“The avatar,” began Deanna, picking her words with care. “In a way, she was a synthesis of both of us, of our natures and yours. And she took the best of us, our shared senses of duty and obligation.”
Another of the remotes, a drum-shaped unit Riker had not seen before, drifted forward on a humming pressor field. “We are grateful. However… Interrogative: When the next incursion comes, what will happen then?”
“You do not comprehend,” White-Blue broke in. “The ThirdGen’s act of sacrifice has sealed the rift permanently. It will never open again.”
A ripple of shock crossed the chamber, each machine stiffening in the wake of the droneframe’s comment.
“And to make certain of that, my science officer and chief engineer have informed me that you must retire your slip drives,” said Riker. “Those systems used a side effect of the Null incursions for interstellar travel. Keep using them, and you’re just asking for trouble.”
Silver-Green’s tetrahedron turned slowly. “We cannot exceed light velocity without that technology.”
“There are other methods,” said Deanna. “We can offer you the knowledge to get you started on them.”
Riker gestured at the black night overhead. “The… fabric of this sector of space is wounded. You need to let it heal. Now you have that chance.”
When One-Five spoke again, it was with a slow thunder of feedback. “You tell us we must reject this technology. You tell us the single purpose at the core of our program is now irrelevant. The nature of these statements is difficult to process.”
Was there an element of fear behind those words? Riker held on to that thought and answered, “Your world has changed. The decision you need to make now is whether you are willing to change with it.”
Deanna took up the thread. “We are here today to speak with you and your society, to make a formal diplomatic overture to the Sentry Coalition on behalf of the United Federation of Planets. The Federation wants to help you forge a new future for yourselves.”
“We attacked you,” said Cyan-Gray. “I attacked you, damaged your craft, terminated the existence of three of your crew. One of our kind attempted to capture your ship and disassemble it. Despite these actions, you still extend to us a gesture of alliance.”
Riker nodded without hesitation. “Yes, we do. Throughout its history, the Federation has strived to make peace with its former adversaries. Because we have learned that in… in unity, we are all stronger.”
“Audacious words,” said the machine moon. “But answer this. Interrogative: What purpose do we have now? The Sentries know only one objective, the directive that we were built to pursue. Stop the Null.” There was a buzzing pause. “If that directive has now been fulfilled, then… what is to become of us?”
“Whatever you want,” Riker replied.
“The program your creators gave you has been completed,” said Deanna. “For the first time, you are free—to evolve, to go where you will, to become more than you are.”
After a long moment, Cyan-Gray spoke for all of the machines. “It is… a daunting prospect.”
Riker nodded. “So let us help you.”
The holodeck doors ground closed behind her, and Melora blinked, her eyes adjusting to the dimness of the virtual space. She glanced around, immediately recognizing the layout of a tavern of some kind. On the walls, she found text in Federation Standard and a handful of cultural cues that suggested a Terran locale, something historical and noncontemporary. She smiled slightly; the ambience was close and intimate, and the air had a smoky, almost sensual feeling to it. Melora advanced, finally spotting a name etched in glass on the far wall.
“The Low Note,” she said to herself.
“No, no.” Melora heard Xin’s voice from deeper inside the room, and she followed it in. “No, again. Off. Off!” He sounded agitated.
She rounded the corner, catching the tinkle of a fading hologram, into an area where a low stage was wreathed in spotlights. Ra-Havreii was sitting on a chair with a bottle of something wine-dark on the table next to him. A half-full glass sat next to it, and she saw immediately that the bottle had been drained quite a bit already.
“Xin?”
He turned to her with a start, and his expression veered from shock to shame before finally settling on annoyance. “What are you doing here?”
She frowned; defensive behavior was the first place Xin went when he didn’t want to engage with her. “Looking for you. Torvig’s shift is over, and he was reporting in that the repairs are less than a day from completion.” Melora eyed him. “So, why aren’t you overseeing the final details?”
He looked away. “I was… I was just conducting an experiment. Wondering.” He reached for the glass.
“I hope that’s synthehol.” Her tone became kinder. “Xin, what are you doing in here? You’re supposed to be on duty. And besides, this isn’t your usual sort of haunt.”
“This is where she came from,” he said, a sadness in his tone that pulled at her. Xin put down the untouched glass. “Computer, run program Minuet Alpha.”
A female human phased into existence before them, and Melora gasped. “It’s the avatar.”
“My name is Minuet,” said the hologram, “and I love all jazz except Dixieland.”
“It’s not her.” Xin got up and walked over to the woman in the sparkling dress. “Do you understand? It’s not her.”
Melora studied the image, looking for some inkling of the bright, questioning intelligence she had encountered over the past few days—and she did not find it.
Xin turned to her, his expression conflicted. “I had hoped… but no.”
“Why are you doing this? If you know that the avatar purged herself from the system, then why—”
“Because I felt something for her!” he snapped. “A sense that was new to me, not like the other women I’ve known. Not the same thing I feel… for you. Different.” He sat heavily on the chair once again. “And now she’s not here, and the loss is profound.”
Melora gave a slow nod, understanding. “You were her father, in a very real way.”
“Did I do the right thing?” he asked suddenly, an ache in his words. “Should I have let Riker stop her?” He looked at the wooden floor. “She wasn’t just software, ’Lora. She was too complex for that. We could never recreate the exact confluence of events that made her, don’t you see? Random chance made her unique, just like—”
“Like a child.”
“Yes.” Xin glanced up at the hologram. “And this is just the shell. The image. It’s not her. It never will be.”
Melora reached out to him and touched his hand. “Xin…”
He didn’t look at her. “Computer, memory access override. Delete holographic program Minuet Alpha and all backups from database. Full erasure.”
Melora watched the woman shimmer and fade away to nothing.
Zurin looked up and raised an eye ridge as the mess-hall doors opened. Chaka entered the room and hesitated on the threshold, her mouth tentacles flailing at the air. Her glittering eyes darted about and found him, and she scuttled forward toward the table where he and Lieutenant Sethe were seated.
The Cygnian’s tail flicked as the Pak’shree pressed her bulky arthropod body into the alcove. “Specialist,” he said by way of a greeting. “We don’t often see you here.”
“It all depends on my mood,” she offered, her mouth parts clicking. “Ensign Dakal, I wanted to see how you were doing. I visited sickbay, but Doctor Onnta told me you had already been discharged.”
Zurin held up his injured hand, which was still shrouded in the plastiform of a biosupport sheath. “I’m healing. Beaming back to the Titan seemed to iron out some of the misalignments of the crash transport down to the surface of the machine moon.”
Chaka gave a full-body nod. “I am pleased. You’re an excellent superior, Ensign, and I was worried that your injury might have forced you into convalescence off-ship.”
“Thank you,” he replied, a little
surprised at the warmth of the Pak’shree’s inquiry.
“I understand that this situation might not have been resolved if not for the actions of you and the rest of the Holiday crew.”
Zurin colored slightly. “Commander Tuvok should take the credit for that,” he began, but Chaka kept talking.
“If you ever consider shifting departments again,” she went on, “I think you would be an ideal fit with us in operations. I found working with you to be most refreshing.”
Sethe’s lips pursed. “Even though he’s a male?”
“Yes, even though,” Chaka said brightly, apparently missing the waspish tone of the lieutenant’s voice.
“I thought you considered nonfemales to be, shall we say, less worthy than the female sex?” Sethe glowered at the computer specialist, who remained oblivious to his building irritation.
Chaka seemed to consider the question for a moment. “If the ensign is a representative sample, then it may be that my views don’t apply to the Cardassian species. As for some other races…” She extended a foreleg and patted Sethe on the shoulder. “Well, do your best, sir.” Before the Cygnian could respond, the specialist was ambling away.
“I think she likes me,” Zurin opined, slightly nonplussed by the whole interchange.
Sethe glared at him over his mug of replicated raktajino. “You know her species eats its males, right?”
“That’s arachnids. She’s a crustacean.”
The lieutenant grimaced. “I’m just saying.”
Elsewhere in the room, Pava found her fingers knitting together over the edge of the table. She watched Y’lira Modan’s golden expression shift to a grin as she turned over the second of the oval cards.
“A pair of kais,” said Ensign Fell with a frown. “You win.”
“Ah, ‘The Pillars of Wisdom,’ ” noted Torvig. “An auspicious hand. In Bajoran mythology, a female who plays such a combination should expect the blessings of the Celestial Temple and the boon of a clear journey ahead.”
“Plus all of our money,” Pava retorted. “That part of the blessing is very clear.”
“Did you not suggest that you would no longer participate in games of kella, Lieutenant?” Tuvok asked, reaching out to gather up the cards and shuffle them.
“Perhaps, sir,” she admitted, “but then again, I’ve developed a morbid fascination for the question of how many times I can lose at this bloody game.” She glared at Torvig and Modan. “No card counting this time, right? It’s like playing against those machines.”
“Not so,” said Torvig. “Perhaps on a purely technical level, yes. But if anything, the synthetic intellects we encountered share several humanoid traits.”
“Such as?”
“Emotions,” Tuvok noted. He paused before starting to deal out the cards once more. “Curious. One could consider it ironic that a civilization of artificially intelligent beings, constructed on the basis of a logical thought process, could develop the emotional responses exhibited by the Sentries.”
“Well, good for them,” Pava replied. “A bit of passion never hurt anyone.”
Tuvok paused, answering her statement with a raised eyebrow.
The Andorian sighed. “Just deal. Sir.”
Across the table, Fell toyed with one of the cards—a brightly rendered kai—and looked up. “What was that you said, Torvig? The boon of a clear journey ahead?” The Deltan nodded to herself. “We could use that, I think.”
Pava glanced out of the mess hall port as a shaft of light from the primary star climbed over the curvature of the planet beneath them. In a day or so, perhaps less, Titan would be on her way, pressing farther into the unknown. A smile formed on her azure lips. “But then, it wouldn’t be as interesting, would it?”
He put down the plate and utensils on the dining table and stepped away, looking for his wife. “Deanna?” he called, walking back through their quarters to the lounge area by the viewport. “Where did you put the… oh.”
She turned to him and smiled, their daughter feeding quietly at her chest. “What?” Deanna asked. “Tasha has to eat as well.”
He moved to her and ran a hand over the baby’s head. “I guess so.” The smile that hovered at the edges of his lips didn’t come, however. Instead, his gaze crossed to the window and the sights beyond it.
“Will?” she said gently. “Talk to me.”
“Just when you think you have an inkling of how precious it all is, of how much you would give to keep the things that are important to you, something comes along and makes you think again.” He sighed. “Christine talked about the lessons the Borg taught us. I think we’ve learned another one here.”
“I know it was hard for you, to let her go. But you did the right thing.”
“Is that your professional opinion, Counselor?” He gave her a humorless smirk. “They always say a captain has a close relationship with his vessel. How many of them can say they thought of her as…”
“Family?” Tasha was done. Deanna closed her blouse.
“She was like a child. Needful and bright. Temperamental and vibrant. All of that’s gone now. We’ll never know what she could have grown into.”
His wife met his eyes. “You looked at the avatar and you saw our daughter. She reflected everything about parenthood and growth that you’re afraid of… that we’re both afraid of.” Deanna held Tasha tightly, smiling at the child.
“I don’t know all the answers.” Will nodded, stroking the little girl again. “I don’t know what questions my daughter will ask of me, what challenges she’ll put to us. I don’t think I really understood that until now.”
When Deanna spoke, her eyes never leaving her daughter’s, her voice caught. “She’ll leave us as well, one day.”
Will smiled. “And that’s right. It’s what should happen.
Parents are eclipsed by their children. They go where we can’t venture, with all of the joy and sadness that brings.”
Deanna chuckled. “Who’s the counselor now?”
“I’ve picked up some things along the way.”
The door chimed. “Captain?” said a deep voice over the intercom. “It’s Doctor Ree. Am I early?”
Will grinned, leaning in to steal two quick kisses, one from his wife and one on the cheek of his daughter. “Come in,” he called.
The door hissed open, and the Pahkwa-thanh hovered on the doorstep before entering. “I, uh, brought a bottle of subaa juice,” he explained. “It’s native to my home islands. Replicated, sadly, but still a good approximation.”
Will took the bottle and patted the saurian on the shoulder. “Thanks for coming, Shenti. Have a seat, the sushi’s in the chiller.” He moved to the kitchen alcove.
“Thank you… William.”
Deanna sat down with Tasha, and the child immediately leaned over and patted the doctor on the snout, giving a melodic giggle.
Ree showed a few teeth in a reasonable approximation of a nonthreatening grin. “I also brought the notifications for the memorial service for Tylith and the others,” he said.
“Later,” said Deanna. “We’re off duty.”
Will returned with a tray sporting a dozen tiny dishes, each one a delicate whorl of white rice and blue Andorian seafood. “I hope you’ll—”
The alert siren spoke louder.
Ree cocked his head. “So much for off duty.”
The tray was put aside, and Will was immediately the captain once again. “Bridge, Riker,” he snapped into the intercom. “Report.”
“Sorry to interrupt the dinner, sir,” said Vale. “Intruder alert, Airlock Eight. That’s your deck. Keru’s there with a security detail.”
“I’m on my way.” He shot a look at his wife. “Stay here. Secure the door after I go.” He paused on the threshold. “And try the zetta roll. It’s good.”
Keru checked the phaser’s charge for the second time in as many minutes, his fingers tight around the grip of the hand weapon. He glanced at Dennisar, who had come, as expected, with
a bigger gun. The Orion took up a kneeling stance and stared down the barrel of his compression rifle. Crewmen Blay and Krotine were taking up stations along the wall where the inner hatch for Airlock Eight was situated.
“No life signs,” Krotine reported from her tricorder scan.
Keru glanced up as fast footfalls signaled the arrival of the captain, albeit in civilian attire. “Sir?”
“What do we have?” said Riker.
“Metallic mass,” Krotine continued. “We didn’t detect it with all of the debris floating around out there, not until it was too late. It attached to the hull and then used some sort of override to access the exterior hatch.”
Star Trek: Titan - 006 - Synthesis Page 37
