ONLINE THE NEEDS OF THE MANY

by Michael A. Martin

  LURKERS IN THE SHADOWS

  WAR WITHOUT END?

  TELLAR NEWS SERVICE

  Dateline—McAllister C-5 Nebula, Stardate 85496.1*

  Members of a religious group that calls itself “the Children of Fluidic Light” left Earth last month in a chartered private ore freighter, bound for the spectacular McAllister C-5 Nebula, which has become a sacred place to the fledgling order. Prior to embarking on their pilgrimage, the group’s founder, an elderly human woman who goes by the name of “Grandmother Neduni” issued a statement articulating her group’s intention to take up station at the turbulent nebula’s periphery in order “to bring the Children of Fluidic Light’s ceaseless prayers for peace as close as possible to the perfect gods that dwell within” the McAllister cloud.

  Only today did it become apparent that “as close as possible” meant taking a suicidal plunge into the nebula’s violently chaotic heart, whose countless hazards include unpredictable and potentially deadly natural phenomena such as developing protostars, and such decidedly unnatural effects as wormholes that open up into fluidic space. Echoing the comments of members of the cultists’ families, a source at Starfleet Headquarters said that reaching fluidic space (the origin point of the Undine) had probably been the cult’s real goal all along, given that the name of the order’s leader (Neduni) was simply an anagram for “Undine.”

  Even if the “Children of Fluidic Light” fail to find their “perfect gods,” the natural cosmic violence at the center of the McAllister C-5 Nebula makes it highly unlikely that the cultists will ever be heard from again.…

  JAKE SISKO, DATA ROD #J-41

  Arik Soong Institute, Keniclius Province, Udarburgh, Trialas IV

  I hold my tricorder in my left hand and my holoimager in my right, since I don’t want to set either one on the bare floor and risk creating a tripping hazard. Although the office is clean and modern, every wall liberally decorated by framed diplomas and academic awards, the place is completely bereft of furniture. It is almost as though the eight-meter-square chamber’s only other occupant—a wire-thin, preternaturally young-looking man with a dark, neatly trimmed goatee—regards things like desks, chairs, and sofas as irrelevancies, or perhaps even distractions.

  I observe the man’s habit of pacing quickly back and forth across what I’ve been told is his primary workspace, all the while talking at breakneck speed (frequently interrupting both me and himself). It becomes obvious immediately that any body in such constant motion would need an environment as free of physical roadblocks as possible. The notion tickles my irony bump when I consider the many far more substantial obstacles he’s had to overcome on the way to becoming one of the Federation’s preeminent research physicians and teachers, a leading pioneer in the burgeoning field of savant developmental psychiatry, and a tireless advocate for the rights of the genetically enhanced.

  After he pauses momentarily at the wall-mounted replicator, I breathe a silent prayer of thanks that he’s drinking water rather than raktajino. He offers me a beverage as well, but I decline politely because both my hands are still occupied by my recording equipment.

  The last time I caught a glimpse of this man was when I was still living aboard DS9. Except for his lingering habit of speaking almost too quickly for anyone other than a fellow genegineered genius to follow, he was very different in those days, when he and three others very much like him struggled to overcome the debilitating aftereffects of their illegal gene resequencings, procedures undertaken early in their lives by well-intentioned but misguided parents who’d hoped to raise wunderkinder. But for the efforts of Dr. Julian Bashir, Dr. Karen Loews, and a legion of other specialists in psychiatry and therapeutic genetics, those aftereffects might have led ineluctably to lifetimes spent in sterile institutions—in effect, endless prison sentences served by innocents because of the sins of their parents.

  But the man who paces before me now has somehow managed to escape the fate that had befallen so many of his fellow “genetic augments.” Today, he is known across the Federation as a dedicated researcher, university professor, and widely read popular author. In defiance of all odds, he’s overcome his earlier antisocial tendencies to such a degree that he’s essentially become what another era would have dubbed a “celebrity doctor.” Always preferring to focus on the sunlit future rather than on his night-shrouded past, he has spent decades studying the children of many of Starfleet’s best and brightest in his ongoing quest to identify, quantify, and nurture the seeds of greatness. The list of the subjects of his many inquiries into the “making of exceptional persons” includes: Miral Paris (born in the Delta Quadrant to Tom Paris and B’Elanna Torres aboard the U.S.S. Voyager, Ms. Paris is a recent Starfleet Academy grad and at this writing is an ensign serving as a junior tactical officer aboard the U.S.S. James T. Kirk); Naomi Wildman (Voyager’s first Delta-Quadrant baby, she is also an experienced Starfleet officer, and has confessed to being more at home in space than anywhere else); Noah Powell, Totyarguil Bolaji, and Natasha Miana Riker-Troi (all of whom spent much of their childhoods aboard the exploration-dedicated U.S.S. Titan, commanded by Natasha’s father, Captain William T. Riker); Molly and Kirayoshi O’Brien, who spent nearly as much of their respective childhoods aboard DS9 as I did before their parents relocated them to Earth (Molly and Yoshi have since moved on to prosperous careers both in and out of Starfleet); and even René Jacques Robert François Picard, the notoriously free-thinking and outspoken son of Dr. Beverly Crusher and Captain (now Ambassador) Jean-Luc Picard.

  This man does the kind of work that draws his audience’s gaze toward the horizon, to the leading edge of what is to come. His work is usually a font of hope and promise, reassurance that the Federation’s best times are still yet to come. But no one, however brilliant, can elude the darkness of his personal history entirely. Not even this ever-youthful genius whose clipped, staccato speech patterns and hyperactive, peripatetic manner make him such an exhausting interview subject—and whose vehement insistence on being addressed only as “Doctor Jack” reveals, if only inadvertently, that he embraces both the dark past and the bright future in nearly equal measure.

  Those who’ve been following your career might be surprised that you have so much to say about the Undine War.

  I wonder when the Federation will finally reach its saturation point for surprise, hmm? After all, Jake, my whole career came as something of a surprise, wouldn’t you say? Hmm? Hmm?

  I only meant that the Undine War never seemed to be your main area of expertise, Doctor. Your work usually centered either on therapies for complications arising from genetic augmentations, or the special abilities of naturally “gifted” people.

  Which only goes to show that it pays to cultivate more than one main area of expertise. I’ve always been good at handling multiple projects simultaneously, even before [Doctor] Karen [Loews] finally certified me as fully recovered from the side-effects of my childhood genetic… alterations. If anything, I’ve been a whole lot less distracted since the bad old days before my… rehabilitation. I’m much more focused now. Therefore I’m much better able to split my attention across several subjects than I once was. Remember, even back in the day they used to call me a polymath genius, hmm, hmm?

  But you don’t appear to have written extensively about the conflict with the Undine.

  It certainly appears that way, doesn’t it? But there’s only one problem with appearances: sometimes they’re just not accurate.

  I’m pretty sure I’ve read—or at least skimmed—your entire output while I was preparing for this interview. But as far as the Undine War is concerned, I’ve found almost noth—

  You’ve read or skimmed everything I’ve written? I’m afraid that’s not possible—unless you’re the greatest espionage expert the Federation has ever produced. Because that’s what you would have to be just to get hold of everything I’ve written. Of course, it’s entirely possible that you’ve managed to read everything I’ve ever succeeded in having published,
hmm? You see, the list of books, papers, articles, and comnet postings I’ve written and the list of what I’ve had published aren’t even close to being the same. The latter is entirely a minor subset of the former, hmm, hmm?

  You mean you’ve held some material back from release?

  No. Nonononono. No. Absolutely not. I’ve released every paper I’ve ever written. Or at least I’ve tried to. Why be miserly with it? After all, you can’t keep knowledge locked up in a cage forever.

  I suppose you’re right. So how do you explain these gaps in your bibliography?

  Starfleet Intelligence has suppressed nearly everything I’ve ever had to say about the Undine War. Or at least they’ve suppressed everything really important I’ve ever written about it.

  Suppressed? Were they trying to prevent you from revealing classified information?

  If that was the problem, then I think Starfleet would have taken stronger measures against me. But I’m not turning big rocks up into little ones in some penal colony in New Zealand right now, am I, hmm? So I’d have to answer your question with a “no.” It appears that I haven’t violated any laws, or broken any confidences.

  So why would Starfleet want to suppress your writings about the Undine War if not in the name of the Federation’s security?

  I’ve never sussed that out completely myself. As far as I can tell, Starfleet was just a little… uncomfortable with some of the things I’ve tried to publish regarding the Undine. And I have it on pretty good authority that some key members of the Federation Council were a little uncomfortable, too. No, actually make that a lot uncomfortable.

  What you’re telling me is huge. You’re saying there’s some sort of conspiracy against you, not only at Starfleet, but also in the Federation’s civilian government. A conspiracy to bury your work—and possibly without a legal basis that would pass muster under the Federation Security Act.

  Yes. Right. Yes. Yepyepyep. That’s exactly what I’m saying. Not only did they suppress the papers, they hinted that it would be unhealthy for my career if I were to continue pursuing the matter. And that included crying “foul” to the media about the suppression of my work. Can you believe it, hmm, hmm?

  So you were censored, and then threatened with reprisals if you complained about it publicly?

  That’s one way of describing the situation. Another would be that my body of work was to be redacted, in effect—and then my protests about the redactions would be redacted, hmm, hmm?

  But why?

  Nobody ever told me why explicitly.

  How much research on the Undine did you do during the years when the conflict was hot?

  My research was extensive. They’re a fascinating species, you know. Absolutely fascinating. And studying them was a natural sideline to the area of research I’m best known for: savant developmental psychiatry, a field that emphasizes the identification and nurturing of exceptional abilities, particularly in the field of tactical studies. The Undine War certainly made it a much more urgent priority than ever before.

  I can’t argue with that.

  After all, the Undine have the ability to copy us, to turn themselves into perfect human and humanoid simulacra, right? Hmm?

  I’m no expert, but that’s about the gist of it, at least as I understand it.

  And their copying process—or, more precisely, their “doppelgängering” process—goes right down to the last base-pair sequence of the human genome, correct?

  So I’ve been told. So why would the Federation Council and Starfleet want work that vital to be suppressed? Were they worried you might have tipped our hand to the enemy somehow?

  If Starfleet really thought that my work might have somehow helped the enemy, they could have just accused me of trying to leak sensitive information. They could have had me tried as a traitor, hmm? But all they ever did was issue vague warnings. They must have known that they could never convince a Federation magistrate that I was a traitor—maybe not even one of those hardcore “hanging judges” that Min Zife used to like to put on the bench back in the bad old days of the Dominion War.

  But to be fair to all the frightened brass hats, not to mention the ranks of intel people who got them so frightened, at least some of my Undine work was allowed to circulate.

  You’re talking about your medical analyses.

  “The Physiological Effects of Undine Unarmed Combat Upon Humanoids.” If you’ve read as much of my stuff as you say you have, then you must be familiar with that one.

  I am. Pretty horrific stuff.

  Merely accurate. I saw some of the victims of Undine attacks up close, and did extensive scans and holoimaging of the damage. What those creatures can do to human flesh in hand-to-hand situations isn’t pretty. They’re one of the few species known to be capable of using their immune systems as offensive weapons—that is, in addition to protecting the Undine’s own bodies from disease agents or other antigens, the creatures can release their own antibodies into an enemy’s bloodstream, where those antibodies become weapons. They spread immediately through every system in a victim’s body, and within minutes start converting it into Undine-compatible protein structures.

  Sort of the reverse of what Undine infiltrators do to their own bodies in order to assume a humanoid identity.

  That’s one way of looking at it. But it always seemed to me more like being devoured from the inside out, system by system. It’s a directed microbial attack that works with all the efficiency of weaponized nanites, with none of the hit-or-miss inefficiency that even billions of years of natural selection ordinarily produces. As far as diseases go, only the Symbalene blood burn can bring about a swifter, more certain death.

  I remember how… vividly you described what happened to the victims—those who weren’t lucky enough to have the process stopped and reversed, the way Harry Kim did during Voyager’s first encounter with the Undine, out in the Delta Quadrant.

  Unfortunately for many of their later victims, the Undine have been very successful at… adjusting their immune molecules over the years. Refining them. They seem able to manipulate them on the nanomolecular level. It’s a lot like the way the Borg can “tweak” their nanoprobes for particular, specialized purposes. Or maybe the Undine are simply capable of evolving at a much faster rate than we’d ever thought possible for any life-form more complex than a virus, hmm, hmm?

  Starfleet evidently had no problem with letting you speculate publicly about the underlying chemical and biological nuts and bolts of the Undine.

  You’re right. But that was just chemistry and biology. Engineering problems that you could solve by building little models. That wasn’t the most interesting stuff about the Undine. Not by a long shot.

  So what was it about the rest of your work on the Undine that the powers that be found so… objectionable?

  Like I said, nobody ever told me explicitly. But I have to assume it’s mostly about my tactical recommendation.

  You made a recommendation about how Starfleet ought to handle the Undine militarily?

  Militarily? Diplomatically? I’m not sure my recommendation really fell neatly into either category. Or maybe it fell into both, or between them. Or maybe I discovered an entirely new modality for intersapient relations.

  Sounds like you suggested something unorthodox.

  That’s how Starfleet Command described my ideas as well—just before an ossified little jury of ancient admirals thanked me, sent me home, and dismissed everything I had to say out of hand.

  Maybe Starfleet wasn’t interested in hearing your tactical ideas regarding the Undine because of the recommendation you made about resolving the Dominion War. According to your autobiography, you and your genetically engineered friends, Lauren and Patrick, concluded that the Federation couldn’t win that war. Therefore you tried to advise Starfleet Command to surrender to the Dominion.

  I’m not above admitting to my past mistakes. I’m a scientist, and science is an entirely self-correcting endeavor, maybe the only one the human s
pecies has ever devised.

  What would you say went wrong with your Dominion War plan?

  We simply didn’t take all the variables into account before making our forecasts.

  I’d say we’re all pretty lucky that Starfleet and the Federation’s allies never stopped looking for ways to win that war.

  Just as Lauren, Patrick, and I are lucky that the public forgave us a long time ago for letting our genetically enhanced zeal get the best of us back then.

  I’m sorry. I’m not here to crucify you about the past. The Dominion War is ancient history. And the truth is, my father never even handed your recommendation up the chain of command for consideration.

  If he had, Starfleet Command probably would have written me off forever as a crackpot, hmm? They could even have turned all of us into public enemies by publicizing our recommendation at a time when Starfleet and MACO personnel were still bleeding and dying from Chin’toka to Betazed. But the public never rose in wrath against any of us—not even after I wrote about the incident in my memoir, years afterward. So during the Undine War years, I seemed to have Starfleet’s ear—even though that ear didn’t seem very inclined to listen a lot of the time.

  Starfleet must have been listening with at least one ear, Doctor Jack. They can’t suppress what they don’t notice.

  Good point.

  Besides, I know you can be very persuasive. Even when whatever plan you might be trying to sell to Starfleet has a fatal flaw, you’re capable of convincing some very smart people to go along with it.

  You’re still talking about our Dominion War plan, aren’t you? About how Doctor Bashir believed in it, too?

  You persuaded him after taking him step by step through all of your various mathematical calculations.

  Julian always listened, even though he often had that insufferable air of I-can-pass-for-normal-and-you-can’t smugness about him, whether he realized it or not. But he was genetically enhanced just like the rest of us, so he could actually follow our math. He took the time to listen, and he understood. In fact, he was the one who presented our plan to your father.