Nothing Ever Happens on the U. S. S. Crazy Horse
by
Robert Roy
BIZARRENESS WARNING:
The following short story is completely bizarre. Don't say
I didn't warn you.
Personal log, stardate 47634.3, Doctor Robert Roy
recording: Nothing ever happens on the Crazy Horse. Okay,
so maybe that's completely untrue, but it sure seems like it
to me.
It's my own fault, of course. Betting my career on a
card game, who ever heard of that before, but I had a full
house, jacks over threes. Commander DaGama, however, had a
straight flush to the nine and an agenda that included
getting me to attend starfleet academy for some bloody
reason. When she was given command of the U. S. S.
Myrmidon, I assumed, arbitrarily, that I'd be posted there
upon graduation. When the Myrmidon was redesignated the S.
C. S. S. Myrmidon, I figured, okay, I'd prefer assignment to
a research station, but at least on the Myrmidon I'd have an
exciting life. However, when I graduated and Captain DaGama
selected a former classmate of mine, Ensign Wayne Callahan,
instead of me, for her computer science department, I was
astounded. I mean, I had a full doctorate in computer
science, plus my graduating rank of full Lieutenant based on
past experience, and she selected some kid instead of me.
One of these days I'm going to have to have a chat with
Captain Lisa J. DaGama.
I got my assignment to the Crazy Horse, which was fine,
I guess. It's a nice ship - Galaxy class - bigger and
better equipped than the Myrmidon would have been. There's
far more space dedicated to research, especially in the area
of stellar cartography since the head of stellar cartography
is the chief science officer. Anyway, by my reckoning, I
was lucky that the thing with DaGama fell through.
The first sign that I was greatly mistaken came when I
first beamed aboard. I was greeted by the first officer,
Commander Michael Marek. He seemed a nice enough guy, but
the first thing he told me was that I wouldn't be needing my
science blues. It turns out that I'd been assigned as part
of the computer services contingent rather than in computer
science. What the point of that was, I'll never know. More
than qualified to head up the entire computer science
department, I end up a subordinate in some lame yellow shirt
job.
Speaking of being a subordinate, one of the few perks
of the job is being able to work with Commander Moira 2, who
is, for all intents and purposes, the computer. More
specifically she is a fully sentient program running on the
Crazy Horse main computer. She's the ship's second officer
and the head of computer services. I'd hazard a guess that
she's the most advanced machine intellect in the entire
Federation.
Of course, therein lies my problem. Unless something
goes radically wrong with Moira, there's very little I can
do, because she's simply better at doing just about
everything that relates to computer services because she is,
as I said, the computer. She does all the routine
maintenance on herself (when you think about it, to her that
maintenance is like me remembering to feed myself or
bothering to straighten my uniform). Most of the time when
I run a diagnostic on her, just to check to see how things
are running, if it's not a level one diagnostic, it's
basically Moira that runs the test anyway. I feel like a
parent reminding my child to wash behind her ears (Moira
tells me that if I don't stop with the parent child
analogies, that she's going schedule an appointment with
Counselor Campbell for me).
So, basically, what I'm saying is that I spend most of
my duty hours hanging around the computer room, doing
nothing, or doing things that Moira could be doing, and
doing better. At least the first few days I got out and
about, talking to the various technophobes such as
Lieutenant Commander McMahon and Doctor Hedrick, and
instructing on them on how to converse in a civil manner
with Moira so that she'd comply with their requests instead
of accidentally blowing them out of incorrectly sealed
airlocks. Of course, now that they are getting along well
together, I'm no longer needed in that capacity. I still
get the odd request to fix a terminal or whatever, that I
immediately reroute down to engineering where such requests
should have gone in the first place. Honestly, you'd think
I was a repairman.
Frankly I don't see why they posted me here at all. I
can see the necessity of keeping someone aboard that could
repair Commander Moira in an emergency, but to have me
permanently on call and wasting my time in this yellow shirt
job is frankly pointless. As I've said, many times, in many
of these entirely overlong log reports, which I have more
than enough time to do seeing as I'm not busy doing anything
else, for me, nothing ever happens on the Crazy Horse.
* * *
One of my passions is music. It doesn't matter what
kind, or what instruments or anything, just so long as it's
quality stuff. My quarters are stuffed with a collection of
rare instruments, mostly collected during my university
years. I have violins, violas, basses of all kinds, various
guitars, drums and other percussion instruments, trumpets,
trombones, tubas, synthesizers, samplers, flutes,
saxophones, clarinets, and quite frankly too many to bother
naming. Let's just say that there isn't any room for
anything else but me, my instruments and my bed.
Unfortunately, with all that clutter, the acoustics ended up
being crap.
One of the first things I did was do a computation of
where on the ship would have the best acoustics. Or rather,
I had Moira do it, and considering how quickly she came up
with an answer, I knew that there wasn't much in the way of
computation required. She already knew the answer, which
meant that someone had already asked her to compute that
location. That meant that I would have either company or
competition, and frankly I wasn't in the mood for either.
I grabbed my minivi and decided to stake a claim to
somewhere which, although lacking acoustic perfection, would
at least be more secluded. The minivi must have been one of
the best inventions of the twenty first century. Admittedly
this is largely because the inhabitants of Earth were
spending most of that time dropping atomic bombs on each
other, but even if it were invented in the twenty fourth
century, it would have been considered a major
accomplishment. It is essentially a fully functioning
violin (or viola, etc, depending on what pitch you tune it
to), that, when folded, fits easily in the palm of your hand
or in a pocket.
While hanging around main engineering, considering
whether I really wanted to go spelunking about in the
Jefferies tubes just for the sake of finding good practice
space, I encountered Chief Petty Officer Stephanie Riggs.
After discussing a number of subjects with her, such as why
I was hanging around engineering for no reason and where I
got a violin that fits in the palm of my hand and why a
computer scientist needs a rapier at his hip, and seeing as
it was the end of her shift, we decided to adjourn to a
place of socialization.
Stephanie suggested the ten forward lounge. I, being a
forced extrovert and quite simply not interested in the
degree of stimulation involving in being in the same room
with the number of people that frequented ten forward,
counter-suggested a trip to Rhaegosh's bar on deck thirty.
Stephanie pointed out that ten forward was the best place on
the ship for star gazing. I pointed out that Rhaegosh's bar
was the best place oversee the maintenance cycle on the
matter reactant injectors.
Stephanie then indicated that a maintenance cycle was
the absolute worst so-called high point she'd ever heard of
for a bar or lounge, and that it was unlikely that anyone
else would even be there. I reminded her that it was
solitude that I was seeking anyway.
So, we agreed.
While Stephanie went to change into something more
comfortable, a set off for Rhaegosh's, expecting her to join
me just slightly after Satan came skating to work.
* * *
Upon my arrival, Rhaegosh's was, by my estimation,
packed to capacity. Of course, capacity, for me, was about
four people in a room that had tables and chairs enough for
forty. All four of the bar's inhabitants were seated around
the table nearest the doors, apparently playing some form of
card game. True to my introverted nature, I selected a
booth on the complete opposite side of the room that was
completely hidden from view by an intersecting bulkhead.
I was in a rather sociable mood.
As I was unfolding the minivi, the bartender showed up
at my table. She was rather surprised to see someone
actually occupying this table. She seemed pleasant enough
and, upon reflection, was probably quite attractive. I
hadn't really noticed at the time, since I was being
particularly introspective at that moment. Seeing the
minivi, she suggested that I play something, and considering
that I was going to do that anyway with or without her
encouragement, I agreed. She left to get my drink.
* * *
After several hours of playing melodies both known and
improvised, I bored of Rhaegosh's bar and decided to go
elsewhere. It was now delta shift, so the corridor lighting
had already gone into the night cycle. For some blatantly
stupid reason, people insisted that starfleet ships should
be dark when it's dark on a certain part of the planet
Earth. I've never seen the logic in it. The job of running
a starship doesn't stop when the theoretical sun goes down,
so why make out like it does?
The whole lighting problem was annoying me, and since I
was near my quarters anyway, I decided to just forget about
it and go to bed.
Alone and locked away inside my cabin, I threw myself
onto the bed. As I laid there, staring up at the ceiling, I
started thinking about all the things I wouldn't be doing
tomorrow. "Moira?", I asked.
"Yes?", she responded in her usual cool tones. In my
head, the song "Yours Truly, 2095" by the Electric Light
Orchestra began playing, as it usually did when I conversed
with Moira.
She's got and I. Q. of a thousand and one, she's got a
jumpsuit on, she's also a telephone. I don't have the exact
figures, but it could be a thousand and one, and seeing as
she's effectively the communications system, that telephone
thing isn't entirely out of line, but I'm pretty sure the
jumpsuit is right out. The rest of us will have to do the
jumpsuit wearing.
"Keep me company?"
Moira's response was at least five seconds in coming.
Normally such a delay might suggest that some maintenance
would be required, but considering the question, I knew that
wasn't necessary. Some day I'll feel her cold embrace, and
kiss her interface, until then, I'll leave her alone.
"I thought you liked to be left alone.", she answered,
and then a moment later, "You've already spurned the company
of two women today."
She knows I think of you, she reads my mind, she tries
to be unkind, she knows nothing of our world.
Changing the subject, I continued, "Why am I here?"
"Is that a philosophical question?", she replied on
beat.
She is the latest in technology, almost mythology, but
she has a heart of stone.
"It could be, but not the philosophy of existence, but
of personnel. Why've I been assigned to this department, if
you can call the two of us a department, and on this ship of
all places?"
"Funny, but I'd have thought you'd enjoy such an
arrangement. You don't have to interact with anyone and can
spend huge tracts of time alone. Am I wrong in thinking
that's your ideal situation?"
She's only programmed to be very nice, but she's as
cold as ice, whenever I get too near.
I paused to consider my response before explaining,
"It's near ideal, but I don't do anything. If I were in the
same department on another ship, I'd probably be swamped
with work."
"Is that what you really want?"
"Well, I don't necessarily want to be swamped, but at
least then I'd feel useful. The only time I'd get to really
contribute would be if you went bonkers."
"You'd prefer it if I broke down more often?"
"At least caring for you would give me something to
do."
"Is this a macho thing? You are uncomfortable with me
being so self-sufficient and you want me to be more needing?
Is that what you want?"
She tells me that she likes me very much, but when I
try to touch, she makes it all too clear.
"Moira", I essayed cautiously, "Is it just me, or is
this conversation becoming a tad bizarre? I don't want you
to change, I don't want you to be more fragile, I'm simply
pointing out that my skills seem to be wasted in my current
job. By trade, I'm a computer scientist. I study and
implement ideas regarding machine learning and machine
intelligence."
"So who's stopping you?"
"My current assignment, for one thing. I haven't the
resources allocated to me that I'd need to do any serious
research. Without the resources, the only machine
intelligence I can study is you, but as fascinating as you
are, Moira, it'd be like studying adults to learn about
human growth. That is, not very practical. As a fully
formed intellect, you are an amazement and a bit of a
miracle. Your infinite complexities intrigue me, but in the
final analysis, they present me with nothing I can learn
from. If I'd been there to study you at the time you were
becoming sentient and self aware, I'd have had an
opportunity to really get a feel for what you are and how
you became what you are."
"So what's your point?", Moira demanded. Somewhere
along the line, her trademark coldness seemed to have
evaporated. I now knew for certain that Moira had an
emotional awareness.
I love you, sincerely, yours truly ... yours truly.
"My point is that as much as I enjoy your company, I'm
not going to be able to keep doing what I'm doing, or not
doing as the case may be. As strange as it seems, all this
sitting around is too stressful for me. I'm either going to
need some real duties, or a transfer."
"If that's what you want.", Moira responded. I could
tell it was the end of the conversation.
"At least I didn't have to cook.", I joked to myself.
I then resolved never to joke to myself again. I
obviously don't find myself particularly amusing.
* * *
Seated across of Counselor Nola J. Campbell and
studying her facial expressions, it struck me as ironic that
I was attempting to employ psychology to understand figure
out what she thought of me. There was really no point in
it, of course.
"... It's certainly not that I dislike Moira. In fact
if there's anyone on this ship that I'm close to, it's her.
I just feel useless here.", I explained.
"We are talking about the ship's computer.", Campbell
recapitulated, as if I didn't already know how strange the
discussion sounded.
"Yes ..."
"I just want us to keep that in mind. The way you tend
to talk about her, it's as though she's a real flesh and
blood woman."
"Frankly, I don't think that I do."
"Oh, and why's that?"
"Because I can't recall ever talking about a real flesh
and blood woman that way."
With incredulity, Campbell asked, "Never?"
"Never.", was my simple reply. It was true, after all.
"Counselor, as I grew up, school had been my life. For some
reason I could never fathom, I was driven to study and to
succeed in schools and universities. When I received my
doctorate, I suddenly found myself without direction, but
then there was the academy. At first I was unwilling, but
with my return to academia, I soon refound my stride.
Through it all, I never had time for people. I've had
friends, but they were little more than acquaintances. I
have never sought companionship. I have instead sought
knowledge, with a hunger that denied all others."
"Sounds lonely.", the Counselor commented.
"Probably has been, I suppose, but I wouldn't know.
It's the way I've always been."
"You mentioned your friends, well what about your
parents?"
"What about them?"
"What are your feelings towards them?"
"They're okay. I suppose they were quite helpful in
raising me, to a certain extent. I soon outgrew them."
"Outgrew them?"
"I don't think I've needed them since I was about ten.
I left when I was twelve."
Aghast, Campbell asked, "Why?"
"I had better things to do.", I remarked coldly. I
noticed the wall chrono, so I indicated, "I guess that's
time, Counselor. I've got to go see what Moira's come up
with me to waste my day with today. See you next session."
"Indeed.", remarked Campbell. As I left the room, I
almost saw her shiver from the coldness of my presence.
* * *
On my way to the main computer room, I asked, "What's
on the schedule for today, Moira?", into the air.
"Something different, Lieutenant.", Moira answered. I
was immediately intrigued by her rare use of my rank. She,
and just about everyone else on the ship that knew me,
usually called me "Doctor". "Please report to the bridge.",
she continued.
"Yes, Commander.", I replied, with accentuated
formality as I changed my destination. "What then?", I
asked.
* * *
I stepped out of the turbolift onto the bridge. This
was only about the third time I'd been on the bridge, and
the other two had been to explain to Commander Willmerdinger
that a broken console needs be reported to engineering, and
not computer services.
I walked down the slope from the rear bridge and
towards the command centre of the Crazy Horse. Currently
seated in the captain's chair was the first officer,
Commander Michael Marek. He noticed my arrival, and with a
hand gesture, he indicated for me to take the seat to the
right of him. As I did, I detected looks from Lieutenant
Commanders Willmerdinger at the conn, Campbell at ops and
Scott at tactical. They soon returned their attentions to
their jobs.
"I'm still not sure why I'm here, Commander.", I
indicated sotto voce.
Keeping his voice quiet as well, Marek told me, "You
were telling Commander Moira that you didn't feel you were
contributing, right?"
"True."
"And that's because Commander Moira does most of the
work better and more efficiently than you ever could."
"In that department, yes, I suppose that's true. Why,
are you going to transfer me, sir?"
"Sort of."
"I hate 'sort of'. 'Sort of' means 'no, of course not,
you ninny, we're going to do something you're going to
hate'. Name your torment, sir."
The captain's chair began to be the focus of the
attentions of most bridge crew as the dialog between myself
and Commander Marek started twisting towards the bizarre.
"Well, since you think she's doing your work down
there, you're going to do her work up here, Lieutenant."
"I'm sorry, Commander. Perhaps I'm being a bit dense,
but what are you talking about?"
"Okay, Commander Moira is both second officer and head
of computer services."
"I'm following you so far, sir."
"With her doing all the work in computer services,
there's effectively no room for you down there."
"I believe we've covered that."
"So she's reassigned you to her other duty area."
"Second officer.", I concluded.
"Right.", Marek announced. I heard a few gasps of
disbelief from the rest of the bridge crew, especially from
the three officers that ranked me.
"I'm acting second officer, or that I'm third officer."
"Third."
"With all due respect, sir, it doesn't make a bit of
difference because neither of them is a bloody job."
"Sure they are."
"No, they're not. First officer is a job. It has
specific duties and responsibilities attached to it. Second
is just formal recognition of who comes after you in the
chain of command. Third officer is just plain silly. In
essence, sir, you're telling me that instead of hanging
around the computer room, doing nothing, that I should hang
around the bridge, doing nothing."
"What, do you think the rest of us do nothing all day,
Lieutenant?"
"Sir, do you remember the day you welcomed me aboard?
Do you remember what colour uniform I was wearing?"
"I don't know."
"Blue."
"So?"
"Blue as in science blue. As in computer science blue.
As in I'm not a command officer blue, and not even a line
officer blue ... Sir."
"You are now."
"But, with all due respect, I shouldn't be, Commander.
I'm not trained, and nor am I qualified for the role you're
proposing for me, sir. This yellow uniform just doesn't
fit."
"Oh well."
My gaze bore a hole into Commander Marek's soul for
several seconds while I evaluated the man and what his
intentions were. "There are three duty shifts.", I
postulated.
"Last time I checked.", Marek answered.
"The Captain takes one."
"Yes."
"And you another."
"True."
"Sometimes both you and the Captain are on the bridge
together."
"I've noticed that."
"And when that happens, you do what, give redundant
orders that the captain could have given and generally
reinforce the captain's authority."
"More or less."
"Now, Moira takes the third shift."
"Usually, and yes, she does the same for me when I am
in command."
"Okay, good. So what I'm guessing you want for me is
to be a body to sit in the centre chair when Commander Moira
is in command."
"Precisely."
"And to generally reinforce yours or the captain's
authority ..."
"Or Moira's.", Marek interjected.
"Or Moira's ... depending on who's in command."
"Now you're getting it."
"So, the correct answer to my question about whether
I'd just be doing nothing up here instead of nothing down
there, would have been yes."
"Effectively."
As this conversation made the subtle jump from just
bizarre to almost comical, I could feel the pressure of the
migraine building, just in behind my temples.
"Are you feeling alright, Lieutenant?", Marek queried
me.
"I'd be very surprised."
"Perhaps you should go down to sickbay."
"Yes, I believe I will, sir."
* * *
Entering the turbolift, I began to find immediate
relief as I left my headache sitting there in the centre
seat of the Crazy Horse. What is wrong with Marek, anyway?
I've never been over fond of command types, but I never
expected him to be a kook. I hope this is some kind of
weird object lesson.
"Sickbay.", I told the computer, or more correctly, I
told Moira.
"Not feeling well, eh?", she answered as the turbolift
began to move.
Sarcastically, I replied, "What was your first clue?"
"Pulse rate up, increase in neurotransmitter activity,
and the fact that you asked to go to sickbay."
"Yeah, but which did you get first?"
The turbolift came to a stop and another officer
entered. I don't recall her rank or position, but I do
recall being envious of her science blues. "So is he for
real?", I asked Moira.
The science officer adopted a confused look, presuming
I was speaking to her. I smiled inwardly as her mouth hung
open a moment, as she struggled to find a response for me
until Moira mercifully answered, "Commander Marek? Of
course he is."
I continued my conversation with Moira, pretending not
to notice the science officer's discomfort, saying, "Then
Commander Marek must be nuts.", which I could tell got the
science officer's attention, but then the turbolift doors
opened and I proceeded towards sickbay, leaving her to
wonder what I was talking about. To Moira, I continued, "I
have no business sitting in the big chair. Is it so hard to
admit that a mistake has been made in my assignment?"
"Are you so sure it was a mistake?", she asked, and
then noticing I had walking past sickbay, she added, "And
weren't you headed somewhere?"
"I was. I feel better, so now I don't need to go to
sickbay.", I answered her, then stepped out of the corridor,
into a companionway, and climbed up the ladder to the next
deck.
"What are you doing now?", Moira asked me.
"You'll see.", I told her, all the while thinking the
reverse. As expected, I hadn't seen anyone since I got to
this deck. This deck would provide additional living
quarters in case of an emergency. But as there was no
emergency now, it was currently empty.
"Where are you going?", Moira demanded. As she did so,
I turned sharply and entered one of the cabins.
"Moira?", I asked, just to see if she could still hear
me, and then I repeated my request, just to make sure. When
I got no answer, I knew everything was working perfectly.
When I'd first come aboard, I had certain reservations
about having a computer running the ship. I mean, normally
a computer runs the ship, but not to the degree that Moira
does. There have been case after case of even the most
sophisticated machine intellects acting in the most bizarre
ways, often due to external influence. So, to be on the
safe side, I decided to create this safe room. As far as
Moira is concerned, this room doesn't exist. No one in this
room is detectable by internal scan. Calls to their
communicator will still get routed to them, much in the same
way as they would be if they were off the ship.
Another special advantage of this room is that it
allows me to access the computer directly, without Moira's
intervention, allowing me to detect any faults that may
exist in her programming, and correct them. I would only
access her programming if I believed there was something
drastically wrong with her.
And I believe that now.
More important, there may be something wrong with
Commander Marek. Unfortunately, that's not something I can
fix.
* * *
It took several hours to track down what I was looking
for, but eventually my search paid off. A small program was
running in Moira's subconscious (so to speak) that was doing
something to her thought processes. Given time, I'd be able
to analyze the program and its results, but unfortunately I
had other things to do.
It was now time for my so-called duty shift on the
bridge. The analysis would have to wait.
When I walked out into the corridor, Moira repeated,
"Where are you going?" As far as she was concerned, nothing
out of the ordinary had occurred. During my time in the
room, all of her systems responded in a perfectly normal
fashion, and she carried out her duties as per routine.
However, she was completely unaware that I'd ever entered
the room, or that there was even a block of time wherein I
was missing.
Quite an amazing bit of programming, if I do say so
myself.
"To the bridge.", I responded as a strode towards the
nearest turbolift. Even this sudden change of destination
would do nothing to make Moira suspicious. In my mind, the
room began to take on an almost magical quality. Entering
the turbolift, and considering that I'd just told her my
destination, I knew there was little point in repeating it.
The turbolift got underway and in moments the doors opened
and I walked onto the bridge.
Commander Marek was still in the command chair as I
arrived. I walked down to the command centre. He saw my
approach and rose from the chair.
"First official bridge shift.", he observed.
"Aye, sir.", I answered. I heard the turbolift doors
open again as the replacement officers filed onto the bridge
to take over from the senior staff.
"The bridge is yours, Lieutenant ...", Marek began, and
then appended, "Commander.", as his eyes gestured skyward.
Apparently it was a reminder that although I sat in the
chair, it was Moira who was in command. He, and the other
senior officers, then departed via the turbolift.
The other officers now beginning their shifts were
surprised to see someone seated in the chair that they'd
recently become accustomed to seeing empty during their
shift. I sensed a slight air of relief from them. Somehow,
the sight of someone, anyone, in the centre chair, no matter
how incompetent, was a comfort to them.
I wonder how long that will last.
* * *
Half way through my first bridge shift I was already
bored. Admittedly it wasn't just the boredom of this job,
but the collective boredom of the weeks of uselessness I've
been feeling since my posting to the Crazy Horse.
"Lieutenant", the officer at ops began, turning to face
me. I didn't know her name, and nor did I recognize her
face, but before she could speak, I held up my hand to stop
her, and then pointed upwards to the ceiling. She took my
meaning, turned her eyes skyward and continued, "Commander
Moira, I'm picking up something strange on the short range
sensors."
"Confirmed, Commander.", added the tactical officer,
"Some kind of energy fluctuation."
"Put it on screen.", Moira said formally. In
actuality, the tactical officer would then key in the
command to the computer and it would be Moira herself that
carried out the command, but she still liked to go through
the routine.
I watched as the main viewscreen fluttered for an
instant, but then ultimately it only changed from one
starfield to another, and that change was barely noticeable.
"Magnify.", Moira commanded, and at her command, the view
changed again, and again that change was hard to discern.
"I don't see anything.", I commented lamely, but then I
did see something, and so did the woman at ops.
"There!", she said, pointing to the upper left corner.
It was nothing more than a momentary wavering of the light
from a few stars, but everyone on the bridge knew what it
meant.
"Shields up!", I ordered instinctively, and not a
moment too soon. A photon torpedo appeared from no where
and exploded against the newly raised shields. I felt the
chair under me shake, and I knew that if I had been standing
I probably would have collapsed. Not from the impact but
from the surprise. It didn't occur to me until later on
that the ship had fired while cloaked.
The surprise of the attack, however, was quickly turned
to astonishment as the ship appeared before of our eyes. It
was huge. In fact it was probably not much larger than the
Crazy Horse, but fear has this way of magnifying things.
The ship was long and thin compared to a Galaxy class ship.
It was bluish in colour, and if it reminded me of anything,
it was of the fabled dragons from ages past on Earth.
I realized that all eyes on the bridge were focused on
me, as though they were waiting for my orders. I couldn't
believe that I'd have to remind them again, and in this
situation, that it was Moira, not me, that was in charge.
Whatever Commander Marek's motivation for putting me on the
bridge, I now had the ammunition to force him to change my
assignment. My presence was clearly disruptive, and if even
one person is harmed by my being here, I'm going to insist
that the Captain take punitive action against Marek. I wish
Moira would hurry up and take charge.
It was then that I realized why everyone was looking at
me. Moira wasn't taking command of the situation, and that
wasn't like her. Something must be wrong. "Moira?", I
inquired, and then repeated, "Moira? Computer, respond.",
but all to no avail. "The program.", I thought aloud, once
I'd realized the problem. I must get down there, I thought.
Tapping my combadge, I ordered, "Captain to the bridge,
senior officers to the bridge."
"Communications our out, sir.", the tactical officer
told me. I hadn't even noticed when my combadge hadn't
registered the communicator. I mentally noted to be more
observant. A second photon torpedo hit the shields, and the
tactical officer reported, "Forward shields at eighty five
percent."
To the officer at the science station I ordered, "Check
the turbolifts. If they're working I want you to find the
Captain. Tactical, load weapons and fire at your
discretion. Helm, begin evasives."
"Aye, sir.", the officers responded in near unison. It
was a nice sound to hear. However, it was short lived as I
started hearing the buzzing sound that the computer makes
when it's not accepting commands. Another torpedo hit the
shields.
Just before the officers could all report the problems
at once, I put up my hands and said, "I know, computer
malfunctions." Getting out of my chair, I strode around to
the tactical station. If there was any way to coax the
computer ... Moira ... to life, I had to find it.
"There's nothing I can do with these.", I said under my
breath. Sometimes dead is dead, and the computer interface
to the bridge was quite dead. Information was making it's
way to the displays, but there was nothing going the other
way. Maybe there was computer control to the rest of the
ship, but there was no way to tell from here. "I have to
get off this bridge.", I stated, possibly louder than I
intended.
"You can't, sir.", responded the tactical officer, "You
can't leave the bridge in a crisis like this."
"Not when the turbolifts aren't working. Conn, check
the direct link to the battle bridge. Tactical, the
observation lounge.", I commanded as I walked towards the
ready room. Neither the door to the ready room, nor the one
to the turbolift beside it would open. I could see the conn
and tactical officers were having no better luck than I. I
pounded my fist once on the ready room door, just to relieve
some tension. It helped me, but I don't think the rest of
the bridge crew were helped at all by the gesture.
I marched back up to the back of the bridge, pulled out
the spare tools that I knew would be in a drawer next to
Science II. There was a laser cutter which I handed to the
tactical officer, and a tricorder which I took myself.
"I want you to cut through behind this station.
There's an accessway behind it.", I told the officer, "I'll
see if I can remote access the turbolift controls with this
thing."
More torpedoes collided with the shields. "Shields at
fifty percent.", the tactical officer observed.
"What are they doing?", I wondered as I worked on the
tricorder, "That ship looks like it has the firepower to
blow us to atoms. They're toying with us for some reason."
As two more torpedoes hit the Crazy Horse, the
turbolift doors opened.
"You did it!", exclaimed the science officer.
"Let's go.", I told her.
Stepping into the turbolift, I heard the tactical
officer calling after me, "Sir, where are you going? You're
in command."
"Not anymore. You are now.", I informed him.
"You can't do that!", he insisted.
"Maybe not, but I'm doing it anyway. They can court
martial me after I fix the damned computer."
I hit the control to shut the door. I could see the
tactical officer's astonished face as the doors closed.
"We've got no inertial controls, so we're going to have to
take it a bit slow. You might want to brace yourself best
as you can.", I explained to the science officer who nodded
her head in response and wedged herself into the door frame.
I held onto the turbolift control panel with one hand
and used the other hand to engage the jury rigged controls
on the tricorder. Luckily, the acceleration that threw me
to the top of the turbolift was over quickly, so I got to
plummet back down to the floor. The science officer
snickered at my choice of expletives. I considered getting
up again, but decided to just stay down and prepare myself
for the braking.
I stopped the turbolift at almost deck eight. I had to
give the science officer a boost to get her out into the
corridor. "Let the Captain know what's going on.", I told
her, and then added, "And if you see Commander Marek, give
him a punch in the head for me."
I could hear her laughing as I closed the doors. This
time, I used her method, more or less, to wedge myself in.
I got out at deck eleven. I had considered going all the
way to the main computer room, but I didn't want to go that
far. Besides, I would probably have greater access from my
little safe room. I felt the ship shake from the force of
another torpedo.
* * *
Of course the first thing I checked was the little
program I had discovered earlier, and sure enough it was
inhibiting Moira from controlling the ship. It would have
taken far too long to disable the program, so I set about
routine control functions around it. Moira would be taken
completely out of the loop, but at least we'd have manual
control.
The repairs went smoothly. Unfortunately, all the
controls had to be tied into this room. My safe room had
become the auxiliary control room for the Crazy Horse. I
brought up the main display, aimed the phasers, and fired
them at the attacking ship.
* * *
"What the hell was that?", shouted the Captain as
phaser fire lanced out in front of the Crazy Horse, "Who
fired those phasers?"
Security chief Scott, whose job it normally is to fire
the phasers, checked the readouts at the tactical station.
Surprised, she reported, "Captain, they were fired from
holodeck four."
Commander Marek, seated at the Captain's right, gulped
loudly. The Captain picked up on that immediately, and
demanded, "What do you know about this, Commander?"
"It's a training scenario, Captain.", Marek answered,
"But it shouldn't be doing that. I'll look into it."
"Yes, I think you'd better."
* * *
Standing outside holodeck four, Marek ordered, "Moira,
end the simulation."
After a moment's delay, Moira answered, "I can't. He's
disabled my control of the holodecks. Unbelievable."
"Is there an override?"
"Yes, but it requires the Captain's authority."
Marek hit his combadge, saying, "Captain, we're
experiencing some technical difficulties down here. We need
you to restore control of the holodeck to Moira."
"Understood", came the Captain's terse reply. He did
not seem happy.
"Got it.", said Moira. The holodeck doors opened to
reveal a very confused Dr. Roy standing in the middle of the
room.
"What the ... ?", Roy asked Marek.
Marek explained, "Don't worry, Doctor. The
disorientation is normal. I'll explain it all to you on the
way to sickbay."
* * *
Dr. Hedrick, who was on duty when they brought in Dr.
Roy, listened intently as Moira discussed the holodeck
program.
"The neural inhibitor field temporally suppresses your
memory enough to convince you that what you are experiencing
is real. It's like falling asleep and waking up in a
duplicate world. I just patch in a few false memories for
you to make the program seem consistent and voila.
Actually, I got the idea from you."
"This was my idea?"
Dr. Hedrick pressed a hypospray against Roy's arm.
"There you go, Doctor.", he said, "That should help you with
your memory."
All of a sudden, a look of understanding crossed Dr.
Roy's face. "Of course it was my idea."
Commander Marek, who'd been leaning against the wall
near the doorway, walked over towards the examining table.
"So, how'd you fire the phasers from the holodeck?", he
asked.
"It's a skill, like anything else. You don't expect
the magician to reveal all his tricks, do you?"
Marek shook his head, and asked, "You ready to go back
to work?"
"Of course I am. I mean, it's not like anything ever
happens on the Crazy Horse."
THE END