Chapter 1
Never had Daniel been so intrigued by someone as he was by the woman who was sitting in front of him.
Both his hard work and his big mouth (although, in all honesty, it had mostly been his big mouth), had gotten him to where he was now; a large office on the top floor of the building, in front of a huge desk.
The room was soaked in sunlight, but for Daniel it had an ice-cold feel of trepidation and uncertainty.
This was not the First time that he could pluck the fruits of his charisma, amiable appearance and quick wit; all qualities his friends had more than once compared to those of a talented magician. A magician who would make you feel determined to see though his tricks, but as soon as the cards had deceived you, you would have to admit that you where outgunned by the quick marvel that had unfolded right in front of your eyes. All with apparent ease and nonchalance on the magicians part.
In stead of cards, Daniel worked his wonders with words. Daniel had always been the first to walk up to the pretty girl at the bar, the first to talk back to an overly authorative high school teacher and the first to talk himself out of detention class (the third had proven worthy after having done the second). It had been these qualities that had brought him to where he was today. It were also these qualities that were now dripping out of him as if they where drops of a popsicle left out to melt in the sun.
The chair he was sitting in seemed to grow larger and larger as the incessant ticking of the chronometer reminded him of a perpetual motion that existed solely to intimidate those who dared to take place in front of her desk.
Daniel wondered what it was exactly that had obliterated his natural flair in mere seconds. His confidence had taken the first blow as he had rung the door chime and was entering the room. He had clumsily poked his head through the opened door asking if he was in the right place (how could he not be since hers was the only office in this corridor).
Over her glasses, she had given him a swift but stern glance; one with an air of surprise and slight annoyance. She quickly returned to the conversation she was having through a wireless earpiece.
Telling off her expression and her staccato hand gestures the person on the other end of the line was also annoying her and Daniel silently thanked the poor soul she was talking to that it was him, and not Daniel, who had been the cause of her seemingly bad mood.
She had carelessly gestured for Daniel to come in and take a seat. Not exactly the dashing entry he had prepared (and practiced in front of a mirror, although he would never admit it).
This must have been about ten minutes ago and the idea of her completely forgetting his presence had started to lay root in Daniels mind.
It was then that she ended the conversation, took off her glasses, and shoved aside some datapadds. She straightened her back, closed her eyes for a second, took a sigh and folded her hands on the mahogany desk (not exactly Starfleet issue).
This little ritual seemed to shake off her former annoyance and she now looked at him without any expression.
She took him in and let her eyes wander slowly, almost as if they were dissecting him with some supernatural power that he had been unaware of until now. For a moment Daniel was unsure of whether he should let her size him up or if he should speak.
Deciding on the latter he started, "Admiral Janeway, it's a pleasure to meet you. I consider it to be a great learning opportunity, not to mention a great honor, to have you supervise my-"
"Flattery is the food of fools." She cut him off, with the unchanged stern look that might as well have been chiseled in stone.
"…Admiral?"
Her face softened as she turned her chair away from the desk and stood up.
She continued as she walked to a bar in the far corner of the room. "That's Jonathan Swift". She took her time pouring a glass before walking up to the still growing chair as she added "I once gave that advice to a good friend of mine and I shall now give it to you."
She handed Daniel the drink with half a smirk on her face and repeated "Flattery is the food of fools."
As he took a sip she leaned up against her desk and never took her eyes off him.
She reminded Daniel of a detective who was desperately searching for the last piece of the puzzle in his deductive process, the one, and final detail that would eventually solve the mystery.
Unsatisfied with her investigation and seemingly resorting to a different tactic she said "86% of all students who filed for supervisors for their final dissertation chose me."
A short silence.
"Motivations varied from 'no other professor has done this amount of research and has the field experience to go with it' down to 'you've got spunk'. I chose you because your work is thorough and precise, but most of all because your professors warned me about your stubbornness, perseverance and directness."
Daniel looked down as she paused.
She stood to walk back to her chair but then, as if to make sure to make her point in one final argument, she paused and said "I have people to suck up to me, so don't waste your time. You've got my attention. You can keep it by doing good research, working hard and most of all by being yourself. Don't disappoint me."
"Yes ma'am..or no ma'am. I mean I won't."
Smiling a little she walked around her desk and looked through some padds. She did it slowly, taking her time, like someone who wasn't used to being rushed by others.
Daniels POV:
I had felt too self-conscious to observe her before, but now, after having been scrutinized by her like someone with a microscope who studies creatures that swarm in a drop of water, I felt I could return the favor (without ever resting my eyes directly on hers, fearing she might feel the weight of my sight).
She was about twice my age, and about half my size. Although she was larger then life, it occurred to me that she was in fact much smaller and more petite than she had seemed to be in the newsvids (in which she had been ever-present since Voyagers return to earth). Her slender hands had been a grave contrast to the large glass she had handed me before and I wonder if the desk would still look as huge as it now did, had it been occupied by a somewhat more normal sized person.
Not that anyone could ever doubt that it was in fact her desk. If it wasn't for all the junk-resembling knick-knacks, stacks of padds and steaming cup of coffee, it was because of her simple, matter-of-fact-way of handling herself that gave her a natural authority.
This ridiculously large office (that resembled a penthouse suite more than it did an office due to high windows, a bar, a comfortable seating area and several viewscreens), might not seem so big at all once you knew it was hers.
Remembering my drink, I take a sip and it occurs to me that she hadn't even asked what I wanted (or whether I wanted a drink at all). She had just given me some dry-flavored beverage and for a moment I wonder if it has alcohol in it. She wouldn't, would she?
Suddenly, it dawns on me that she was reading my research proposal and I'm curious if she had even read it before now. I hate to find that my confidence is 100% depending on every sign of appreciation (or lack thereof) she could spare. Whether it's a facial expression, an 'uhuh'-sound or a hand gesture; anything to shed some light on her opinion of the piece would be more then welcome.
I'm sure Collin didn't have to go through the humiliating experience of waiting for you mentor to get acquainted with your case while you're right there to witness it first hand. Then again, Collin is being mentored by prof. Jenkins; the old and dusty, I-believe-I-have-Insight-into-all-things-vague-because-my-socks-don't-match, ethics professor who was always running late and had the irritable habit of changing topics mid-sentence. My best friend was doomed to endless discussions about the theoretical meaning of moral propositions and how their truth values (if any) may be determined.
With a smirk I shake my head to rid myself of the thought about poor Collin and remind myself of my luck. I was chosen by admiral Janeway. The hotshot admiral who's probably squeezing me in her busy schedule that includes making peace treaties with hostile aliens on the Starfleet border and fancy fundraises for groundbreaking research. My communications address may very well be filed in the same address file as holodeck stars, top athletes or even the president.
Long days and long nights I had spent on that research proposal. Every assumption, every calculation, every hypothesis and every reference I have checked and checked again. And again. Now, however, I felt as though I ought to be ashamed of myself for making her face this (undoubtedly) amateuristic work. The work I had been so proud of before now resembled a mere doodle on an architects drawing table; it's a nice effort and it may even show potential, but couldn't possibly be considered for use in this inept stage. For a moment I feel the urge to stand up, grab the padd out of her hands and tell her I'll come back and try again later.
I take another sip of my questionable drink and feel my hands grow damp as I try to encourage myself 'Don't panic. It's a good piece. And if it's not I might as well go down with my head held high.' So I straighten my shoulders en look straight at her as the chronometer keeps ticking in defiance.
Finally she looks up with a content look on her face. "Like I said; thorough and precise". For a moment I wonder if she's satisfied about her own being right, or about the quality of my work, but I decide to take any compliment I can get.
I let out my breath, which I hadn't even realized I was holding, and I can't suppress an appreciative smile.
"Too bad it's flawed." She says, as if she continues in line with the previously stated.
I blink. "..I'm sorry?"
"Everything you state is coherent, logical and in line with every piece of data available in Starfleets databases."
I raise my eyebrows at her. I feel as though I'm stuck in a holodeck program of which all probability-parameters have been shut down and now anything can happen.
I try to clarify things by explaining the basic idea of my thesis "I know that all evidence available proves that Omega molecules can supposedly be stabilized if a delicate balance of subatomic pulls is maintained. The truth is that not a single ship has ever had the opportunity to thoroughly scan it. I, therefore…"
"I agree." She says. With her hand palms openly held up as if to consolidate her case "According to all available literature the alignment of Omega molecules is a mere theoretical possibility. Starfleet is not able to create it, or just to observe it for that matter, and even if we could we simply wouldn't be able to preserve it."
She's explaining to me what I already know; "You state that the Omega molecule can only exist in theory, but never in practice, due to the heavy pull of the polar-covalent-bond every single omega-particle would have to have with it's surrounding molecules-"
"…collapsing them, causing a chain reaction and a possible energy surge that could tear through subspace. All factors and values that would be needed to align Omega into the perfect molecule are endlessly complex and unpredictable. Starfleet is nowhere near that kind of technological advancement. We'd end up with a catastrophe instead of with perfection. It's simply not possible. Not to mention unethical." I finished her sentence as my enthusiasm exceeded my sense of protocol.
For a moment that enthusiasm had even exceeded my trepidation, but now that I realize I had spoken before my turn, my tension comes back full throttle and I could swear my chair is going through a measurable growth spurt.
She looks at me in silence, untouched by my presumptuousness.
"I don't know how it's possible. But it is possible."
The 'Omega particle' had just recently entered the public domain. It was pulled from the realm of legends and telltales and into the world of physics as it became known as a mysterious, but also a very dangerous, particle not to be handled by unqualified hands. As it so often is with matters that would excite the masses, the secret was unfolded by deadline-driven journalists looking for their next scoop. They had been following a lead thrown at them by some overeager Starfleet officer who had thought himself to be above the law, and was now suffering the consequences on in penal colony in some distant sector.
Omega was now considered to be the Holy Grail within the controllable-universe-paradigm that seemed to grow in popularity as exploration and technological advancement leaped forward in large, hurried paces unable to be kept up with. The challenges, mysteries and boundaries could never be wild, dangerous or seemingly impossible enough or hoards of people would be eager to challenge them. Omega, being the newest arrival, was a welcome distraction from everyday life and news concerning it was immensely popular.
After a short pause I was told about Janeways run-in with Omega while still in the Delta quadrant. Aboard her ship, the molecule had started to align (what exactly had caused the alignment was still a mystery to her), but apparently one of her crewmembers who had been fascinated by the perfection of Omega had actually witnessed Omega in its completed form.
"You will read voyagers files and you will get familiar with the raw data of the happening to which I have gained the sole right. You will get in contact with Seven of Nine, the crewmember who was so passionately involved, and whose contact information I will give to you. You will rewrite you proposal, starting from scratch, and I expect your first draft by the end of this month."
I'm dumbfounded. "If that would even be possible, my grading professor… the commission of…-"
She holds up her hand. "We will publish a ground breaking article. We will tell scholars throughout this quadrant of ultimate perfection and how we already know more of it than the Borg themselves."
In reaction to my disbelief she added "You want me to be your mentor? I say we write one hell of a thesis and let you graduate with a bang."
My lips form an uneasy smile. I think I may be in over my head. Who does she think I am? I am at the tip of my now immense chair. "I would have no literature to refer to..."
She shrugs. "Refer to me…"
I have my protest ready "That's not exactly conform the rules of.."
"…anyone says anything, send them to me. I'll handle them. Listen, if you're not interested in this project, I have little over 1600 students who are more than willing to take your place."
"No, I'll do it, I'm on it." I hear myself say. What am I thinking, I can't do this.
She smiled, content with her achievement. "That's what I thought."
A high pitched beep sounds along with a tiny light that starts flashing on the workstation on her desk. Janeway pushes a button and demands "Yes?".
"It's Jenkins ma'am" a voice replies.
"Send him in."
"Now," She stands up. I'm somewhat overwhelmed for I was under the impression that we where just getting started, where she is already putting an end to our meeting.
"I'm afraid I have a previous engagement. I will sent you Sevens contactinfo and all the datafiles you'll need, along with some contextual findings."
She was now standing next to me with one hand on my shoulder, guiding me to the door. "Listen, I'm sure-"
She was interrupted by the door chime. "Enter." As soon as the door opened a man came hurrying in.
Telling by the pips on his collar and by the expression on his face, he was a Captain with some serious troubles on his mind.
"Jenkins" She greets him, "-news already?"
I'm a little disappointed that her attention has completely shifted to this hurrying newcomer, for I was under the impression that she was about to say something comforting. Something that was supposed to ease my mind about the predicament I found myself in.
"Diplomat Borglünd has failed to convince the Primark of the humanitarian nature of the mission. All evacuation ships must therefore undergo tedious inspections. All medical supplies are currently being…-"
Jenkins report is cut short as the doors close behind me and I find myself in the long corridor outside her office. Still dumbfounded at how different this meeting had been compared to how I had played it out in my mind.
Unwilling, I slowly walk over the thick red carpet toward the turbolift and past Janeways assistant who is lost in her work and doesn't take notice of me.
I pause in front of her. Hoping, for some reason, that she will give me the words of comfort that Janeway would have given me, but had neglected to do so thanks to Captain Hurry.
Realizing how silly this hope is I step into the turbolift and push the buttons that correspond with my destination.
The soft hum of the lift offers a gentle transition from the surreal world I just came from and my own normal, everyday reality.
My reality; where chairs don't grow as you sit down in them and clocks don't tick to scare you off.
I tell myself that next time I will be more assertive. I will deliver work that is so good that she will have no choice but to believe in my project. Next time I'll be even better prepared. Next time I will show backbone.
I step out of the turbolift. Eager to tell Collin of my experience and of the intriguing mission I find myself embarking on. Eager to get started.
Janeways POV:
As Jenkins is still barking details at me (as deliciously down to business as I can always expect him to be) the severity of the situation downs on me yet again and for a moment I loose myself in a motherly feeling of care as I think of Daniel and what I ask of him.
Jenkins words pass me by as I look at the door that Daniel has just stepped out through, and at the drink he's barely touched.
He's probably wrapping his mind around what I just told him. He's probably already checking his message box for my data, eager to get started. I remember how naïve and innocent he had looked sitting in front of me. His only worry being whether or not I was positive about his work.
He doesn't have a clue as to what I'm getting him in to. He has no idea of what he's about to face in a new reality filled with political schemes, fraud, lies and most of all violence and danger. If only he'd known that I was contemplating putting him trough all this or whether to just tell him to get the hell out of my office. He'd be devastated, there's no doubt about that, but he'd be better off.
The situation seems unfair; everything he's has ever known will either change or go up in air. Daniel however, naïve and unknowing as he is, is eager to take part in it.
And it's all just because I tell him to.
I try to return my attention towards Jenkins and focus on the matter at hand, still overly conscious about my every action, but reassuring myself of the dire need. I can't help but feel deeply disturbed about what the future may hold for Daniel if he isn't up to the task. A task the poor boy can't even begin to fathom.