Available Light, page 18
Chen smiled. “You don’t get hungry, or tired, or sick. Or old.”
“Precisely. However, the simulacrum stimulates various neural impulses in our brains so we feel as though we require food or sleep at the appropriate intervals. This allows us to interact with the program and each other in a manner very close to actual physical encounters. As for illness or injury, none of that exists here. Oversight processes ensure no one can come to harm within the Haven. This naturally means no one dies, either. When we arrive at our final destination, our technology will produce food from raw stores in the ship’s holding areas, at least until such time as we establish an agricultural presence on our new homeworld.”
“Amazing.” Chen shook her head. “Existing as a computer program, or a pattern in a transporter buffer, for five centuries. I can’t even imagine what that must be like.”
“You think of your transporter and the computer immersion as two separate processes,” said Alehuguet. “They do not have to be.” She gestured around them. “It is not something we set out to do, of course. Like many scientific discoveries, it happened rather by accident, but once the feasibility was demonstrated, the technology to create such a virtual realm advanced and became more popular. At first its usage was limited to educational and entertainment pursuits, but medical professionals quickly realized it was a means of arresting a critical disease until a course of treatment or cure could be brought to bear. While it was never intended as a means of prolonging the life spans of perfectly healthy individuals, it provided us with the means to make the long journey from Nejahlora to the new world. Of course, fate saw to it our voyage continued far beyond even our most generous estimates.”
Once again, the scene shifted around them, this time to depict a planet far different from the Nejamri homeworld. This one was all but cloaked in thick, dark cloud cover that prevented any sunlight from reaching its surface. So far as she could tell, the planet was dead.
“We arrived at the new world and I along with the Conclave emerged from the data matrix to take stock of the situation. What we learned was an asteroid struck the new planet while we were in transit,” said Alehuguet. “The shock of the collision tore away the atmosphere, rendering the planet uninhabitable. Yet, we were here. Returning to Nejahlora was not an option, and other arks were already on their way. The Osijemal was among the first to leave home, but the construction and relocation process was to continue long after our departure, for as long as was necessary . . . and possible. After careful consideration, we dispatched a message to our homeworld, advising them of our intention to configure the Osijemal’s navigational systems to guide the ship to one of the other planets designated as potential alternate relocation options. The other arks would divide into groups and set course for the other planets. Our hope was that one of the worlds would meet our needs, and we would all eventually gather there. Once the configurations were made, we returned to Haven for the duration of the new journey.”
Chen asked, “Are you still in contact with Nejahlora?”
“No.” Alehuguet’s expression turned somber. “Despite our advances in interstellar travel, our ability to communicate across such vast distances remained somewhat limited. One of our ship’s automated functions was to deploy communications beacons that could be used to transmit messages, but it was one of the systems damaged by the interstellar storm we encountered during our journey. It also affected our navigational and propulsion systems. We have no idea if any of our subsequent transmissions ever reached Nejahlora, or the status of the evacuation operations, or if any of the other arks made it to their destinations or what they may have found.”
Already considering the options at their disposal, Chen said, “If you can supply the navigational data, the Enterprise can chart the locations of those planets. We could send our own probes to investigate. They travel much faster than the Osijemal. One or two of the planets may even be close enough for us to conduct our own survey.” She tried not to dwell too much on any possible issues this might raise with respect to the Prime Directive. That mandate against interfering with other civilizations was sacrosanct, with numerous oversight provisions even in the case of the other party establishing direct contact with Starfleet or Federation representatives.
But it certainly doesn’t apply when they ask us for assistance, she thought, remembering her initial meeting with Alehuguet in the conference chamber.
“I’m sure we can get you back on the proper course, and even help you with your repairs. My crew would love the chance to see all of this.” She gestured to indicate the space around them, almost laughing at the thought of Dina Elfiki diving headfirst into whatever energy beam converted her to a program fit for running around in this place.
Around them, the scene of space and the fleet of arks near Nejahlora disappeared, replaced by the chamber that had introduced Chen to the Nejamri. Once more, she stood before the table with Alehuguet and her companions.
The Conclave, Chen recalled.
“We did indeed request your help, T’Ryssa,” said Alehuguet. Her reply was emphasized by a chorus of nods and expressions from her fellow Nejamri, some of whom seemed to be offering silent pleas for assistance. “Despite our advanced technology, the damage to our vessel has seen to it that we are trapped here, within the Haven.”
Frowning, Chen asked, “If that’s true, then I’m trapped here too?”
“Possibly, but I do not know for certain.”
“You don’t know for certain?” The question burst from her lips before she could stop it, and Chen paused to collect herself. Drawing a deep breath, she asked, “If you could bring me in, then why can’t you send anyone out?”
Alehuguet replied, “Bringing you to us was admittedly a very risky action on our part, and not one we took lightly. The same was true of the other intruders, the ones who attacked you. The process required more power than we should have spared, but it was the only way to defend against those assailants and their weapons from possibly inflicting damage to some vital system or equipment. We also felt the need to protect you, as we believed you might be someone we could trust to help us. Thankfully, none of you were injured.”
“So those salvagers aren’t dead? They weren’t vaporized?”
As though appalled by the very notion, Alehuguet recoiled and her expression blanched. “Fortunately, they are alive and in apparent good health. I wish I could say the same for their companions and their ship. Given their previous attacks on the Osijemal, we felt compelled to defend against further actions. I regret our choice resulted in that ship’s destruction.”
“But the salvagers already aboard the Osijemal; you brought them into the Haven?” asked Chen.
“Yes, but they do not enjoy the freedom we’ve given you. They’ve been placed in a detention facility, until such time as we can return them to their companions. We thought it the best decision at the time. Our primary concern was finding a way to effectively and quickly communicate to you the extent of our situation, so you could explain it to your companions. Our Haven has become a prison. Trapped as we are, we cannot properly repair our ship and continue our journey. We need your help so that we might finally reach whatever new home awaits us, and return to our physical bodies once our voyage is complete.”
Trying to wrap her head around the magnitude of the request Alehuguet was making, it took almost physical effort on Chen’s part not to laugh at what the Nejamri leader was proposing.
Oh? Is that all. Piece of cake, right?
20
It was a common misunderstanding among those unfamiliar with such matters that Vulcans simply did not possess emotions. On the other hand, beginning in early childhood and learning over time to suppress them and disallow them from governing so much of their lives was expected of every Vulcan citizen. Indeed, achieving as much distancing as possible or even elimination of such impulses was a goal of many Vulcans. Some devoted their entire lives to that pursuit, facing formidable challenges and other tests to suppress their emotions and focus their minds to the reception of pure logic. The Kolinahr ritual was the pinnacle of this rigorous undertaking. So difficult was its attainment that very few mastered the discipline, and those who did were widely regarded as the most respected of all Vulcans.
Prior to his decision to join Starfleet, Taurik had given brief consideration to taking up the demanding ritual. Ultimately, he decided that being required to understand and control his own emotional responses while living among other races possessing diverse attitudes on the subject was the greater challenge. Other Vulcans, most far more accomplished than himself, had served with distinction among the Starfleet ranks and reported coming away with a greater appreciation for their non-Vulcan colleagues. Taurik thought it best to follow their example.
Because of this, he was able to empathize with Commander Worf’s growing annoyance with the present situation.
“Have you found anything?” Every word was laced with barely tempered anger, and Taurik noticed the Klingon stood with clenched fists held at his sides. The first officer, despite decades of service that required him to keep his own, far more violent baser instincts at bay while living and working in close proximity to humans, was not immune from the occasional outburst. Considering the present circumstances and how he must be feeling unable to do anything to affect them, all while being forced to continue wearing the environmental suit he likely found uncomfortable and restricting, for Worf this was a measured display.
“Not yet, Commander,” replied Taurik. He turned from the workstation that had fought him at every turn in his attempts to unlock the secrets of the Osijemal. “Although we have been able to access some information, I have determined it to be of a ‘general knowledge and usage’ nature. Vast portions of the ship’s main computer remain heavily encrypted and shielded, preventing us from conducting a comprehensive scan.”
Worf muttered something that was not transmitted through his helmet’s communications system, though his expression was enough to convey to Taurik that it likely involved his desire to express his mounting displeasure with the ship’s builders.
“What about internal sensors?” asked Worf.
Shaking his head, Taurik replied, “They also remain inaccessible. Despite damage likely sustained during the ship’s journey as well as the recent confrontations with the salvage vessel, most of those systems remain operational.” That last part was perhaps unnecessary, he conceded, given their firsthand witnessing of the internal sensors and intruder control system’s effectiveness. “As with much of the main computer, higher functions and the automated oversight processes are well protected.”
“I just received an update from Captain Picard,” said Worf. “Their attempts to scan the ship’s interiors are still being disrupted, either by its hull or other active countermeasures.”
Crossing the control room to join them, Lieutenant Dina Elfiki said, “I swear, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think this ship’s computer was actively countering every time I try getting around a security block or encryption firewall. I’m not talking about its pre-programmed anti-intruder processes, which have to be pretty sophisticated given the reliance on autonomous operation. I mean, it’s like the thing is adapting to whatever I do, and maybe even anticipating me, the way a living being would.” She blew out her breath hard enough to momentarily fog up the inside of her helmet. “Damnedest thing I ever saw.”
“An artificial intelligence with an ability to learn and evolve its responses based on direct interaction,” said Taurik. “My study of the available sections of operating system software suggests just such a process in play. Even the truly autonomous systems that seem to require no outside decisions display similar characteristics.”
If he was impressed by the complexity of the alien technology, Worf chose not to share his opinion. “There must be a way to gain access to these systems. Without them, we will be forced to conduct a manual search that could take significant time and effort to accomplish.”
Though the commander said nothing else, it was a simple matter for Taurik to divine his true meaning. Worf was ready to undertake that conventional search for T’Ryssa Chen at this very moment, though he also was weighing the natural desire to determine the lieutenant’s fate against the risks of having additional Enterprise personnel aboard the derelict vessel. For Taurik, logic provided one course: So long as any hope remained that Chen was alive somewhere on this ship, then every effort should be made to locate her in a manner that presented the least possible amount of danger to those crew members charged with finding her.
“Even if the entire Enterprise crew was brought over,” said Elfiki, “it would take hours.”
Taurik replied, “I estimate seventeen point six hours, assuming our tricorders and other scanning tools encounter the same issues we have so far experienced. This estimate does not take into account any difficulties in accessing specific areas of the vessel’s interior, or so far unknown dangers that may present themselves.”
“I might be able to help with that.”
Along with Worf and Elfiki, Taurik turned to the workstation, his gaze now riveted to the image of T’Ryssa Chen on one of the console’s display screens. Unlike them, she no longer wore her environmental suit but was instead attired in a loose-fitting, colorful gown. She appeared otherwise uninjured, and was even smiling at them.
“Lieutenant,” said Worf as he stepped closer to the console. “Are you all right?”
On the screen, Chen nodded. “I’m fine, sir. I’m in no danger, and neither are you. In fact, I’ve been making some new friends here. I apologize for taking so long to contact you, but it’s been an interesting last few hours to say the least.”
Taurik cocked an eyebrow. “Hours? Lieutenant, it has been twenty-nine minutes and thirteen seconds since you disappeared.”
“Huh.” Chen shrugged. “Okay, I’ll have to ask about that.”
“Where are you?” asked Elfiki. “Can you give us coordinates or some other clue as to your location?”
Chen’s smile returned, and even grew wider. “Yeah, about that. If there are any chairs out there, you might want to sit down for this.”
• • •
Sitting at the head of the observation lounge’s curved conference table, Picard regarded the split display on the room’s main viewing screen. The leftmost image depicted Commander Worf, who now wore a standard duty uniform transported to him from the Enterprise. Now that the Osijemal’s life-support systems had been activated, at least in that area of the massive derelict where the away team was working, Worf and the others were free to move about that section unencumbered by their environmental suits.
On the right side of the screen was the image of a smiling T’Ryssa Chen. She appeared unharmed or otherwise unaffected by the incredible sequence of events that had transpired since her disappearance, though Picard had to remind himself that what he now saw was not actually Chen but instead a near-identical computer-generated representation of her. To him, she looked every bit as real as the woman he knew, or as finely detailed as a simulation of any person with which he had interacted on the holodeck. It was she, working with her newfound Nejamri friends, who had guided the away team through the process of activating the life-support systems.
“And you’re certain you’re all right, Lieutenant?” asked Picard.
Chen replied, “Yes, sir. I admit it took some getting used to, and I’m still not sure how I feel about being stored as a computer file, but the Nejamri technology is amazing.”
Seated to Picard’s right, Geordi La Forge said, “I could probably spend months over there poking around.”
“You may get your chance, Commander.” Picard, along with La Forge and Doctor Beverly Crusher, had listened with rapt fascination as Chen described her experiences aboard the Osijemal and the Nejamri’s plea for help. His relief at seeing Chen alive and well was tempered by the remarkable story she had conveyed. Sixty thousand people, each existing as a consciousness disassociated from their physical body? Setting aside the philosophical, metaphysical, and even spiritual discussions such a scenario prompted, Picard found it difficult to imagine the sheer processing power required of any computer charged with such a daunting task.
“All right,” said Picard, redirecting his attention to the viewscreen. “Lieutenant, are the Nejamri certain we can provide assistance without posing any danger to them?”
“They’re sure they can guide us through repairing the systems that oversee their transfer process to and from the computer, but that’s not even the top priority, at least not yet.” Chen paused, looking somewhere offscreen before stepping aside to allow a new figure to enter the picture, and Picard and his officers got their first look at a Nejamri.
“Captain Picard, I am Alehuguet. It is an honor to meet you. On behalf of all my people, I appreciate your concern for our safety, and your willingness to help us.”
“The honor is mine, Alehuguet.” Picard almost stumbled over her name. He had asked Chen if the Nejamri leader preferred a more formal term of address, but the lieutenant assured him such conventions were unnecessary. After introducing Crusher and La Forge, he said, “We will render whatever assistance we are able. I assume you are aware of the other parties who’ve shown an interest in your vessel.”
