So, I managed to finally get it done. The story clocks in at a bit less than 4000 words. Without further ado:
“I wonder if you can die of boredom,” he said to no one as he looked in the mirror. In its lower right corner a glowing red square reminded him of his appointment tomorrow. He thought that was a little excessive. How likely was he to forget the only one on his calendar for weeks?
Outside his appartment he was greeted by the same old lush orange carpet of synthetic grass under his feet and the unchanging blue-tinged artificial light from above. T’hihr’s residential zone 7 had been his home for the last five years and though there was familiarity it didn’t feel like home. Then again, there wasn’t a place that would. Maybe that was his fault. He could have tried harder. But mostly, it was nobody’s fault. He and the world had just grown apart – slowly, but increasingly so. ‘Time is the fire in which we burn’ a crazy man had once said but it was far worse if everyone burned except for you.
The last stop before the wilderness the rotating slogan of the station’s promotional vid claimed. The displays in the lift ran it in several languages on a loop and had done so since his arrival. For now anyway, he added in his mind, having heard similar claims so often before that he had lost count.
He emerged on the station’s top level, a huge park with green and purple grass, winding paths and plants from nearby planets. As it was currently officially night on T’hihr the dome above them, which displayed a blue sky during daytime mode, was transparent. The fuzzy spiral arms of the Thyskos nebula doused the night sky purple and orange. The view never failed to impress him. In the distance, a group of people sitting on a gentle slope sang.
Having taken the scenic route, his destination seemed particularly mundane. Redjac’s prided itself on being edgy, starting with the bar’s name and extending to the deliberately grimy look. Its interior followed a retro theme, which had been all the rage until very recently, supposedly focussing on the 23rd century in keeping with its name, in reality mixing styles from several different eras. On most nights, the playlist consisted of Commander Spock Jams and Zefram Cochrane presents the best of the 20th century so by now he knew every detail of every song. It wasn’t all bad, though. Some of the songs elicited fond memories of Admiral Forrest’s awful cover band and how no-one had had the heart to tell him how bad they were. The reason he came here so often was Redjac’s large and well curated offering of vintage alcohol – even if it was all synthesized. So he sat at the bar, nursing a single-malt whiskey while scrolling through the news on his comm device.
“Hey, aren’t you that guy?” a young woman’s voice asked.
He turned to his left and saw that the voice belonged to a short-haired Romulan in a Starfleet uniform.
“Which guy?”
She laughed.
“Well, that guy. That guy who’s always around. Who doesn’t change. Wherever the Feds go he’ll be there.”
Amazing. He had never heard that before. What’s more, it was a surprisingly accurate and succinct description of his life for the last two centuries.
“Huh. I guess that’s me.”
“Ha, I knew it. But they wouldn’t believe me.” She pointed to a Bolian in colourful clothes and a serious looking Klingon at a table nearby. “This is so awesome.”
“What about you? You’re working here?”
“Nah, USS Audacity.”
She might be in for a surprise tomorrow, he thought, amused.
“Ah, you’ll get to explore the Thyskos region. Finally.”
“That’s right.” She grinned. Then, for the briefest of moments, the expression on her face darkened as if she had remembered something unpleasant.
“I’m Xenyala, by the way."
“Jon.”
Commodore Chang Haibao awaited him in front of the Starfleet office on Main Street, just standing there in the current dress uniform – trousers of glittering silver, a mid-length jacket of silky gold – adorned with all the medals the non-binary human had ever received from the looks of it, either unaware or ignoring the looks from the passers-by. Jon, who had after much back-and-forth with himself opted for an unremarkable dark-coloured suit and what came closest to his idea of a white shirt in this era, felt decidedly underdressed, especially after Chang had mustered him thoroughly.
“You need a fashion advisor, Admiral.” Chang said, not unkindly, once they were on their way, followed by a security guard at a discrete distance.
As they reached the entrance to the docking ring reserved for Starfleet they were greeted by a group of protesters neatly tucked to the side behind white warning tape and guarded by two bored security officers. Some of the protestors wore the traditional purple and red garments of the most devoted followers of the local Juiwoh religion, others the pointy hats the adherents saw as a sign of modesty and devotion. Many did neither and there were also a couple of people just protesting Starfleet in general or demanding T’hihr be turned over completely to civilian authorities.
“They think we’re going to disturb their god.” Chang chuckled after they had passed the protesters. “Ever heard of Gagarin, Admiral?”
“Sure.”
Chang smiled.
“You know what he said after he returned from space? ‘I didn’t see God.’ That’s what they’re really scared of. Maybe we should do that, too.” the Commodore laughed.
After boarding the ship the two of them were met by Xenyala who couldn’t quite conceal her surprise at seeing Jon in the Commodore’s company.
“Welcome aboard, Commodore.” she said, standing straight, and saluted.
“Thank you, Lieutenant. This is Admiral Jonathan Archer.” she saluted again. Jon smirked.
“Captain Evek and Commander Rill send their regards. They can’t be here right now so I will accompany you on your tour.”
“Very well, Lieutenant. Lead the way.”
Jon hung back a little behind the Commodore while all this was going on, a slightly amused look on his face. Military-like formality had never been his thing and it looked even funnier from the outside.
The ship’s interior design was geared towards presenting a welcoming experience – well lit, but not too bright, the whiteness of the walls balanced with the dark burgundy of the carpet. Except for their little tour group no one seemed to be around, though. That seemed a little odd. Three days before launch shouldn’t there be more activity?
They had almost reached the first stop of the tour when Chang received a message and promptly wandered off to make a call, muttering a polite excuse.
“You didn’t tell me you were an Admiral.” Xenyala said, any Starfleet decorum forgotten.
“I’m not. Not really. It was my rank when I retired. Actually, I was a diplomat and a politician for much longer than I was in Starfleet and most of that time wasn’t even in this Starfleet...”
She looked at him confused, mumbling, “What? Another Starfleet?” And he wondered briefly what they were teaching the kids in school these days.
The Commodore returned before he had the chance to elaborate further. Xenyala became all exemplary officer again and led them unto the bridge, which looked pretty much like any other. Again, they were the only ones present.
“The special thing about this ship is that only very few actual crew members are required.” Xenyala began to explain. “Everything’s automated so that during standard operations the bridge doesn’t have to be crewed at all. Though, for the time being, at least one person will be present at all times.”
“Sounds a little lonely.” He wondered what it would feel like to basically be a passenger on your own ship.
This remark earned him an exasperated look from the Lieutenant.
“It’ll give the crew time for other things,” the Commodore said, sounding good-naturedly. “Like exploring and research.”
Somehow, he wasn’t quite convinced.
Unlike the rest of the ship, Engineering was practically buzzing with activity. About a dozen crew members from a variety of Federation worlds were busy getting everything ready for the ship’s launch. And so nobody noticed the group standing on the gangway which lined the room three meters above the ground. From here they had a magnificent view of the deck’s centerpiece, the Transformation Drive. Jon couldn’t help but look at its Escher-esque maze of silvery and brightly coloured tubes, trying to make sense of it and failing. And then, he spotted the Xindi Reptilian.
Malim’ksé cursed as she felt yet another valve break under the pressure of her spanner. Obviously, someone had cut corners when the ship had been built. Momentarily at a loss, she observed green cooling liquid pool around her boots. She sighed. At least there was no-one around to see this.
“Hello there, Lieutenant!” she heard the inappropriately cheerful voice of Commodore Chang call out from above her.
“I’m just showing the Admiral around.” the Commodore continued when she looked up, pointing at the man standing next to them who looked a little tense.
Of course. It was just her lucky day.
“Uh, hi. Sir...s.” she answered weakly.
The group climbed down the stairs, led by the enthusiastic station commander.
“You should probably do something about that.” the Commodore said in a friendly manner while pointing at the growing pool around her feet.
“Right...”
She snapped her fingers and said, “Ensign Vorek!” A young Vulcan man appeared out of thin air at her side. “Take care of this, will you?” she said, gesturing at the broken valve and the leak. With that, she stepped away from the mayhem and towards the tour group.
Jon still stared at the man who had just popped up.
“Hologram.” she explained with a smile.
“As a matter of fact, except for our good Chief Engineer here, all the people you see are holograms.” Chang said.
“But...” Involuntarily, Jon looked around in a vain attempt to spot anything that would tell them apart from flesh-and-blood people.
“The folks at Jupiter Station were really creative with the personalities.” Xenyala said.
There were so many, all unique – no, not unique, that was the wrong word as they could be copied at will. All individuals.
“You’re looking at the future of Starfleet.” Chang declared. “Audacity will be able to explore the Thyskos region with only seven people onboard. Just imagine: we could be sending out ten times as many ships, explore ten times the space and we wouldn’t need more personnel, not one.”
“I think you’re missing the point of exploration.” Jon replied. “And you’re creating a class of people to do the work for you. Doesn’t sound very ethical to me.”
“They’re not people. They’re programs.” The Commodore said forcefully. In a calmer tone, they continued, “Very sophisticated programs so I won’t blame you for mistaking them for people.”
Seeing that he was being inevitably drawn into an argument, he looked for help, but none was forthcoming. Malim’ksé looked on, her thoughts inscrutable, and Xenyala seemed content to observe.
“And where do you draw the line? Sophisticated programs in androids are people, sophisticated programs created by Starfleet as holograms are not?”
This seemed like a pretty clever argument to him. However, the Commodore remained unimpressed. Acknowledging the rhetorical trick with a smirk and a tilt of the head, they answered, “You’re oversimplifying things … a little. I get it, this must be difficult to understand.”
And just like that, the discussion was over. Infuriated, Jon briefly considered pressing his point but he knew that whatever he said would just be dismissed as the angry rants of an old guy clearly out of his depth, unable to understand how things worked in this century. And he couldn’t even really argue with that.
Several hours later – the station had switched to evening mode – he still felt restless. Long ago, he had decided to remove himself from public discourse, to keep a certain distance from current events. After all, this wasn’t really his time. Under ordinary circumstances he’d be long gone and largely forgotten. But this time, he was unable to let things go, even though he had tried. He felt he had to do something but what? He was pondering his options when the door chime interrupted his train of thoughts. Warily, he opened the door.
“Hi. I come bearing gifts.” Commander Ahlaan-Mashur said, a winning smile on her pale face as she glided through the door. “Well, just one really.”
She handed him a bottle of Saurian brandy. That was how they had first met, shortly after his arrival on the station. Despite her delicate appearance she could drink almost anyone under the table if she wanted and they had soon bonded over their common interest in vintage alcohol.
“Well, that’s unexpected. What brings you here?”
Having unfurled her shimmering, butterfly-like wings, she now hovered just underneath the ceiling as she usually did. All that fluttering always made him a little dizzy.
“Well, how to begin… I have a new post. Science officer on the Audacity.”
“Oh.” He sat down on the couch.
“I hear you got a tour this morning. What do you think?”
“You know.”
The issue of holographic rights had come up occasionally in their conversations due to Doctor Rebar, the station’s holographic CMO, and her attempts to get full rights.
“Yeah. That’s why I’m here. Did you know that the majority of the crew agrees with you?”
“Uh, no?”
She chuckled softly.
“What if I told you that there was something you could do about it?”
“Honestly, that sounds … unlikely.”
She looked around the room, as if considering something.
“I take it you stay up-to-date?”
He looked at her, confused.
“On ships and Starfleet and stuff like that, I mean.”
“I’m not sure how to answer that...”
“Let me put it this way: how would you feel about going on an adventure?”
Not long after that he found himself sitting at a table on the upper level of Rez, a bar on Main Street usually favoured by Starfleet officers, the gravity of what he had agreed to slowly sinking in. They were waiting for the other conspirators. The best way to hide was in plain sight Ahlaan-Mashur had declared.
The first one to arrive was Xenyala. She took her time getting a drink from the bar downstairs, looked relaxed and casual while surveying the crowd. After taking another sip from her drink she finally spotted them – purely by chance of course – and joined them. Clearly, she was quite devoted to being conspiratorial. A few minutes later, Malim’ksé entered the bar, with a Klingon in tow. A Xindi and a Klingon showing up together would always attract attention so they didn’t even try to look inconspicuous.
“You’ve already met Lieutenants Dar and Malim’ksé. And this is Lieutenant Kevin.” Ahlaan-Mashur said once they were all seated around the table.
The young Klingon nodded solemnly.
“So, what’s the plan?” Xenyala asked, throwing a suspicious glance in Jon’s direction.
“Five, as they say, is the magic number. And we are now five.” Ahlaan-Mashur answered.
As it turned out, Starfleet didn’t quite trust their own holograms. If the number of flesh-and-blood crewmembers became less than five the failsafe mode would take over and steer the ship to the nearest Starfleet port. Ahlaan-Mashur was confident that she could eventually reprogram the ship’s computer but not before the launch.
“Yeah, but we need to be five Starfleet officers to beat the failsafe. You told me you weren’t really an Admiral.” Xenyala looked at him intensely.
“Retired.”
“His commission can be reactivated. I’ll take care of that tomorrow morning.” Ahlaan-Mashur said in a reassuring voice.
“This is a career-ending move.” Malim’ksé began.
“More than that. We’ll be on the run.” Kevin interjected.
“Right. I need to know where we all stand. Why are you doing this?”
“I was about to ask the same.” Jon said with a smirk.
Ahlaan-Mashur went first.
“If this test is successful, there will soon be many more ships like the Audacity. Holographic rights have been an ethical blindspot for a long time but this will open the floodgates. Once Starfleet comes to rely on holographic crews it will be very difficult to reverse, if not impossible. This is probably the last chance we have to turn the tide.”
“I guess a ‘seconded’ won’t do, huh?” Xenyala said. “This may sound naive but I’ve always truly believed in the values we claim to defend. And people without agency just doesn’t jibe with that.”
“What about you?” Malim’ksé asked Jon.
“About 500 years ago someone showed me the future. I always knew the Federation would survive, even before it existed. What I didn’t know was in what form and there were a couple of times where it didn’t live up to its ideals. But I never thought it would lose its way not in a crisis but out of convenience. Can’t let that happen.”
Everyone stared at him incredulously. Smiling, he leaned back.
“Your turn, Malim’ksé.”
“Actually… Well, I’m not really 100% sure holograms are people. But I wanna be on the right side of history in case they are. I guess what I’m saying is that I’m erring on the side of caution. And, if we’re wrong, at least we get to be in the history books.”
“Fair enough.” Ahlaan-Mashur chuckled.
“Honour demands it, destiny wills it.” Kevin proclaimed solemnly. Ignoring Xenyala’s groan, he continued, “Just think how everything’s coming together: we get presented with the perfect opportunity thanks to the reception tomorrow evening, we found each other in a matter of days and one of the greatest warriors of all time is among us. That can’t be a coincidence. It is our destiny to do this.”
They were all silent for a few moments, reflecting on what they had heard and said.
“Well, we do need some sort of manifesto.” Xenyala said.
“This calls for some bloodwine!” Kevin declared. The others had barely time to voice their objections before a metal decanter and five glasses materialised on the centre of the table.
“You’re not going to demand we all cut our hands or something like that, are you?” Xenyala asked.
“Oh, no. That’s not necessary. A regular oath will suffice.”
“Fine.” Ahlaan-Mashur said and held her right hand over the middle of the table. The others joined in. “Tomorrow we’re going to save the soul of the Federation.”
Jon was almost a little disappointed that the guard at the docking ring entrance hadn’t been interested in hearing their cover story but just waved them through. They had made it nearly all the way to Engineering without meeting anyone.
“Aren’t you going in the wrong direction?”
They both turned, alarmed, although the tone had been friendly.
“Party’s this way.” The pale man whose head looked like it was made out of plastic pointed over his shoulder.
Malim’ksé laughed, a little nervously to Jon’s ears but the synthetic man didn’t seem to notice.
“Yeah, running a little late.” she replied. “Just showing the Admiral something we talked about yesterday.”
“All right, then. See you there.”
“That was Doctor Okrino.” she explained when they were out of earshot. “He’s a nice guy. I don’t like betrayals.”
“I’m feeling bad about the Commodore, too.”
“You should probably avoid them after this. I hear they got a nasty temper. And a sword in their office.”
Having not been invited to the party the holographic crew members assigned to Engineering busied themselves with last-minute checks and tweaks of the drive in preparation for the launch tomorrow. Briefly, he felt like the kid who discovers that their toys have a life of their own when no one’s looking. Malim’ksé snapped her fingers twice and they all blinked out of existence, whatever they had held dropping to the ground.
“Okay… Have to work on that.” the Chief Engineer mumbled to herself. Turning to him, she said, “A precaution. Didn’t want anyone to rat us out. Some of them are very by the book.”
She sat down at the main control panel, which was located on a slightly elevated platform a few metres away from one end of the engine, and signalled him to sit beside her.
“Later, when I start the engine, we better be quick. I could use some help. You up for it?”
“Sure.” he said, pretending to be calm as he desperately tried to make sense of the controls on his side of the console.
She chuckled. “Don’t worry. Looks more complicated than it is.”
Meanwhile…
In the training area Xenyala had activated and assembled three members of her security team – an Andorian, a Klingon and a Caitian. She found herself wishing once again that the creators of this segment of the holographic crew had been less in love with stereotypes. A strongly worded letter might be in order she thought and smirked.
“All right, folks. You got your orders. Time to be awesome!”
With that, the three officers before her disappeared to reappear in the quarters of Captain Evek, Commander Rill and Lieutenant Okrino and collect their personal belongings which Xenyala would then beam to the docking ring. Ahlaan-Mashur had been adamant about not stealing their fellow officers’ stuff on top of Starfleet’s newest project.
Armed with a good excuse why she was still on the ship and a small phaser set to stun if that shouldn’t work Xenyala got on her way to the transporter room.
Meanwhile…
On the bridge Ahlaan-Mashur sat at her customary place behind the science console, appreciating the comfort of familiarity this gave her. She had just finished going over the details of the plan in her mind again. Like the dozen times before it had seemed to her that she had thought of everything but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had missed a crucial detail.
From the navigation console Kevin proudly announced, “Course plotted and set.”
She nodded.
“Status?” she asked the others via implant.
“Ready when you are.” replied Malim’ksé.
“Done.” came Xenyala’s reply a few moments later.
She willed her implant to post their manifesto on the net while simultaneously dropping it in the inbox of several media organisations. With the push of a button she activated the program she had deposited in the station’s computer core this morning.
NOW
In Engineering, Malim’ksé and Jon executed the start-up sequence which had turned out to be more complicated than advertised. Jon half expected something to explode because he had presssed the wrong button or turned a dial not quite to the right position. Amazingly, nothing of the sort happened. Instead, he looked on in awe as the silvery tubes began to glow, the colourful tubes changed their configuration and then the whole engine was enveloped by a mist of tiny globes shimmering golden, red and green.
“Pretty, isn’t it?”
Inside the station’s computer Ahlaan-Mashur’s program wreaked calculated chaos. The docking clamps holding the Audacity were released and sensors temporarily scrambled.
“We have full power!” Kevin declared.
“Engage.”
And off they went.
Audacity Five
Outside his appartment he was greeted by the same old lush orange carpet of synthetic grass under his feet and the unchanging blue-tinged artificial light from above. T’hihr’s residential zone 7 had been his home for the last five years and though there was familiarity it didn’t feel like home. Then again, there wasn’t a place that would. Maybe that was his fault. He could have tried harder. But mostly, it was nobody’s fault. He and the world had just grown apart – slowly, but increasingly so. ‘Time is the fire in which we burn’ a crazy man had once said but it was far worse if everyone burned except for you.
The last stop before the wilderness the rotating slogan of the station’s promotional vid claimed. The displays in the lift ran it in several languages on a loop and had done so since his arrival. For now anyway, he added in his mind, having heard similar claims so often before that he had lost count.
He emerged on the station’s top level, a huge park with green and purple grass, winding paths and plants from nearby planets. As it was currently officially night on T’hihr the dome above them, which displayed a blue sky during daytime mode, was transparent. The fuzzy spiral arms of the Thyskos nebula doused the night sky purple and orange. The view never failed to impress him. In the distance, a group of people sitting on a gentle slope sang.
Having taken the scenic route, his destination seemed particularly mundane. Redjac’s prided itself on being edgy, starting with the bar’s name and extending to the deliberately grimy look. Its interior followed a retro theme, which had been all the rage until very recently, supposedly focussing on the 23rd century in keeping with its name, in reality mixing styles from several different eras. On most nights, the playlist consisted of Commander Spock Jams and Zefram Cochrane presents the best of the 20th century so by now he knew every detail of every song. It wasn’t all bad, though. Some of the songs elicited fond memories of Admiral Forrest’s awful cover band and how no-one had had the heart to tell him how bad they were. The reason he came here so often was Redjac’s large and well curated offering of vintage alcohol – even if it was all synthesized. So he sat at the bar, nursing a single-malt whiskey while scrolling through the news on his comm device.
“Hey, aren’t you that guy?” a young woman’s voice asked.
He turned to his left and saw that the voice belonged to a short-haired Romulan in a Starfleet uniform.
“Which guy?”
She laughed.
“Well, that guy. That guy who’s always around. Who doesn’t change. Wherever the Feds go he’ll be there.”
Amazing. He had never heard that before. What’s more, it was a surprisingly accurate and succinct description of his life for the last two centuries.
“Huh. I guess that’s me.”
“Ha, I knew it. But they wouldn’t believe me.” She pointed to a Bolian in colourful clothes and a serious looking Klingon at a table nearby. “This is so awesome.”
“What about you? You’re working here?”
“Nah, USS Audacity.”
She might be in for a surprise tomorrow, he thought, amused.
“Ah, you’ll get to explore the Thyskos region. Finally.”
“That’s right.” She grinned. Then, for the briefest of moments, the expression on her face darkened as if she had remembered something unpleasant.
“I’m Xenyala, by the way."
“Jon.”
***
Commodore Chang Haibao awaited him in front of the Starfleet office on Main Street, just standing there in the current dress uniform – trousers of glittering silver, a mid-length jacket of silky gold – adorned with all the medals the non-binary human had ever received from the looks of it, either unaware or ignoring the looks from the passers-by. Jon, who had after much back-and-forth with himself opted for an unremarkable dark-coloured suit and what came closest to his idea of a white shirt in this era, felt decidedly underdressed, especially after Chang had mustered him thoroughly.
“You need a fashion advisor, Admiral.” Chang said, not unkindly, once they were on their way, followed by a security guard at a discrete distance.
As they reached the entrance to the docking ring reserved for Starfleet they were greeted by a group of protesters neatly tucked to the side behind white warning tape and guarded by two bored security officers. Some of the protestors wore the traditional purple and red garments of the most devoted followers of the local Juiwoh religion, others the pointy hats the adherents saw as a sign of modesty and devotion. Many did neither and there were also a couple of people just protesting Starfleet in general or demanding T’hihr be turned over completely to civilian authorities.
“They think we’re going to disturb their god.” Chang chuckled after they had passed the protesters. “Ever heard of Gagarin, Admiral?”
“Sure.”
Chang smiled.
“You know what he said after he returned from space? ‘I didn’t see God.’ That’s what they’re really scared of. Maybe we should do that, too.” the Commodore laughed.
After boarding the ship the two of them were met by Xenyala who couldn’t quite conceal her surprise at seeing Jon in the Commodore’s company.
“Welcome aboard, Commodore.” she said, standing straight, and saluted.
“Thank you, Lieutenant. This is Admiral Jonathan Archer.” she saluted again. Jon smirked.
“Captain Evek and Commander Rill send their regards. They can’t be here right now so I will accompany you on your tour.”
“Very well, Lieutenant. Lead the way.”
Jon hung back a little behind the Commodore while all this was going on, a slightly amused look on his face. Military-like formality had never been his thing and it looked even funnier from the outside.
The ship’s interior design was geared towards presenting a welcoming experience – well lit, but not too bright, the whiteness of the walls balanced with the dark burgundy of the carpet. Except for their little tour group no one seemed to be around, though. That seemed a little odd. Three days before launch shouldn’t there be more activity?
They had almost reached the first stop of the tour when Chang received a message and promptly wandered off to make a call, muttering a polite excuse.
“You didn’t tell me you were an Admiral.” Xenyala said, any Starfleet decorum forgotten.
“I’m not. Not really. It was my rank when I retired. Actually, I was a diplomat and a politician for much longer than I was in Starfleet and most of that time wasn’t even in this Starfleet...”
She looked at him confused, mumbling, “What? Another Starfleet?” And he wondered briefly what they were teaching the kids in school these days.
The Commodore returned before he had the chance to elaborate further. Xenyala became all exemplary officer again and led them unto the bridge, which looked pretty much like any other. Again, they were the only ones present.
“The special thing about this ship is that only very few actual crew members are required.” Xenyala began to explain. “Everything’s automated so that during standard operations the bridge doesn’t have to be crewed at all. Though, for the time being, at least one person will be present at all times.”
“Sounds a little lonely.” He wondered what it would feel like to basically be a passenger on your own ship.
This remark earned him an exasperated look from the Lieutenant.
“It’ll give the crew time for other things,” the Commodore said, sounding good-naturedly. “Like exploring and research.”
Somehow, he wasn’t quite convinced.
Unlike the rest of the ship, Engineering was practically buzzing with activity. About a dozen crew members from a variety of Federation worlds were busy getting everything ready for the ship’s launch. And so nobody noticed the group standing on the gangway which lined the room three meters above the ground. From here they had a magnificent view of the deck’s centerpiece, the Transformation Drive. Jon couldn’t help but look at its Escher-esque maze of silvery and brightly coloured tubes, trying to make sense of it and failing. And then, he spotted the Xindi Reptilian.
Malim’ksé cursed as she felt yet another valve break under the pressure of her spanner. Obviously, someone had cut corners when the ship had been built. Momentarily at a loss, she observed green cooling liquid pool around her boots. She sighed. At least there was no-one around to see this.
“Hello there, Lieutenant!” she heard the inappropriately cheerful voice of Commodore Chang call out from above her.
“I’m just showing the Admiral around.” the Commodore continued when she looked up, pointing at the man standing next to them who looked a little tense.
Of course. It was just her lucky day.
“Uh, hi. Sir...s.” she answered weakly.
The group climbed down the stairs, led by the enthusiastic station commander.
“You should probably do something about that.” the Commodore said in a friendly manner while pointing at the growing pool around her feet.
“Right...”
She snapped her fingers and said, “Ensign Vorek!” A young Vulcan man appeared out of thin air at her side. “Take care of this, will you?” she said, gesturing at the broken valve and the leak. With that, she stepped away from the mayhem and towards the tour group.
Jon still stared at the man who had just popped up.
“Hologram.” she explained with a smile.
“As a matter of fact, except for our good Chief Engineer here, all the people you see are holograms.” Chang said.
“But...” Involuntarily, Jon looked around in a vain attempt to spot anything that would tell them apart from flesh-and-blood people.
“The folks at Jupiter Station were really creative with the personalities.” Xenyala said.
There were so many, all unique – no, not unique, that was the wrong word as they could be copied at will. All individuals.
“You’re looking at the future of Starfleet.” Chang declared. “Audacity will be able to explore the Thyskos region with only seven people onboard. Just imagine: we could be sending out ten times as many ships, explore ten times the space and we wouldn’t need more personnel, not one.”
“I think you’re missing the point of exploration.” Jon replied. “And you’re creating a class of people to do the work for you. Doesn’t sound very ethical to me.”
“They’re not people. They’re programs.” The Commodore said forcefully. In a calmer tone, they continued, “Very sophisticated programs so I won’t blame you for mistaking them for people.”
Seeing that he was being inevitably drawn into an argument, he looked for help, but none was forthcoming. Malim’ksé looked on, her thoughts inscrutable, and Xenyala seemed content to observe.
“And where do you draw the line? Sophisticated programs in androids are people, sophisticated programs created by Starfleet as holograms are not?”
This seemed like a pretty clever argument to him. However, the Commodore remained unimpressed. Acknowledging the rhetorical trick with a smirk and a tilt of the head, they answered, “You’re oversimplifying things … a little. I get it, this must be difficult to understand.”
And just like that, the discussion was over. Infuriated, Jon briefly considered pressing his point but he knew that whatever he said would just be dismissed as the angry rants of an old guy clearly out of his depth, unable to understand how things worked in this century. And he couldn’t even really argue with that.
***
Several hours later – the station had switched to evening mode – he still felt restless. Long ago, he had decided to remove himself from public discourse, to keep a certain distance from current events. After all, this wasn’t really his time. Under ordinary circumstances he’d be long gone and largely forgotten. But this time, he was unable to let things go, even though he had tried. He felt he had to do something but what? He was pondering his options when the door chime interrupted his train of thoughts. Warily, he opened the door.
“Hi. I come bearing gifts.” Commander Ahlaan-Mashur said, a winning smile on her pale face as she glided through the door. “Well, just one really.”
She handed him a bottle of Saurian brandy. That was how they had first met, shortly after his arrival on the station. Despite her delicate appearance she could drink almost anyone under the table if she wanted and they had soon bonded over their common interest in vintage alcohol.
“Well, that’s unexpected. What brings you here?”
Having unfurled her shimmering, butterfly-like wings, she now hovered just underneath the ceiling as she usually did. All that fluttering always made him a little dizzy.
“Well, how to begin… I have a new post. Science officer on the Audacity.”
“Oh.” He sat down on the couch.
“I hear you got a tour this morning. What do you think?”
“You know.”
The issue of holographic rights had come up occasionally in their conversations due to Doctor Rebar, the station’s holographic CMO, and her attempts to get full rights.
“Yeah. That’s why I’m here. Did you know that the majority of the crew agrees with you?”
“Uh, no?”
She chuckled softly.
“What if I told you that there was something you could do about it?”
“Honestly, that sounds … unlikely.”
She looked around the room, as if considering something.
“I take it you stay up-to-date?”
He looked at her, confused.
“On ships and Starfleet and stuff like that, I mean.”
“I’m not sure how to answer that...”
“Let me put it this way: how would you feel about going on an adventure?”
***
Not long after that he found himself sitting at a table on the upper level of Rez, a bar on Main Street usually favoured by Starfleet officers, the gravity of what he had agreed to slowly sinking in. They were waiting for the other conspirators. The best way to hide was in plain sight Ahlaan-Mashur had declared.
The first one to arrive was Xenyala. She took her time getting a drink from the bar downstairs, looked relaxed and casual while surveying the crowd. After taking another sip from her drink she finally spotted them – purely by chance of course – and joined them. Clearly, she was quite devoted to being conspiratorial. A few minutes later, Malim’ksé entered the bar, with a Klingon in tow. A Xindi and a Klingon showing up together would always attract attention so they didn’t even try to look inconspicuous.
“You’ve already met Lieutenants Dar and Malim’ksé. And this is Lieutenant Kevin.” Ahlaan-Mashur said once they were all seated around the table.
The young Klingon nodded solemnly.
“So, what’s the plan?” Xenyala asked, throwing a suspicious glance in Jon’s direction.
“Five, as they say, is the magic number. And we are now five.” Ahlaan-Mashur answered.
As it turned out, Starfleet didn’t quite trust their own holograms. If the number of flesh-and-blood crewmembers became less than five the failsafe mode would take over and steer the ship to the nearest Starfleet port. Ahlaan-Mashur was confident that she could eventually reprogram the ship’s computer but not before the launch.
“Yeah, but we need to be five Starfleet officers to beat the failsafe. You told me you weren’t really an Admiral.” Xenyala looked at him intensely.
“Retired.”
“His commission can be reactivated. I’ll take care of that tomorrow morning.” Ahlaan-Mashur said in a reassuring voice.
“This is a career-ending move.” Malim’ksé began.
“More than that. We’ll be on the run.” Kevin interjected.
“Right. I need to know where we all stand. Why are you doing this?”
“I was about to ask the same.” Jon said with a smirk.
Ahlaan-Mashur went first.
“If this test is successful, there will soon be many more ships like the Audacity. Holographic rights have been an ethical blindspot for a long time but this will open the floodgates. Once Starfleet comes to rely on holographic crews it will be very difficult to reverse, if not impossible. This is probably the last chance we have to turn the tide.”
“I guess a ‘seconded’ won’t do, huh?” Xenyala said. “This may sound naive but I’ve always truly believed in the values we claim to defend. And people without agency just doesn’t jibe with that.”
“What about you?” Malim’ksé asked Jon.
“About 500 years ago someone showed me the future. I always knew the Federation would survive, even before it existed. What I didn’t know was in what form and there were a couple of times where it didn’t live up to its ideals. But I never thought it would lose its way not in a crisis but out of convenience. Can’t let that happen.”
Everyone stared at him incredulously. Smiling, he leaned back.
“Your turn, Malim’ksé.”
“Actually… Well, I’m not really 100% sure holograms are people. But I wanna be on the right side of history in case they are. I guess what I’m saying is that I’m erring on the side of caution. And, if we’re wrong, at least we get to be in the history books.”
“Fair enough.” Ahlaan-Mashur chuckled.
“Honour demands it, destiny wills it.” Kevin proclaimed solemnly. Ignoring Xenyala’s groan, he continued, “Just think how everything’s coming together: we get presented with the perfect opportunity thanks to the reception tomorrow evening, we found each other in a matter of days and one of the greatest warriors of all time is among us. That can’t be a coincidence. It is our destiny to do this.”
They were all silent for a few moments, reflecting on what they had heard and said.
“Well, we do need some sort of manifesto.” Xenyala said.
“This calls for some bloodwine!” Kevin declared. The others had barely time to voice their objections before a metal decanter and five glasses materialised on the centre of the table.
“You’re not going to demand we all cut our hands or something like that, are you?” Xenyala asked.
“Oh, no. That’s not necessary. A regular oath will suffice.”
“Fine.” Ahlaan-Mashur said and held her right hand over the middle of the table. The others joined in. “Tomorrow we’re going to save the soul of the Federation.”
***
Jon was almost a little disappointed that the guard at the docking ring entrance hadn’t been interested in hearing their cover story but just waved them through. They had made it nearly all the way to Engineering without meeting anyone.
“Aren’t you going in the wrong direction?”
They both turned, alarmed, although the tone had been friendly.
“Party’s this way.” The pale man whose head looked like it was made out of plastic pointed over his shoulder.
Malim’ksé laughed, a little nervously to Jon’s ears but the synthetic man didn’t seem to notice.
“Yeah, running a little late.” she replied. “Just showing the Admiral something we talked about yesterday.”
“All right, then. See you there.”
“That was Doctor Okrino.” she explained when they were out of earshot. “He’s a nice guy. I don’t like betrayals.”
“I’m feeling bad about the Commodore, too.”
“You should probably avoid them after this. I hear they got a nasty temper. And a sword in their office.”
Having not been invited to the party the holographic crew members assigned to Engineering busied themselves with last-minute checks and tweaks of the drive in preparation for the launch tomorrow. Briefly, he felt like the kid who discovers that their toys have a life of their own when no one’s looking. Malim’ksé snapped her fingers twice and they all blinked out of existence, whatever they had held dropping to the ground.
“Okay… Have to work on that.” the Chief Engineer mumbled to herself. Turning to him, she said, “A precaution. Didn’t want anyone to rat us out. Some of them are very by the book.”
She sat down at the main control panel, which was located on a slightly elevated platform a few metres away from one end of the engine, and signalled him to sit beside her.
“Later, when I start the engine, we better be quick. I could use some help. You up for it?”
“Sure.” he said, pretending to be calm as he desperately tried to make sense of the controls on his side of the console.
She chuckled. “Don’t worry. Looks more complicated than it is.”
Meanwhile…
In the training area Xenyala had activated and assembled three members of her security team – an Andorian, a Klingon and a Caitian. She found herself wishing once again that the creators of this segment of the holographic crew had been less in love with stereotypes. A strongly worded letter might be in order she thought and smirked.
“All right, folks. You got your orders. Time to be awesome!”
With that, the three officers before her disappeared to reappear in the quarters of Captain Evek, Commander Rill and Lieutenant Okrino and collect their personal belongings which Xenyala would then beam to the docking ring. Ahlaan-Mashur had been adamant about not stealing their fellow officers’ stuff on top of Starfleet’s newest project.
Armed with a good excuse why she was still on the ship and a small phaser set to stun if that shouldn’t work Xenyala got on her way to the transporter room.
Meanwhile…
On the bridge Ahlaan-Mashur sat at her customary place behind the science console, appreciating the comfort of familiarity this gave her. She had just finished going over the details of the plan in her mind again. Like the dozen times before it had seemed to her that she had thought of everything but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had missed a crucial detail.
From the navigation console Kevin proudly announced, “Course plotted and set.”
She nodded.
“Status?” she asked the others via implant.
“Ready when you are.” replied Malim’ksé.
“Done.” came Xenyala’s reply a few moments later.
She willed her implant to post their manifesto on the net while simultaneously dropping it in the inbox of several media organisations. With the push of a button she activated the program she had deposited in the station’s computer core this morning.
NOW
In Engineering, Malim’ksé and Jon executed the start-up sequence which had turned out to be more complicated than advertised. Jon half expected something to explode because he had presssed the wrong button or turned a dial not quite to the right position. Amazingly, nothing of the sort happened. Instead, he looked on in awe as the silvery tubes began to glow, the colourful tubes changed their configuration and then the whole engine was enveloped by a mist of tiny globes shimmering golden, red and green.
“Pretty, isn’t it?”
Inside the station’s computer Ahlaan-Mashur’s program wreaked calculated chaos. The docking clamps holding the Audacity were released and sensors temporarily scrambled.
“We have full power!” Kevin declared.
“Engage.”
And off they went.
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