m a different person now, I figured I could handle that. But to have the captain himself be one of my…I’m just concerned how it would reflect on him.”
Deanna reached out and clasped Aili’s shoulder. “Well, your secret is safe with me. No one else needs to know you were intimate with Will, and Will doesn’t need to know about the…inappropriateness of it. After all,” she said with steel in her voice, “it’s not like he’s ever going to try it again.”
Aili would have sighed if she still breathed. “Thank you, Commander. I’m so relieved that you understand.” She smiled. “Would you like to join me for a swim? You were right, the water’s wonderful.”
But Deanna had suddenly grown distracted, looking skyward. A shadow passed across the sun, and Aili looked upward. Above them, a gigantic star-jelly hovered, a vast dark cloud with a halo of refracted light limning its edges. Wispy tendrils extended downward from it like rays of sunlight breaking through clouds. “Oh, no,” the commander breathed. Then she tapped her combadge and scrambled to pull her boots back on. “Troi to Titan.”
“Go ahead.”
“Will, I’ve just been informed—another school of jellies is being attacked.”
Riker had been just about to order the away team beamed aboard when, with a shimmer of purple, they materialized on the bridge. All but one, that is. Deanna’s eyes scanned the others—Jaza, Eviku, Chamish, Rriarr—and she struck her combadge. “Troi to Lavena. Are you aboard?”
“Yes, Commander, in my quarters,” came her response a moment later, her voice oddly modified by the underwater acoustics. “They beamed up my drysuit too.”
“Report to the bridge, Ensign,” Riker said, then turned to Deanna, barely hearing the Selkie’s acknowledgment. She spoke in response to his questioning look.
“The jellies are impatient. They want us out there as quickly as possible.”
“Out where? Coordinates of the attack, Mr. Jaza?”
The Bajoran was already at his console, scanning. “Three-two-one mark 42, point-eight light-years distant. A school of thirteen under attack by…looks like most of Qui’hibra’s fleet. Yes, the rest are on their way to intercept.”
Riker turned to Axel Bolaji at the conn. “Chief, time to intercept, best speed?”
“Fourteen minutes, sir. The brown dwarf’s gravity complicates departure angles at warp.”
“Damn. All we can do is watch.” By now Jaza had a high-magnification image on the screen, courtesy of long-range sensors. “Take us out of orbit anyway, helm, best speed to intercept. Lieutenant Rager, try hailing the Pa’haquel fleet.”
“Hailing…no response, sir.”
On screen, the jellies began withdrawing their tentacles, flipping over and materializing their armor. “Have they decided to fight instead of run?” Riker asked, knowing it was unlikely.
“They still can’t bring themselves to attack,” Deanna told him. “They know now that something else is controlling the corpses—thanks to us.” Thanks to Tuvok, Riker amended, though he knew the Vulcan was not to blame for letting the information slip. “The school comes from outside the system, but the news has been spread telepathically. But they still can’t desecrate them. They have a wounded member who can’t go to warp, and they’re staying to try to protect it.”
Before long, the only way to tell the groups of armored jellies apart visually was by their behavior—whether they fired or not, whether they defended or menaced the injured, unarmored member. “Is their armor protecting them?” Riker asked as he studied the one-sided battle.
“Only some,” Jaza said. “In fact, the armor’s composition seems to be in flux…like they’re improving their defense against the plasma stings as they go.” A pause. “But the Pa’haquel are adjusting the stings to compensate, upping their intensity.” And they clearly knew the most vulnerable points to strike—apparently along the meridional seams in the armor. Riker and the crew watched helplessly as several hunter ships focused their blasts along a single seam in one jelly’s armor until it split, spilling a roseate cloud of plasma.
Deanna and Chamish both gasped at that moment, and Deanna sagged against him. “Dead?” Riker asked with sympathy.
“Yes. I’m…doing my best to block out the pain…but there are hundreds of jellies in the system, and they want me to share in it. They want us to do something, to tell them what we know so they can see these attacks coming and get away in time. They don’t understand why we won’t help them. They’re begging us, Will.” Her voice was rough despite her best efforts to block out the emotional onslaught.
But Riker realized something, and turned to Chamish. “Lieutenant, you feel it too?”
The Kazarite widened his dark eyes, and spoke in a gentle voice that belied his somewhat feral, simian appearance. “Yes, sir. Perhaps the inhibitor is less effective on my species.”
“Or maybe it just isn’t strong enough.” He turned to Vale. “Commander, contact all the telepaths on board, find out if they’re being affected too.”
“I’ve already gotten calls from Savalek and Orilly, confirming it. Sickbay reports T’Pel is reacting too.”
“How bad is it?” Riker asked Chamish.
“Not severe yet…but they are pressing…aah!” On the viewer, another jelly’s armor shell cracked open. With the defense formation scattered, enough shots got through to finish the defenseless jelly as well. “Please, Captain…they want me to…I want to help them…I advise you to relieve me of duty, sir.”
Riker turned to the security station. “Mr. Keru, I want escorts on all psi-sensitive crew members. I don’t want any of them getting access to that warp-signature data.”
“Aye, sir. Does that include Commander Troi?”
Riker exchanged a look with her. “I think it should,” Deanna said, �
��just in case.”
“All right. Commander, Mr. Chamish,” Keru went on, “I’d like to ask you to leave the bridge, please. You’ll be met when you leave the turbolift and escorted to your quarters.”
“Of course, sir. Thank you.” The soft-spoken ecologist turned to Riker. “But please, Captain, if there is a way you can help them…”
Riker nodded at him reassuringly, and the Kazarite smiled and meekly left the bridge, Deanna just behind him. Not that I have the slightest idea how to stop this massacre, Riker admitted to himself. “Rager, try hailing again. Damm it, isn’t three enough?” The attack showed no sign of stopping.
Jaza’s voice was subdued. “The injured one, the unarmored one…it seems it was hit too many times. It lost too much structural integrity…I guess it’s past salvaging.”
“Sir!” Keru spoke with some alarm. Riker looked up sharply.
“What is it?”
“Security reports…they can’t find Mr. Tuvok, sir.”
Tuvok had to make the anguish stop. Nothing else mattered.
No—he knew that other things still mattered. He knew that what he was about to do was unethical and immoral, that it violated his duty as an officer and his principles as a Vulcan, and would probably end his Starfleet career. He just didn’t care. The pain, the grief—feeling the jellies die, feeling the agony of losing a loved one multiplied a thousand times over—it was too much to control, too much to want to control. The sheer need to feel it, to act on it, overrode everything else. If it were T’Pel, if it were his children dying out there, would not even a Vulcan throw discipline to the winds before seeing them slaughtered? And right now, as far as he was concerned, it was his family dying out there. He felt it as they felt it. He loved them, and had to give them what they needed to save themselves.
And yet even now, even in the throes of uncontrollable emotion, somehow he retained his intellect, his cunning. Vulcan philosophy taught that emotion clouded the judgment, left one in a fog of animal impulses. Yet now his perceptions, his decisions seemed clearer than they had ever been in his life. The confusion came from fighting against emotion—and right now he had no wish to fight it. So there was no doubt, no ambiguity. He knew exactly what he needed to do, and was preternaturally alert to anything that could stand in his way. He remembered every detail of Titan’s Jefferies-tube network, of the patterns of its security forces. He recalled exactly how to reprogram a tricorder to mask his life signs from the sensors. He knew it all because he had to know it. Far from hampering him, the passion inspired him, guided him.
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