The Gift of Courage
By Laura Schiller
Based on Star Trek: Voyager
Copyright: Paramount
It looked like a bracelet made of linked silver segments the size of chocolate squares, each with small white light embedded in the middle. It was almost as bright as the Christmas lights on the holographic tree in the corner, the snowflakes falling softly from the ceiling and vanishing just before they touched the ground, or Roy metamorphosed into a lively firefly. It shimmered on Haley's wrist as she held it up.
"A mobile emitter?" she managed to say. "Like the Doctor's? Really?"
"Undeniably." Lewis smirked at her from his position on the sofa. "I helped him build it. Against my better judgment, I might add."
"It's a – a bit clunky, I know," said Reg, kneeling beside her in a pile of gift wrapping. "Not like the twenty-ninth century one the Doctor has. I - "
"Clunky?" She laughed breathlessly. "You must be joking. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever owned."
"It is?"
"Thank you – oh, thank you! And to think I only bought you a tie … " She held out her hands to him. He scrambled to his feet first, then helped her up. She took hold of his new tie, which was blue silk with a pattern of constellations seen from Earth, and used it to draw him closer for a kiss.
"A-hem. Hello? I'm sitting right here, people," came Dr. Zimmerman's sharp voice from behind them. They jumped apart.
"Sorry," said Reg, his ears turning pink.
"So," said Haley, clasping her hands together, partly to defuse the awkward situation, but mostly because she wanted to, "May I try it? The mobile emitter, I mean. Will you take a walk with me?"
She took Reg's arm and smiled up at him, thrilled by the sound of that question. Lewis' bedroom, living room, kitchen, refresher, the tiny guest room that had become Reg's, the holosuite lab with its couch that Lewis slept on more often than not – those were her world. She had left Jupiter Station once before, to be exhibited at the Daystrom Award Ceremony, but except for a few minutes onstage, she'd spent the trip deactivated. This was different. She was about to set foot on territory that was as new to her as any uncharted planet was to Starfleet officers.
"It would be my honor," said Reg, inclining his head so that one brown strand fell into his forehead.
"Oh, go right ahead," said Lewis from the sofa, waggling his bald head derisively from side to side. "Plunge her into the whirlwind of drunken partygoers outside. Never mind the risk of the emitter being stolen, destroyed or worse. You know best, Reginald."
Haley felt a flash of fear running through her subroutines, but seeing Reg's glare, she shook it off. "Lewis, please. I'll be perfectly fine."
"This is the quietest deck on the station," Reg put in.
Lewis heaved a sigh. "If you say so. Computer, transfer Holographic Lab Assistant to the mobile emitter."
There was a second where she buzzed and flickered like a burning-out light bulb. But her program steadied, and she felt no different than usual – except for a slight weight on her wrist, and a sudden rush of excitement.
"Don't forget," said Lewis, "Seven, Icheb and the Doctor are flying in tomorrow. If you don't bring Haley back in perfect condition, young man, you'll have all four of us to contend with."
Reg squared his shoulders and tucked Haley's arm more closely into his. "It's a walk, Dr. Z, with all due respect. I don't ask you what you do with your masseuses."
"Masseuses," boomed Leonard, tilting his spiky head so his Santa cap swung.
Lewis threw back his head and cackled like the villain in Tom Paris' bestselling holonovel, then scooped the pudgy iguana onto his lap and began to pet him. Leonard purred.
"C'mon," said Reg, and led her through the door.
The corridor was darker than their living quarters, she noticed. Definitely darker than the bright white lab. The walls were gray, the carpeting navy blue. The soft piano music playing on Lewis' computer system was silenced as the doors slid shut, leaving no sound but the humming of the distant engines.
An Andorian strode past, holding a padd and wearing a sweeping lab coat much better ironed than Lewis'. He smiled at them, teeth flashing in his blue face, antennae swiveling in Haley's direction. She felt suddenly self-conscious. Did the red dress with white fur trimming she had programmed for herself look very silly next to Reg's dark pants and green cord jacket? Or was the stranger attracted to her? She couldn't decide which would be worse. Reg's free hand flew up to smooth his already flat hair as the Andorian disappeared around the corner.
Relax, she told herself.
When they passed the turbolift, she reached out and pressed the button. "I'd like to see the moons," she said. "There's a big viewport on C-Deck, right?"
"That's right," said Reg, and went on to happily explain the components of each moon, the formation they were in, and the ancient Greek myths behind each of their names. It almost distracted her from the odd feeling of gravity pushing her down as the lift slid upward; if she had a stomach, she would have said it lurched.
The lift opened on a scene of utter chaos.
Noise. Too much noise. Synthesized carols thumped in the background; food sizzled in pans; a dabo wheel beeped and rang; people laughed, cheered, argued and (in the case of one group of Klingons) sang off-key at the tops of their voices. As Reg and Haley stepped off the lift, they were roughly jostled by a human woman loaded down with shopping bags and a baby carriage. The baby was wailing. "Excuse me!" the woman snapped over her shoulder. Haley's instinct was to apologize herself, but the family was already lost in the crowd.
"I – I thought you said it would be quiet!" It was her turn to stutter as she raised her voice over the din.
"I thought so too!" Reg rubbed his shoulder where the edge of the bag had struck him.
C-Deck was the social hub of Jupiter Station, and it was going all out – not only for Christmas, but for every holiday that happened to fall around this stardate. It included a bar advertising a special on rum and eggnog; a Replimat draped in flashing light strings and a Santa doll that laughed "Ho, ho, ho" whenever someone touched it; a Vulcan salad bar with a single silver IDIC pendant above the cash register; a Chinese restaurant (the sizzling noise was something stir-frying in a wok) resplendent with red and gold paper lanterns; a Bajoran restaurant decked out in gold and purple Gratitude Festival streamers; a donair stand where a menorah, a crucifix and a crescent moon were crammed together awkwardly on the counter; a Klingon restaurant where a wild-haired chef chased a fanged and furry animal around with a cleaver, evidently meaning to serve it in a "Day of Honor Blood Pie" as the nearby sign announced. All these were ranged along the outer rim of the deck. In the middle were tables, dozens of them, packed to bursting with people of all shapes, sizes and species, too close together to walk across without tripping over someone's leg, tentacle, baggage, child or pet.
The viewport, sparkling with stars, was at the opposite end of the deck from the turbolifts.
Haley clung to Reg's arm as they ventured forward. Her knees were weak; she felt as if the entire blazing, roaring deck were beginning to spin underneath her feet. Lewis and the Doctor had told her about malfunctions caused by overstimulation of the sensory subroutines; was this what was happening to her?
"Evening, good sir, and happy Chrees-mas!" squawked a gold-clad Ferengi bustling up to them from the bar. "Fancy a round of dabo? Buy your lady a drink or two? Or three?"
"No! Thank you, no. I don't drink."
"Aw, shame! Pretty girl like that, our rum and eggnog's just the thing to put some color in those cheeks!" The Ferengi stood on tiptoe to pat Haley's face. In a panic, she made herself transparent as the Doctor had taught her to do when faced with unwanted contact. Reg's arm fell through her body to land at his side.
"Whoa! Okay, that explains it." The bartender wiggled his hairless eyebrows at Reg. "A hologram, eh? If you're ever in need of something more, ah, stimulating than this one- "
Reg walked away without a further look at either of them, head down, fists clenched at his sides. Haley ran to catch up, remembering just in time to make herself solid again so as not to walk through anyone. She could still hear the Ferengi's chuckle trailing off behind them.
This, thought Haley, must be what the Doctor felt like when he wrote "Photons, Be Free". That man didn't even speak to me. And Reg - She could not endure the sight of Reg like this, marching like a wind-up soldier through the crowd. She caught up to him and peered into his face. He was flushed, his lips pressed together, his eyes glassy.
"Reg?"
He twitched, but gave no other sign that he had heard her.
"Reg, look at it this way." She made a fierce and futile effort to sound casual. "He'll lose business if he treats his customers like that. He clearly doesn't know his Rules of Acquisition."
Reg smiled at her – bitterly, but still. "N-never … m-mind … we're almost there."
They had rounded half the deck without her noticing.
Jupiter's moons really were a lovely sight. Jupiter itself was not visible from this angle, but she had seen pictures: a huge cloudy mass locked in by a ring of dark debris. Beyond that shone the fist-sized fireball that was Sol, the tiny specks that were Jupiter's fellow planets, and the even smaller pinpricks that were the rest of the Alpha Quadrant.
Beyond that … infinity.
A vast, uncaring darkness that could kill everyone in this crowded station within seconds, including Reg, if it weren't held together by some scraps of welded metal. They were so small out here. Just toys in a giant's hand that could be crushed at any moment.
But did that include her? With her mobile emitter, could she survive in space? If the little device survived the destruction of Jupiter Station, would it float around with her program stored in it forever?
Reg put his arm around her. She had been programmed with an almost human sensitivity to heat and cold (it was helpful for cooking), but she couldn't feel his warmth at all.
"Amazing, isn't it?" he murmured in her ear.
"Deactivate me."
"Haley?"
"Deactivate me, please!" She didn't recognize the shrill voice coming out of her mouth.
"Haley, what's wrong? Your emitter, is it – are you - "
"Take me home!" She put her hands on his chest and buried her face in his jacket. "It's too big. Everything. I can't look. Please, just take me home!"
She didn't have to ask again.
"Computer, deactivate HLA," said Reg, in the firm deep voice he always used in his engineering duties. Her last conscious thought was of his fingers coming to touch her wrist.
/
"Computer, activate HLA."
Home. She'd never been more grateful in her nine years of existence to see the Wedgwood-blue walls papered with diplomas and awards, the glass coffee table, the antique paper books on the shelves, Roy loop-de-looping madly around her head, and Leonard surveying her with bulging eyes from his place on a pillow. She slipped her hand out of the bracelet Reg still held and sank into the sofa, ignoring the flicker as her program transferred back to her home computer.
"You call this fine?" snapped Lewis.
Her head snapped up. Her creator jabbed an accusing finger in her direction, while at the same time glaring at Reg. Her boyfriend raised his hands palm-up in surrender.
"I – I - I'm sorry!" He turned to her. "Haley, I'm sorry. I can't do anything right, even Christmas. If I'd only known - "
"You should be sorry, Barclay!" Lewis thundered, before whirling around to look at her. In a softer tone he added, "Jesus, girl. I programmed your face and even I didn't know it could look like that. If you were organic, at least I could replicate you some hot chocolate."
"I'm fine," she muttered, covering her face to escape both pairs of scrutinizing eyes.
"Isn't there … anything we can do?" asked Reg.
"I'm fine." She staggered to her feet. "I just … need some space. Excuse me."
They backed away swiftly as she headed for the kitchen.
Lewis had actually tried to clean. The pots, pans and dishes she'd used to cook were either stacked in cupboards or vanished into the recycler. The bones of the replicated guinea hen (Reg had a horror of eating real dead animals) were recycled too. She found knives in the fork drawer, plastic bowls in the china cabinet and stubborn streaks of char clinging to the roasting pan, but the very effort this disorder implied made her wish she could cry.
Instead she grabbed a wire pad and a bottle of dish soap, wishing she couldn't still hear the argument outside her door.
"You … didn't know … she's agoraphobic?" asked Reg.
"Of all the idiotic questions … ! How could I know? She hasn't left the lab in years. It was never an issue."
Haley scrubbed the pan with superhuman force. The dirt still refused to budge.
"You didn't … p-program her that way?" In spite of the stutter, Reg's voice hardened.
"Don't be absurd. If you hadn't dragged her outside with that contraption of yours, this wouldn't have happened!"
She tossed the wire pad into the sink and leaned over it in defeat. Where was that towel?
"I never … dragged her anywhere! If you weren't holed up in this lab like some kind of prisoner - "
It was draped over the handle of the oven as always, of course, and still soaking wet.
"How dare you imply that this is my fault?"
She dried the pan on her apron instead, ignoring the bits of black dust that crumbled into it.
"You said yourself - her programming is adaptive. She learns from you!"
Now what in the galaxy had possessed Lewis to wipe down only one side of the counter and not the other? Crumbs from the apple cobbler littered it like rocks in the Vulcan Forge. She snatched up the wet towel.
"This from the man who's been passed like a hot potato from one posting to the other because no commanding officer could cope with his neuroses? Who's to say it wasn't you she picked this up from?"
The Doctor could spar with Lewis indefinitely, but Reg could not, especially when struck at his weakest point. He sputtered, then fell silent.
Haley thought of his reaction to the Ferengi. Her photographic memory played the scene all over again like video footage, including things she hadn't even noticed at the time: a Bolian woman frowning and leaving the bar after the insult to Reg. A list of drinks written in rainbow chalk, with names that would fascinate Lewis: Hot Toddy, Dirty Chai, Candy Cane Hot Chocolate and Bateret Blossom. A reptilian-looking father nudging his son gently out of Reg's way. Soft red poinsettias blooming in aeroponic pots along the path. The way the moon Io had looked like a gold coin, Ganymede and Callisto like blue-green marbles with swirls of white, Europa brown on white like a bun dusted with cinnamon. Her fear seemed absurd, childish, and yet when she remembered the emptiness in between …
But Reg didn't go hide in his quarters, did he? And he didn't rise to that jerk's bait, either. He kept moving.
She tossed the towel away, not even checking to see where it landed, wiped her hands on her dress and marched back into the living room.
"All right. Both of you, enough!"
The two men stared at her in shock.
"There's no point blaming each other! I'm the one who should apologize." She came to stand in front of Reg and held out her hands. "I let my fear get the best of me. That mobile emitter is still the best Christmas gift I could have hoped for. It just … takes some getting used to, that's all."
She gave him what she hoped was a brave smile.
"You don't have set one foot outside if you don't want to." Lewis blocked Reg with one sharp hand gesture from giving back the bracelet. "No one will force you."
"No one is, Doctor," Reg shot back. "But if she wants to … I think I understand what she means. I've been … scared … often enough myself. When you fall, you've go to pick yourself up again. That's what Deanna always tells me, anyway."
His blue-gray eyes were dark as storm clouds. As proud as he was of his time on the Enterprise, working with great people such as Counsellor Troi, Chief Engineer La Forge and Captain Picard, there were things he didn't talk about. She wondered which of them he was remembering now.
She held out her hand. He placed the emitter in her open palm, closed her fingers over it, and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.
"We'll start slow next time, I promise. No crowds. Maybe a museum or something back on Earth?"
"With my employer's permission, of course." She quirked an eyebrow over Reg's shoulder at Lewis. If her ornery creator didn't give permission, he would find himself on a steady diet of Brussels sprouts and brown rice.
Lewis seemed to get her message, because he threw up his hands and sighed like a deflated balloon. "Why does every sentient hologram I create turn out so maddeningly pig-headed? I don't program them that way. Where do they get it from?"
"With all due respect, Dr. Z," said Reg, with an affectionate smile at them both, "I don't think you want us to answer that question."
"Eh!" said Lewis from the back of his throat.
Haley laughed all the way back to her kitchen.