A Time to Die

by John Vornholt

  “Hello, Admiral Nakamura,” answered the android. He was glad he no longer had his emotion chip, because Nakamura’s presence would definitely inspire a twinge of fear. “Does your visit have something to do with the inquiry?” he asked.

  “Of course,” answered the admiral. “We also had a chance to take a look at your emotion chip. We feel that the socket on your neural net could be used for other purposes.”

  Data considered the possibility, then remarked, “It is true that other enhancements could be added via that particular socket, but I doubt if anyone other than my creator, Dr. Soong, could reliably program such a chip.”

  Nakamura smiled. “I see you don’t have much faith in the S.C.E. They’ve reverse-engineered lots of unusual devices. They think they can do the same with your emotion chip. At any rate, we’ve got a test chip we’d like to install in that socket—it doesn’t do anything but see if we’ve guessed the right pathways and algorithms. It will be functionally neutral—you won’t notice a thing.”

  “I would prefer not,” said Data honestly. “That socket is not intended to be used with interchangeable devices.”

  The admiral’s cheerfulness changed in a flash. “Remember, we still want to know if your emotion chip affected your judgment in Rashanar. So this is an order.”

  Data nodded thoughtfully. “In which case, I cannot prevent you, Admiral. You may proceed.”

  “Very good.” Nakamura turned to the lab’s chief engineer, a Bolian named Moroz, and said, “Give me the new chip.”

  The Bolian looked quizzically at him, then hesitated before he answered, “We gave it to your aide just a few minutes ago.”

  “My aide? I sent no aide down here. Where is this person?”

  “Well, he was just here.” Commander Moroz looked around, and he glared expectantly at his assistants.

  “He was standing over there,” said one, pointing to a corner. “A slight man, a lieutenant.”

  “I thought he was a commander,” said another. “Stout and older.”

  “Stout?” queried another. “He was Andorian, and they’re not stout.”

  “Andorian? No, he was human!”

  Bickering broke out among the assembled technicians, who could not agree on one single detail.

  “You gave that chip away to somebody?!” thundered the admiral. “Just somebody who walked in?! You don’t even know who?!”

  Data stared at the blustery man, who was shaking his fists at the terrified engineers.

  The admiral stomped around the laboratory, waving his hands. “It was a prototype! I can’t just walk down the hall and get another one. This is insane!”

  “Am I free to leave?” asked Data, sitting up on the workbench and swinging his legs over the edge. “I have duties aboard the Enterprise.” He didn’t have to admit that they were rather mundane duties since he had not been directly questioned. But he didn’t see the need to be completely honest with Admiral Nakamura, as Data assumed the ranking officer was not being completely honest with him.

  “Wait here a few minutes!” ordered the flustered admiral, storming toward the door. “I’m going to check with security and run the vid log on this laboratory. We’ll find out who got that chip!”

  After Nakamura left, Commander Moroz let out a relieved sigh. “I’m sorry, Data, but you know how orders are. Now it looks like we’ll be in as much trouble as you are. Do you remember what that aide looked like, or his name?”

  “Inexplicably, I cannot recall,” answered the android, “although I am certain I have seen him before.”

  “Me, too,” agreed the Bolian. “Tough luck about your captain. I think they were kind of hard on him. I’ve talked to others who have been to Rashanar. Spooky place…and dangerous.”

  Data nodded. “It is not a region of space where one ever feels at ease.” They talked for a few more minutes about the hazards and anomalies of the Rashanar Battle Site. The engineers were all attentive and curious. The consensus was that they wanted to see it, but wouldn’t really put in for duty there. After all, if the Enterprise could get in trouble in the graveyard of lost ships, none of them wanted to brave it.

  As the discussion was winding down, the door opened, and Admiral Nakamura raced back in, looking chagrined and angry. “I’ve been down to security,” he began, “watching the logs of this lab, and I’m afraid we have an intruder. We saw the person who took Data’s chip, but the image was so fuzzy that we have to presume it was a nonhumanoid, or perhaps someone with shielding technology. At any rate, Commander Data, you may be at risk.”

  Data wanted to agree that the potential hazard was mostly from the admiral and his engineers, but he merely cocked his head and said, “Permission to return to the Enterprise, where I will not be at risk.”

  Nakamura glowered, but he apparently couldn’t think of a good reason to hold Data, not with so many technicians watching him. “Commander Moroz,” he ordered, “take Data down to the transporter room and make sure he gets back safely to the Enterprise.” The admiral’s eyes flashed, and he added, “When you get back here, we’re going to have a little talk about security and procedures.”

  “Yes, sir,” answered the Bolian with a gulp.

  As he walked along a pedestrian bridge between Starfleet Engineering and Medical, the Traveler studied the replica of Data’s emotion chip. He wasn’t sure what programming they had intended to inflict upon Data, but he was suspicious of the source. Nakamura wasn’t the only one in Starfleet who didn’t understand or appreciate the android, but he was the highest-ranking one. The inquiry was over, and now it was time for the admiralty to do something constructive about Rashanar or back off.

  Wes cringed. If he hadn’t taken a few moments to check on Data, he never would have discovered their plan to install this new chip. He could go anywhere he chose, but he couldn’t be two places at once; it felt as if he were neglecting Captain Picard. But the captain’s situation was a lot more delicate than Data’s, since he had been assigned to the custody of Medical Mental Health. Maybe it was time to visit the young counselor, Colleen Cabot.

  The Traveler had seen her during the tribunal and his visits to Mental Health, but he had yet to decide how to approach her in a way that would help the captain. He had wandered through Picard’s quarters pretending to be a holodeck character, but the captain wasn’t in any mood for nonsense. In truth, Colleen Cabot was rather imposing—cold, calculating, and beautiful—and he wasn’t sure how he could influence her thinking on the captain’s behalf.

  She needs to know that Data is telling the truth, thought Wes, and that Picard is completely rational. If she could just see the mysteries of Rashanar for herself, then she would know, and she’d lobby for his release. Then again, is Counselor Cabot really in charge, or is she just a front for others?

  How could he know unless he talked to her? Unfortunately, Starfleet counselors weren’t in the habit of chatting about their patients. Since he couldn’t just stand in the corner and observe, he would need more than his usual tricks to confront her.

  Before he entered the mental health facility, Wes stopped and flipped Data’s ersatz emotion chip high into the air. As it spun in the sunshine, he made it disappear, sending it off to the Rashanar Battle Site to float with the other useless chunks of technology. The Traveler then willed himself to be standing in the corridor outside Picard’s room, beyond the reach of security. His attuned senses picked up voices inside the room—the captain talking to an unidentified woman. Since the Enterprise was still making its way back from the warp trial, he knew it couldn’t be anyone from the crew.

  A moment later, the Traveler strode past the Vulcan cliff dwelling where Picard had chosen to take refuge. As before, the visitor was dressed as an elder, nondescript Vulcan, and neither the captain nor Counselor Cabot paid any attention to him as he lingered on the cliffside walkway.

  “I’m sorry, Captain,” insisted Cabot, placing her hands on her slim hips, “but you must take another round of tests. Either you switch
to another room simulation with a computer, or I’ll have a computer terminal brought in here.”

  “Didn’t I take a dozen of your tests before the inquiry?” asked Picard. “Do you really expect my answers to have changed?”

  “Frankly, I don’t know unless I test you,” insisted the counselor, appearing to lose a bit of her professional cool. “You’re here to be evaluated under my supervision. I have to have some means to do that. If it’s the impersonal nature of the computer that bothers you, I’ll ask you the questions myself. Then you can pretend we’re just having a conversation. But you will take these tests, Jean-Luc, or my evaluation will focus on your lack of cooperation and remorse.”

  “Remorse!” thundered Picard, jumping to his feet. “Do you think I’m not remorseful about what happened to the Juno? Or the Vuxhal? I’ve lain awake every night thinking about it, wondering what I could have done differently. Captain Leeden and I had reached a truce in our personal styles. We finally had mutual respect for each other. The fraternity of starship captains is competitive but very tightly knit, when it comes down to it. I feel the loss of the Juno much more acutely than you ever will.”

  Cabot smiled condescendingly at him. “Do you see, Jean-Luc? It’s not so hard to talk about it. We just need to get your thoughts down in a form I can use in my report. Remorse is not only good for your personal healing; it’s good for everyone’s perception of what happened. Believe me, it’s all about perception. You see it one way, the Ontailians another way, the tribunal a third way. I’m supposed to be neutral and explain my perception of you. That’s why it’s so hard to find truth in a case like this—it’s like the theory of relativity. Space and time are different depending on where you’re standing.”

  No, thought Wesley as he observed this dynamic and beautiful woman, the regular approach isn’t going to work with her.

  Looking defeated, Captain Picard sat back on the dusty floor of his cavelike dwelling. “I’ll make a deal with you, Counselor,” he said. “Let me try to get some sleep and approach your questionnaire with a fresh attitude. You can bring your computer back in a couple of hours, all right?”

  Cabot mulled it over. “You rest, collect your thoughts, and I’ll be back.”

  “Excuse me, Counselor Cabot,” said the old Vulcan suddenly standing in the shadows. “You have an important visitor in your office.”

  The blond woman blinked in surprise at him. Picard seemed to notice him for the first time. “Since when do the holosuite characters give me messages?” she asked with annoyance.

  He shrugged and said, “I do not know. Live long and prosper.” With that, the elderly Vulcan disappeared into the illusory gloominess on the periphery of the hologram effect.

  “I have to talk to the programmers,” declared Colleen as she headed for the doorway. “The holograms shouldn’t be interrupting me when I’m in here with a patient. How does this program know there’s someone in my office?”

  “Maybe they made an improvement,” said Picard with a wan smile.

  “That’s really absurd,” muttered the counselor as she swept imperiously out of the room.

  Colleen Cabot had a strong sense of déjà vu as she walked down the corridor toward her office. It had been only yesterday that Admiral Nakamura had paid her a surprise visit. Had he come back? Could they have anything else left to discuss? She hoped not, because this arrangement was already making her queasy.

  When her office door opened, she found herself facing a rather handsome man about her own age. He gave her a boyish smile, as if he already knew her, although she didn’t recognize him. Or did she? As she looked at her visitor, he seemed more familiar; maybe they had met in passing. Oddly, he wasn’t wearing a Starfleet uniform, just a sort of nondescript gray jumpsuit. Yet he had a Starfleet bearing about him, with a lot of wisdom in his intense, dark eyes. She guessed him to be a fellow counselor.

  “I’m Colleen Cabot,” she said curtly as she brushed past him on the way to her desk. “I’m very busy, so do you have something you wish to discuss?”

  He gave her a pleasant smile and answered, “My name is Wesley. Did you ever read A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens? Or have you seen one of the dramatic versions?”

  She peered at him with annoyance. “If you don’t leave right now, I’m going to call security and have you arrested.”

  “I’m afraid your com panel doesn’t work anymore. Neither does the door.”

  Cabot promptly tapped the panel on her desk, but it produced no cheerful beep or attentive voices. She dashed to her door and plowed right into it when it didn’t open automatically as expected. Desperately, she banged on the barrier and shouted in futility.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” the young man assured her. “So, do you know A Christmas Carol?”

  She stared at him, her voice finally croaking, “Yes.”

  “Good!” exclaimed Wesley. He took a step closer to her. His manner didn’t seem threatening. Why should it, when he was in complete control of the situation? He continued, “Do you remember how Ebenezer Scrooge—that would be you in this case—is visited by the Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Yet to Come?”

  Colleen blinked frightened blue eyes at him. “Are you telling me you’re a ghost?”

  “No,” he answered, “I’m as alive as you. Being Scrooge, you’re only interested in work and filling out your forms properly. The bottom line, they used to call it.”

  “Are you another counselor?” she asked in confusion.

  “No,” he said with a warm laugh. “Look, Colleen—may I call you Colleen? You seem to like using first names. Remember, I’m Wesley.”

  “How did you lock this door?” she angrily demanded. “You are going to be in big trouble.”

  Wes nodded. “I’m afraid you’re right about that, but it won’t be from you. We’re going to take a little trip, so you’ll understand what happened better. Like I said, just think of me as the Ghost of Christmas Present.”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you!” Colleen vowed, looking around for a paperweight, padd, or anything to use as a weapon.

  The young man reached his hand for hers, and his dark eyes were serious but also playful. “You won’t be hurt, Colleen, and you will be amazed. You’ll be back before anyone knows you’re gone.”

  We can’t go anywhere unless he opens the door, she thought with confidence. He’s probably a patient who escaped from another floor. But how does he know so much about me?

  “A Christmas Carol is one of my favorite stories,” Colleen whispered as she reached hesitantly for his hand. “By the way, I should warn you that I know martial arts.”

  “I didn’t think you got that physique by just sitting around,” he answered flirtatiously. Their fingers met. His hand was warm and oddly tingling. For the first time, she worried that he really was a ghost…or not as mundane as he appeared to be.

  The counselor glanced at her frozen door only a step away, expecting it to open. Instead the man’s grip tightened. The tingling increased until her whole body felt consumed—not unlike the sensation of a transporter but more intense. The floor went out from under her. She gasped as she dropped into total darkness—the floor, the walls, her office and furniture—everything in the physical world was gone.

  Fortunately, Wesley was there to grasp her hand and keep her from falling. The blackness shimmered as strange shapes and lights coalesced all around them. Blurred vision seemed to be coming into sharp focus. Colleen realized she was floating in space—without an environmental suit! She trembled, but Wesley put a comforting arm around her shoulders. Shortly, it was clear that she wasn’t going to suffocate or freeze to death. Cabot gazed at the man’s face only a few centimeters away, felt the brawn of his arm, and marveled that he looked so normal. So human.

  However, Wesley was clearly not human but the Ghost of Rashanar Present, for that’s where the counselor realized they were. To one side was a depressing and awesome collection of scorched warships from a dozen different w
orlds, tumbling in confusion like a twisted mobile. On the other side were three extraordinary silver spacecraft shaped like shark’s fins, keeping guard against the contents of the graveyard from escaping. Colleen couldn’t blame them, because flashing energy beams rippled between the silent hulks, which were moving and twisting within the haziness of smaller debris. It looked like sheer chaos, yet was oddly compelling and beautiful—like the riotous dawn of the universe and the birth of worlds crammed with life and wonder.

  Even more dazzling power spikes rippled deep within the battle site, near the center where the monsters supposedly lurked. Colleen got a chill, despite his arm around her. “How…how are we doing this?” she rasped. Her voice echoed more in her mind than her ears, where it was just a tinny hiss.

  “Someday when I know you better, maybe I’ll explain,” answered Wesley, sounding humble about his godlike powers. “Those are the Ontailians’ vessels—the narrow slivers.”

  “I see them,” she answered. “What are they guarding?”

  “You tell me.”

  “They can’t see us, can they?” she asked with sudden fright.

  “Technically we could be seen, but they would have to be looking for us. Besides, with all the space junk and flying energy beams, we’re not going to get their attention.”

  “But something sure has their attention,” she remarked. “Can we go farther in?”

  “We can,” he answered, “but there’s no guarantee we’ll see the mimic ship. I wish I could take you back to the past and show you what happened, but I can’t.”

  He gazed off toward the glittering boneyard, where bright power spikes and giant arcs of energy lit up the eerie derelicts. Colleen could see vast swirls of trash moving. She remembered that the wrecks were supposed to be in orbit around a mysterious gravity sink at the center. Even from her safe perch, it was terrifying. She couldn’t imagine piloting a huge starship like the Enterprise into such a maelstrom. Recovering bodies, chasing looters and anomalies—that had been reckless and impossible duty in this haunted battle zone.