Turn The Page

by Dayton Ward

  “The only ship that’s available,” Gold said, finishing the sentence. “Has a familiar ring, doesn’t it?” Eschewing the command chair that Gomez had vacated for him, he instead dropped his gaze to the padd, glowering at the inanimate object as he scanned whatever information was displayed upon its screen. “I see the diplomats are as generous as ever with the details as to exactly why they want us there, not that it’s important for us to be informed or prepared or anything like that.” When he shook his head, Sarjenka saw the expression of disgust that darkened the captain’s features. “It never ceases to amaze me how much a politician can talk, and yet rarely if ever say anything useful.”

  Gomez frowned, her eyes conveying concern as she regarded her captain. “Sir,” she said as she leaned closer, her voice low but still audible to Sarjenka, “is something wrong? Is there anything I can do?”

  If he recognized his first officer’s attempt to remain discreet, Gold appeared uninterested in such overtures. “You can mind your duties, Gomez,” he replied, his tone and volume clear indications that any topics not pertaining to the da Vinci’s new mission were not welcome. “Tell Abramowitz that I want a briefing from her about this system and its people by 1900 hours. If there is an emergency, it’d be nice if Corsi and her people had a heads-up, as well.”

  He was in full command mode now, with the rest of the bridge crew turning to the tasks he dispensed and assisting him to develop a plan even before the details of the new assignment were made clear. Carol Abramowitz, the ship’s cultural specialist, surely would be able to provide an in-depth background briefing on the Betrisius Major system. With his order to ensure that the da Vinci’s chief of security, Lieutenant Commander Domenica Corsi, also be informed of the situation, it was obvious that the captain—with little helpful information on which to base his preparations—was anticipating trouble.

  Would such predictions prove warranted? As she contemplated the answer to that question, Sarjenka realized that for the first time in her brief Starfleet career, this was not a test or a training simulation. The events taking place around her, as well as those which soon would unfold when the da Vinci arrived at its destination, were very real indeed.

  An interesting first day, I think.

  Chapter

  2

  As she materialized within the confines of the already-fading transporter beam and became aware of her surroundings—an outdoor promenade illuminated by the light of a midday sun—Sarjenka remained still, savoring the moment as long as possible without being noticed.

  With a cool breeze beginning to filter through her shoulder-length reddish-gold hair, she raised her face toward the sun and felt her cheeks warm up. She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath, noting the somewhat spicy tinge to the air. It possessed a moist allure that was altogether different from Drema IV, and definitely refreshing when compared to the artificially recycled atmosphere aboard the da Vinci. Smiling, Sarjenka forgave herself for the bit of added romanticism to the moment, but she felt she was owed it. After all, Betrisius III was only the fourth planet she had visited in her life.

  A hand came to rest on her shoulder. Opening her eyes, Sarjenka turned to see Carol Abramowitz, one of the growing number of her new crewmates with whom she was becoming more familiar. Her closely cropped dark hair offered a stark frame for her alabaster skin. Her soft brown eyes and thin smile created an appearance Sarjenka found friendly, even comforting.

  “We’re heading out, Sarjenka,” Abramowitz said, and Sarjenka noticed the other members of the da Vinci away team already walking along the paved promenade that traced a wandering path through what resembled a modern business district.

  “Thank you, Dr. Abram—I mean, Carol,” Sarjenka said, offering a sheepish smile as she remembered Abramowitz’s desire to be on a first-name basis. She lagged behind to walk with the cultural specialist as the rest of the away team—the small Bynar computer specialist named Soloman, accompanied by deputy security chief Vance Hawkins and a pair of security personnel whose names she could not recall offhand—moved off at a brisker pace.

  Following the path, Sarjenka quickly found herself inundated by her surroundings. All around her, steady streams of information and what appeared to be product advertisements vied for the attention of passersby from stories-high viewscreens mounted to the exteriors of several of the taller structures. Ground vehicles traversed the streets while pedestrians crossed to and from various buildings and shops along the promenade. A number of citizens—known in this region as “Lisqual”—were dressed in drab utilitarian coverall garments, custodians tending to construction or repair work or even performing more mundane tasks such as picking up trash or cleaning windows.

  As for the Lisqual themselves, Sarjenka was struck by their similarity to members of the Orion species with which she was familiar. Still, the green hue of their skin was more muted than that of the infamous species known primarily for their slave-trading practices, and the Lisqual also featured elongated jaws as well as an additional pair of nostrils on their slender noses. Much like the Bajorans, a ridged row of cartilage extended from the bridge of the nose, moving up the center of the face and forehead and disappearing beneath the hairline.

  They passed a small forested park that featured an inviting blanket of lush green grass, and Sarjenka smiled at the scenes of children running and playing as their caretakers watched over them. For the children, all was as it should be, with nary a concern in the world. For a brief moment, Sarjenka envied them their innocence and wondered what her childhood might have been like had she been so fortunate.

  Looking away from the park, she noted that many of the locals seemed to take little or no notice of the strangers in their midst. There were a few nods of recognition and some finger-pointing in their direction, but for the most part the people seemed almost blase about the presence of the Starfleet officers. Of course, Sarjenka knew that the Federation had been in open contact with this world for more than a standard year. The Lisqual and the other societies of this planet had received ample opportunity to become accustomed to the notion of extraterrestrials. Indeed, judging from everything she had seen up to this point, this place was the very picture of what almost certainly passed for normal everyday life on this world.

  If that’s the case, she wondered, then what’s the emergency? Why are we here?

  “Your first away mission, right?” Abramowitz asked after they had been walking for a few minutes.

  Sarjenka nodded. “Yes. I have to admit to being more than a little excited. I still don’t understand why the captain chose me to be part of the away team, rather than Dr. Lense. Surely, he doesn’t believe her incapable of carrying out her duties due to her pregnancy.”

  “Hardly,” Abramowitz replied. “Given that the Lisqual are petitioning for Federation membership, Captain Gold thought it would be a good idea to exhibit a nice racial and cultural cross-section of the da Vinci crew. You’re the first Dreman in Starfleet, so that makes you special.” Smiling, she added, “Don’t let it go to your head, though.”

  “I won’t,” Sarjenka said, only then realizing that Abramowitz was teasing her. “Were you nervous on your first away mission, Carol?”

  “Absolutely,” replied the cultural specialist. “I remember it like it was yesterday. I’ve been in Starfleet for twelve years now, but the da Vinci was my first shipboard assignment. We’d been ordered to Ligon II to repair an orbital control station. Working with the Ligonians proved…well, challenging is a polite word for it. Their codes of conduct among each other are well-defined to say the least, and they’re not very keen on entertaining strangers. I was the one who got to smooth things over whenever anyone’s feathers got ruffled. Ask Pattie to do her impression of the Ligonian communications chief sometime. It still cracks me up.”

  “How’d Captain Gold react to all this?” Sarjenka asked.

  Abramowitz shrugged. “No differently than usual, I suppose. He didn’t lead the team, Commander Salek did—he was the first off
icer before Commander Gomez. The captain doesn’t usually lead away teams, honestly—I was surprised he came down for this one. Anyhow, Ligon may have been a wild time for me, but for everyone else it was fairly routine.”

  Though she pondered what the other woman might consider “routine” for David Gold, Sarjenka refrained from asking her to elaborate. While she possessed a connection with Gold that gave her a broader perspective of the man’s charm and warmth, it did not follow that everyone had shared such opportunities to know him that way—particularly subordinate members of his crew.

  As they continued their sojourn along the promenade, Sarjenka noticed that they were approaching a nondescript building, its most prominent feature being a wide solid case of stone steps. A small group of people were descending those steps, and as she and Abramowitz drew closer, Sarjenka saw Captain Gold standing with Commander Sonya Gomez as well as the ship’s security chief, Domenica Corsi, and a trio of Lisqual. One of the natives, a female, was dressed in a set of earth-toned, loose-fitting robes, while her two companions each wore uniforms, complete with emblems and other accoutrements that suggested to Sarjenka that they were members of the local law enforcement or military entity.

  She noted as she and the rest of the away team drew closer that Captain Gold’s expression was that of someone not in a mood to be kept waiting.

  Uh oh.

  “Glad you could join us, people,” he said in a taut voice as Sarjenka and the rest of the away team drew closer. To her, it was obvious that he was still dealing with whatever had been troubling him during their private meeting. Despite his efforts to compartmentalize such concerns in favor of concentrating on the current mission, some of that agitation was still visible. Sarjenka noted the passing look of confusion and even mild disapproval on the face of Commander Gomez, but the da Vinci first officer quickly covered up the lapse.

  Gesturing toward the Lisqual female, Gold said, “This is Dr. Luluma. She’s a physician attached to several committees overseeing the regional penal and reformation system.” As he introduced her and Abramowitz to the doctor, Sarjenka followed the cultural specialist’s lead and mimicked her actions as she offered what she gathered was a typical Lisqual greeting: crossing her arms at the wrists and hugging them to her chest while offering a slight bow.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you, Doctor,” Sarjenka said when Luluma’s gaze moved to her.

  Returning the gesture of greeting, Luluma replied, “The pleasure is mine.” The universal translator in Sarjenka’s combadge made the Lisqual woman’s words sound clipped and formal.

  “You and Dr. Luluma will probably be working together,” Gold said, “along with Dr. Lense, of course. There’ve been some new details brought to light about the situation here that weren’t included in the pre-mission briefing, and frankly, we’re exposing ourselves to some risk.” Nodding toward Commander Corsi and her contingent of security personnel, he added, “I’m ordering additional security personnel, and they’ll be meeting up with us shortly. While we’re down here, no one travels alone, and we’re maintaining yellow-alert protocols. Am I clear?” He looked directly at Sarjenka, a bit of concern showing through his crisp words.

  “Very clear, sir,” Sarjenka said, hoping to offer him some assurance in response to what she saw in his eyes. The look on his face was reminiscent of a similar expression she had seen on her father Eliatriel’s face numerous times. Seeing it on Gold now served to calm some of her building anxiety.

  After a moment, Gold said, “We’ve got a lot to do in a short time, so we’re splitting up. Abramowitz and Sarjenka, Dr. Luluma will brief you on the situation while you accompany her to the central medical facility. Gomez here has already heard the highlights.” As he said that, Sarjenka noted the first officer’s expression. She too appeared troubled, but also was endeavoring to keep her features schooled. What might be bothering her?

  “Soloman,” Gold continued, “you’re with me. I want your assessment of the technical side of things.” To Corsi, he said, “Corsi, you’re my shadow. Deploy your people between our two groups.”

  “Aye, sir,” the security chief replied, offering a curt nod that seemed even more formal thanks to her lean angular features and the way her dark blond hair was pulled back into a tight functional bun at the back of her head. Turning to her security detail, she said, “Banks, Hawkins, you’re with Commander Gomez. Konya, you come with me.” Hawkins exchanged smiles with Abramowitz at that and Sarjenka understood the shared looks, given that the pair were in a romantic relationship.

  “Not to worry, ladies,” said the chief petty officer, his voice more than a bit boastful. “I’ll keep you safe.” He was offering an embellished bow when Banks stepped up behind him and slapped him across the back of his head.

  “We’re on the clock, Chief,” she said.

  Rubbing his bald crown, Hawkins grinned. “I probably deserved that.”

  “Yes, you did,” Abramowitz countered, with Sarjenka giggling in spite of herself.

  With Hawkins and Banks falling in behind them and maintaining a discreet distance in order to better scan their surroundings and the Lisqual pedestrians they passed, the group began walking down the busy thoroughfare. The two uniformed officers that had been standing with Luluma took up point positions, leading the way and leaving the doctor to walk alongside Sarjenka and Abramowitz.

  “Forgive me, Doctor,” Sarjenka said after a moment, unable to temper her curiosity. “Captain Gold said you worked for the penal and reformation system. What does that mean? Do you provide medical treatment for prisoners?”

  Bowing her head, Luluma replied, “After a fashion. My work involves reforming those who have committed crimes against our society. Once you have had an opportunity to understand the reformation processes we employ, you will better be able to assist us.”

  “You said it involves behavioral modification,” Gomez said. For the second time, Sarjenka noted uncertainty and perhaps even disapproval in the commander’s expression.

  Luluma nodded. “For generations, my people were plagued by crime. Our prisons were filled to overflowing, and our society was in danger of collapsing in on itself. However, we finally developed a means to not only eliminate the need for the incarceration of criminals, but also to rehabilitate them—including our most violent offenders—and lead them back to being contributors to our civilization rather than simply plundering it.”

  “Behavioral modification,” Abramowitz said, repeating Gomez’s earlier comment. “What exactly do you do?”

  As though steeling herself to deliver unpleasant news, the Lisqual physician replied, “We utilize what we call a neural mediator, a small device that is surgically implanted into each prisoner following their criminal conviction and sentencing as prescribed by our laws. At that point, we no longer refer to them as criminals, but instead as ‘reformants.’ For the duration of their sentence, each reformant receives a steady broadcast of instructions and information via our worldwide computer network to their individual mediator implant, which is designed to stimulate the emotional and cognitive areas of the brain and induce chemical reactions that foster rehabilitative behavior. It takes time, but eventually the new thought processes take hold without need for the mediator, and the approach is long proven to all but eliminate recidivism.”

  “The process must be fairly complex,” Gomez said, “for you to be able to so control your crimin…I mean, reformants…without the need for prisons. You’re basically saying that you alter their personalities so that they’ll do what you want them to do.” Sarjenka noted the hint of accusation in the commander’s voice, and felt uneasy as she regarded the new expression of uncertainty on Luluma’s face.

  “Sonya,” Abramowitz said, her tone low and cautioning.

  Frowning, Luluma said, “I understand your apprehension, Commander. The mediator does give us a high degree of control over a reformant’s mind. In fact, similar devices are also used by our military as a means of facilitating training as well as the forw
arding of orders and related information. Imagine an army that can be organized and maneuvered via computer control so that they are always where they need to be with respect to a battle plan, able to engage the enemy in the correct numbers and at the precise time and location for maximum effect.”

  “I can imagine it quite easily,” Gomez said. “We’ve faced an enemy that uses similar technology and tactics. Forgive me, Doctor, but to me it sounds as though you’re robbing these people of their free will.”

  Bristling at the commander’s overt condemnation, Luluma said, “We are talking about people who have committed crimes, everything from minor offenses to the most heinous of acts—murder, rape, child abuse. By definition, they are incapable of functioning within an orderly society. This program offers them a chance to regain their place among our people and has been successful for generations.”

  “You said you’ve eliminated the need for incarceration,” Abramowitz said, her brow furrowed. “What happens to them once these…mediators are implanted and operating?” Sarjenka wondered if the cultural specialist was struggling to maintain the strict objectivity her duties required of her.

  Luluma drew a deep breath before replying, “While they are in the custody of the penal system, reformants perform all manner of services and tasks designed to benefit all of our people: construction, utility administration, waste management. These and other labors that are unglamorous and yet still very much required in order to keep a society functioning. They do this for the duration of their sentence, after which they are returned to their former status as private citizens. The mediators remain in place, of course, as a means of further dissuading a return to former unacceptable behavior.”

  Despite her apprehension—and risking what she thought might be a backlash from Commander Gomez—Sarjenka said, “The Federation has made similar attempts at criminal rehabilitation.” She recalled from her studies at Starfleet Academy several instances of research and testing of procedures designed to alter the behavior of violent criminals or those suffering from any number of psychological disorders. Experiments conducted on Federation penal colonies such as Tantalus V, Elba II, and even the New Zealand settlement on Earth stood out in her recollection. “However, I must admit that none of those occurrences matched the…extent to which you’ve progressed.”