Star Trek - TOS - Battlestations

by Diane Carey

  to his word, that's what he made of the galley. We

  didn't eat well, but we did eat. At least we wouldn't

  faint from hungermthat is, if the broccoli with peanut

  butter sauce didn't kill us first. As the hours passed,

  we found out how the computer system worked, found

  out how the warp engines were tied into it, found out

  which circuits, foils, trip-joints, and conduits were

  responsible for the navigational lockup. I allowed

  them time for sleep, but only barely enough, and only

  on Dr. McCoy's insistence as senior medical officer. I

  catnapped, but only when he exercised his medical

  authority, and even then I did nothing but dream about

  which circuitry panel I was going to try next. I refused

  to believe the obvious that we were trying to break an

  unbreakable program. The more obvious it became,

  55

  the more determined I was to find that one flaw, that

  one backdoor that would give me access to control

  over the ship I supposedly commanded.

  By the third day of this, we were all showing effects

  of the strain. Scanner, especially, since most of the

  pressure--and my wrath--landed on him. I wasn't a

  technical specialist, but I did have a way with ma-

  chines, only because I didn't compltely understand

  them and they didn't completely understand me. Deep

  down, I knew they were stupid, no matter how brainy

  they pretended to be. There was a way to wheedle

  into, out of, past, or through just about any system,

  any program, and if I had to force unprecedented

  performances, I would do it. There was a way to hack

  into that navigational programming and I would find it.

  "If it kills me, you'll find it!" Scanner finally ex-

  ploded when I muttered my intents as we both lay on

  our back under the dismantled bridge panel. He

  crawled out, unfolded himself, and got to his feet,

  primed for a tirade. His face was drawn and pale, his

  eyes ringed with exhaustion. Behind him, Merete had

  been trying to piece back together one of the circuit

  boards I'd picked apart. She paused to listen, but did

  not interrupt as the volcano bubbled up in Scanner's

  face. "We've tried everything we know. Logic over-

  ride, process of elimination, systems confusion, drop-

  snag, memory-circuit jumping--I don't know what

  y'ali want anymore! It's Mr. Spock's program! Where

  d'you come off thinking there's a flaw?"

  I stood up and brushed several years' worth of

  construction dust from the legs of my flight suit.

  "Even Spock knows better than to design a com-

  pletely impenetrable system, Scanner. You know he

  could get into it if he had to." "He can. We ain't him!"

  "I don't care. There's a way. I'm going to find it."

  I stepped past him. My own momentum swung me

  around when Scanner clasped my arm and pulled me

  56

  back to face him. I hadn't realized until then the extent

  of the frustration he felt. Nor, I think, had he realized

  the extent of my determination. We squared off, sepa-

  rated only by a circuit-drenched expanse of bridge

  space.

  "Look," he said hoarsely, "I know you got Lieuten-

  ant Commander slashes on your sleeve. I know you're

  the youngest hoo-hah ever to get the Medal of Valor,

  and if you pulled my socks off and tickled my feet I'd

  have to admit you deserved it. But one big bang don't

  add up to eight or ten years of experience and if you

  scratch the surface you're gonna find out you're just

  like me and Sarda and everybody else, just fresh outa

  the plum tree, and we need help to do this! You can't

  just 1olly in here and pop off orders to break program-

  ming by somebody like Spock, you just can't! You

  can't!"

  His words grated on my bones. The truth of them,

  the spark within them, lit the burning need to establish

  myself beyond the boundaries that had been set for

  me, the cavernous desire to be worthy of Kirk's

  expectations, even beyond my own. And even beyond

  the deep humiliation of being told off by someone who

  was supposed to be under my command, there rose a

  special indignation. Closer and closer it came to the

  surface, until finally, in a rumbling, chilling tone of its

  own, it broke free.

  "You hear me, mister." I narrowed the distance

  between myself and Scanner, hardly recognizing my

  own voice. "You can report status to me. You can tell

  me what's happening, and what might happen, and

  what happened in the past. You can tell me I'm suck-

  ing antimatter. You can tell me anything you want to

  tell me. But don't ever tell me what I can't... do."

  The words sizzled in the air between us. They had

  been hardly more than a whisper, the hissing voice of

  some command demon that had been dormant within

  me.

  57

  Scanner stared at me. Evidently he expected my

  reaction even less than I did. I'd never seriously

  exercised those commander slashes before.

  He blinked slowly, and his eyes went down. For the

  first time both he and I understood the separation we

  must work within, and I genuinely felt--for the first

  time in my life----the intense desolation of command.

  Rather than waiting for the situation to thicken, I

  turned and walked off the bridge. Merete was waiting

  in the narrow corridor as I stepped through. Our eyes

  met. Her tolerant expression manifested itself in a

  gentle tone of voice. "He's right, you know."

  And the demon flushed back into power. My chin

  snapped upward. Wrong time, wrong mood.

  "I'm in charge, Doctor," I snapped. "I'll tell you

  when he's right."

  The desolation followed me as I made my way deep

  into the ship, trying to find a moment of peace in the

  midst of my obsession. I didn't like the sounds that

  had come out of me. I wondered if Captain Kirk had

  ever found himself in a situation like this, standing

  alone against the people he was trying to protect.

  What was it like for him? He had close friends too--

  Spook, McCoy, Scott--how did he manage to com-

  mand them, order them around when he had to?

  Where did he draw the line? Where was the distinction

  between _fi??nd and commanding officer? Perhaps

  ere wasn t any distinction at all. Perhaps the friend-

  ship had to be sacrificed altogether. Did I dare believe

  that? It seemed the easiest way right now, for me, ira

  lonely way.

  The engineering circuit-boards to the steering mech-

  amsms on the transport were spread around me as I

  lay on my side before an open access-chamber, drown-

  ing my insecurities in snapping voltage, when I be-

  came aware of a second presence. I didn't feel guilty,

  so it couldn't have been Scanner. I didn't feel any

  waves of sympathy, so it wasn't Merete either.

  58

  "Feel better now?" the tolerant voice began.

  "I'm not sur
e," I admitted.

  There was a shuffle beside me, and Dr. McCoy

  slipped into view as he sat down near me. I continued

  working. The beleaguered circuits crackled their fa-

  tigue.

  "Are you going to tell me I'm behaving irratio-

  nally?" I asked him.

  He shrugged, one brow raising into an arch. "Irra-

  tionally? Not yet. Obsessively... maybe." "And obsession isn't irrational, sir?"

  "Depends on who's displaying the tendency," he

  said casually. "Question is, do you think you're acting

  irrationally."

  It might have been in question form, but something

  about it wasn't a question at all. I paused in my circuit

  junctioning and looked at him. "Defiance is a perfectly

  rational process," I said, hoping it sounded reason-

  able.

  Now both brows went up. "New one on me," he

  muttered. Then he looked directly at me and asked,

  "Are you sure, really sure, that you want to break the

  captain's programming?"

  I settled back to work, rather as a buffet around my

  answer. "Yes, I do."

  "We'll be at Argelius in twenty-eight hours," he

  pointed out. "Maybe your answer will be there."

  "And maybe it won't." I tried not to sound flippant.

  "Sir, you know Captain Kirk. You know he'd never

  allow this to happen to him. I can't help but think he

  expects the same from me."

  He tipped his head calmly. "You'll tear yourself

  apart if you keep comparing yourself to him."

  My hands, now scored with a dozen tiny electrical

  burns, felt hot and clammy inside the access chamber.

  I pulled them out, knowing I was fooling myself about

  gaining entry into the system by any mechanical route.

  I scooted out and leaned up against the bulkhead.

  59

  "I'm comparing myseff to me," I told him.

  McCoy pursed his lips and said nothing more about

  it, though I could see and sense him thinking deeply,

  possibly analyzing my mental state with his years of

  experience with deep-space psychology. Actually, I'd

  have relished the chance to talk to him, to sift out my

  conflicting feelings, perhaps even to ask his advice,

  but there wasn't time.

  "Sir, you know Commander Spock. How would he

  program a system ff he wanted it to be impermeable by

  anyone but himself?"

  McCoy spread his hands out. "You're asking me? I

  don't even know how he makes the computer play

  chess with him. He'd do it logically, of course... one

  by one eliminating every possible flaw. He'd probably

  get the computer to help him set up the system in the

  first place. Double indemnity."

  "But there's a way into any system," I persisted.

  "It's just a matter of--" I scouted for a better word,

  but there wasn't one. "Odds," I said.

  He puzzled for a moment, then held up a finger.

  "Oh. You mean like ff you fire an infinite number of

  shots at an infinite number of monkeys..."

  "You'll eventually kill Shakespeare." A grin broke

  my frown and some of the tension flowed away.

  "But you're overtaxing our resources, Piper," the

  doctor suggested. "There isn't the technical knowl-

  edge on board this ship to outguess a computer expert

  of Spock's level. From what I can see, you've already

  tried every possible way of getting into that system.

  You've exhausted your options."

  As we sat on the floor, leaning up against opposite

  bulkheads, Dr. McCoy's untechnical presence and his

  obvious emotional empathy for my situation gave me a

  portal to slip through. In that quiet, sequestered place

  I found a clarity of purpose that had eluded me, no

  matter how directed my goals seemed, and a simplicity

  that just might be my salvation.

  6O

  "All the options," I murmured on a sigh. A sigh of

  surrender, perhaps.

  He too had been lost in thought, and now looked up.

  "What? Oh. Yes. At least, looks that way to me."

  I stared into the access chamber. The circuits snick-

  ered back at me.

  Scanner appeared, or shall I say peeked, through the

  narrow doorway, his fatigue-drawn face wearing its

  most puppyish expression. "Permission to come aft?"

  I peered at him for a moment, then felt myself relax.

  "Granted."

  He crouched near Dr. McCoy in the cramped area

  and sighed, hanging his head and not looking at me

  until he absolutely had to. "I thought about trying to

  cross-connect the spiral circuits into the computer

  bank, but I thought I'd better get your okay before I

  blow up the ship."

  I dropped my gaze for a moment of private amuse-

  ment, realizing the lengths I'd pushed poor Scanner to

  in his attempt to satisfy me. He seemed completely

  serious. He was that desperate. A faint shudder passed

  through me. Cross-fed spiral circuits. Br,,,.

  "Sit down, Scanner," I said. "Take a break. Believe

  it or not, I'm not out to wear you down."

  He slumped onto his haunches against the bulkhead

  and waved a weary hand. "Nah, s'okay. I'm just the

  comedy relief."

  McCoy shifted his legs on the cool metal floor and

  said, "I think we should all get some rest." Then he

  paused and regarded me soberly. "Assuming we've

  admitted we're going to Argelius."

  My next words tasted bad coming up, but I let my

  pride slide away long enough to say them, for the

  sakes of the people I was responsible for. It wasn't

  desperation that was driving me, after all; I didn't have

  the excuse of trying to save lives or the success of my

  mission. It was, as Scanner had muttered at me a day

  ago, "plain cussed mulishness." Lacking any honor-

  61

  able excuse for my behavior, somewhat deflated by

  Dr. McCoy's accuracies about trying to imitate Kirk, I

  sank into remission and said, "We've done our best.

  Even Kirk couldn't ask more of us. We've tried every

  normal way of breaking the programming."

  Scanner rubbed his eyes. "Everything but voodoo

  conjurin'."

  My neck ached as I wearily nodded. I stared with

  unfocused eyes past my arms as they ,ested on my

  knees, past the circuit cleaver still hanging from my

  fingers. Aware of everything, I saw nothing. Voodoo,

  he'd said.

  "Every normal way," I mumbled. I continued to

  stare.

  Vague movements in my field of vision, McCoy and

  Scanner shared a glance, then looked at me again.

  "Uh-oh," Scanner moaned. "Lookit that. I'm

  scared of that smile."

  Maybe I was smiling. I wasn't sure. My fatigue-

  stiflened cheeks did feel tighter, but I wasn't paying

  attention. Inside my head a tiny schooner suddenly

  came hard about in the face of its enemy and slashed a

  new course across lmpossible's bow. My fingers be-

  gan to tingle.

  "We've been going about this all wrong," I said.

  Scanher's head drooped between his knees. "I knew


  it, I knew she was gonna say that... I knew it..."

  "Come on!" I got up and led the way back to the

  bridge, hardly aware of my own movements and the

  aches of strain and fatigue. They followed me, proba-

  bly as much out of curiosity as to follow my order, and

  even Merete, who could sleep through a supernova,

  was awakened by the electric anticipation in the air.

  She came out of her cubicle and followed, groggy but

  aware that something was happening. We emerged

  onto the bridge amid the scattered mechanical debris

  of Scanner's second attempt to reroute the computer

  62

  program through the main guidance system. I settled

  into the command chair.

  "We've been sailing the wrong tack," I said.

  Scanner shook his head, and his bangs fell over tired

  eyes. "What's a tack?"

  McCoy and Merete crowded near us as I continued.

  "Instead of thinking about the programming, we

  should have been thinking about who programmed it."

  Scanner grimaced in perplexity. "Spock pro-

  grammed it."

  "Of course. A perfectly rational program, impos-

  sible to break by rational means."

  "What are you getting at?" McCoy asked.

  "I'm going to force the machine to be irrational."

  "You can't do that," Scanner argued. "This is a

  computer. You can't fool a computer."

  "It's a machine, Scanner. Machines are idiots.

  They're marvelous tools, but they're stupid. You

  know why they don't put legs on computers? Because

  they'd walk off a cliff if you told them to."

  Drained and now confused, Scanner dropped into

  the nearest seat and slumped. "Okay," he resigned,

  "but the only one who knows what's going on inside

  that machine is the machine itself."

  "My thoughts exactly." I settled into the command

  chair and punched into the computer link. "Computer,

  identify my voice pattern."

  "Working. Lieutenant Commander Piper, Star Fleet

  identificationre"

  "Now identify the commander of this vessel."

  The instruments quietly hummed. "Lieutenant

  Commander Piper, command status authorized Star

  Date 3374.4."

  "Verify my personal authority to engage Class A-1

  priority command under master's voice pattern."