Friday, August 14, 2015

Light Show

James Bridgeway’s first conscious moments weren’t of sight, or even sounds, but instead a scent – a sweet, charred smell, that at one time invoked memories of hot, thick cut bacon soaking in that last puddle of maple syrup. That was before he had been part of an engineering team trying to keep an alliance Klingon cruiser’s warp core from going critical. There the smell had come from the nearby plasma conduit which had ruptured near one of the targ pens. The conduit still flashed occasionally illuminating charred targ statues, caught in mid panic with brilliant white light. Other bodies, the parts that hadn’t been caught in the plasma wash, steamed. A few twitched. Others screamed. He remembered being mesmerized by the stench and the sound until the Commander had boxed her ear, screaming into it. “Want to wind up like them? Get that coolant system running!”  Afterward he’d stopped eating bacon – the pleasant memory; the warm hominess had been replaced by carbonized statues and screams.





That was before now. Now, that sweet, charred odor wasn’t from Targ.  Neither were the screams. 

Eventually sight and sound returned.  His doctor was an older Bajoran woman. She rarely smiled but she was his stern angel.  A few years ago he’d gotten thoron burns up and down his arm fixing a phase inverter, that had hurt like the devil, but he could tell this was far, far worse. His angel brusquely told him he’d get better. In the meantime he was swaddled in plasti-skin – an artificial layer to keep exposed nerves and bone protected and soaked in a nutrient-rich gel Mummification in reverse, as when it was removed, he would be alive and whole. For now, he could barely move.

His angel had an attendant. She was small, willowy -- almost too slender. Her short straw blond hair cut in a bob that framed a wan, slightly round face. Medical, by her uniform and a -- What is it D’pah had said, Always count the pips before opening your mouth – a Lieutenant Commander.  Sometimes she kept her nose buried in her PADD, and other times she held the PADD crossed in front of her, studying him with black Betazoid eyes. She was there most of the time – more often than the doctor.  Unable to move his head, he strained his eyes watching her until they ached. One day, without asking, she supplied a mirror connected to neurosensors that tilted the mirror in the direction he wanted to see. It took some getting used to, but was better than the same tile in the ceiling all day.  When he could speak he had raised his plastified arms up a little and asked her, “Will I be able to play the piano with these hands?”

She had looked up from her PADD then. Her face was serious as she considered the question. “I do not see why not.”

“That’s good. I never could before.”

Just so slightly, she had smiled as she shook her head and went back to her PADD. “Get some rest, Lieutenant.”

It was a start.

Mummification gave infinite time for questions. He got facts from the computer. He got conversation from his angel’s assistant.  The Oppenheimer had suffered over two hundred casualties defending the library at Lae’nas. A quarter of the fleet had been destroyed. The list of survivors in Engineering was chillingly short. The ship had drifted for days on minimal life support before getting impulse power and then finally warps one. He asked the Lieutenant Commander about the Oppenheimer with the same earnestness he asked about his team. She wasn’t an engineer, let alone Chief Engineer. Most of the questions were beyond her expertise. She answered what she could, and promised to find out what she couldn’t.  She asked questions of her own about Oppenheimer’s systems, and he introduced her to Oppenheimer like an old friend. Never mind the quirks in the hyperbolic limiters and bussard aligners, once you get to know her, you’ll love her too. She just needs coaxing, that’s all.

In a quiet moment on sickbay, she asked him if he remembered what happened. He tried, but couldn’t and she reassured him it would come in time. But he couldn’t wait, and begged for her to tell him what he should already know, as he tried to find slips of memory from her narrative.  As hard as he tried, he couldn’t remember dragging the crewman to the emergency hatch, and the explosion that caught them both. The specialist – Jhohan – had died from his injuries. By some stretch of fate he hadn’t.  At least no memories meant no nightmares, and he couldn’t remember when last he slept so soundly. He asked his angel’s assistant if she had anything to do with it and she just shrugged. At least he got her name – Lieutenant Commander Sri. Juliette. He asked Juliette about contacting home – to let his Dad and Mom know he was okay.  Sri was sympathetic, but said that for now wartime communications took precedence, and crewmen access to subspace communication was rationed. Besides, visual contact with civilians – especially family -- should wait until he was…better.  Still, she offered to send a micro message back to Terra to let them know he was okay.

James had held up heavily bandaged arms. “I’m okay?”

She’d given that shrug again. “It’s a little lie to make them feel better.”

He chuckled. “I’d hate to see what you consider a big lie.”

She frowned. “I should talk to the communications officer about getting your message out. Good night, Lieutenant.” She left before he could respond.

The next day, Sri told him he was getting visitors.

“Whatever the doctor gave me is really kicking me. I’d rather just sleep.”

“Visitors are therapeutic.”

“Orion slave girls are very therapeutic.”

“Orion slave girls are slaves.”  Sri had responded with an almost vulcan tone. There was an uncomfortable minutes then Sri changed the topic. “It’s Captain Tilmana and Commander Syvok. They wanted to visit you personally.”

“I hope they don’t expect me to stand at attention.” He said from the bio bed.

“They’re glad you’re alive.”

“Syvok? Glad?”

“Captain Tilmana is glad. I’m sure the Commander will find it not unpleasant that you are alive and convalescing at a satisfactory rate.”

Bridgeway laughed, even if it hurt a little. “You have that vulcan thing solid.”

“I’ve had practice.” She replied dryly.

“If you go into ponn-farr, let me know.”

She smirked, shaking her head. “Terrans.”

He decided he was making progress.

The Captain was somber. It sent the impact of the war wounds from Lae’nas home. He was presented with a medal. His angel doctor delivered a report, indicating he’d be ready for duty in just a few days.

“Excellent,” Captain Tilmana said. “The metrics around your recovery have continued to look fortuitous. You’ll be up and about before we leave Earth Space Dock.”

“ESD? Sir?” He asked, even as Sri’s gaze turned to the Captain. Her expression was cold.

“Yes, they’re almost done with repairs. The usual terran efficiency, of course.”

Sri coughed. Loudly.

“Thank you sir” His voice trailed off. “Sir, why would we limp to ESD? On impulse, that’s months away from Lae’nas. How long have I been out?”  Sri’s eyes darted sideways to Captain Tilmana as he was quiet for a long moment.

“ESD?” Tilmana said with a slight laugh. “I meant DS9.”

“You said ESD  twice, Sir.”

Syvok said firmly, “The Captain meant DS9, Lieutenant.”

Sri pinched the bridge of her nose. “The Lieutenant is clearly tired, Captain.”

“I’m not tired. I heard what I heard. What’s going on?”

Tilmana said, “I just –“

Sri said firmly, “He’s tired, Captain.”

“I’m not tired! Commander, Captain, what’s going on?”

The Captain and Syvok simply left, leaving him with Sri.  She wasn’t his angel’s assistant. No angel at all. He glared at her as she left, and she never met his gaze. The lights went out and suddenly he was tired. He didn’t remember falling asleep.

The next day, Sri told him he was getting visitors.

“Whatever the doctor gave me is really kicking me. I’d rather just sleep.”

“Visitors are therapeutic.”

“Orion slave girls are very therapeutic.”

“Orion slave girls are slaves.”  Sri had responded with an almost vulcan tone. There was an uncomfortable minutes then Sri changed the topic. “It’s Captain Tilmana and Commander Syvok. They wanted to visit you personally.”

“I hope they don’t expect me to stand at attention.” He said from the bio bed.

“They’re glad you’re alive.”

“Syvok? Glad?”

“Captain Tilmana is glad. I’m sure the Commander will find it not unpleasant that you are alive and convalescing at a satisfactory rate.”

“You have that vulcan thing solid.”

“I’ve had practice.” She replied dryly.

“If you go into ponn-farr, let me know.”

She smirked, shaking her head. “Terrans.”

He decided he was making progress.

The Captain was somber. It sent the impact of the war wounds from Lae’nas home. He was presented with a medal. His angel doctor delivered a report, indicating he’d be ready for duty in just a few days.

“Excellent,” Captain Tilmana said. “The metrics around your recovery have continued to look fortuitous. You’ll be up and about before we leave DS9.”

“Thank you sir. The engines miss me like a couple of old girlfriends. They’ll get grumpy if I don’t see them soon.”

Captain Tilmana nodded with a faint smile. “I’m certain they are at least pining for you. The engineering staff does the best they can, but no one knows their way around the Oppenheimer’s system like you did.”

The Captain and Syvok left shortly thereafter, and he was filled with a strange sense of accomplishment. Even Sri looked relieved.

“You did well. You should probably get that rest, Lieutenant.”

“Or those freshly-liberated Orion Slave Girls.” He said with a smirk. He didn’t’ remember falling asleep.

He rarely did.

***

They sat on the catwalk overlooking the warp core. They were quiet, prisoner and warden. Bridgeway finally asked “How many times have you reset me?”

Sri rubbed her eyes with the fingers of her gloved hand. “Eight.  When did you figure out that you weren’t in sickbay?”

Bridgeway rubbed the back of his neck. “I asked for components to keep my hands busy, and built a phase monitor. The power in sickbay never fluctuated. Dr. Silene used to complain about that all the time. I never did get that entirely worked out.”

“So you figured—“

“I figured I’d been captured by the Iconians. What—what happened with the other seven? Do I want to know?”

Sri paused looking down from the elevated walkway down into the warp core. “Its on the holodeck of course. It all is. Three committed suicide. The personality matrix doesn’t survive knowing it’s been killed, at least, not in a form that resembles the original. One was convinced he was in an Iconian prison and caused the ship to self-destruct.  Two went into existential shock and never adjusted.  One demanded to be deactivated.”

“What if I want to be deactivated?” Bridgeway asked in a challenging tone.

“I’d honor your request.” Sri said, looking at him steadily until he looked away.

“And start on lucky number ten.” He said, levelling his gaze at her and staring until she looked away.

“I have my orders.” Sri replied glumly.

“One way or another, the Captain gets his light show.” Bridgeway muttered.

“The term is ‘photonic life form’”

“Life form? You call this a life form? Isn’t what I feel just some complex algorithm? Can I eat and drink? Can I make love? Am I even me?”

“We created your personality matrix from your instructional holodeck programs for engineering teams. From there we added personal logs, messages and recordings your family made.  Your personality template was about 92% complete.  You’re as much you as we could make without interference.  The experiences you have now will build on that foundation, much like--”

“Much like people?” Bridgeway snapped.

“Much like the rest of us.” Sri answered gently.

“I don’t’ imagine there’s much point in eating.” Bridgeway said after a long moment of quiet.

“If we only ate for nourishment we’d be replicating ration bars. There’s lot of reasons to eat.”

“I just won’t get fat. Or drunk.” He said brightly. He decided things were looking up.

“Your photonic body is designed to react to things like that – to make your existence as close to your Terran existence as possible.”

Bridgeway’s cheerfulness faded. “Lieutenant Commander, why me? The entire engineering team –“

Sri simply shrugged in a way that irritated him. “Captain’s orders. He is convinced you are needed for the war effort and got special dispensation from Starfleet.”

“So if I want to be deactivated, you’ll just try again. Fine. I owe the Iconians anyway.  At least this way I can give some back. But Lieutenant Commander, promise me something.” Her look to him was dubious, but he continued. “Promise me that when this war is over, you’ll deactivate me, and never go for number ten.”

Sri was quiet a long moment, listening to the thrum of the warp core. “When this is over--” She said with finality. “When this is over, I’ll give you the choice.”