A Time to Sow

by Dayton Ward

  Having listened to Lieutenant Diix’s vague report only moments before, he could not help the anxiety he felt as approached the group. The Andorian engineer had requested Riker’s presence down here, rather than providing a complete report over the ship’s intercom. As he observed the scene in engineering for himself, he realized that Diix’s suggestion had been the correct one.

  Riker could hear the Andorian stammering a bit as he issued instructions, and he paused several times to review whatever notes he might have entered hastily into the padd he carried. He knew the young officer was juggling the responsibilities of presiding over the very heart of the starship along with the current problem he faced, and that strain was beginning to reveal itself.

  Time to help the man out, he mused.

  “What happened?” he asked in what he hoped was his best mentoring voice as he stepped closer to the diagnostic alcove and the immobile form harbored inside it. He listened with growing worry as Diix, the senior engineering officer on duty while Geordi La Forge was off the ship, provided a complete recounting of the moments up to and following Data’s abrupt collapse.

  “We thought it best to put him here for the time being, given his instructions,” Diix explained, indicating the dormant android.

  “His instructions?” Riker asked as he studied his friend’s inanimate face.

  “Yes, sir,” Diix said. “After he collapsed, he spoke just long enough to tell us not to attempt any repairs and to notify Commander La Forge of the situation. We only moved him to the alcove so we could monitor his internal diagnostic protocols and try to make sense of whatever they might find.”

  Riker nodded, noticing a hesitation in Diix’s words that he chalked up to the events of the last few minutes.

  “I know you’re doing what you can,” he said, hoping his tone sounded more reassuring to Diix than it did to himself. He tried to remember that, just as the medical staff would spring to action were a biological crew member injured on duty, there was no doubt that the Enterprise’s complement of engineers were acting with similar concern and haste to aid Data in a time of need.

  Yet, as he studied his friend’s unmoving form, his face still frozen as if in the middle of a sentence, the first officer felt a knot of worry forming in his stomach. With his incomparable physical and cognitive skills, Data had proven himself time and again to be an invaluable member of the crew. Riker’s first instinct as Data’s friend was to order the engineers on hand to spare no effort in getting the android up and running again.

  As the starship’s acting commanding officer, however, he was well aware of the pressures facing the group of people surrounding him. Pulling all of them from their assigned duties to focus on Data posed a potentially worse problem than having the android out of commission. The engineering crew needed to stay on their toes in regard to every system on the ship, particularly given the hazardous environment of the Dokaalan system. Regardless of the value his friend represented to him and the rest of the crew, Riker was reminded of the hard fact that he could consider no one irreplaceable.

  Data himself would tell you that.

  “Ensign Veldon,” he said as he turned to the Benzite engineer manning a portable field-use monitor that had been wheeled next to the alcove and linked to its emergency access ports, “what can you tell me?”

  Veldon indicated the scrolling stream of computer data on the portable console’s primary monitor. “The commander’s internal diagnostics are indicating that his positronic pathways have suffered a cascading failure. It appears he is attempting to isolate the ones that are no longer operational.”

  “So part of his brain is still working?” Riker asked.

  Nodding, the ensign replied, “Apparently, but there’s no way yet to tell which part. He definitely has no control over his motor skills.” The Benzite paused to enter a new string of commands. “He might be able to find his way around some of the affected pathways, but even if he does, we have no idea how long that might take.”

  Riker tried to translate for himself what the engineer was saying. “It almost sounds like he’s had a stroke.”

  Veldon turned to look at him and offered an appreciative smile. “That is an accurate analogy, Commander.”

  Riker had seen Data absorb all manner of punishment over the years that required physical repairs, but he had always harbored the notion that whatever was broken on his friend could be identified and repaired. Each time there had been a malfunction in the past, they had found a way to help the android, and the first officer wanted to believe that would be the case now.

  So why did he feel this situation was different? Was it because of the way Data’s debilitating condition had been portrayed, as though he had fallen ill from a disease that had no known cure? Lieutenant Diix had described the cascading wave of circuitry and relay burnouts as though it had affected Data as an individual. This breakdown, if it could not be corrected, seemed to carry the potential to alter Data, even more so than his emotion chip’s removal.

  Seeing Data in this condition only served to demonstrate again that no matter the sophistication of his friend’s software or the ways in which experience helped to shape him as an individual, he was still, at the end of it all, a machine.

  Riker himself had almost proven that fact too well more than a decade ago during the landmark legal proceeding that established that Data was a sentient being and entitled to civil rights as recognized by the Federation. Ordered by Starfleet’s Judge Advocate General to serve as prosecutor at the hearing, it had fallen to Riker to prove that Data was simply a machine and nothing more, a notion he had not believed then and certainly did not accept now. Despite that, it was a fight he had very nearly won, and also was one of several dark incidents from his life that he wanted to forget. He instead chose to retain the memory, along with the lessons he had learned about his friend that day.

  Turning to Diix, Riker asked, “According to your report, you were the one of the closest people to him when this happened. Do you have any idea what might have caused it?”

  “We are currently examining several theories, sir,” the Andorian replied. “One is that he may have somehow been affected by the radiation surrounding us and generated by the asteroid field. I have ordered a check of all deflector-shield systems to insure that some form of radiation we might have previously failed to detect is not penetrating the hull.”

  Riker nodded approvingly. “I take it you haven’t found anything on that front.”

  “No, sir, but at the very least it will rule out a cause if we find nothing. Our other ideas mainly revolve around Commander Data himself, and potential faults that might lie within his internal software. However, given his operational record I find that unlikely, too.” He shook his head. “I am sorry, sir, but I have only limited expertise with Commander Data’s construction and internal systems. Commander La Forge is rather protective of him when it comes to maintenance and diagnostic matters, you understand.”

  Riker could not help smiling at the image that evoked. “Only too well, Lieutenant. Commander La Forge is very much the mother hen when it comes to Data.” Indicating the android with a nod of his head, he added, “Given that he’s told you to let him run his own diagnostics, I think you’re right. We’ll let him work the problem himself until Geordi gets back.”

  The smile faded, however, as he regarded his friend once more. Though he had faith in the rest of the engineering staff when it came to the Enterprise itself, Diix was right when he said that no one else knew Data the way Geordi La Forge did.

  When is he due back again? Not for a while yet, according to the last report he had received from Lieutenant Vale. Shaking his head, Riker dismissed the melancholy feelings. Until La Forge returned, Diix was the officer in charge, and he as well as the rest of his staff needed to be reassured of that fact.

  Turning to face the engineers gathered nearby, the first officer said, “I want you to know that I appreciate your efforts to this point. I know it’s difficult when you�
��re working a problem that you’ve never faced before, but if Starfleet didn’t have confidence in your abilities they wouldn’t have posted you to the Enterprise in the first place. Don’t hesitate to report anything you find to Lieutenant Diix, no matter how inconsequential it may seem.” To the Andorian he added, “Keep me informed, Lieutenant.”

  “We’ll make it so, Commander,” Veldon said.

  Leisner grimaced and slapped the Benzite on the shoulder. “Oh, very cute,” he said, his tone teasing.

  Riker grinned, allowing himself a moment to enjoy the light demeanor exuded by the collection of fresher faces at the stations surrounding him. Mixing up the duty rosters had turned out to be a good idea, he decided, and it seemed to be popular among the ranks; it broke up the routine.

  What I wouldn’t give for an hour of routine right now.

  “Lieutenant,” Riker said to Diix after a minute, “come with me, please.” He noticed the Andorian’s eyes widen a bit at the request, and they walked to the chief engineer’s office in silence as the first officer mulled what he wanted to say. It certainly would do no good at all for him to add to Diix’s anxiety level as long as he remained in charge.

  Once inside the office and with the doors closed behind them, Riker gestured for Diix to take the seat behind the desk as he took one of the empty chairs in front of it. “How do you think things are going down here, Lieutenant?”

  Obviously caught off guard by the question, Diix paused a bit before answering. “Given the circumstances, I think the crew is doing its best.”

  “And you? How are you doing?”

  Riker saw the veneer of reserve crack just slightly as the Andorian appeared to weigh his thoughts. “To be very honest,” he replied, “I have found all of this to be very unexpected.”

  “Don’t let it shake you,” Riker said, smiling. “I know this position is the first time you’ve been in command when things aren’t going well.”

  Diix nodded. “That it is.”

  “If I might offer some advice?”

  “Certainly,” the younger officer said.

  “You’ve got good people who know their jobs,” Riker continued, trying not to sound condescending, “which takes a lot of the pressure off of you from the start. Just go about your business and let them go about theirs. They want to work for you, so let them.”

  Riker was well aware that his leadership methods were not as rigid or forceful as those demonstrated by more seasoned officers in the fleet. He had learned over the years that the reins of command rested more comfortably in his hands when they were loosened a bit, especially where his Enterprise shipmates were concerned.

  With so many of the senior staff off the ship or, in the case of Data, wholly unavailable, it fell to junior officers like Diix to take charge of the less experienced personnel. It was trial by fire, so to speak, a time-tested approach used to determine who possessed those qualities both tangible and indefinable that conspired to make a true leader. Riker felt Diix possessed those qualities, and hoped that the encouragement he offered the younger officer might help him to relax and allow him to focus on his duties rather than on his own expectations of what a leader should be.

  “Thank you, sir,” Diix said. “I will bear that in mind.”

  As he watched Commander Riker depart the engineering section, presumably to resume his duties on the bridge, Kalsha waited until the human was safely out of earshot before allowing himself a sigh of relief. He had been able to field the first officer’s questions easily enough, though he had to admit that part of the reason for that was the general, nonaccusatory nature of the human’s queries.

  Still, it had been a challenge. Riker smelled no better than any of the other humans, after all, a condition made worse by the confined space of the chief engineer’s office.

  Kalsha had been able to imbue enough truth when deception was required that it made telling the lies easier. It was a trick he had learned long ago during his earliest days as a covert operative, and the human Riker had not been any the wiser. He had asked his questions and given his motivational speeches without any idea that he had been staring into the face of the enemy.

  While he had prepared himself for a more intensive questioning session as Riker demanded answers for what had happened to the android and who or what might be responsible, Kalsha was not surprised that the first officer did not begin voicing allegations about anyone who might be a culprit for the damage done to Data. After all, the actuation servo used to deactivate the android had gone undetected by anyone in the engineering section. There was nothing to suggest that anything untoward had occurred here.

  At least, not yet.

  With the android safely housed in his alcove, there was no way Kalsha could approach him or make another attempt to deactivate him permanently without the risk of drawing attention.

  He was still angry with himself over his having miscalculated the requirements of the android’s shutdown protocol. The possibility existed that Data would reactivate and perhaps even devise a solution to repair itself or offer information to the engineers directing them toward a course of action. What if its internal sensors had detected or even recorded the pulse Kalsha had sent? It would provide the crew with the first clue that something sinister might be happening in their midst.

  Kalsha could not dwell on that. The only thing for him to do was carry on in his persona of Lieutenant Diix and continue with his mission, only now he would have to move faster in the event the engineers did manage to make some progress in their investigation. He would have to be more careful from this point on, of course. If another suspicious act were to occur before he could complete his primary task and escape the ship, the crew would certainly believe they were under some form of attack and would enact appropriate countermeasures. Even on a ship this size and with his mimicking abilities, Kalsha had no illusions that he could evade their security forces for any prolonged period.

  Relax, he tried to assure himself. By the time that happens, it will be too late.

  He reached for the padd on his desk, the one he had been using to further his disguise as just another Enterprise engineer, when a new thought suddenly gave him pause.

  The private talk with Commander Riker had been interesting, to say the least, and Kalsha could not help the fleeting feeling of admiration he felt for the human, despite the odor that seemed to be an unavoidable trait of his species. It was obvious from his demeanor that Riker was a benevolent leader who cared a great deal for those under his command. In all his own experience as a soldier and later a spy, Kalsha had never enjoyed the guidance of someone so devoted to his duties as well as to those who served under him.

  It was a stark contrast from the methods of intimidation and brutality routinely practiced by superiors he had known during his career. Kalsha could not help but wonder if the performance and morale of his own military might have benefited from the effects of more leaders like the human Riker. Such qualities might well have made the difference during the last war.

  Enough, he scolded himself, forcing the wayward thoughts from his mind and reminding himself to return his focus to the task at hand. Still, as he retrieved his padd and made his way from the office, intent on carrying out his mission, Kalsha allowed himself one last brief moment of resignation.

  It would almost be a shame, he decided, when Riker died along with the rest of the ship’s crew.

  Chapter Thirty

  WHEN HE SAW no sign of activity near the shuttlecraft, La Forge knew that something was up.

  “It doesn’t make any sense that they wouldn’t have somebody waiting for us,” he said as he ran, his breath becoming labored with the effort of jogging in the environment suit. “Where are they?”

  Running alongside him and to his right, Taurik replied, “Perhaps the incident inside the complex unfolded too rapidly for whoever is trying to detain us. They may not have expected resistance.”

  La Forge shook his head. “Maybe, but I’m betting that they’re also trying to
keep this low-key.” Indicating Faeyahr, he added, “Whoever’s playing around behind the scenes here, they’re doing it without the knowledge of at least some of the Dokaalan. They may be trying to keep their presence a secret. If that’s the case, then they’ll be looking to catch us quickly and quietly. That might give us a bit of an advantage, at least until we get off the planet.”

  Behind him, Faeyahr asked, “Why would someone want to interfere with what we are doing here? What do we have that anyone could want?” La Forge noted that the Dokaalan’s breathing was even heavier than his own. Despite being acclimated to the heavier gravity on the planet’s surface, Faeyahr was probably not accustomed to this type of exertion.

  “That’s what we’re hoping to find out,” the chief engineer said, “but to do that we’re going to need help. That’s why we need to get back to the Enterprise.”

  He heard the telltale beep of Taurik’s tricorder and turned to see the Vulcan slowing to a walk in order to study the device. Then the junior engineer pointed toward another storage building to their right.

  “Three life-forms have just emerged from the far side of that structure,” he reported. “They are armed, two with older-model Klingon disruptors and one with what appears to be a Bajoran phaser.”

  “Interesting mix,” La Forge said. Whoever they were dealing with, he theorized, they used whatever materials and weapons they could get their hands on. Was all of this the work of some type of rogue group? Were they dealing with a band of pirates or profiteers manipulating the Dokaalan’s situation for their own benefit?

  He knew they had only seconds before the new arrivals saw the trio running for the shuttlecraft. Studying the nearby structure with his ocular implants, he determined that it was nearly one hundred meters away. How fast could their pursuers cover that distance? Were they accurate marksmen with their eclectic collection of weaponry?

  There was only one way to find out.