Articles of the Federation

by Keith R. A. DeCandido

He tapped his intercom at the sound of Zhres’s voice. “Yeah?”

  “Esperanza’s in San Francisco for most of the day. She’s scheduled to be back at 1730, and Zachary says she can see you then—or, if it’s important, she can comm with you at noon.”

  About to agree to that, Jorel then thought about it and realized that discussing this over an open channel—even as secure a one as that used within the Palais or in Starfleet Headquarters, where Jorel assumed Esperanza to be—would be unwise. “Tell Zachary I’ll see her at 1730.”

  “All right.”

  The Articles of the Federation stated that the president was required to preside over meetings of the entire council, barring special circumstances. The precise nature of the circumstances were vague and generally varied to fit the times. These days, it mostly meant that the president was off-planet when the council was in session.

  The same articles stated that the president had the option, but was not required, to preside over meetings of the various sub-councils. Most of the time, Nan Bacco was happy enough not to exercise that option and let the chair of the sub-council run the sessions.

  In retrospect, today should not have been an exception.

  After a great deal of legal wrangling, it had finally been determined that the Federation Judiciary Council, which was the highest legal authority in the Federation, would have final jurisdiction over the disposition of the android B-4 within the walls of the Daystrom Institute. Since the complainant was a civilian, it was deemed outside of the purview of the Starfleet judge advocate general’s office to make law that would apply to the actions of a civilian.

  That decision hadn’t been reached until the recess, so it wasn’t until the council was back in session that judiciary was hearing the case. The notion of sentience for artificial life had been a hot-button issue on several occasions, most recently a couple of years earlier during the so-called holostrike. Nan would have preferred to be watching the delayed feed of the Pioneers game right now—after falling to eight games behind the Salavar Stars in August, they had clawed their way back to a tie for first place, with the final four games of the season between the two of them to decide who would win the Northern Division—but this was too important an issue to have someone else preside over the session. Besides, leaving aside the politics, the notion of AI sentience was one that had interested her ever since the war, when she’d first met Data, the now-deceased android second officer of the U.S.S. Enterprise, during the Gorn crisis. So she wanted to see this particular case in action.

  “Action” turned out to be the wrong word. The sessions had already gone on for two days, consisting solely of a civilian named Lars Patek arguing to dismantle B-4—one of Data’s prototypes, discovered during the same mission on which Data died—for study and Captain Bruce Maddox arguing against it because that would constitute murder.

  Patek was gesticulating wildly as he spoke. “B-4 is the only Soong-type android left in existence. We have to study it to see if the process can be replicated.”

  Maddox was much calmer as he answered. “There is a wealth of information available on all the other Soong androids, including Data, Lore, and Lal. We have the information recovered by the Enterprise from Graves World after Ira Graves’s death, as well as information received from the studies of AIs over the past two centuries.”

  “All of which has proven useless!” Patek was yelling now, which only added to Nan’s headache. “Data had all that information, yet Lal was a failure. We must study B-4 directly.”

  “Murder him, you mean, don’t you, Lars?”

  “Must we go down this road again, Bruce?” Patek asked.

  Yes, must we? Nan managed to restrain herself from asking that question out loud. They’d only covered this subject several dozen times in two days.

  Patek continued. “B-4 is not sentient. It’s a prototype, an early copy.”

  At that, Councillor Gnizbreg spoke. Unlike full council sessions, in sub-council sessions, any member of the council could speak any time. The speaker’s floor was for those outside the council who wished to speak, and they were the only ones who had to be recognized by the podium.

  “On what are you basing the assumption that B-4 isn’t sentient?” the Tiburonian councillor asked.

  This perked Nan up. Nobody’d asked this yet.

  “It barely has any cognitive functions. It cannot understand any but the most basic concepts. Before he was destroyed, Data downloaded his entire memory into B-4—which also included the memories of his twin, Lore, and the android he created, Lal, and the diaries of the colonists on Omicron Theta, where he was created. With all that knowledge, B-4 has shown an inability to perform any but the most menial tasks.”

  Councillor Ra’ch then asked, “Dr. Patek, are you saying that children born with lesser cognitive functions are not to be considered sentient? That they are to be killed so we can study how the human brain works?”

  “Of course not!”

  “Then why are you advocating it in this case?”

  “Because we’re not talking about a life here. We’re talking about a machine that was built as a test run. Dr. Soong even named it in such a way as to make it clear that it was just a trial—it’s the one that came before the final version. It’s no more a sentient being than the first draft of a novel is a published book. Dr. Soong did not intend this being to live among people the way both Lore and Data did.”

  Maddox turned to look at Nan. “Madam President, I must protest my colleague’s attempt to provide motives for a man whom he has never met and who’s been dead for thirteen years.”

  “Protest noted.”

  Gnizbreg had another question. “Have you asked B-4 how he feels about being dismantled?”

  Patek smiled, which Nan didn’t like at all. “I can tell you B-4’s exact words: ‘I don’t mind.’ ”

  Maddox couldn’t have looked more sour if he’d sucked down a lemon tree. “B-4 is not capable of understanding what that means.”

  “So you admit that he’s not capable of cognitive thought?” Patek was gesticulating again. “When you challenged the notion of Data being sentient fifteen years ago, Bruce, you yourself said that one of the qualities for sentience was self-awareness. B-4 doesn’t even meet that criterion.”

  “Then I bring you back to what Councillor Ra’ch said. If an organic life-form had cognitive difficulties, would you advocate killing it?”

  Patek started to answer, but Nan cut him off. “Dr. Patek, Captain Maddox, much as I’d love to listen to you two hash out this argument over and over again, I think you’ve both made your positions clear. Councillor Gnizbreg, Councillor Ra’ch, do you have any further questions?” The Tiburonian and the Damiani councillors both shook their heads. “Does anyone else have a question?” She looked out over the remaining eleven councillors in the gallery. Nobody spoke. “Fine. Now, one of three things is gonna happen next. One is that you two call one of the witnesses you promised us yesterday. Two is that you both sit down and shut up and let the council deliberate. Three is that I rip this podium out of the floor and beat you both to death with it.”

  Archly, Patek said, “This council has already received copies of my research. I’d love to bring up witnesses, but the only ones available would repeat either my words or Captain Maddox’s. The ideal witness would, of course, be a Soong android to compare to B-4, but Data was killed a year ago in the line of duty, Lore’s positronic brain was destroyed about a year after he was deactivated in the Delta Quadrant, and Lal is nonfunctional—she’s as dead as Data. There is no appropriate witness to bring.”

  Maddox’s smirk came back. “Yes, there is. Madam President, I would like to call the Doctor to the stand as a witness.”

  Nan frowned. “The Doctor?”

  “The Voyager Emergency Medical Hologram, ma’am,” Maddox said.

  Then Nan remembered. The EMH aboard that starship had been activated when Voyager had been lost in the Delta Quadrant and all its medical personnel had been killed.
Along the way, the EMH had been outfitted with a mobile emitter and had become a valuable part of the crew by the time Voyager made it home seven years later. The Doctor was now part of a Federation think tank that had proven useful over the years. Nan had read several recommendations from that think tank over the past year and had always found them to be well researched, cogent, and valuable.

  “The podium recognizes the Doctor as a witness.”

  One of the people in the gallery stood up. Looking for all the world like an unassuming, bald human, and dressed in a rather garish civilian suit, the Doctor stepped forward, walking past Maddox and Patek on the speaker’s floor, taking the seat to the president’s left.

  Nan turned to the EMH. “Doctor, please be aware that any testimony you give to this council has the weight of law, and any statement or statements you make that are proven to be false will make you subject to charges of perjury. Do you understand?”

  “Of course I do, don’t be ridiculous,” the EMH said.

  Frostily, Nan said, “Understand, Doctor, that I’m required by law to make that statement and ask that question, and also understand that you’re in the Federation council chambers right now. Do you understand that?”

  Again, the EMH said, “Of course,” but his tone was—well, not conciliatory, but at least less aggressively snide.

  Maddox smiled at his witness. “Doctor, thank you for coming. May I ask, for the record: What are you?”

  “A sentient hologram.”

  “Are you a Federation citizen?”

  “Yes. In fact, I voted in the last election.” Casting a furtive glance at Nan, he added, “For you, of course, Madam President.”

  Smiling sweetly, Nan said, “Thanks.”

  “For how long have you been a citizen?”

  “Since Voyager’s return at the beginning of 2378. Prior to that, I was, like the rest of the crew, in the Delta Quadrant.”

  “What was your status on the ship?”

  “Chief medical officer.”

  “Prior to that?”

  “I did not exist prior to that. Aside from the occasional test run prior to Voyager’s embarkation, I was first activated after Voyager was sent to the Delta Quadrant. I remained active for virtually the entire seven years of our sojourn toward the Alpha Quadrant.”

  “Who constructed you?”

  “Dr. Lewis Zimmerman, one of the foremost authorities on artificial intelligence.”

  “Why were you created?”

  “In order to provide a supplement to medical staffs on starships during emergencies. The EMH program was meant primarily for combat situations, given the threats from the Borg, and later the Dominion.”

  “You were built as the first generation of such holograms, yes?”

  “I—and other EMHs like me—were the first, yes.”

  “Subsequent generations have been put to use since then?”

  Up until now, the EMH had been answering Maddox’s questions with all the aplomb of the rehearsed question-and-answer that Nan knew this was. At the mention of his successors, however, the snideness came back. “There have been newer EMH models, yes.”

  Before Maddox could ask his next question, Patek asked, “Madam President, I fail to see the relevance of this witness to the issue at hand.”

  Nan had lost all patience with both of them. “Dr. Patek, I could see the relevance of this witness if I was blind-folded, so don’t think you’re gonna impress the council by professing ignorance just at the moment.” She turned to his fellow scientist. “As for you, Captain, move this along. The podium-beating option’s looking better by the second.”

  “Of course, Madam President,” Maddox said deferentially before turning back to his witness. “So you were a machine.”

  “A computer program, if one wishes to get technical, made photonic flesh.” He smiled. “If one wishes to get poetic.”

  “And you were a prototype. Dr. Zimmerman even named you ‘EMH Mark 1’ by way of making it clear that you were the first of many.”

  The EMH folded his arms. “I suppose—if one must—one could look at it that way.”

  “So here you are—a machine built as a test run, named in such a way as to make it clear that you were just a trial. Yet here you sit as a Federation citizen. You’ve moved past your original programming.”

  Patek started waving his arms about again. “Madam President, while Captain Maddox has made a nice rhetorical point, it’s—”

  Nan pointed at him. “Don’t knock nice rhetorical points. I happen to be rather fond of them, myself. And before either of you gets going, I think we get your point. The EMH here started out life pretty similar to B-4. He’s done pretty good for himself, all told. We get it. Are there any other witnesses?”

  Maddox looked disappointed, as if he had more to say, but as far as Nan was concerned, she’d let him go on too long. “No, ma’am.”

  “Dr. Patek?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  She turned to the side seats. “Councillors?”

  Eleana asked, “Where is B-4 now?”

  It was Patek who answered the Deltan councillor’s question. “At Daystrom, being cared for, as he has been for the past year.”

  “Has he asked to leave?”

  “No,” Patek said.

  Maddox added, “He has said several times that he likes Daystrom more than the lab where he was born, the lab where Shinzon found him, or the Enterprise.”

  “Do you believe that your institute is the best place for him to grow as the witness here has?”

  At that, Councillor Nea of Bolarus said, “That doesn’t fall within the purview of this case.”

  Rather snippily, Eleana said, “Perhaps it should.”

  You wanted her on judiciary, Nan thought as she said, “That can be discussed during deliberations, no?”

  “It will be, Madam President,” Eleana said.

  Grateful that she wasn’t obligated to be present for that, either, Nan said, “Good. Anything else?”

  Silence. Thank God.

  Looking to the witness, she said, “Thank you for your time, Doctor. You’re excused.”

  Nodding, the EMH rose. “Thank you, Madam President.”

  “Dr. Patek, Captain Maddox, we are grateful for your testimonies, depositions, and statements. The council will contact you when the deliberations are complete and a decision has been reached.”

  Both of them said, “Thank you, Madam President,” and left.

  The guards then cleared the gallery—several reporters were observing the proceedings, for which Nan was grateful, as this was an important issue that needed to be covered, and she had faith in the reporters’ ability to make the session considerably more interesting than it actually had been—so the council could deliberate.

  “My friends, I have a security briefing, so I will leave you to it. I will say only that I think the Doctor’s testimony might be worth reviewing.”

  With that, she left, hoping her own feelings on the case were made clear by her final statement. Right now, she wanted to find out what had happened on Cestus III. The Pioneers had lost the first two games, so they had to win today’s and the last one tomorrow to stand a chance of at least tying for the division lead, which would force a one-game play-off.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  KANT JOREL HAD MEETINGS with both Myk Bunkrep and Z4 Blue during the day, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything about what Ozla Graniv had told him that morning. This is something that needs to go right to Esperanza.

  After his meeting with Z4—the details of which he now honestly could not recall—he went back to his office. Zhres said, “Esperanza called—she said she’ll be back in half an hour, right after your briefing. And, ah—” Zhres hesitated.

  Not even a little bit in the mood for the Andorian’s nonsense, Jorel asked, “What?”

  Zhres simply handed Jorel a padd. Snatching it angrily, he read the display. It informed him that Brek chim Glamok, reporter for the Tellarite News Service,
had been declared missing and was presumed dead. This was a change from his status over the seven months since he’d disappeared after going to Kliradon, when he’d simply been missing. “Wonderful.”

  “The rest of the briefing’s loaded on there, too.”

  “Fine.”

  Zhres’s antennae wriggled in an appalling manner. “Are you all right, Jorel?”

  “Never ask that question in my presence again, Zhres.” Jorel turned on his heel and walked toward the holocom to start his late-afternoon briefing.

  He began with various bits of information, the president’s itinerary, what some members of the cabinet and council were doing, and then, finally, the news about Brek.

  The room was fairly silent after that.

  “That’s it,” Jorel said, not in the mood to take questions.

  Predictably, he got one anyhow from T’Nira before he could deactivate the holocom. “Will the judiciary council’s decision on the B-4 matter be made today or will there be more discussion?”

  For that, Jorel had to check his padd. “All the testimony’s been taken, all the witnesses—the witness, actually—has been questioned, and now they’re deliberating.”

  “Is an estimate available for when the deliberations will be complete?”

  “Probably some time before the twenty-fifth century starts.”

  Sovan then asked, “Is there any truth to the rumor that the president wants a summit with Chancellor Martok?”

  “I don’t respond to rumors, Sovan, you know that, so kindly stop asking me to comment on them. That’s it.”

  This time, he did deactivate the holocom before any more questions could come. He couldn’t stand any more reporters probing just now.

  What if she’s right?

  He had tried to convince himself that Ozla’s source, whoever or whatever it was, was wrong. That the Tezwan soldier whose diary she’d read had been mistaken. But the more he thought about it, the less he liked it.

  “Esperanza’s ready for you,” Zhres said as he got back to his office. “You were a trifle terse in there.”

  “I’m getting reviews from you now? Zhres, in the last year, have I ever shown even the slightest indication that I find your opinion in any way relevant or interesting?”