Chapter Two
Captain's Log, Supplemental: It has been six hours since we began following the Cardassian scout. Aside from a brief notification that it may still be some time before another ship can reach the area – along with an unneeded reminder that we should not attempt a confrontation unless absolutely necessary – we have heard nothing from Starfleet. Twice the scout has performed an unexpected evasive maneuver, perhaps testing whether the Hawking is truly a sensor ghost. Aside from this, however, the scout's course has been steady and its crew seems to believe that they are unobserved. Unfortunately, I am concerned that this unexpected and stressful mission may be taking its toll on my crew.
Like a lot of cadets, Nelson Bailey had had plenty of big dreams while at the Academy. He'd imagined breaking James Kirk's record as the youngest starship captain, or at least becoming a dashing helm officer with plenty of stories to tell – some of them even true – about how he'd saved the ship. All his friends back home on Alpha Eridani would envy him and his parents would be bursting with pride.
But instead his first assignment was as a junior weapons officer aboard a science vessel, of all things. How were his talents supposed to be recognized here? Or more to the point at the moment, how were his talents supposed to be recognized if the captain got them all killed first? Nelson knew the weapons capability of this ship better than anyone, and he had a pretty good idea of how that Cardassian scout would be armed. It wasn't hard to figure out which ship would win even in a fair fight, and everyone knew the Cardassians didn't fight fair.
He'd heard some of the others saying how remarkable an android captain was, but Nelson wasn't at all sure he agreed. If throwing their ships into danger on a whim was what android captains did, then the best thing he could do was to get himself a transfer as soon as possible.
As though summoned by these near-mutinous thoughts, the captain himself appeared at Nelson's elbow, and the ensign leapt to his feet in surprise. "Sir!" he exclaimed, cursing inwardly as he realized how startled he looked and sounded.
Data quirked an eyebrow, not quite smiling. "At ease, Ensign Bailey," he said. "This is not an inspection, merely a visit."
"A visit, sir?" Again he winced at himself, realizing that he sounded like an echo.
"Yes. I realize that our current situation is – unexpected. Science vessels do not often call upon their weapons sections and it would be natural for any crew member to have concerns. I am of course taking every precaution to avoid combat, but do you feel you would be prepared for such an eventuality should it occur?"
"All weapons systems are ready, sir," he replied, pleased at how professional he sounded.
"I am sure they are," Data said. "What I wished to ask was whether you yourself were prepared."
Even when he felt an emotion strongly, Data was never certain if that emotion was properly conveyed by his voice and expression. Now, however, there was no doubt that the ensign was struck by something he saw in the android's face. "I – Sir, permission to speak freely?"
"Of course."
Nelson's heart pounded, and though he wondered briefly if Data could actually hear it, the ensign plunged ahead anyway. "This is an honest question, sir... Do you actually know what it feels like to be afraid? I mean, I know officers aren't supposed to act afraid, but -"
Fear. He has faced countless dangers, survived innumerable perils, even been decorated for bravery. But courage is meaningless without fear.
He sits in Maya's quarters, on the long-standing quest for deeper understanding. "There are a great many common phrases that revolve around fear. 'Like a nightmare.' 'Scared to death.' 'Frightened the wits out of me.' But I have never had a nightmare, or experienced fear. I would like to know more about it. And I believe Geordi may be – bothered by my frequent questions."
"I'm sure it doesn't bother him that much, and I certainly don't mind," Maya replies, setting aside her datapad. "Where would you like to start?"
The crystalline entity, the planet killer, moves inexorably across the surface, leaving behind only rock and sterile soil. Where life once thrived, there is only death.
"I have often heard that most fears are caused by the unknown, but that does not seem probable. On a starship, we are frequently surrounded by the unknown, which would imply a near-constant state of fear, yet this is clearly not the case."
"Well, there also needs to be some indication that the unknown is actually dangerous. Even in Starfleet, the unknown can still be a pleasant surprise. At least now and then," she adds.
Data nods. "So an unclassified potential danger combined with a feeling of helplessness, for example, would be likely to create a significant feeling of fear?"
"Yes, helplessness or a feeling of isolation. That's one of the reasons crew morale is so important – so no one feels like they're facing danger all on their own."
"The Enterprise is certain to find me," Data says.
"They're not even looking for you," Varria replies, contemptuously. "They think you're destroyed. Your shuttle blew up."
For the first time, Data realizes he will have to consider the very real possibility that no rescue is at hand, that his life will now be nothing more than bare existence as a museum exhibit.
"Face it, android. He has you."
"It appears he has us both."
"But what does fear feel like?"
Maya pauses, considering her words. "In smaller doses, fear can make you act too quickly, without thinking things through. You take unnecessary chances, sometimes without even realizing it. On the other hand, more intense levels of fear... can be like a – a glitch in a program."
Data tilts his head. "A glitch?"
"Yes. When the program stops working, however briefly, that's what being frozen with fear is like. You can't decide what to do or which way to move so you end up doing nothing."
"That is a very useful analogy," Data says, nodding. "Thank you, Maya."
"Well, I'm glad to help," she replies, awkwardly, though she smiles a little.
Much of the command crew is gathered in Engineering, looking down at Data's head, now an artifact found in an archaeological site. "Interesting. There is a twelve percent decomposition of the bitanium in the neural pathway links. That suggests the alloys are vulnerable to -"
Riker cuts him off. "Data, how can you look inside that, analyze the decomposition without..."
"Emotion, sir?"
"Yes."
"I am simply trying to make an objective assessment."
"Fear must be an exceptionally difficult emotion to manage," he continues, thoughtfully. How do you function knowing that you might become 'frozen with fear' at any moment?"
"It's like most things, I suppose. You get used to it. You function... because you have to." She pauses, frowning, then smiles slightly again. "Besides, if we all sat around worrying about the many and varied dangers of serving on a starship we'd never get anything done."
"Sir, we are being hailed by the Borg," Worf reports.
"On screen," Riker says.
Picard turns to face the viewscreen, revealing that he is no longer Picard. "I am Locutus of Borg. Resistance is futile. Your life as it has been is over. From this time forward, you will service us."
Only now did he feel a fraction of the fear he should have faced long ago. For the briefest of instants, it rocked him, leaving him frozen – a glitch in his programming. "That... is a fair question, ensign. I did not, for many years. But now I do understand."
Before he could say more Commander Kural's voice summoned Data to the bridge. "Carry on, ensign," he said with a brisk nod, and then he was gone.
"Report," Data said, striding onto the bridge and taking the command chair.
"Sir, the scout has changed course and is heading for the M82X-2 pulsar nebula. It will reach the edges of the nebula in approximately two minutes. And if it goes in there we won't be able to track it."
"Continue pursuit. Lieutenant Abramson, activate the motion sensors. They should be slightly more effective inside the nebula than standard sensors."
"Aye, sir."
Already filling the screen, the nebula was an uncommonly beautiful one. The pulsar at its heart generated the powerful electromagnetic fields that created the nebula, a cloud of highly-charged particles that swirled unpredictably and at high speeds. Despite this, they looked filmy, almost frail, showing all the transparent color of a planetary aurora borealis and creating a strangely hypnotic effect. But they were dangerous and neither ship would be able to avoid them. It would partly be a question of which crew would best be able to cope with the effects. Data had every confidence that crew would be his, but given the scout's superior weaponry, this did not entirely ease his fears. Luck would also be a factor.
Again Arzin leaned over to speak quietly to Data. "Sir, our superior sensors are about the only advantage we have. Inside the nebula we'll lose most of that."
"Noted, commander. Unfortunately, at this point we must assume that the scout has discovered or deduced our presence and is attempting to evade us."
"Or to attack us."
"Agreed." Data leaned back and spoke more loudly. "Go to red alert. Lieutenant Abramson, do you still have a solid reading on the scout?"
"So far, yes, sir. They're just beginning to enter the nebula now."
"Ensign Bazur, can you lock phasers on the scout?"
The Bajoran at the weapons console shook her head. "The computer lock is unreliable, sir. We're already getting interference from the pulsar's electromagnetic fields. Manual lock is unaffected and in place."
"Sir, they're charging their weapons!" Abramson called out.
"Evasive maneuvers," Arzin said, though before the words were out the ship was rocked by disruptor fire and someone on the bridge gasped aloud. A second shot followed close after the first, though this one barely grazed the deflector screens.
"Return fire," Data ordered, and two bright blue beams sliced across the viewscreen, their light reflecting off the particles of the nebula.
"A hit, sir," Bazur reported. "Looks like their aft shields are slightly weakened. They're still moving deeper into the nebula."
"What's our shield status?" Arzin asked.
"Ninety-five percent, sir," Bazur replied. "Inside the nebula, however, the shields will be affected by the pulsar. We'll probably have 60 to 70 percent efficiency at best."
Data hesitated for what seemed to him a painfully long time. He had to think of the larger picture and trust Arzin to warn him if he was being too heedless of the ship's safety... but in a full battle there was a very real chance that there would be injuries or deaths among the crew. The memory of Maya, burning and dying, filled his thoughts. How could he risk letting anything like that happen to anyone else?
But he was in command, and these were the decisions he had to make.
"Continue pursuit. Keep phasers locked on target as much as possible and be ready to fire on my mark."
Once more disruptor fire lanced out, hitting the same area as before. "Forward port shield at 76 percent, sir," Abramson reported.
"Return fire."
Bazur obeyed, but shook her head. "Just nicked him, sir. Minor damage to the shield." A ripple of energy moved across the console, forcing her to pull her hands away for a moment. "The pulsar is interfering with the instruments, sir. We're too close to the electromagnetic fields."
Arzin shook his head. "The scout isn't as heavily shielded as we are. They must be having serious problems. Why did they even get this close? They didn't have to."
"Captain, they're releasing countermeasures," Abramson cut in. "Looks like... they're cobalt mines, sir!"
"Evasive maneuvers," Data ordered, and though T'Leth obeyed quickly, one of the mines was detonated and again the ship was shaken.
"Forward port shield is down. Minor damage, decks eleven and twelve," Bazur reported. "No serious injuries reported."
"They're releasing more mines," Abramson said, and this time the helm avoided them neatly.
"It's getting crowded in here," Arzin joked grimly, and Data nodded.
"Perhaps that was their intention in entering the nebula. They hope to trap us between the pulsar and their mines." He tilted his head. "A good plan."
Abramson reported, "They're changing course. Moving to intercept."
"Target their port side if possible," Data ordered. "Fire."
The scout immediately veered to starboard to avoid the phasers. An instant later, realizing that their new course would bring them far too close to the mines they had just released, the ship veered again, now arcing upwards as well. That brief hesitation cost them something, however, as it gave Bazur the chance to land two solid hits. "Their port shields are almost down, sir," she reported, not quite keeping a note of triumph out of her voice.
"Their helm seems to be inexperienced or trying to show off," Arzin observed. "Possibly both."
Data nodded. "I believe you may be correct. Whatever the case, we may have discovered another advantage over our opponent."
For the next several moments, however, the scout demonstrated an excess of caution in its maneuvers. Between that and the continuing energy surges that occasionally rendered all control panels inoperative, neither vessel was able to land a hit for some time.
Finally – probably to the equal surprise of both crews – the two combatants found themselves facing each other in a narrow, relatively clear area of the nebula. The Hawking's crew reacted a fraction faster, with Ensign Bazur able to put two shots into the scout's already disabled port shield. The first phaser blast brought the shield down, while the second raked across the ship's now unprotected warp engine.
At that moment, the scout returned fire, and though they managed only a glancing blow they did successfully target the already damaged portion of the Hawking. Then, almost inevitably, the scout's disruptors caught one of their own mines.
The Hawking, already turning in an attempt to avoid the disruptor blasts, was again shaken but otherwise not damaged any further. The scout, aimed squarely at the bomb and far closer to it, was much less fortunate. The explosion sent the smaller ship spiraling out of control and for an instant, it seemed certain that it would be caught in the pulsar's intense gravity well. At the last moment, its maneuvering thrusters fired and pushed it into a fragile orbit around the pulsar instead. Beyond this they seemed helpless, and Data ordered a scan of the wounded vessel.
"Warp engines down, sir," Abramson reported. "Impulse engines functioning, barely. They'll probably need a spacedock for repairs."
"Hail them."
"Channel open, sir, audio only."
"This is Data, captain of the USS Hawking. To whom am I speaking?"
There was a brief pause before a reply was received. "This is Rintan Droja, second in command of the patrol ship Corarg. Our captain is injured and unable to speak to you at this moment."
"I am sorry to hear that. Do you require medical assistance?" Data asked.
Again there was a pause while a brief, muffled exchange took place. The viewscreen flickered to life, revealing the damaged bridge of the Corarg. There was little light, most of the control panels apparently inoperative, and a medic of some kind was making the rounds of the area. Droja stepped into view, and while his face was impassive there was a hint of surprise in his voice. "We do not, captain, thank you. Did you say that your name was Data?"
"Yes, commander. Captain of the Hawking."
Droja took a deep breath. "Then allow me to formally request, Captain Data, that the Corarg be taken into tow and brought to the nearest Federation station, where I trust my crew will be treated honorably as prisoners of war."
"Of course, commander," Data replied at once. "Is your ship currently able to be towed?"
"Yes, captain. Our engines took the worst of it; our hull is primarily intact." Again he paused, then seemed to decide something and plunged ahead. "I would also request permission to come aboard your ship. Consider me a... a hostage for the good behavior of my crew."
"I am sure that will not be necessary, Commander Droja. You are welcome to come aboard if you wish. However, I must caution you that your movements here will of necessity be greatly restricted."
"I would expect nothing less, captain. You may beam me aboard whenever you are ready. Droja out."
When the commlink was severed, Arzin turned to Data, shaking his head. "Now what do you suppose he's after?"
"It is impossible to theorize at this point. The possibilities are most intriguing, however."
"To say the least. Do you think it's a good idea to have him aboard?"
Data shook his head. "More a calculated risk. It would be extremely difficult for him to smuggle anything dangerous past our transporter safeguards and by himself he is unlikely to be able to cause any serious problems."
"He might just be after you," Arzin pointed out. "Looking for revenge for losing his ship."
Data raised an eyebrow, smiling slightly. "He is welcome to make the attempt. It is unlikely that he is aware of how difficult I am to damage."
"You know, he did seem surprised to see you, when he finally got a look at you," the first officer mused, then shook his head. "No, not surprised, more intrigued. Maybe he wants to test himself against an android."
"That is as good a theory as any at this point. I would like you to work closely with Lieutenant Tanaka as to the security arrangements. If Droja does intend any mischief, I would like to make it as difficult for him as possible."
"Don't worry, sir. He'll be the most closely monitored person in the entire sector." He smiled wryly and excused himself.
The moment he was gone, Ensign Bazur approached. She stood very stiffly at attention, and though this was her usual posture, Data still suspected they were about to have a very awkward conversation.
"Sir, permission to speak freely," she began, her voice as unyielding as her stance.
"Granted."
"I realize you – you're probably hoping to get some kind of useful information from this Droja..." she said the name with obvious distaste – "but you won't. Whatever it is, it won't be worth it. You can't trust any of them. They tell so many lies, they can't remember themselves what the truth is anymore. However civilized he might have seemed just now... he's an animal, just like the rest of them."
Hate is the first emotion he feels, though afterwards he prefers not to think of what Lore did. Even as it is happening it feels wrong, though he cannot begin to explain why. Now he realizes that it is partly because it is so unusual to feel only one, unmixed emotion at any given moment. Now he knows that feelings tangle together, encouraging and contradicting one another by turns. Part of him even now hates Lore for what he has done to Data's friends, to their father and to Data himself, but even at his angriest he feels also pity for his wayward brother. When others are dismissive or intolerant, Data has friends who stand by him. For most of his life, Lore had no one, and it seemed that isolation had taken a terrible toll.
"It's time to put aside all doubts, brother. It's time to close the door on the past and commit yourself to the great work that lies ahead of us. I need to know I can count on you. As proof, I want you to kill Picard."
"You are capable of great sadism and cruelty," Data says to the creature, an utterly impassive analysis. "Interesting. No redeeming qualities."
"So what do you think?" Armus asks, instinctively taunting.
"I think you should be destroyed."
The creature seems almost amused. "A moral judgment from a machine."
He thinks he should hate them. Armus, killing Tasha on a whim, sheer evil without meaning. Even Lore does not truly deserve the smallest shred of pity after the things he has done. Anyone would be more than justified in hating a being capable of such actions.
"Ensign." Even as he began to speak he was unsure of what to say. Pausing to choose the most precise word was nothing new to him, but lately he'd realized how fraught language could be. "I cannot hope to fully understand what the Bajorans have suffered. But I have seen the effects of blind hatred. There is a reason for the phrase: hate can make you believe that you are seeing everything clearly when in fact the reverse is true.
"I understand your concerns and share them," he went on, hastily, seeing that Bazur was about to object. "Be assured that Commander Droja will be under the closest guard at all times. Any information he might give us will be thoroughly checked, and in any case nothing he might say will change his situation. He is a prisoner of war and likely to remain so until hostilities cease. I realize that you also feel a natural concern for the safety of the ship and crew, and I am glad that you felt able to speak up. However, you must trust that Commander Kural and I have the situation under control. Now, if you would please return to your duties."
Bazur was clearly still unhappy, but nodded. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." She turned and went quickly back to her console.
Captain Picard would have handled that better, Data felt, but that could not be helped. Perhaps Arzin could speak to her later. That felt like a cheat, a way of shirking his responsibility, but as Geordi had just reminded him, he was still growing accustomed to emotions, both his own and others'. This was an inexperience that would hopefully resolve itself someday, however. For now the ship's security must be foremost in his mind, thanks to their unexpected guest. It was highly unlikely that whatever Droja had to say would make the slightest difference to the situation, but that was no reason to dismiss him out of hand.
